Disclaimer: The characters, plot, and places of Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. No profit was made from this story, and no infringement was intended. This work was produced solely for entertainment.

Author’s Note: Well hello again! Here is my second attempt at Fan Fiction, I hope it is to your liking. A few things, first, this is a drama fic. There will be no torture for those who crave it but there will be moments of action and angst. Second, this story is twenty-five chapters, that includes the Prologue and Epilogue, and it is complete so that there shouldn’t be any LONG waits for updates. Thirdly, I envision Estel to be roughly twenty-two in this fiction, he was twenty when he was told of his ancestry but it is really irrelevant to this story. Lastly, I have no idea how old Legolas would be nor anything about his family except that Thranduil was his father. I have seen MANY wonderful stories where authors have created a family for him and I have seen many strong arguments to his age. I have always felt that he was younger than Arwen but still quite old by men’s standards. Much of his character will be washed away in this story due to the premise but you are welcome to picture him at any age, I would suggest an equivalent to twenty to twenty-five by human standards. Again, enjoy, and as always, constructive criticism is most welcome.

Prologue

Never before had Adras experienced a storm equal to the likes of this one. Rain fell so thick from the sky that it was almost as if he’d had the misfortune of stumbling beneath a waterfall. Lightning lit the night and illuminated the low hanging clouds to almost a summer’s midday intensity and was accompanied by thunder so loud that the old man nearly collapsed to the muddy ground in fear. He cursed himself for the umpteenth time for laying foot outside of his home on such a night.

Adras had been caught in many storms in his long life. The man was well over sixty years of age and the trials and hard work of his life had begun to show itself on him some years ago. He remembered when he had first noticed a couple of graying hairs upon his head. They had attempted to hide themselves amongst the many brown that had flowed down to just below his shoulders and with his young vanity he would attempt to pluck them before others would notice. He gave that feat up long ago and now his head was completely covered in the ashy color. As well, Adras’ face was covered in gray hair. A long beard stretched down to mid-chest, the mustache over his lip blending in seamlessly.

Reaching up a wrinkled, sun bronzed hand, the old man wiped droplets of rain from his creased forehead, the drops seemed to be seeking solace within the deep ridges there. Again a colorful curse slipped from between dried lips at his luck for being out in such a tempest. Originally he hadn’t planned on being out so late, but finding his missing friend was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated.

He braced himself against the trunks of trees as he passed, the natural towers aiding him from slipping in the thick mud that now carpeted the forest floor. Adras clutched his lantern close to him, both for the warmth that radiated from the tiny flame and to protect said flame from succumbing to the forces of nature. Even though he knew these woods quite well, losing his light source would not lead to an ideal situation.

Squinting his wrinkled eyes in hopes of seeing further ahead, Adras pulled his filthy, brown cloak tighter around him, vainly attempting to shield himself from the heavy gusts. He wanted to call to his lost friend but was afraid of attracting too much attention to himself. No forest was safe at night, especially for one his age, although he doubted that there were any dangerous creatures out there foolish enough to be caught in such weather. That feeble-mindedness had been left to him and the one he sought.

His son would be furious if he didn’t return home tonight. His anger would be quickly followed by fear and he would probably head out into the woods himself, looking for his lost father. Adras would be heartbroken if anything happened to his son because of his foolish behavior. The death of his beloved wife had been difficult enough for the both of them to bear and Adras didn’t think either could survive another such detrimental loss.

Another explosion of light flashed overhead followed shortly by a loud rumbling of thunder. Adras gripped the handle of his lantern tighter as the earth seemed to vibrate around him. Quiet curses of his friends’ name slipped from his lips as he braced himself against, yet another, tree.

This rain would truly be a nightmare if not for what little shelter these trees provide.

A faint, distant bray caught the old man’s attention and he paused and strained to hear over the hissing of the falling rain. He heard it, he knew he had heard it, he may be getting old but his hearing had yet to fail him. His friend must be somewhere close now.

“COAL!” His voice rose only slightly over the wind rustling through the leaves above. It must be safe to call to him now with the creature being so close. “COAL!”

His shouts were answered by another high pitched bray to his left and Adras moved as quickly as possible in the direction of the call, his hand moving from tree to tree, his feet slipping beneath him. His lungs burned not only from the coldness of the air but from the strain of trying to stay upright.

The donkey had taken off before, but never had he been gone this long before. Adras loved that animal, Coal was his steady companion, his faithful friend and quiet listener. He would not allow Coal to spend a night out in the forest with wild animals and a raging storm.

Taking a risk, Adras raised the lantern up, casting light further ahead. The slight flicker of motion caught his attention straight ahead and the old man quickened his pace even more.

“Coal! What do you think you are doing standing around out in weather such as this. Have you gone mad?” A loud snort was the only answer Adras received and his own soft snicker was soon to follow. “Fool animal.”

Coal’s dark fur glistened under the illuminance of the lamp and his tail swirled around attempting to swish the large raindrops away. Adras stretched out his hand and patted the donkey’s side. “Come, we should be heading home before Dorias begins to fret and becomes angry. You know how he gets.”

Coal didn’t move. His head was hung low, focused on something on the ground and his hoofs were firmly planted. Adras gave the donkey a slight shove hoping to encourage the animal to move so they could get out of the rain. His attempt resulted in another loud, irritated snort from the donkey and Coal shifted his hind legs bumping into the old man and almost knocking him to the muddy ground.

“Coal, what vexes you?” Stepping to the head of the animal, Adras lifted the lantern overhead and was shocked by what had so consumed the animal’s attention. There, lying in the mud was a man, completely covered in the muck produced by messy combination of dirt and water.

Adras knelt down at Coal’s feet, leaning in close to investigate the fallen man. He lay on his back, eyes tightly closed, face glistening with rainwater, no motion could be seen. The old man pressed an aged hand to the man’s chest, the faint pulsing beneath his fingers reassured him that the man still lived and he attempted to rouse the injured stranger.

Lightly he tapped the pale face, calling loudly for him to wake but he was awarded no response. He slid his hand up to the forehead and he pushed long strands of muddy hair off of the man’s face. Thick locks of hair fell away and Adras was once again surprised by what he found. Delicate, pointed ears peered out from beneath dirtied golden hair.

“An Elf!” Adras froze, looking over the fair being. He had seen an elf once, but not at such a close proximity and not in such a dire state.

Coal’s bray called to him and Adras turned to the donkey. “Well, we can not very likely leave him here. He would not last the night.” The old man turned to the elf once more. Wonder and curiosity flooded his mind. “Will you help me get him home Coal?”

The donkey snorted his acceptance and nudged the unconscious elf with his nose. He was also unable to elicit a response from the elf and Adras subconsciously patted Coal’s neck, in an attempt to sooth the distraught creature.

Adras carefully set the lantern on top of a nearby rock and grabbed the elf by the arms. He lifted the limp body into a sitting position then swung around behind the injured being and slipped his hands under the elf’s armpits. He wasn’t heavy, but Adras wasn’t exactly young anymore, nor did he wish to injure the fair creature any more than he already was.

After much pulling, pushing, lifting and sliding, Adras finally managed to get the blonde elf atop the donkey. He was slung over the animal’s back, his feet dangling off one side his head and arms off the other. The old man knew that it wasn’t exactly the best way to transport a gravely injured individual, but it was all he could manage at the moment. Time was of the essence and it would be illogical to return home for more practical transportation.

Rain continued to pelt the trio as Adras moved around to the elf’s head. He quickly checked for signs of life once again then, grabbing the lantern, he spoke commands to the donkey and they moved off toward home.

I do not know what happened to you my friend, but you will be safe with me until you are well.

In The Storm’s Wake

Standing on the balcony outside of his personal quarters, overlooking the valley, Elrond struggled to determine what was causing such a feeling of foreboding. The storm that had raged the night before could have possibly been the source of his discomfort, but somehow, the elf lord didn’t believe that.

The apprehension had begun the day before, sometime around the midday meal. Elrond was often plagued with such feelings, especially since darkness had descended on Middle Earth once again. But, this seemed different to him. More personal.

As he stood overlooking the garden beneath his window, he couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty that the night’s rain had produced. Granted, Imladris was a beautiful, relaxing place to begin with but the rains had seemed to almost rejuvenate the trees and flowers filling the garden. The colors seemed even more vibrant and the leaves of the trees seemed to quiver with a pleasure that the moisture had provided. Even the birds that dotted the trees and filled the air with song seemed happier. It was only Elrond who felt the unease that was looming.

The storm had burst onto the valley like a wave upon the sand. It had hit with such ferocity that it had almost taken the elven community by surprise. Naturally they had known the storm was coming and that it would be quite large, but the force it had hit with surpassed what even they had expected. It was fortunate that the valley hadn’t sustained any damage from the forceful winds and pounding rain. It was also surprising that the valley seemed so peaceful merely two hours after the storm had subsided.

Now as Elrond stood staring at the sunlight reflecting off the puddles of rainwater the unease of his thoughts suppressed the peace of the valley.

Morning meal was scheduled to be served shortly and the elf lord was looking forward to breaking fast with his sons. Elladan and Elrohir would, in all probability, be out checking with the guards and settlers throughout Imladris ensuring that all was well following the night’s activities. However, they would do all in their power to meet with their father for meals.

Turning quickly from the balcony, his long blue robes swishing around his feet, Elrond made his way back into his quarters toward his bedroom door. Having his twins back at home was always a cause for happiness as far as Elrond was concerned. So frequently now were they out with the rangers or securing the forests around the valley that the elf lord rarely got to see them. They had grown so quickly, that would probably seem an absurd statement considering their age, but if he could have them as elflings forever he would not hesitate at the offer.

Exiting his room, he was not surprised to be greeted by Erestor, the ever faithful advisor always seemed to be able to predict what it was that Elrond was in need or want of.

"Your sons have not yet returned my Lord."

"Thank you Erestor, and Glorfindel?"

"He left with Elladan and Elrohir, I suspect he will return with them as well."

The Elf Lord and Advisor made their way through spacious, airy hallways into the direction of the dining hall. Others would be awaiting to partake of the morning meal with the Lord of Imladris and his family and he did not want to keep them waiting. As they walked they continued to talk of the results of the last nights storm. There had fortunately been no injuries or severe structural damage, the flora and fauna of the valley had also survived unscathed. Overall, it appeared that the storms bark was worse than its bight and Elrond was grateful for that.

As he entered the dining hall and made his way toward his seat at the head of the table, the elf lord greeted the other elves who had met for the meal. Whether by gentle touches on shoulders or quiet words, Elrond acknowledged each elf present. Taking his seat, he looked around the room and noted that neither of the twins were present. He stalled briefly, but unable to wait any longer, motioned to the staff to start serving.

No sooner had he flicked his hand to the head server than the dining hall doors were flung open revealing a very agitated Elladan. "FATHER! Come quick." The dark elf didn’t enter the hallway, but stood in the doorway, a look of fear etched onto his face.

Elrond jumped from his seat, causing his chair to skid several feet away from the dining table. Without any word to the other diners and without questioning his oldest son, the elf lord moved swiftly and gracefully back around the table and followed Elladan out into the hall.

"What has happened?" His words were rushed. Worry raging inside of him. Elladan had left with Elrohir, was the younger twin injured somehow.

"It is Estel." Came Elladan’s reply.

These words caught Elrond off guard and the Lord of Imladris froze in his steps trying to grasp what had just been revealed to him. Estel was traveling with Legolas to the west, he wasn’t due back for weeks. "Estel? Has something ill befallen him? He is not due to return for some time."

Elladan reached to grab his Father’s arm and nudge him once again into action. "He was discovered just within the borders of Imladris riding slowly upon the back of an unknown horse. He is unresponsive and wounded." Panic was evident in Elladan’s voice. "Elrohir has taken him to the healing wing, Glorfindel is inspecting the horse."

This explained the discomfort that Elrond had been experiencing for nearly a day now. He had not suspected that it would be Estel in harm. He had not foreseen any danger when the pair had left Imladris several weeks before and knew that they could handle that which came their way. They were both very capable and experienced and Elrond had little cause to worry for them overly much.

Thoughts of the Mirkwood Prince brought the young elf to the forefront of Elrond’s mind. "What of Legolas?"

"I know not father. Estel was alone." Elladan led his father into the healing wing and to where his brothers would be waiting.

Had Elrond not been an experienced healer and had many years of practice he would have been shocked by the sight that greeted him. Estel looked near dead, his face more pale than that of even the fairest elf. Dark circles and a deep bruising of his left jaw contrasted heavily against the whitened complexion. The young man lay on his right side, two arrows imbedded in his back, both having been snapped off several inches from the penetration point. The first buried deep in his left shoulder, the second in his right lower back.

"What in all of Middle Earth..." Elrond stopped himself as he stepped to his son’s bedside and began to look closer at the wounds. He placed his hand over Estel’s heart and closed his eyes. The man’s heart beat softly but steadily, his breathing coming in somewhat hitched. Without opening his eyes his slid his hand to Estel’s brow, fever raged and sweat beaded beneath his steady palm.

Opening his eyes once again, he stared intently at the pale face and tried to read that which he could from his foster son’s appearance. He rose and turned to his twins, he smiled weakly then moved on to the herb table just off to the side of the bed. As he pulled down tools and herbs, subconsciously mixing those things that he knew the young man would need, he began to speak with his sons, gathering what information he could.

"Were the arrows snapped off when you found him."

"Aye." Elrohir answered.

"Was there any sign of the Prince?"

"Nay." Elladan this time.

"Could he have returned to Mirkwood without our knowledge? Could he be somewhere within Imladris without us knowing of his return?"

The pair thought about this for a moment and then Elrohir answered questioningly. "It is possible, although unlikely, he would not have left Estel in such a condition. It would take the strength of the Gods to pull him from Estel’s side, injured as he is."

"Then it is necessary for us to determine what has become of him." Elrond turned back to the bed of his unconscious charge and slowly rolled the man onto his stomach. Taking a sharp healer’s knife from the bedside table, he cut Estel’s dirtied tunic away revealing the arrow wounds more clearly.

Infection had begun to appear on the edges of the injuries and the skin puckered around the broken shafts. If not for Elrond’s many years of experience treating such injuries he was sure he would have swooned at what he saw. The arrowheads needed to be removed forcefully even after the healer had cut the infected flesh surrounding them. A pungent aroma assaulted his senses as he began to cleanse the wounds and his stomach rolled slightly.

Elrond lifted his head from his patient and he took a deep breath. "Estel will not wake for some time, he is lost in fever, and I fear that is the only way we will truly know what has happened." He paused briefly to think of the next best course of action. A moan of discomfort rose from the young man and Elrond quickly returned his attention to the injuries. "Send a message to Mirkwood. Inform Thranduil what has happened and inquire as to the presence of Legolas. Send our fastest rider. Time is of the essence." As he spoke and thought, his hands moved about the injuries, working as if of their own accord.

The twins listened closely to their father’s words and watched his movements even closer, their own faces paling at the sight before them. Sorrow and concern in both of their faces.

"If the message must be delivered quickly, perhaps it is best if we are to use one of the birds." Suggested Elladan, stepping closer to his foster brother’s bedside.

"Make it so." Before the elf lord could continue, the healing room door swung open to reveal a very straight faced blonde elf lord.

Glordindel stepped quickly into the room and to Estel’s bedside. He placed a gentle hand on the back of the young man’s head and looked to Elrond for quiet confirmation of his condition. The two exchanged no words, just brief glances and nods.

"The horse reveals nothing. I can tell not where it has come from nor how Estel came across it. Nor can I be sure if the Prince was ever in its company." Glorfindel was confident in his assessment albeit vague and sketchy.

Without looking up from his patient Elrond continued to issue orders. "Send the message and then the three of you must take out patrols and circle Imladris in search of Legolas. We cannot await word from Thranduil if there is a possibility he is out there. Especially if Estel’s condition has any telling on how his may be."

"Yes father." The twins answered simultaneously then each stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on their brother. A silent shudder consumed the injured man and he groaned quietly with the comforting touch. With a silent prayer to the Valar for Estel and Legolas the three quickly departed the healing wing.

Once into the hall, the three separated, going in different directions. They would meet again in the stables with their respective patrols once preparations had been made and set out in search of the lost Prince. There was hope that Legolas had returned home to Mirkwood without their knowledge. However, if he was out there, they wanted to find him before someone else did or before death took him.

Usual Patrols

No words were spoken between the three. They went about their tasks in a manner that conveyed centuries of close work and companionship. Solidarity that would be expected from twins, working as one, finishing each others tasks and starting anew without the unnecessary communication that was required of normal siblings.

Glorfindel was an entirely different story. He had been watching the pair since their youth and had been working alongside them from the time they were old enough to handle adult tasks. Spending that much time with an individual on such a personal level, one is bound to pick up certain habits and work ethics. The three were captivating to watch.

Recent additions had made this team even more intriguing. Legolas, who was much younger than the twins and lived some distance away, had quickly been taken under wing by the raven haired twins. Much to the chagrin of the King of Mirkwood, the young prince had learned to become quite the little prankster.

Then the surprising arrival of Estel had thrown all of their worlds off kilter. A new addition to the Imladris family hadn’t been expected but the child had been in their home for less than an hour before snatching all of their hearts and becoming a natural son and brother. The only thing worse than having to put up with the antics of Estel and the twins was when Legolas came to visit. Elrond would jokingly order windows boarded up and food supplies rationed, the terrible foursome was a force to be reckoned with and Glorfindel and Elrond always seemed to be fighting to stay one step ahead.

Now, as Elrohir watched the winged messenger soar up over the trees and vanish to the east, he had an unfamiliar desire to be the target of Estel’s and Legolas’ mischief. Waking up saturated in honey or finding oneself face down in a puddle of mud would have been much more welcome than the sight that greeted him that morning. Never before had Elrohir seen Estel look the way he did, fighting a cold or a little stomach upset was one thing, being carried in half dead was entirely different.

As he descended the marble stairs and headed toward the stables, his twin and Glorfindel on his heels, Elrohir couldn’t help but become frustrated over the mystery that had presented itself with the dawning of the sun. A brother severely injured and a friend missing was not, generally, how the dark elf liked to start his day.

Whispered prayers had been sent up all day and the hopes that the Mirkwood Prince had just returned home was in everyone’s hearts. It would take roughly three days to get a response back from Thranduil and Valar only knew how long until Estel would be able to answer any questions. In the meantime, the three elf lords would try and solve this enigma.

Twelve elves sat atop beautiful elven horses awaiting their patrol leaders. Three riderless horses mixed amongst the others stood patiently awaiting their riders. "Usual patrols?’ Questioned Elrohir.

"I think it best if you, Elrohir, head east and you, Elladan, head west." Answered the blonde elf Lord. "I will follow Estel’s tracks as far as possible. We will meet back here at this time on the morrow."

Elrohir watched as Glorfindel swung up on his horse, he then turned to Elladan. Their eyes connected and much was said in that moment of contact though no words were exchanged. The two broke their connection and each swung themselves up onto their respective horses. The group of fifteen sat in silence for a few seconds contemplating the importance of their mission.

"All will be well." Elrohir broke the melancholy silence. "Estel will wake and Legolas will be found. We must not lose hope."

Quick nods and smiles were exchanged and the three patrols exited the stables and separated just outside the gates of the Last Homely House.

Elrohir generally enjoyed patrols, he liked being out in the woods surrounding his home with the other warriors, protecting the things that he loved. It felt, to him, that he was doing something of importance. Since losing his mother, the twin had yearned for ways to settle his soul. Hunting orcs was fulfilling to an extent, but eventually he needed healing in a more positive way. It was, of course, his responsibility, as the son of Elrond, to command and protect the elves of Imladris, but if he could feel that he was making a difference while doing his job than he was all the more happy to be doing it.

Guiding his horse eastward along the parameter of Imladris, Elrohir cautiously scanned his surroundings, searching eagerly for any sign that the Prince had passed through. He wouldn’t admit it to the warriors riding with him, but he was scared. He was scared that Legolas would not be found alive, that he would lose one of his dearest friends before his time. He was scared that Estel would not recover and would pass before his destiny was fulfilled and leave them all with broken hearts.

The troupe moved in complete silence, the warriors under Elrohir’s command knew that quiet was expected when they were on patrol. Unnecessary communication was frowned upon and could cost one their life. Even their horses made little noise as they traveled the trail at a measured pace and they also seemed to be looking for clues.

Oranges and pinks painted the sky as the sun began to sink below the horizon, but the five elves were too engrossed in their task to pay it any attention. Normally Elrohir would have sat and watched as the warm colors would spread across the sky and eventually disappear all together, but tonight he had far more important things to do.

Frustration was exuding from each of the elves. They had found nothing. There was absolutely no sign that anyone or anything had passed through this portion of the forest in the past day. Mostly this was because of the rainstorm that had passed through the night before but some had to do with the fact that there were no signs to find.

"We camp here tonight." Elrohir’s voice rattled with frustration and he jumped off of his horse and set about unpacking his supplies without any further words. He forcefully untied his bedroll and dropped it to the forest floor.

This is not happening again. I can not lose another I love.

Reaching up to pull his pack off of the horses back the dark elf twin noticed that his hands had begun to shake. He stopped and held his hands in front of him, staring at his pale trembling fingers. Anger began to well up inside him and he clenched his hands into tight fists and took a large, deep breath. Elrohir rested his forehead against the side of his horse and closed his eyes.

Valar help us find him. Valar help Estel.

A gentle heat began to warm Elrohir’s back and he turned to see a small fire had been made several yards behind him. The other warriors had set about doing other tasks, tending the horses, heating water and checking the perimeter. Elrohir used his foot to push his bedroll to the base of a large tree, then grabbing his bow and checking his sword he stepped out of the camp and into the trees.

"I will take first watch. Get some rest."

*****************************************************************************

Angrod stood stiffly in the office of his king. He had been summoned first thing that morning by Thranduil and had that not been a common occurrence, he may have been nervous. As it was, the dark haired wood-elf had served the royal family for many years and was accustomed to spending time in their presence. That Angrod was a close, personal friend of the Prince of Mirkwood and had been since their elfling years, might have helped as well.

He stood there at attention awaiting the arrival of King Thranduil and his mind started to wander. He remembered when he had first met Legolas. His mother had been surprised when she had found the two elflings sitting in a mud puddle, dumping pails of sludge over each others heads. She had nearly gone into shock when she had discovered who the golden haired friend of her son was and realized that she would have to return the filthy elfling to her King and Queen.

A small smile spread over Angrod’s face as he remembered his mother’s face, she still tensed up when she was asked to recount the story.

The smile fell from his face when the heavy, ornate, wooden door to Thranduil’s office swung open and a very upset looking King of Mirkwood flew in, a piece of parchment clenched tightly in his hand.

"Sit Angrod." The King’s voice was so commanding and Angrod found himself instantly within a chair across from Thraduil’s desk. "Has my son returned to Mirkwood without my knowledge?"

Angrod’s brow furrowed in confusion. " Nay my Lord. Legolas would have come to you first had he returned."

Thranduil dropped into his own chair and stared blankly at the surface of his desk. He made no motion or sound for several minutes and Angrod found himself becoming increasingly uncomfortable and confused.

"My Lord, is something amiss?"

Thranduil lifted his gaze and looked heavily at the royal guard of Mirkwood. A large sigh slipped from his mouth and he leaned back in his chair. "Legolas is missing."

Angrod could have sworn that his heart stopped. He felt his breathing begin to increase and he also found himself staring blankly at Thranduil’s desk. Legolas was with Estel and Angrod knew that the two would protect one another.

"Forgive me my Lord, but I do not understand. Legolas is traveling with Estel. He is not missing"

"I assure you that he is Angrod." Thranduil slid the piece of parchment across the desk and Angrod apprehensively accepted it. "This arrived early this morn by bird."

Angrod’s head snapped up at those words. Messenger birds were rarely used and only in emergency. He slowly lowered his head again and opened the wrinkled parchment. He read through the words slowly, then he read them again. He paused and taking a deep breath read them a third time, they didn’t change.

"I will go to Imladris at once. I will find him and bring him home." Angrod rose slowly from his seat and handed the distressing message back to Thranduil.

"Thank you Angrod. You will leave at once and send word as soon as you learn anything." Thranduil grasped the parchment and crushed it in his fist. "Please find him Angrod. I do not have to tell you how much I value him."

Angrod gave a quick bow and then sped out of the office and through the palace halls. Thranduil did not have to tell the dark elf how much Legolas was worth to him. He had seen the two interact with each other on so many occasions that it was obvious that the two had a great love for one another. If Angrod did not find the Prince then the King would perish. The Princes fate was important to the whole of Mirkwood.

Absentmindedly Angrod packed up his horse and swung up onto it’s back. He couldn’t remember a time when he had prepared and departed on a journey in such a hurry. But then again, he couldn’t remember a time when the journey was to accomplish the most important mission of his life, of his King’s life and of his Prince’s life.

Warmth Provided

Transporting the elf had been much more difficult than Adras had anticipated. The resulting mud from the preceding night’s rainstorm had caused Coal to slip around and stumble about amongst the forest trees. Adras had to stop every couple of yards to help the donkey along and readjust the injured elf who had begun to slide from atop the thick animal’s back.

He would talk to both as they struggled along, the only responses received being annoyed brays and quiet moans. It was soothing for the old man to talk, it made the journey easier and relieved some of the stress that he was feeling. He had become quite adept at carrying on one-sided conversations and felt no shame in them. They were a source of comfort for him and eased the intense loneliness that he felt at times.

The three were a bedraggled sight, all were drenched with rain water and a thick layer of mud covered their clothing. Adras’ gray beard was tangled and mud caked, as was the elf’s hair. Cold had set into the old man’s bones causing a slight shivering in his limbs and tightening in his joints. The knowledge that a warm fire and hot cup of tea awaited him was his only driving force.

When they finally cleared the forest and were greeted by the old cabin, Adras felt as though he would fall to his knees in joy. Traveling through the night, with a raging storm, a stubborn beast and an unconscious elf was not the man’s idea of an enjoyable way to spend an evening and he ached to be in the comfort of his home.

"By the Gods Coal if you ever do that again I will just leave you out there." Feeling slightly rejuvenated at the final arrival to their destination Adras began to pick up the pace, pulling the donkey and elf behind him. "Hurry, Dorias is probably wondering where we have been all night."

He had left in search of his four legged friend without informing his son where he was going. He hadn’t anticipated being gone so long so didn’t feel it necessary to travel all of the way to the town tavern to inform him of his task into the forest.

As he began to tie Coal to the post near the stairs leading to his home the sound of the entryway door opening and heavy footsteps on wood reached his ears. "Where in Middle Earth have you been?"

Dorias’ deep, gruff voice pierced the quiet that Adras had become so accustomed to. The sound causing him to stiffen ever so slightly. "I went in search of Coal. He went out for an adventure again."

Looking up into his son’s eyes, Adras was surprised by the annoyance that he saw so obviously present there. His son had become mean and bitter since the death of his mother two years ago. He had taken to visiting the town tavern on a nightly basis and had returned most nights in a drunken state. Most of the time he would just retire to his room and sleep off the effects of the ale he had consumed, but there were some nights, when he was feeling particularly bitter, that he would come home and wreak havoc on the small cabin. On those nights, Adras would lock himself in his own room and patiently wait for his son to pass out.

"You should have just left the beast out there to rot." The man snarled between cracked lips and yellowed teeth.

"I have had Coal for many years, he has been a good friend and worker, I could not just abandon him." Adras’ voice was soft and pleading and he watched his son closely as he stepped off of the porch and approached the filthy trio. Always there was hope in this heart that his son would return to the gentle, compassionate boy he had raised. But inevitably he would become riddled with disappointment when his hopes were quashed by the man’s cruel words and actions.

"And what other animal did you manage to pick up along the way." Dorias grumbled as he reached down and took a handful of mud caked blonde hair and lifted the elf’s head to look into it’s pale face. "An elf?"

Snapping a hand out and grabbing his son by the wrist, Adras shook Dorias’ hand forcefully, causing him to release the injured being’s head. "I found him in the woods. He is injured and has not woken since I found him. I could not very well leave him out there lest he pass from this world."

The annoyance in Dorias’ face intensified at his father’s actions and Adras stepped around the donkey and placed himself between his son and the injured being. "I will mend him of his wounds and he will be on his way."

"He will bring trouble to this house." Dorias interrupted. "You should just take him back into the forest and leave him."

Adras’ stomach felt sick at the amount of anger and disdain that had engulfed his son. It was not how he had been raised and it was not the son that he had known several years before. "This does not sound like you. This is not how your mother and I raised you."

Dorias’ mouth fell open and his eyes narrowed at his father’s comment. A grunt of irritation escaped the dark, large man’s throat and he spun on his heel, moving away from the disheveled three. Adras watched as his son headed back into the direction of the town and he knew exactly where he was headed. Hopefully he wouldn’t return until the next day, allowing him some time to take care of himself and the elf without interruption. His eyes remained glued to Dorias’ back as he watched him go, never leaving his form until he was out of sight.

Well, I have much work to do and will accomplish nothing standing here brooding

Adras turned back to the elf and placed a gentle, wrinkled hand on the dampened back. "Forgive me Master Elf, but I am old and have lost much strength with the passing of the years. This will not be pleasant for you." He then slid his hands beneath the blonde elf’s armpits and pulled. The unconscious being flopped ungracefully from the donkey’s back and would have been injured further if not for Adras holding his upper body from the ground.

He slowly lay the elf down and rolled him over onto his back. Taking a deep breath, he slid his hands once again beneath the elf’s arms and began to drag the injured being toward the entryway. A small whimper escaped the fair being and Adras stopped and watched closely for any sign of waking. There was a slight wrinkling of the brow and then he settled down once again and Adras was back to work.

Lifting the elf up just a little higher to avoid scraping his back along the steps, Adras grunted with each step. The sound of the old man’s grunting followed by the elf’s feet banging against the steps would have been almost comical if not for the dire situation. With one final grunt the pair reached the top of the steps and the door to the modest cabin. "Almost there." His words came out strained and his breathing was heavy.

Panting and scraping accompanied the remainder of the journey into the cabin and across the room. Adras lay the elf down on the ground next to the spare bed, which sat to one side of the main room of the cabin. Looking at the bed and then down at the elf he could feel his drive leaving him. Just one more move. Okay, it is a big move, but you are almost done.

"Might you be able to help me out with this?" He looked at the elf quizzically, noting the peaceful look there. His brow had smoothed and the grimace of pain he had been wearing for most of the night was gone. He looked more to be sleeping now than to be mortally injured. He was answered by complete silence from the elf and let out another large sigh. "I thought not."

Bending over, once again he looped his hands around the elf’s slender arms and lifted and twisted the elf until his upper body lay upon the bed, he then slid his aged hands down the elf’s body and hoisted his legs up, dropping them unceremoniously onto the thin, blanket covered mattress. The blonde, dirty elf now lay on his stomach upon the bed and Adras plopped himself down in a nearby chair taking a short respite.

Once his breathing had slowed and his body had cooled Adras pushed himself back up from the chair. He stepped back to the elf and gently twisted the elf’s head allowing the fair being to breath easier. He held his hand just in front of the elf’s mouth and waited to feel the warm breath coming from the unconscious being then rising to his full height, albeit not much, the old man stood and stared down at the injured elf.

"Well let us get started. I know not your injuries and I have a feeling that we are both in for a long day."

******

It was a whimper from the other room that roused Adras from his slumber. He hadn’t even realized that he had fallen to sleep. After removing the elf’s soiled clothing and cleaning and tending to his wounds the old man had focused his attention on himself. Warm water and hot tea had never been more welcome and the warmth provided by each had relaxed the already exhausted man and eased him into his dormant state. Adras wasn’t certain how long he had slept, it was daylight when he had laid down but all appeared dark at the moment.

It had taken some time to tend to the elf. After cleaning off as much of the mud as possible, Adras had set about searching for the injuries that had caused the unconscious state. The most obvious injury was a large bump on the elf’s right forehead. There was a small cut in the center of the lump and dark bruising had formed around the injury. The elf cringed when Adras had cleaned that wound and the old man found himself mirroring the expression out of sympathy.

After a bit more cleaning and inspecting, Adras came across the next injury, another head wound. The idea of multiple head wounds frightened the old man and he marveled at the fact that the elf still lived despite this. Most men would have succumbed to such trauma, that the elf still breathed was a wonder to behold. This one was behind the left ear and ran from the base of the skull ending levelly with his tightly closed eyes. The wound was more of a ragged cut than a bump, most likely caused by impact with a rough surface. The blonde hair around the wound was bloodied and matted, making it extremely difficult to clean and Adras had to remove the hair one strand at a time from where it had imbedded itself within the laceration .

Lastly, Adras had come across an arrow wound to the center of the elf’s back. The arrow had been snapped off leaving just the head imbedded in the back and the old man had needed to cut around the entry site to remove the projectile. This procedure was much easier than Adras would have thought. Surprisingly, no infection had set in and the arrowhead slipped quite easily from the elf’s back. Small whimpers and moans had escaped the unconscious elf during his ministrations but not once did he wake.

Adras rose stiffly from his bed and slowly shuffled across the wooden floor to the other room where the elf lay. He normally did not keep bandages around his cabin, having never really needed them, so the elf now lay with his head completely bandaged in strips of an old blanket, gold strands of hair peered out from beneath the blue wrappings. He placed a weathered hand atop the elf’s cheek searching for fever. A small smile spread across his face as he was greeted with cool, albeit somewhat clammy, skin.

A large fire burned within the fireplace to keep the elf warm. Normally Adras would try to go easy on the wood supply since it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to get out into the forest to collect the necessary tinder. But now the added fire was necessary with the elf covered only by a slight blanket. The old man secretly took pleasure in the extra heat. "I like you already Master Elf. If for nothing more than the additional warmth you bring."

Moving to the fireplace which sat perpendicular to the elf’s bed, Adras removed a pot of boiling water he had left over the now smoldering fire, he poured himself another cup of tea and took a seat at the table in the center of the room. Let us see if we can determine what happened to you my friend.

"An arrow wound to the back, obviously not self inflicted." Unless the rumors of an elf’s bowmanship are highly exaggerated. "Obviously you were attacked and it would be my assumption that the more serious head wound was caused by a fall from your horse."

Adras ran this theory through his head over and over again as he watched the sleeping elf. His brow furrowed in confusion then eased again in thought. His hand absently reached up and began stroking his long beard. He continued this way for several long minutes, his aged hand continually smoothing the course hair that fell from his chin. He did this often when he thought and at the moment his mind was working greatly.

"Where then is your horse and who attacked you and where did the other head wound come from?" He rose from his chair and stepped forward coming to stand over the injured being. "So many questions the most important of which being, who are you?".

Sorrowed Returns

For an Elf time moved at varying rates. There were days that seemed the equivalent of a lifetime and there were years that flew by so quickly that before one knew it they had aged a century. The past day had certainly fallen into the first category for Lord Elrond.

After spending most of the day tending to Estel’s wounds, the Elf Lord had spent the night watching over his foster son. It had been a long and quiet night, no sound had been made by the injured human and no elf had wanted to intrude. A healer/patient relationship was one that existed on a delicate level and required much privacy, make the patient a family member and said relationship would increase ten fold.

Looking down on Estel, it was hard for Elrond to believe that this young man was the age that he was. His pale face and vulnerable appearance made him appear no more than fifteen winters as opposed to the twenty-two that he was. His heart ached at his son’s current condition, one so young should not have to endure such hardship.

A slight fever burned in the young man and would have been deadly had the horse not, mysteriously found its way into Imladris when it did. The fact that the animal had made it to Rivendell was evidence that he was either instructed on how to get there or was close enough to the elf dwelling when Estel lost consciousness that he happened upon it afterward. Or maybe this young man, lying so still upon the bed, had some measure of luck on his side.

This train of thought brought Legolas to mind. Elrond cringed at the realization that the Elf Prince was, as of now, unaccounted for. He dreaded what the loss of Legolas would do to his father. Thranduil and Elrond did have a rough history between them, but the young prince had forced the two to bury their differences. He also dreaded what the loss of the blonde archer would do to his sons and himself. He had become quite fond of Legolas and, despite his outward reactions, looked forward to the Prince’s visits as much as Estel and the twins.

Reaching out a tired hand, Elrond set his palm on the budding ranger’s forehead. Feeling the unnatural heat beneath his cool hand, he whispered a silent prayer to the Valar that both of the young one’s would survive their current predicament. Though no word had returned from Mirkwood as of yet, Elrond knew that the Prince had not returned home. Something in the back of his mind had been nagging at him and he had learned long ago not to ignore such feelings.

Estel didn’t stir under his touch and Elrond’s hand slid around his face coming to stop on his warm cheek. "Estel, you need to wake young one. Please."

Rather than receiving an answer from the unconscious young man, he was interrupted by a soft knock on the healing room door. Before he could answer the door swung quietly open revealing a blonde elf holding a silver tray of food.

"Erestor has informed me that you have not eaten since Estel arrived yesterday."

"Nay Glorfindel, I have not had the time nor the appetite." A sad smile appeared on Elrond’s face as he slid his chair away from Estel’s bed and rose to meet his long time friend.

Taking the tray from Glorfindel’s hands he crossed the room and set it upon the bedside table. Elrond looked the contents of the tray over before picking up a berry and slipping it between his lips. It held no flavor and the Elf Lord stopped himself from taking a second.

"Have my sons returned as well?" He said as he turned to face Glorfindel once again. The blonde warrior had taken Elrond’s seat next to Estel’s bed and was now looking over the pale face of the young man.

"Nay, not as of yet. They should be along shortly. I left word to have them join us upon their return." Glorfindel paused momentarily and Elrond watched the other elf as he studied Estel. "He looks so young."

It was interesting to the Elf Lord that Glorfindel had noticed the same thing about the injured human as he had moments earlier and wondered if the same thoughts were running through his friend’s head as had been formerly running through his own. He nodded in response and came to sit upon the foot of the bed. The two sat in silence for a long while, neither moving or speaking, just watching the man they had both grown to love as a son.

Once again the silence was interrupted by a knock on the chamber door and two identical, dark heads appeared in the doorway. Both looked tired and distraught and it was times like this when Elrond himself, had difficulty telling the twins apart. He rose from the bed and opened his arms to greet his sons. The two moved slowly across the room, their shoulders drooping and heads hung low and fell into their father’s embrace.

Elrond held his sons, savoring the moment. The three would allow themselves this brief moment of vulnerability then it would, once again, be time to become the great leader and warriors of this fair elven colony, which they all loved so much. Being powerful and influential left no room for outward signs of weakness, but the family had sworn, long ago, that they would allow one another those small moments.

Breaking away from his sons, Elrond turned back to the bed where Glorfindel continued to sit in silent observation. Elladan and Elrohir pulled chairs to the bedside and sat, each with an outstretched hand placed upon their human brother while Elrond returned to his spot seated at the foot of the bed.

"What news?" He had sat all night wondering what the three would find and could wait patiently no longer.

Glorfindel looked to Elrond, his face blank but his eyes revealing much. "I followed the trail left by Estel’s horse but they were lost just outside the Imladris border. We searched the area where the last prints were seen and found naught." He paused briefly and looked at each of the twins. "The storm has erased anything of use." Each twin nodded at this statement and the quiet exchange was not lost on Elrond.

He looked between the two of them and back to Glorfindel. "Can you speculate which direction they came from based on what you found?"

Glorfindel thought on this a moment and Elrond waited patiently for his assessment. "Nay. It would be a guess at best."

A soft sigh broke from the Elf Lord and he then turned his attention to his oldest son. "Elladan?"

"I journeyed east along the border. My patrol searched for anything unusual." He answered without much contemplation, then paused as the next sentence stuck in his throat. "I regret to report that we drew the same conclusion as Glorfindel. The storm wiped out everything in its bath. There is nothing useful along the eastern border."

Elrond contemplated this information, as did the other two conscious beings present. "Elrohir?"

Elrohir raised his head and focused his gaze on his father. The younger twin, who had always been the more compassionate and emotional of the two, held much sorrow in his eyes and Elrond’s heart lurched at the despair he saw there.

"My patrol traveled west." His voice was strong and hid well the stress that he felt. "We searched on and off the trails for any signs of the Prince. I concur with Glorfindel’s and Elladan’s assessment, the storm did much to hinder our search. There are no answers along the western border."

It was as Elrond had feared, there was nothing. "We are at an impasse I fear. There is naught left to do but to await word from Thranduil and pray that Estel wake soon and with answers."

As if on cue a quiet moan followed by a pained whimper sounded from the sick bed causing all four heads to spin into the direction of the sound. Estel’s eyes clenched tightly shut forming deep creases on his brow and he turned his head sluggishly from side to side.

Elrond slipped past Glorfindel and placed his hands on the sides of Estel’s face. "Estel, my son, open your eyes." The Elf Lord was answered by another soft moan and the injured human attempted weakly to pull his head from the elf’s grasp. "Estel please wake."

Elrond bent closer, his face now half an arm’s length from Estel’s. He watched as the young ranger struggled to open his eyes and he fought against him as he attempted to pull away from the healer’s grasp. He could feel the presence of his two sons and long time friend standing over him awaiting an answer. Minutes seemed like hours as each watched and hoped with apprehension.

"Come on my son. Awake." Elrond’s prodding finally paid off with the soft flutter of eyelids and then the revealing of hazy, gray eyes. "Estel?"

Estel eyes roved slowly over the four standing over him, his eyelids blinking heavily as he did. Elrond searched his eyes for any signs of awareness or recognition but the young man’s gaze was too glassy to obtain a specific answer. His eyes stopped for a long time on Glorfindel and Elrond quickly glanced over his shoulder at the blonde warrior. A look of unknowing passed over his face and he turned back to his injured son.

Gray, cloudy eyes met his and a scowl appeared on Estel’s face. "Legolas?" His voice was strained and raspy and Elrond could tell that it took a lot of energy for the young man to get the one name out.

"He is not here Estel. Can you tell us where he is?" Elrond rushed the words knowing that his son’s grasp on consciousness was fleeting.

Another whimper escaped and Estel’s gray eyes filled with tears. He pushed against Elrond’s hands and turned his head to the side. One final, heartbreaking moan rose from the injured man and Estel fell limp once again.

"Father?" Elrohir asked worriedly

"He has just lost consciousness, worry not." Elrond rose from his bent position and turned to face the other three as he spoke. "He seemed distraught over the absence of Legolas. I think that answers one question."

"Aye, they were obviously together when Estel was injured." Answered Glorfindel, taking his seat once again. "However, it does not tell us where the Prince is."

Elrond wrung his hands in frustration. "Unfortunately we will have to wait for Estel to mend before answers will be forthcoming."

Four identical sighs echoed about the healing room and four sets of eyes fell upon the injured, unconscious young ranger. Elrond’s chin fell to his chest and he took Estel’s hand in his own.

Let us just hope that the wait will not be long.

Irresolution

Four days, four passages of the sun across the early autumn sky. It had been so long since Adras had returned to his home with the elf, too long for him to sit and speculate the elf’s identity and situation. Perhaps he is a dark elf being hunted by his own people and a source of danger. Nay, he did not seem evil. Maybe he is a great elven warrior, thousands of years old who fought the dark lord Sauron. A childlike smile appeared on the old man’s wrinkled face when he realized how he was allowing his imagination to run away with him.

He had woken up to a beautiful, warm fall morning and, as he had in days past, took his morning tea out on the cabin porch. It was the time of day that he loved most, when the occasional bray of Coal was the only sound breaking the peace and quiet. A time when Dorias had yet to return from his all night drinking binge.

His son would return home soon. Fortunately, since the elf had arrived, he had resorted to going straight to his room and passing out until it was time to return to the town tavern. Dorias’ irritation had increased since the elf had been brought into his home. As he thought of his son and the elf he glanced over his shoulder to where the fair being lay. He had arranged his chair so that he could sit on the porch and still be within earshot and sight of his wounded charge.

The elf appeared now as he had for the past four days. He hadn’t moved except for the slight turn of his head. Small moans and whimpers were the only sounds that he made and Adras was finding himself talking to the unconscious elf, even though no response was expected. At least his new company was a good listener.

"Is that not right my friend. You may feel free to join in the conversation at any time. Do not be shy." Adras waited for an answer he knew was not coming and when he got the response he expected turned back to face the road leading to his cabin.

Life had become so routine and when he had found the elf it had modified that routine, eliciting a slight charge of excitement in Adras’ life. Now, however, it had become routine again, same thing day after day. Having the elf in the home now just presented extra tasks, although he had to admit he didn’t really mind. Keeping busy and taking care of another reminded him of days gone by.

Adras missed his younger, more adventurous days. Back when he could rise from a chair without having to pause and allow the kinks to work their way out of his aging joints. When he was able to farm his own land and hunt his own meat. Now he had to wait and hope for his son to do some of the work in order to keep food in the cabin.

A loud singing interrupted his musings and Adras squinted his eyes and focused on the road. He could see a figure moving in the direction of the cabin and had it not been for the loud, out of key singing, he would have been glad for a morning visitor. As it was, he didn’t look forward to his daily confrontations with Dorias.

Glancing once again over his shoulder at the injured elf, Adras steeled himself for his son’s attitude. He turned back in time to see Dorias ungracefully dismounting his horse. Stumbling backwards, waving his arms about in an attempt to keep himself from falling onto his backside, it was obvious that it had been a long night for his son.

"Is that damned elf still here?" Dorias’ slurring shout caused Adras to flinch slightly as he watched his son stagger closer.

He didn’t answer his son, rather he rose slowly from his chair and stepped into the cabin. He walked over to look down on the elf once more then made his way to the kettle that hung over the fire. Pouring himself another cup of tea, Adras attempted to regain his composure as he listened to his sons footsteps crossing the wooden porch.

"I asked you a question old man." Dorias was now leaning heavily against the doorframe and Adras could tell it was the only thing keeping his son on his feet.

He continued to remain quiet, knowing that Dorias didn’t really want an answer, he just wanted to show his father that he could intimidate him. Adras wasn’t really all that frightened by his son, he was more afraid of the alcohol that pulsed through his veins. Ale, obviously had an ill effect on the man.

He watched Dorias closely and he made his way back to the elf and placed himself between his son and his new charge. A snarl appeared on Dorias’ face as he moved awkwardly across the cabin, coming to stand at the foot of the bed.

"Filthy creature." He glared down at the unconscious being, a look of complete disdain in his eyes. "Healthy or not, I want it out of my home." As he turned to retire to his room, Dorias swung his leg, kicking the foot of the bed causing the injured elf to be jostled.

"I WANT IT OUT!" He yelled as he slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Adras stood staring at the closed door for a moment, a series of sighs escaping his lips. He listened to the banging and bumping of Dorias moving about his room, waiting for him to fall silent. A couple of loud thumps followed by a chain of curses was the last thing he heard from his son and he whispered a prayer of thanks before turning back to the elf.

What met him caused a huge smile to overtake his face. Foggy blue eyes looked back at him and Adras quickly pulled a chair over to the bed. Elation radiated through him as life once again returned to his new friend. Perhaps now he could get some answers

"My apologies for my son. He should not have woken you." Adras’ words were rushed as his happiness became evident.

No reaction came from the elf and the old man scooted in closer, leaning his face over the elf’s and looking directly into his eyes. Tired, slothful blinks followed by a slight twitch of the iris as the elf focused his weakened gaze on the old man. Slowly, a pale, thin hand reached up and Adras gently grabbed a hold before the elf could probe his injuries.

"You do not want to be doing that my friend. Your injuries are serious and you do not want to irritate them further."

After a few seconds the elf seemed to comprehend what Adras had said and the gray man could feel the elf pulling against his grasp. Adras guided the elf’s arm back to his side and placed it softly on the bed. He then turned and grabbed his cup of tea from the bedside table. "Would you care for some tea?"

There was no answer, the elf just stared blankly at Adras and the old man grew concerned. He had managed to ease some fluids down the elf’s throat over the past four days, but it wasn’t enough and he knew that the elf needed the nutrients in order to heal. Reaching back to the table, he grabbed a spoon that had been left there from the day before and scooped up some tea. Slowly and cautiously he moved the spoon to the elf’s mouth and was pleased when the elf parted his lips allowing Adras to pour the liquid into his mouth.

They repeated the steps until the tea was gone, taking far longer that Adras had expected but causing the smile to return to his face at both of their accomplishments. "Well done my friend." He complimented as he rose from his chair and took the cup and spoon to a water basin across the room.

A slight spring appeared in his step now as he rejoiced in the fact that the elf had finally woken. Maybe now he could get some answers. More importantly, it appeared that the elf would be fine and that was all that Adras had really hoped for.

He returned to his chair to find the elf’s eyes upon him once again. An inquisitive look appeared on his pale face and his lips moved slightly but exuded no sound. Adras watched the elf’s actions for a moment before concluding that the blonde being looked confused.

"Ah. I am called Adras." The look of confusion seemed to ease slightly and Adras continued. "I, or more accurately, my mule found you four days ago in the forest just south of here. You were injured and unresponsive and I brought you to my home to tend to your wounds."

Adras leaned over the elf and pulled the blanket up a little higher. He then gently pulled at the bandages around the elf’s head to ensure that they were still tight. "I think that you are healing well." He smiled down at his charge.

Blue eyes drifted around the small room briefly before landing on the old man once again. Adras became apprehensive as he saw the look of confusion remained on the elf’s face.He searched his memory for any effects that a serious head injury would cause and although he knew of many in men, he had never met an elf before, let alone treated one’s injuries.

He knew that confusion was probably the number one effect resulting from head injuries in men and concluded that it couldn’t be much different in elves. So, with that in mind, he resolved to just sit and talk with the elf until he fell back to sleep. Which Adras suspected would be soon.

"I know not how you came to be injured and alone in the woods. But then again, I do not know much about elves, maybe it is a common occurrence for your kind." Adras smiled down at the elf with this sentence to let him know that he was joking.

"There was a horrible storm the night that Coal found you." Adras stopped to check that the elf was still awake. "Coal is my mule. He wandered off and I went in search of him and found you. Not exactly what I had been expecting, but life throws us the unexpected from time to time.

"I imagine that you have someone out searching for you even as we speak." He paused again, looking for any answer, but the elf just turned his head slightly and looked far off in thought. "Perhaps I should send word to town in the event that someone comes for you."

It was an idea that had crossed Adras’ mind on several occasions over the past four days. He wondered if it was worth the risk leaving the elf alone for the time it would take to travel into town and leave word with the authorities there. Something continually stopped him from going, in the back of his mind there was a nagging voice telling him to not go and the more he thought about it and listened to the voice, the more he agreed.

Adras didn’t know who had attacked the elf and left him for dead. If he left word that he had found an injured elf in the woods and said elf now resided in his home, healing from wounds inflicted by some unknown person and would anyone with information please come to the cabin a half mile south of town, he didn’t know who would show up. He had decided to follow his gut instinct and wait for the elf to wake, even at the risk of missing a search party.

"Then again, I think we should wait on that." His smile never faded from his face as he spoke to the elf and he was pleased that the blonde being had stayed awake as long as he had. Now, however, he could see the elf’s eyelids drooping and there was one thing he wanted to know before he drifted off to sleep again.

"What is your name my friend?" Adras watched the elf closely after this question, understanding that he had yet to say anything since waking.

The smile finally slipped from his face as he noticed the distressed look on the pale face. What could be seen of the elf’s bandaged brow was now furrowed in despair and Adras subconsciously grabbed the pale cool hand from the bed. "Are you well? Can you tell me your name?"

Heavy eyelids drooped even further and Adras felt his own heart clench as the elf’s eyes misted over. "Please do not despair. I will not leave you, nor will I allow further harm to come to you. We will figure all of this out. Just sleep for now."

He continued to speak encouraging words to the sorrowful elf, holding his hand tightly in his own for comfort. It didn’t take long for the elf to fall back into a deep slumber and Adras released the slender hand and rose from his seat. He made his way back onto the porch stopping in the doorway, his own face now colored with confusion and distress.

He replayed the conversation over and over in his mind trying to determine what had caused the elf such anguish. He had only asked the elf his name and couldn’t understand why that simple question had seemed to hurt the now sleeping elf. He turned from where he was standing in the doorway and looked back at his charge. "Surely you know your own name."

Adras walked absentmindedly out onto the porch and returned to his earlier seat. A huge range of emotions surged through him as he contemplated his and the elf’s current situation. That little voice in the back of his head was screaming at him again. Telling him that he needed to prepare himself, things just got a lot worse.

Locke

Going about his normal daily tasks, Adras couldn’t control his imagination once again. He found himself talking with Coal about the mysterious elf sleeping in his home.

"You offer little help Coal." He laughed as he patted the mule’s neck while pushing a small bale of hay into the animal’s pen. "You were the one to discover him, have you nothing to say of his tale?"

Adras was answered by a loud bray, which echoed around his modest lands causing several chickens to flee in noisy fear. "You cause much commotion my friend, much like our injured guest." The old man mused as he reached for a pail of grain and tossed a handful at the fleeing chickens.

He returned the pail to the wooden bench from which he had retrieved it and then turned and slowly made his way back across the yard toward the cabin. It was a quiet day and Adras relished the moment. It was a rare moment that his son was passed out in his room and the old man could enjoy the beauty of the day without interruption or harassment. Birds soared through the air, singing as they went. Forest critters scurried about, daringly venturing closer to the cabin for bits of neglected grain before hurrying back to the safety of the trees. He watched them momentarily, a smile hidden beneath his facial hair.

Stiffly climbing the stairs toward the cabin entrance, he caught a glimpse of the injured elf lying on the bed. He had left the door open in the event that his charge might wake. Thus far, however, he had not been needed. The elf lay just as he had been left, no motion except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. It had been several hours since he had woken originally and Adras hadn’t really expected to see the blue eyes again that day.

Taking his usual seat next to the bed, the old man began to pull on the blue bandages that were bound tightly around the blond head. Edges of a fading bruise peered out from the elf’s forehead and Adras pulled the bandage up a little higher for a better look. The large bump, which had marred the skin had shrunk considerably, as had the cut which decorated the center of the injury.

Adras recovered the lump then slid his hands over to the left side of the elf’s head. Pulling back the covering he revealed the large wound which was hidden behind the elf’s ear. He slowly stood from his seat and leaned over for a better look. This wound had healed somewhat as well and Adras was quite pleased with the level of healing that his charge had shown. He covered the wound once again in the makeshift bandage and lowered himself back to his seat. There was one more wound to check and then he could make himself some lunch.

He was stopped short, however, by the appearance of open, blue eyes staring back at him. He greeted the injured elf with a smile and reached a wrinkled hand out and placed it on the chest of his new friend. "Welcome back. How do you feel?"

A small, pained smile was returned by the elf and Adras had to hide his own sadness at the situation.

"Head aches." Came a whispered reply.

The old man elicited a relieved sigh at hearing the elf’s voice and responded in kind. "I should think so, my friend. You have not been kind to it." He paused, measuring the elf’s response to this statement. A look of confusion etched itself upon the fair face and Adras began to believe that it was a look that would be almost permanently set upon the elf. He smiled once again before continuing. "I was just about to check the wound to your back, do you feel well enough to allow me?"

"Aye, although I do not know how much help I will be. Still, I would like to attempt to sit up." A pleading look replaced the earlier one of confusion and Adras found it very difficult to argue with such a look.

Your parents must have had a difficult time saying no...

"You need not worry, I will do most of the work." With these words, Adras rose from his seat once more and slowly slid his arm beneath the elf’s shoulders. Ever so gently he began to lift the elf’s upper body from the bed, his other arm pressed against the fair beings chest. A small groan slipped from the pale lips of the blonde elf as he rose and Adras had to force himself to continue, the fear of further harming his charge radiating within him.

Adras pushed the elf over slightly, leaning the weight on his forearm as he quickly lifted the tunic and inspected the arrow wound. It had began healing quite well as well. There was no sign of infection or irritation and the old man hurriedly recovered the injury and slid the elf back so that he was leaning against the headboard of the bed.

"You are healing very nicely. Is that natural for elves?"

The elf sat still, his eyes closed tightly as he tried to regain control of his breathing that the discomfort of the movement had caused. Adras watched closely, looking for any signs of further injury that may have been caused. Slowly, blue eyes began to appear once more and Adras quickly replaced his concerned look with a reassuring one. He feared that the elf was in for a long recovery, but he didn’t want his fears to be shown to his charge.

With still no answer to his earlier question, Adras pressed on. "Do you feel well enough for some tea?"

"Aye." Came the hushed reply.

He turned to the fireplace and pulled the pot from the embers. As he made the cup of tea he continued his questioning. "Do you remember anything of how you came to be here?"

There was no answer for a moment and Adras thought that the elf had returned to his slumbering state once again. Returning with the cup of hot tea pressed into his aging hands, he found the elf probing his wounded head with delicate fingers.

"Nay." It was almost a whimper and Adras felt his chest clench in response.

Adras gave a brief account of how he had discovered the elf in the woods and had brought him to his home for care. "Do you recall how you came to be injured in the forest?"

Another long pause. "Nay."

A large, saddened sigh escaped the old man’s lips and the two sat in silence for a moment as Adras helped the elf drink some of the tea. Color returned somewhat to the pale face as the warm liquid filled the injured beings mouth.

"Do you remember anything?" Adras held his breath at his question. He feared he already knew the answer and he didn’t like what it would be. Not surprisingly, the elf did not answer, he just hung his head and sluggishly twisted his fingers in the blanket that covered his legs.

"Do you at least know what I can call you?" The questioning was turning into a torturous cycle. Adras knew the answers before they were asked and he hated to cause his charge more pain. He suspected with the amount of damage done to the elf’s head that there would be some residual effects, he just wasn’t sure exactly what to expect.

Slowly the elf raised his head and, with distressed, tear filled eyes looked to the old man. Not since the loss of his wife had Adras felt so lost, he could not imagine what the elf was experiencing and he wanted nothing more than to comfort his injured charge. But was that excepted? Would the elf shy away from any type of support or comfort? He had remembered hearing that elf’s weren’t affectionate in the same ways that humans were, he didn’t want to frighten or confuse him more than he was.

Reaching out his wrinkled hand, he gently placed it over the elf’s pale, thin one. He held the elf’s saddened, frightened gaze, fighting back his own tears as he did so.

"Well, never mind that. We will figure things out as we go and I suspect you will begin to remember as you heal." A smile peaked out from beneath his gray beard and Adras tried to exude the cheerfulness he didn’t feel. He wanted to keep the elf’s mind off of his distress, thinking that it might plunge him into further illness.

"Well, I can not continue to call you elf now can I?" Adras questioned as he helped the elf lift the teacup to his mouth once more. "I think I shall call you Locke."

Pushing the cup from his mouth, the elf turned to Adras, an inquisitive look on his pale face.

"There is a mystery hidden inside of you my friend and together we will search for the key to unlock it." Adras pushed the cup back to the elf’s mouth, forcing more fluid into him.

No words were exchanged as the tea was finished and Adras eyed the elf. His fatherly side was bursting from him, he hadn’t felt this much responsibility for someone in years and it felt good to the old man. He hadn’t wanted to claim Dorias as his own since the death of his wife and the major change in his son’s personality. He felt sympathy for Dorias, but he also felt shame, they had not raised their son to be so inhumane and malicious.

As though he had known his father was thinking about him, Dorias threw the bedroom door open and stood, staring at the now awake elf. Adras quickly rose from the elf’s side, placing himself once again between his son and his charge. "Are you heading into town?"

Dorias ignored his father and stepped around him to stand over the elf, a snarl appearing on his scruffy face. "It is about time you woke." The elf tilted his head slightly to look upon the large man.

Adras stood close by watching his son, trying not to breath in the smell of body odor and alcohol that permeated the air around Dorias. He saw the elf scrunch his nose as the smell assaulted him.

"Now that you are better I think it is time that you leave elf." Spit sprayed from Dorias’ mouth as he slurred the words, obviously still intoxicated, and Adras stepped in to prevent further assault falling upon the elf.

"Dorias, go into town. Have something to drink." Adras straightened out his aged form, meeting his sons eyes with his own. "I am still your father and you will do as I say. Now get out." His voice remained calm and even and he could see the anger in Dorias rise.

Dorias’ eyes traveled back and forth between his father and the elf . Adras’ eyes never left his son and he took another step toward the dirty man almost daring him to defy his father. Deep down, however, the old man was terrified. He knew that Dorias had no respect for him and would not hesitate to go through him to get to the elf. Hope was what sparked his courage, hope that some of his wife still existed in his son and that would keep him from harming his father.

Dorias let out a huff of frustration and turned toward the cabin door. He didn’t say another word as he exited the home, slamming the door behind him, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor as he went. Adras watched him leave until the door banged shut, then turned back to the elf, a smile forced upon his face.

"You have just had the pleasure of formally meeting my son Dorias. I am sorry if he frightened you." Adras didn’t actually think that his son had frightened the elf. A stony expression had remained on the pale face as he had held Dorias’ gaze, and admiration as well as a severe sense of protection had grown within Adras even greater for the elf.

"Well, Locke, how would you feel about a little something to eat?" Adras forced a laugh as he turned to a cupboard and began removing items.

"Locke?" A sorrow filled voice responded. "I suppose it will have to do. But, what shall I call you?"

"I am called Adras and you are welcome in MY home for as long as you wish." Adras knew he had told Locke his name once before, but he wasn’t sure how this memory loss effected the elf. He would have to do some testing and some probing until he figured things out. Until they both figured things out. But one thing was for certain. Locke would be welcome to stay until he was well and could find his way home, it was just a matter of whether or not he could keep his own son under control. He stopped the thought. Did the elf have parents he wondered.

Anala’s Wrath, Angrod’s Path

Staring expressionless into the crackling fire, his mind miles and years away, Angrod was in a precarious position. Not immediately, however, if his trainers and captain could see him now he would spend the better part of a century on the receiving end of lectures and intense retraining.

It wasn’t so much that the young guard had ignored the decades of training that he had received but he had allowed his mind to wander and was, presently, oblivious to his current surroundings. His father would have his head had he known the unnecessary danger that Angrod had put himself in.

Night had fallen several hours ago and, although the dark elf wished to continue on his journey to Imladris, he knew it was unwise to travel after dark. Too easily it would have been to miss something of importance with just the light of the stars illuminating his path. Begrudgingly he halted his horse and set about making camp for, what was sure to be, a very long night.

Soon after setting the fire and coming to rest beside it, Angrod found himself lost in memories. A small smile began to appear on his generally stoic face as memories flitted through this mind.

"Surely you jest Angrod. One would be foolish to even think of crossing Anala’s path." Legolas laughed as he spoke and Angrod watched his Prince as he rose from the seat next to the fire and made his way toward the door of his private chamber.

"I assure you Legolas, I do not tell tales." The dark elf shifted slightly and opened the door, leading to the hallway

He moved swiftly into step next to the blonde elf prince. He knew exactly where Legolas was headed and hoped that the pair would get there in time. It would be a tragic day in Mirkwood, for sure, if they were not able to quell Anala’s rage., and allowed his friend to exit.

Legolas stopped abruptly, a sinister smile overtaking his fair features. "Perhaps we should pretend we never heard anything of this incident. Let him face her wrath on his own." The smile deepened and Legolas began to laugh, his musical mirth echoing off of the palace walls causing the royal maids to stop their work and watch their prince admiringly.

Angrod had always been aware of the effect the golden prince had on his people. Legolas lit up any room he entered and people stopped to listen to all that he had to say, which wasn’t much. The Mirkwood Prince was very reserved and spoke only when absolutely necessary.

"You cannot be serious Legolas. She will kill him." Angrod feigned pleading.

Laughter burst forth from Legolas once more. "Oh yes, he would definitely deserve it."

The pair began to move toward their destination once again, both trembling with glee. Both envisioning the sight in their own minds. Angrod’s imagination then wandered to the repercussions of the impending incident. He stopped once again, reaching out to grab Legolas by the elbow. "You do realize the twins will kill you, do you not?"

Legolas slowed in his steps but did not stop. "And you think I fear the twin sons of Elrond do you?" He spared a quick glance at his long time friend, his next statement coming out in a mere whisper. "Couple of softies."

Biting down on his lower lip to keep himself from bursting, Angrod took several large breaths to calm himself. The last thing that he needed to do was to explode into laughter at his Prince’s last declaration.

"My friend," Angrod began, stopping long enough to ensure Legolas focused his attention on him. "You are a fearless warrior, one of the bravest elves I have ever had the pleasure to know. But do not tell me that the thought of Elladan and Elrohir focusing their vengeful pranks on you does not cause you to quake in your boots."

"Angrod, if you do not watch your tongue then I will focus my vengeful pranks on you." Legolas looped his arm around Angrod’s shoulders pulling him along down the hallway.

"They already owe you for that incident with the horses, my Prince."

Legolas stopped at these words, gazing down the hallway lost in thought. He took another tentative step forward. "It is not the twins that we are gaining entertainment from this day."

Angrod chuckled lightly. "Nay, but they are always looking for an excuse to get you."

The golden elf shifted uneasily on his feet, his eyes darting back and forth between Angrod and the end of the hallway toward which they walked. He shook his head in response to some internal thought, the smile finally slipping from his regal face. The dark royal guard paused, searching Legolas’ deep blue eyes, an identical smile began to slip onto his own face and Angrod fought the humor he saw in the situation. "He would deserve it though wouldn’t he?"

"When was the last time you saw him?"

A loud pop from the fire ripped Angrod from his memories and he glanced about, cursing himself for his lax behavior. It was foolish to drop his guard while alone in the woods and it was something that could get a person killed.

"Seems foolish Woodelves are running rampant these days." He grumbled to himself as he rose from his spot next to the dying fire. His thoughts turned back to his reason for being so far from home. With that in mind he peered up between the thick branches that sheltered him to see that the sky was beginning in lighten to the East. Dawn was approaching and he could be on his way.

Less than a day and he would be in Imladris. Hopefully at that time he would receive answers to his lost Prince’s whereabouts. He forced himself to be optimistic about what he would find once he arrived in the home of Lord Elrond and his family and a picture of Legolas sitting with his feet up, reading, tickled the back of his mind. "Oh that I could be so lucky." He said to his horse as he tied his provisions over the animal’s back.

He remembered that Legolas had planned to journey with Estel back to Imladris and because the pair would already be traveling in the company of a host of elves from Imladris, Thranduil didn’t think it necessary for Angrod to accompany them. But that had been near a month ago, plenty of time for them to reach Imladris. The troublesome pair must have decided that the trip between the two elven realms had not been exciting enough and had sought some type of adventure.

The dark elf nimbly swung himself up onto his steed and heeled it into motion. He had a long ride ahead of him and his desire to reach Imladris and find his friend increased with each passing moment.

Several hours into his journey a light rain had begun to fall and Angrod repeatedly pushed his soaked hair out of his eyes as he tried to focus through the mist that surrounded him. The overlying tree branches seemed to bend in an effort to shield him from the incessant drizzle but to no avail.

The elf had needed to slow his horse as the terrain had become more rough. The evidence of numerous storms was everywhere. Soil had been washed away revealing tree roots and unearthing new plants. Flood beds had been formed from the overflow of water. Broken limbs dipped down into the pathway causing Angrod to have to duck several times to avoid losing his head.

The dark elf pulled his hood tighter about his face to shield him from the cold mist and tucked himself closer to his horse for warmth. He had almost slipped back into his previous, preoccupied state when a lithe form dropped from a nearby tree and stepped in front of his horse.

"A little off course?" The Imladris sentry inquired.

Angrod pushed his hood back revealing himself to the guard. He knew there were more nearby with their arrows trained on him and he didn’t want to do anything to alarm them. "I am Angrod of Mirkwood. I come seeking news on my Prince."

The sentry stepped forward, swinging his bow onto his back and placing a hand on the neck of Angrod’s horse. "Well met Angrod. I am Curin and I will guide you to Imladris where I am sure Lord Elrond will be eager to speak with you."

Angrod watched as Curin turned and gave a quick signal then proceeded down the path that he had already been following. The dark elf swung himself off of his horse and hurried to catch up to the sentry, knowing that his horse would follow. It would be easier to speak with Curin if they were both on foot.

"What news? Is Legolas in Imladris?"

Curin didn’t stop but pressed on in the now pouring rain, seemingly unfazed by the irritating moisture. "I am sorry Angrod but Legolas has not been seen in many weeks."

Angrod sighed in frustration and willed his aggravation away. He was tired, cold and feared for his friend, it would be easy to let his emotions get the better of him but he tried to remind himself that anger rarely accomplished much. "Have you any news at all Curin?"

Curin smoothly pushed a low hanging branch out of the way, barely slowing for the natural obstacle. "Estel returned over a week ago. He is severely injured and has been unable to speak. Legolas’ location is unknown." He stopped now, understanding the weight of his words. "My apologies Angrod, I know that you fear for your prince. Legolas is well loved in Imladris as well."

Angrod lifted a gentle hand, placing it on the sentries shoulder. "I know Curin." With no further words the two pressed on for the elven city and home of Elrond.

It was several hours later that they finally stepped over the bridge and into the courtyard outside of the noble elf lord’s home. There, standing on the steps, stood Elrond and his twin sons, waiting for the arrival of the Woodelf. The dark elflord moved forward to greet Angrod, his face stony and expressionless. Angrod searched Elrond’s eyes and demeanor for any showing of Aragorn and Legolas’ fate. Two sets of stoic eyes bored into one another, neither revealing anything to the other.

Pulling himself from Elrond’s searching gaze, Angrod hastily lifted his hand in greeting. "Lord Elrond."

"Welcome Angrod. It is good to see you again, although I wish our meeting were under better circumstances." Elrond paused, deepening his study of the younger elf. "I gather you have no news of Legolas."

Angrod’s breath hitched in his throat. It had been too much to hope for that things had changed during the time he had traveled from Mirkwood to Imladris. The vision of Legolas sitting comfortably in the Hall of Fire had been nothing more than wishful naivety. "I was hoping that you would have some news for me."

Elrond dropped his head then quickly glanced over his shoulder to his waiting sons. Elladan and Elrohir had both been optimistic at Angrod’s arrival, now they stood atop the stairs, their own expressions mirroring the lost, hopelessness on Angrod’s. "Come Angrod, there is someone you must see."

Wistfully Elrond turned and climbed the stairs leading into the main hall of his home. Angrod hurried to follow, stopping briefly to acknowledge Elladan and Elrohir as he passed. No words were exchanged between the three as Angrod clasped arms first with Elrohir then with his twin brother. The dark woodelf then continued into the house with the twin elves on his heels.

He had been to Imladris with Legolas on several occasions and knew Elrond’s home well so he was well aware of where he was being led. What he wasn’t prepared for was the sight that met him upon entering Estel’s room.

Angrod froze in the doorway, unable to force himself to move any closer to the bed where the young human lay. From where he stood, Angrod could see the fever plagued body of the young ranger. Beads of sweat covered his sallow features, the flesh surrounding his eyes and nose was red and inflamed. Taking a tentative step forward, Angrod could now clearly see the large bruise which decorated Estel’s jaw.

"Valar!" He bit his tongue to keep from expressing any more of the horror he felt. Inhaling deeply, he forced himself to turn away from the man lying motionless on the large bed. "This is how you found him?"

Elrond stepped to the bed and, taking a wet cloth from a bowl on the night stand, began to mop the sweat from Estel’s brow. "His injuries were more severe. The fever is taking its toll now and it is my primary concern."

"Any information on Legolas?" Angrod asked, his question overflowing with hope.

Elrond sighed deeply, pulling a chair next to his foster son’s bed. "Estel woke very briefly several days ago. He inquired as to Legolas’ location then became very distraught when he was told that the Prince was not here. That has led us to believe that the two were together when Estel was injured, however, we do not know where Legolas is." A sad, forced smile of attempted reassurance formed on the elflord’s face. "I am sorry."

A quiet shuffle came from behind Angrod and he turned to see Elladan and Elrohir enter the room, the same feigned smile on both of their faces. Elladan slowly stepped forward and placed his hand gently on Angrod’s shoulder. "We have searched the parameter but have found nothing. We are unsure of where Estel and Legolas were when they were attacked. All we can do is wait for Estel to wake."

Soft mumbling interrupted the grim conversation and all eyes flew to the young, deathly ill man. Estel’s head tossed back and forth, his lips moved rapidly but the words that could be heard were indiscernible. The three younger elves flew to the bedside and bent over the delirious patient. Brows furrowed in concentration as the four attempted to make out what Estel was saying.

A short minute after Estel’s agitation had begun, the young ranger fell still again. The death like pallor returning. Angrod slumped to the floor next to the bed, issuing a quivering sigh. Valar, if this is Estel’s state then how must Legolas fair?

Angrod raised his eyebrows at the question, it had been too easy to change the Prince’s mind and he wondered if there was some other incident for which the twins might owe revenge to the young prince.

"Just before I came to your private chambers. He seemed intent on his mission."

"Then we best hurry or he will surely be caught and Anala will not be pleased."

The two started at a slight jog down the hallway. They followed the maze-like corridors, getting closer and closer to their quarry. Making one last sharp turn, both sets of eyes fell upon the one they sought.

Angrod and Legolas froze, watching as the invader stared through the crack of the door. A tentative hand reached up to push the door open and Legolas jerked forward.

"ESTEL WAIT!"

Feeling Again

Time passed in a blur for the injured elf. Locke spent the next four days swinging in and out of consciousness as his injuries healed. Moments spent awake were passed with brief conversation and food consumption while trying to fight off head aches and the nausea they produced. There was an extreme desire to eat - the knowledge that the sustenance would aid in physical healing - but every time food passed his lips he almost instantly felt sick to his stomach.

Adras had quickly discovered that it would be in his, and the elf’s, best interest if a pail was kept right at hand for such moments it was needed and Locke was grateful. He would be eternally indebted to this man who, despite all logical reasoning, had taken him in and cared for him in his time of need.

Locke had managed to force himself to keep some of the teas and broths ingested down and could feel himself strengthening with each passing day. It was a strength that he knew he would come to need in the weeks ahead.

Despite the time that was needed to eat, the majority of the elf’s time was spent in sleep. It was a sleep that didn’t feel right to Locke, almost unnatural. When he did wake he would not feel completely rested and shortly after waking the call to return to sleep would be too much for him to fight.

Images that he did not recognize and that did not make sense haunted him in his sleep. Those images intertwined with visions of reality caused extreme confusion and intense frustration. These two profound feelings, building daily, resulted in an increase in the fatigue that already plagued Locke.

Now, just re-awoken, the elf stared at the log ceiling overhead trying to piece together the most recent series of images. Unable to discern the pictures he saw and the faces presented to him, the elf found himself studying the timbers stretched over his bed. Splintered and cracked, Locke began to wonder how it was that this old cabin remained standing. Tattered curtains were draped over the open windows. Gaps could be seen between the wood that made up the walls. Yet, he felt at home here, as though he belonged.

That feeling of belonging sent Locke’s thoughts off on another path. Did he feel as though he belonged here because he was unaware of where he did belong? Or did he even belong anywhere at all? Perhaps he wandered about, living where his feet took him. Perhaps the images he saw in his head were of those people he had met along the way. Or perhaps they weren’t. Maybe they were brothers, sisters and friends.

A lump began to grow in the elf’s chest and his heart began to ache and pound. Locke willed himself to calm and fight the anxiety, fear and depression that the blank memories brought into being. He urged himself to change the direction that his thoughts went but there was no place else to aim them. There were no other thoughts that could come to him because he couldn’t remember.

Pressure in his chest began to intensify and a cold sweat broke out on his face and Locke found himself struggling to control his breathing. Nothing would come to him. Did he have a father? A mother? Black images floated in front of his eyes, fogging his mind. What was his name? Why was he lying, almost dead, in the forest? He lifted a shaky hand to his face and swept away the damp particles, his fingers brushing over the bandages still tightly wrapped around his head. What has happened to me?

"You are awake." Adras’ gentle voice snapped Locke back to the present and he was thankful for the intrusion. The old man stood in the doorway, visually examining his patient. His brow creased and he took a tentative step forward. "Are you well?" Adras almost shouted as he dropped the basket of corn he had been carrying onto the wooden table and rushed to Locke’s side.

Locke lowered his hand from his face and watched the old man hurry to the bed, pulling a chair behind him and stopping next to the bed, where he quickly sat and took the elf’s hand in his own. Locke was comforted by the presence of this newfound friend. He swallowed deeply and shifted his eyes from where they still lay on the ceiling and focused them on Adras.

"I am fine now, thank you." His voice still sounded weak and wrong to him and Locke hesitantly cleared his throat, knowing that the pressure it created would cause his head to reel.

"You seemed distraught when I entered and looked as though you were about to be ill." Adras leaned further forward on his seat and peered deep into Locke’s eyes as though searching for the source of the elf’s discomfort.

Locke shirked away somewhat from the intimate probe even though he knew, somehow, that the man could not see what was really bothering him. He suspected that Adras looked more for residual effects caused by the multiple head injuries than he did for a window into his soul.

"It was just waking up in an unfamiliar place, realizing that it is the only thing that is familiar to me." Locke paused shortly reassessing what he had just said. "Oh, forgive me, that made no sense at all."

"Ah, but it does." Adras tightened his comforting grip on the elf’s hand. "I can not begin to imagine the pain and confusion that you feel, but I will do my best to help you get through this." He smiled warmly at the elf and Locke couldn’t help but return the smile. It was the first genuine smile he had expressed in days.

"Thank you." He stopped, noting that the pressure in his chest had eased and his heart had calmed. "For everything."

It grew quiet between the two and the only sound that could be heard was that of the creaking logs which made up their shelter. Once again, Locke found himself staring up at the ceiling wondering how this structure remained standing.

"Come then Locke." Adras risked breaking the peacefulness. "What can I do to help you right now?"

Locke sat still, contemplating the offer that he had just received. There was so much that he wanted to do. He wanted to take off on a horse and go in search of his past. He wanted to find out how he had ended up in his current predicament to begin with. But, he couldn’t. He was stuck, using all of his energy just to recover.

"Perhaps you could help me to sit on the porch?" He asked more that requested. He didn’t really know that it would be a good idea for him to be moving about but he suspected that the fresh air would ease his internal pain.

A smile formed on the old man’s face and he rose from the chair he currently occupied. Turning toward the door, he grabbed the chair and dragged in out onto the porch, placing it just outside the door. He swiftly made his way back into the cottage and across the room to the chest at the foot of the elf’s bed. He removed two, rather thick, blankets and hurriedly placed them outside next to the chair.

With a large smile painted upon his face he made his way back to Locke’s side. "It would be my pleasure."

Unsteadily Adras helped Locke rise from the bed which had been his home for the past several days. The two falteringly made their way toward the door. Locke leaned heavily on the old man, his own muscles weakened and tired. His vision seemed to spin rapidly as dizziness assaulted him. He could feel Adras straining under the added weight that his old joints and aging muscles were unaccustomed to. Shuffling and staggering slowly across the worn wooden floor the dismal pair finally managed to reach the door and the chair which lye just beyond.

Slumping unceremoniously into the seat, Locke let out a strained sigh at the relief of finally reaching his destination. His head swam and he clamped his eyes shut to slow the lightheadedness that ensued. He listened as Adras layered blanket on top of blanket over his lithe, injured form, the old man breathing heavily as he did so. The warmth that the blankets provided eased Locke’s discomfort some, but it was the gentle breeze tickling the exposed portions of his face that caused the elf to really feel tranquil.

Scuffing of another chair being dragged and placed next to his own forced Locke to open his eyes and look to the old man he had come to trust so explicitly.

"Does this help?" Adras’ gentle voice whispered.

"Aye. The fresh air eases my spirit." Locke breathed. "Thank you my friend."

A smile could be seen peering out beneath Adras’ thick beard and his eyes dipped to the porch floor in humility. He loudly cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. "Well, if you are just going to sit here I might as well put you to work, do you not agree?"

Before the elf could answer Adras was on his feet, sweeping back into the cottage. He was out of sight only briefly before he returned, a large basket of corn held just in front of him. "I assume that you know how to shuck corn." He handed the blond elf an ear of corn and watched inquisitively for any signs of distress.

Locke took the corn lightly in his right hand and turned it over. He did remember how to shuck corn, but he didn’t know how he remembered. Was it something he did with his mother? Was corn something that he liked? How could he remember something so trivial as shucking corn but he couldn’t remember his own name. His head began to ache more fiercely at the added stress and he lightly pressed the palm of his hand to his temple where the injury lay.

"Well come on now Locke, do not think that you can get out of a little work by feigning ill." The old man’s ever compassionate voice and smile pulled the elf out of his revery and Locke raised his head to Adras to see a quick subtle wink. He knew that the man was only attempting to distract him and he nodded ever so slightly to show his appreciation.

Gripping the husk he pulled back, feeling the often unnoticed muscles in his forearm working to remove the outer layer. Small bits of silk fell to the blanket, which was draped over his lap, and he was entranced by how well he could hear the soft threads as they made contact with the coverlet.

Several ears later he turned a curious eye to his shucking partner. "Adras?" Without lifting his head from his task the old man mumbled a response, letting the elf know that he had been heard. "Have you a thought as to how I came to be in the forest."

Adras didn’t stop in his work and Locke watched him and waited patiently for an answer to his question. If anyone could help him figure where he had come from, the old man was the only one.

"Nay son, I cannot begin to imagine what had befallen you to lead to such circumstance."

Locke sat, stunned at the response. Not so much surprised at the answer he had received, for he knew, deep down, that Adras couldn’t begin to understand what might have happened. It was the title that the old man had bestowed upon him that gave the elf pause. He had been called son by this man that he barely knew and yet the title was more comforting than anything else had been in the past days. That he felt safe in this man’s company was not new, that he felt love was.

The elf remained quiet for a time, fighting the lump and tightness that had began to grow in his chest again and the ache that had returned to his heart.

"Perhaps you could tell me what you know of elves. Perhaps that will help me to remember something of myself."

Adras leaned forward placing a soothing hand upon Locke’s knee. "I do not know much. You are the first elf that I have met. I have seen a few from a distance but never have I spoken with one until you stumbled into my life." He said this last part with a smile and a gentle squeeze of the elf’s knee then leaned back in his chair, resuming his previous task.

"I have heard that elves are magical. That they possess powers unknown to man."

Locke laughed lightly at this statement. "Well. I, for one, do not feel very magical at the moment."

Adras chortled at the remark and froze in his work once more. "Oh, but you are magical my friend." The old man kept his face hidden and he spoke in hushed tones. "You have made me feel life again and that is something that I have sorely missed."

Locke was speechless at what he had been told. He would be eternally grateful to Adras for the help he had given him and would never forget him, but he had not even begun to think that he may have had the effect on the old man that he had claimed.

"Forgive me Locke." Adras broke the silence. "I should not have spoken such things. Come, let us get this corn done and get you back inside before the chill becomes too much to bear."

Locke moved to protest but was quickly cut off. "Do not pretend that the cool air does not bother you. I have seen how you shrink down beneath the heavy blankets."

The elf gawked openly at the old man. Admiration flooded his soul and the ache in his heart all but vanished. The spirit and kindness of the man reminded him of someone. But for now, Locke was content to stay in his current friend and guardian’s company.

Author's Note: Again, italics represent memory.

Hope Awakes

His long struggle through the inky darkness was finally coming to an end. He had to make a decision. Long had he been swimming in this black bog, laboring not only with the blackness that consumed him but also with the decision to press forward or give in. Ever was the call of the darkness, promising rest and peace. The beckoning was so very tempting and yet hidden beneath the call to tranquility was the nagging feeling that the promised repose was not exactly what it suggested. Yet it seemed so much more appealing than the alternative in some aspects.

Said alternative being the two beings, flitting in and out of his sight on the distant shore of the abstruse river in which he swam. Familiar faces of loved ones, friends and family, stood steadily, coaxing him to shore. Eased voices and gentle pleas echoed around him, battling with the darker promises of peace for his attention. But, standing hand in hand with familiarity was the foreboding presence of pain, sorrow and fear.

It was this fickle companion that made him want to give into the more foreboding peace that the murky depths whispered of. Yet, every time he started dipping below the surface the familiar being on the shore would call louder to him, begging for his attention.

Digging in with everything he had, both physically and mentally, he pulled himself through the river, stretching out toward the shore. The waters lapped over his head, filling his ears, nose and mouth, stinging his eyes. He pushed on, fighting to break the surface of the darkness that surrounded him. His hands groped blindly for any lifeline he could find.

It suffocated him. Pressed against his chest. Clawed at him, pulling him in different directions. He tried to call out but the sound couldn’t break through the thick bog.

As he slowly dipped further beneath the surface, a warm gentleness engulfed him. It started in his hand and spread quickly through his body. He calmed his fighting and allowed himself to be comforted by the calm. A soft murmuring echoed through his head and he concentrated on the soothing sound. Words started to form amongst the hum and he struggled to comprehend. As the words became clearer he found himself completely giving in to the easing sensations.

Finally, a blinding, radiant light swarmed his vision and Estel opened his eyes.

Elrond had been watching the man fight his way back to consciousness for almost an hour now and the task had been agonizing for both of them. At times Estel seemed to be easing into awareness with no trouble at all. At other times his whimpering and gasping was almost too much for the Lord of Imladris to bear.

Elladan and Elrohir had left the Last Homely House just after sunrise, in the company of Angrod, in search for more clues as to Legolas’ whereabouts. Now, with the sun just touching the mountain peaks to the west, Elrond was more than happy that they would be returning soon. He hoped that their own gentle words and coaxing might aid Estel in his return to the natural world around him.

It was not to be had. As Elrond stood, gazing out the window of Estel’s sleeping quarters, a whispered plea called him back to the young man’s side. The swish of his long robes as he spun and made his way across the room drowned out the quiet words that slipped through his patient’s cracked lips.

He slid, gracefully into the chair, which had been ever present since Estel had returned in his current, devastated state. Long slender arms reached out, connecting with the young man. One hand taking Estel’s, the other placed gently on his patients pale brow.

“Estel.” Elrond’s firm, yet soothing voice called. “It is time for you to wake Estel.”

His head bowed, his lips producing soundless words, the Lord of Imladris continued to call to the young man. He felt Estel stir slightly beneath his touch and increased his attempts to rouse the young man.

“Come Estel. Wake!”

The room fell quiet once again, the healer sat completely motionless, mirroring his patient, his hands still connecting him to the young man. Elrond felt his hope dwindling as Estel seemed to sink deeper into the cushioning of the bed. With a great sigh he broke his connection with the young man and slowly opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him made his heart swell with happiness.

Grey eyes stared painfully back at him, the light that was usually overabundant within seemed dim with heartbreak and hurt. Estel’s mouthed moved, attempting to speak, the only sound coming was that of a soft murmur. Recognizing the sounds of a dried, unused voice, Elrond reached to the night stand and took to glass of cool water that rested there. He pressed the glass to Estel’s mouth and allowed the young man to consume greedily, only pulling the liquid away once the glass was emptied.

Estel didn’t attempt to speak again, instead his eyes roved about the room, taking in his surroundings. He craned his neck to look into dark corners, his brow creasing at the pain that the movement caused. Several moments later the young man deserted his search and his saddened eyes returned to Elrond.

“Legolas?” His voice still rasped with lack of use.

Elrond’s shoulders slumped slightly and he knew his own countenance seemed to dim more. “He is not here Estel.”

“I lost him.” Estel gasped as he turned his head away from the Lord of Imladris.

Elrond reach out once more, taking Estel’s hand into his own again. “Peace. Elladan, Elrohir and Angrod are out searching even now. He will be found.”

Estel turned back to the healer once more, a questioning look in his eyes. “Angrod?”

“Aye. He arrived two days past and has been hard pressed to find Legolas since his arrival. He will be much pleased at your awakening.” Elrond’s voice exuded the happiness that his face belied.

Estel held Elrond’s gaze, his eyes appearing tired and dull. His chest hitched as though he were holding back a great sob and Elrond moved his hand tenderly to cover his patient’s heart. “Estel?”

“Nay. Angrod will not be pleased.” Estel sobbed, his voice coming out clear and strong, if not anguished, now. “I have lost Legolas. He will not be found. I have failed them all.”

“Easy Estel. You have just woken, I do not want you working yourself into a frenzy.” Elrond rose from the bed and stepped to the door. He opened it a crack and called to a nearby attendant, requesting some broth and tea. Leaving the door partially open he returned to the bedside he had only momentarily abandoned. “You will eat some and then when the twins and Angrod return you can tell us all what has transpired.”

Elrond and Estel both sat in peace, contemplating what had occurred over the past days. The Lord of Imladris watched his young patient as sadness seemed to darken his spirit even more. He had never seen the human look so lost and hopeless. Not even upon his initial arrival into Rivendell as a child did Estel appear so forlorn. Of course, he had had his mother to comfort him and make him feel safe and secure, but even her subsequent death did not seem to quash his optimism like the recent events had.

Elrond felt it must have been the guilt that Estel was feeling that was leading to such a sorrowful, somber attitude. If Estel blamed himself for Legolas’ absence, and he obviously did, then the burden would weigh him down more than anything else.

It was the cause of these feelings that perplexed Elrond most. Legolas was a skilled and talented warrior, he had never had difficulty defending himself and his loved ones, not even when he was very young, just learning how to wield a bow. So why did Estel feel responsible for what had occurred? Elrond was typically a very patient elf, but recent events had greatly tested that patience, none so much as waiting for his sons to return so that some light could be shed on this mystery.

Subtle creaking from the chamber door pulled Elrond’s attention to the entryway and just as if they had known that their father was awaiting their return, twin personages appeared in the room, looks of apprehension mirrored in their visages. Standing just beyond, his own fair face looking anxious and distressed, stood Angrod and Elrond knew that they had not discovered anything new regarding Legolas. Perhaps Estel’s waking would ease their troubled expressions, he hoped.

The trio looked exactly like they had been out digging under rocks and searching the highest treetops. Their clothes were dust covered, their hair disheveled, the faintest of scratches was etched down Angrod’s left cheek. They looked broken, both physically and spiritually and yet, if one looked close enough, the slightest glimmer of hope could be seen deep within each set of eyes.

Elrohir was the first to break the edgy quiet that had fallen over the room. He whisked to Estel’s bedside, falling upon his knees, his elbows dropping onto the cushion next to the injured man’s body. “Thank the Valar you are awake Estel.” he breathed. “Oh how you have been missed!” He reached out a sturdy hand and placed it over Estel’s chest.

Elladan was next to follow, almost mirroring his brother’s actions on the opposite side of the bed. He spoke no words, the evidence of his feelings clearly written upon his face.

Estel looked between the pair, smiling faintly at each of them. His weary eyes then fell upon the fourth, most quiet figure in the room. “Angrod. Please forgive me.”

Angrod stood frozen. Confusion etched its way slowly onto his face causing his brow to crease and the corner’s of his mouth to twitch as though he did not know how to respond. He took a tentative step forward, ignoring the studious stares from Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir.

“Angrod.” Estel’s cracking voice continued as he fought back the tears. “Please. I am so sorry...”

Angrod raised his hand, his palm facing Estel, hushing the injured man. “Estel, I know not of what you speak. There is naught of which you have done that requires forgiveness.”

The tears fell this time, Estel was no longer able to hold them back. “I lost him Angrod. I do not think he can be found.”

Angrod’s chin fell to his chest at these words and Elrond knew he needed to step in. The confusion and sorrow in the room was smothering. “Estel, can you tell us what happened? Do you have the strength?”

Estel swallowed hard and steeled his emotions. He raised a shaky hand to his jaw, gently rubbing at the bruise there as though remembering. His eyes darkened as he began to speak. “Legolas and I had been traveling in the West, along the Bruinen, hunting as we went. We stopped within several small villages and settlements as we went, gathering supplies and information...”

The pair moved easily and naturally along the path which shadowed the Bruinen. Had it not been for their constant bantering and lighthearted conversation one would have thought they were trying to hide their presence. But this was a time in which neither felt danger resided around the next curve.

They had traveled long together, each taking their journey seriously. Not speaking and completely focused on their surroundings. Experience had taught them to look for small changes in the dirt and grass they walked upon. Listen for changes in the song of the birds and movement of the other forest creatures. It was only recently that they had let their guard down, becoming weary of the constant stress and fatigue that was caused by their diligent observation.

“Watch this fallen branch Estel,” the elf’s musical voice rang. “I would not want you to trip and injure yourself.” A grunt was the only response that Estel would allow the elf and he bit down on his tongue as he heard his friend attempt to muffle a laugh. “Estel, there is a small rabbit hole here, watch your step.”

“Legolas!” The man could hold back his frustration no longer. “It was one time and if I recall correctly it was your actions which led to my ending up in such a precarious position.”

Legolas didn’t attempt to hide his amusement this time. Instead, he let lose with his delight, the melodic sound resulting in mimicking responses from surrounding creatures. Birds flitted about the trees excitedly, squirrels and rabbits peered out of their hollows in curiosity.

“See, it is that behavior of which I speak.” Estel feigned annoyance.

“Little can be said of the memory of humans, my friend, and you have not helped that argument any today.” Legolas paused to look his friend in the face and Estel knew that he did this in order to better read his friend. “I was merely saying hello to our forest friends.”

Estel found himself now laughing in response to Legolas’ coyness. Shaking his head he easily stepped around the elf and continued on the path they had started on earlier in the day. They managed to travel in silence for only a short while before the elf began his teasing anew.

“Estel, mayhap it would be best if I led so that I might point out any hazards that cross our path.”

Estel didn’t stop, rather he swooped down and scooped up a large dirt clod, he measured its weight in his palm and casually glanced over his shoulder to get an idea of the elf’s distance behind him. Then, very nonchalantly, he tossed the clod over his shoulder. He knew that Legolas would easily dodge the mass but he also knew that the elf would be too at ease for what came next.

After tossing the clump into the air, Estel spun and scooped up another fistful of dirt. This particular ball he threw directly at Legolas, pelting the elf dead center of the chest. “It appears that it is you who is unable to spot oncoming obstacles, my friend.”

The two had obviously spent hours in each others company because the expressions on each of their faces was identical. Both pursed their lips into a thin line, the corners pulling upward, neither wanting to be the first to laugh.

“Estel...” The elf was cut off by the approach of many horses from surrounding directions. Legolas whipped his bow from his back as Estel grasped the pommel of his sword. Neither had time to prepare a better defense as a small group of men, numbering six, broke from the trees around them, each with a crossbow resting gently in their laps.

They were surrounded on all sides, their backs to each other, neither moved to attack, both stood on the defensive, waiting to see what these men wanted.

“Hello my fellow travelers.” A tall, dark haired man called as he swung himself from his horse and stepped up to Estel.

“Well met.” Estel responded as Legolas turned to face the same man. “Is there aught we can assist you with?”

“That remains to be seen.” The man circled around the pair, his eyes roving over each of them. “What, may I inquire, is such an odd pair doing traveling in these woods?”

Estel glanced over at Legolas, seeing a look of annoyance on the elf’s face at being stopped. “We are doing just that, traveling. We did not know that travel in these woods was forbidden.”

The man paused now, less than a foot from Estel’s right side. “Do not get smart with me. We patrol these woods and maintain the safety of travelers. You, nor your friend, made it known that you would be passing through.”

“No man owns these woods and we can ensure our own safety.” Legolas stated evenly.

“Indeed.” The rest of the men surrounding Legolas and Estel dismounted and took up their same positions on the forest floor around them. “Well, things seem to have changed since you last traveled this way, elf.”

The man slowly raised his crossbow and aimed it directly at Estel’s chest, the other five men mirroring his actions, three pointing at Legolas, and three at Estel. “Now, I am more than willing to let you pass without any trouble, I will just require a small tax.”

“We have no money.” Estel hissed, his hand gripping his sword handle tighter. “Nor do we carry anything of value.”

The man jabbed Estel lightly with the tip of the arrow that protruded from the end of his crossbow, his expression growing darker. “Oh, I don’t know, that sword and the elf’s knives sure look as though they could fetch a handsome price. Remove them and drop them before you.”

++++++++

A knock on the chamber door caused Estel to stop and Elrond moved to the door to allow entry. The attendant stepped in, a silver tray held before him, and moved across the room to set it upon the bedside table.

“I think now is a good time to pause and let Estel have some much needed nourishment.” Elrond lifted the bowl of broth from the tray and took the chair next to the bed once more. “You three go, clean up, Estel will continue once he has had something to eat.”

Decisions Consequence

The reality of the situation had sunken in even before the man had finished speaking the words and Estel glanced to his left, out of the corner of his eye, to see how Legolas was taking the news.

His fair face was unreadable. The elf did not betray his thoughts or emotions even slightly. If Estel didn’t know any better he would have thought Legolas to be sleeping, so blank was his countenance. Turning his head just a fraction, Estel finally saw it. That minute glow in Legolas’ eyes that gave him away. Anger, frustration, anxiety and a small sprinkling of fear for good measure. The Prince of Mirkwood could not fool the young, would be Ranger.

Estel knew that the pinpoint of fear that he could see in his friend’s eyes was not for Legolas’ own well being, but for that of himself. Estel was certain that Legolas was weighing his options on how to get his troublesome, human friend to safety.

The elf’s left hand gripped his bow tightly, his knuckles whitening with the pressure of his firm hold. Legolas’ other arm dangled loosely at his side, the fingers twitching slightly in preparation for the quick arming of his weapon. He held his stance wide and Estel could see that his friend was constantly surveying the men who surrounded them.

Shuffling on his right, the sound of the rolling of small pebbles beneath booted feet, forced Estel’s attention back to the scruffy man who had stopped the traveling pair. His own grey eyes met those of his way-layer

"Was there something of what I said which you have had difficulty understanding?" The man growled as he stepped around to face Estel more directly.

Estel’s hand grasped the pommel of his sword tighter. "I have already told you that we have nothing of value for you."

A sinister smile spread over the robber

Thad, the man whom had been addressed, responded with a chuckle of his own before stepping forward to stand next to his companion. "Nay Rathir. I do not feel that he holds the integrity of an honest man."

The absurdity of that statement echoed through Estel’s head and he narrowed his eyes at the pair as they casually moved themselves between Legolas and himself. "I am in awe that the word integrity is even in your vocabulary."

Legolas shifted in an attempt to move around the pair and position himself closer to Estel but was stopped abruptly by a strong hand placed firmly upon his shoulder. Thad’s smile had fallen from his face and he eyed the elf greedily.

"My ‘vocabulary’ should be the least of your concerns right now." Rathir hissed as he swung his crossbow from his right hand to his left and in one swift movement swung the weapon around striking Estel squarely in the jaw with the stock

Estel hit the dirt hard on his hands and knees, the sting of the blow radiating across his jaw. He slowly lifted his mud covered hand to his face, soothing the area of assault. His mouth quickly filled with blood and Estel spit the contents onto the earth, just between Rathir’s booted feet, which were planted just before his head.

The thief reached down and quickly disarmed Estel of his sword and tossed the weapon to a near standing companion. "Now, tell your pet here to relinquish his weapons or you will be praying that an injured jaw is the worst thing to happen to you today."

Estel turned his dipped head to the side, looking to where he knew the elf stood. Legolas’ stance had changed dramatically. The Mirkwood Prince was now on his own knees, the hands of Thad still placed firmly upon his shoulders. The two friends exchanged heavy looks as Estel slowly pushed himself off of his hands and onto his heels.

As his head became erect, Estel was greeted once again with the hospitality that was Rathir. The large man grasped Estel by the hair, twisting his fingers in the young man’s dark locks. "I will not tell you again, command your servant to hand his weapons over to Thad or it will be the end of both of you!"

Legolas shifted then, raising his hand, bow still firmly in his possession and reached the weapon out toward Thad and in that moment time seemed to slow to a crawl. Just as Thad was about to take the bow from Legolas, the elf released his hold, allowing his prized possession to fall to the ground.

Before the bow even hit the dirt Legolas was in motion. He spun on his knees and pushed himself up, swinging around Thad and coming to a standing position behind him. With all the strength he could muster, he shoved the filthy man before him, knocking his assailant to the ground and into the knees of Rathir.

Rathir lurched forward, his fingers still twisted in Estel’s hair and his feet entangled with the body of his companion. His balance off and only one hand to catch himself, Rathir released his hold on Estel and fell roughly to his knees, landing almost on top of his one time captive.

As the remaining men surrounding the toppling trio stood, staring in awe at what was transpiring, Legolas leaped into the air above the grounded group and came down, straddling Rathir. He wrapped his long, slender fingers around the man’s neck and pulled him to his feet while concurrently pulling his knife from his belt and placing it just below Rathir’s chin, pressing it tightly against his neck.

"I am no one’s pet."

With Rathir’s back pressed to his chest, Legolas scanned the remaining men. Those left standing, encircling the scene made tentative steps forward in hopes of helping their ringleader. "Stay put or I will slit his throat." Legolas shouted. "Estel?"

Estel rose slowly, pushing Thad away from him as he did so. "I am well."

Legolas’ eyes didn’t stray from those who surrounded them. "Move out Estel, I will be right behind you."

Estel didn’t question the elf’s command, rather he took off through the trees, knowing that Legolas would be just behind him.

His faith in his friend was not misguided. As he wove between the trees, ducking low hanging branches and vaulting fallen ones, the unmistakable trotting of a fast approaching horse disturbed the rhythmic pumping of blood that echoed through his head. The sound of the oncoming horse grew louder and louder as Estel continued to make his way amongst the thick nature.

"Estel!" The sound of Legolas’ voice stopped Estel in his tracks and he turned just in time to see his friend swoop his hand down and take a fist full of tunic. Estel was swung through the air’s dirty face and his shoulders began to shake with laughter as he turned to one of his own men. "What say you Thad? Do you think our friend here is telling the truth?", knocking the young man to the ground., dangling by the collar of his tunic and landed, unceremoniously on the rear of the horse, just behind his good friend. He wrapped his arms tightly around Legolas’ slender waist and the pair continued their race through the forest atop their newly acquired steed.

"Watch the tree branches Estel." Legolas called over his shoulder as he bent forward, allowing Estel enough room to also duck beneath a low hanging branch. The weight of the water from the frequent rainstorms had caused the branches to bow lower than usual, creating very dangerous obstacles., one hitting his left shoulder, the other his right lower back. He tried to hold back a cry, but the shock of the blow was too much and Estel allowed a small shriek to escape him.

It was just then, right when Estel had begun to feel safe from their attackers, that he was hit with the most blinding, raging pain he had ever felt. Two thick, barbed arrows struck him simultaneously in the back

Legolas had obviously heard the cry and twisted his head around to look to his friend. "Estel?"

Estel gripped Legolas tighter and nodded his head in admittance of the strike. His vision was quickly fading and he wasn’t quite sure if he had seen or imagined what happened next. Legolas flipped his right leg over the head of the horse and, while maintaining his hold on the horses saddle dropped to the ground and jumped back up, coming to sit now behind Estel. The elf pushed at the wounds and the last thing Estel remembered, before slipping into unconsciousness, was the snapping of arrows.

*** 

"Legolas was the one who broke the arrows off then?" Elrond asked.

The room had fallen silent and Estel lifted his misted eyes to the occupants. Sometime during the retelling of the events, Glorfindel and Erestor had appeared. Estel raised a trembling hand to his face, brushing away a stray tear.

"Forgive me my distress." He whispered as he fought to compose himself. "I do not remember anything else. I do not know where he is or what became of him." He turned his focus once more to Angrod, the dark elf stood dumbstruck, staring out the window above Estel’s bed. "I have failed my dearest friend. I have betrayed my brother."

Angrod, dropped his chin to his chest and drew in a deep breath. He then raised his eyes to look at the injured man. A subtle shaking of his head could be barely perceived as he spun on his heel and flew from the room.

***

Smoke snaked through the air of the dark tavern. It was barely midday and the tavern was packed with loud, rowdy customers. The laughter of drunken men reverberated about the small, cramped room. Ale sloshed over mug tops, hitting table tops and floors as the boisterous occupants tossed back their heads in mirth.

At the head of the room, just inside the door, was a long bar and at one end sat a young man, well built, with a scar above his right eye, just delving into his next beer. He had obviously had too many to drink this night and had lost count as to the number of drinks he had consumed quite a while ago. But, Dorias was a regular in this tavern and his money was never denied.

He sat in silence, brooding over the many ill hands that life had dealt him. The loss of his mother, the weakening of his father and the sudden, disturbing presence of the elf.

That elf, the one who had, for all intents and purposes, taken his father from him. Adras had not been the same since that elf had been dragged into their lives and Dorias was more than anxious to see the blonde creature out of their home.

It wasn’t like he was home all that much anyway, but when Dorias wanted a place to lay his head to recover from a long night of over-imbibing, there was no place like home. Yet now, he couldn’t go home. He didn’t feel welcome in his own home. The elf was unnerving. His eyes would bore straight through an individual and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he had heard that elves had magical powers. Dorias just knew that this Locke had cast some type of spell over his father.

It was comments regarding an elf that stunned Dorias from his own thoughts, the coincidence of the spoken words causing his ears to perk.

"Not many men can say they have removed an elf’s weapons while the creature yet lived." A nearby man laughed, his words resounding over all other noise in the room.

Dorias slowly turned on his stool, his mug of ale clutched tightly in his hand and looked to the table of men directly behind him. Half a dozen males surrounded the table, which was cluttered with empty glasses and plates with half eaten meals. Dorias recognized a few of the men as regulars within the tavern, but some he had never before laid eyes on.

"Hah! Aye, it is unfortunate that he chose not to cooperate, otherwise he might still be alive." One man guffawed.

"Hush!" Rathir, a man Dorias had seen many times before ordered. "If it were not for that infuriating creature we might have made off with more than just a sword, a knife and a useless bow. Had he survived the fall I would have killed him with my own two hands."

Dorias leaned slightly forward on his seat, hoping to get a better idea of who the elf they spoke of might be. Could it be the very same one who now resided under the roof of his home? Could these men be the solution to his problem?

"Hey, you." Dorias’ head snapped up at the call and his eye’s met those of Rathir. "Is there something that we can help you with?"

Dorias tilted his head in confusion, not quite sure of what this man wanted.

"You seem quite intent on joining our conversation and yet, I do not recall inviting you." Rathir rose from his seat and stepped toward Dorias.

"Rathir, sit down, I do not want any of your trouble here." The bartender called from behind the bar.

Rathir didn’t slow his progress, rather he picked up the pace and came to stand next to Dorias. "Relax my man. We are just having a conversation. Is not that right friend?" Rathir clapped Dorias on the back and Dorias in turn took a large swallow of his ale in an attempt to calm his nerves.

"Aye, that is correct. No trouble here." Dorias turned back and placed his now empty mug on the bar. "I will take another Markin and one for my new friend here as well." He gestured to Rathir.

Rathir feigned a smile and leaned heavily on the bar. "Thank you. Now, tell me, what did you hear that you found so interesting."

Dorias remained still, his eyes trained straight ahead. "I heard talk of an elf that caused you some trouble and I must admit, you piqued my curiosity."

Rathir’s eyebrows raised, nearly becoming lost within the thick, dark hair that fell around his face. "Are you friend to elves?"

Dorias’ lip curled in disdain and he held back a growl that was rising in his throat. "Quite the opposite actually."

Rathir didn’t respond to the comment, rather he bobbed his head around in acknowledgment of the statement. He reached his arm to his mug of ale, hoisting the beverage eye level and peering into the amber liquid.

"You spoke as though you had an unfortunate run-in with one of those tree loving annoyances." Dorias continued.

Rathir continued to bob his head in acquiescence. He took a large swig of his beverage before speaking. "Aye, we met one on the road who gave us some difficulty, but he will cause no more trouble now. He is dead."

Dorias furrowed his brow in confusion at what was said. Perhaps Locke was not the same elf these men spoke of afterall.

"The elf stole my horse and we pursued. He did not use the renowned reflexes that elves are famous for. He struck a low hanging tree branch at high speed and was thrown from the animal. Upon landing, he struck his head upon a large boulder. There ain’t no one who can survive a fall like that." Rathir paused, a look of sadness crossed over his face. "It is unfortunate really, I still never recovered my horse. But, then again, I did gain a few nice weapons, not a bad trade really."

"What did this elf look like?" Dorias enquired.

"They all look the same to me." He responded, taking another large swallow of alcohol. "This particular one was blonde and extremely haughty."

Dorias allowed the information to role around in his head for a moment, his eyes pasted to the wooden planks that made up the tavern floor. If he were able to get rid of that elf then perhaps he could regain his father’s favor. He didn’t relinquish his stare with the next words. The statement just tumbled from his lips without much more thought. "What if I told you that your elf lived and that I knew where he was?"

He now raised his head to look Rathir in the face. The sinister grin that flooded the man’s face sent shivers down his spine and Dorias began to wonder if he had just made a huge mistake.

***

Leandir sat on the stoop of his office watching the goings on of the small village. It wasn’t cold out but he had his hood pulled up over his head, the purpose of which to mask his eyes. It was always better if the villagers didn’t know he was watching, observing their every move.

A small tendril of his early graying hair fell from beneath the hood and framed the side of his rugged face. He was quite young for someone in his position, but it was his standing that had lead to the discoloration of his once brown hair.

He hadn’t necessarily wanted to be the marshal of this village, but when he had arrived in the small community, some years ago, situations beyond his control had lead to his appointment. He couldn’t very well leave the people unprotected so he had conceded to stay and keep an eye on things. A decision he had regretted at times. But, more often then not, he was pleased with his decision to stay.

Today was about to become one of those days that would make him question his decision.

As he shifted in his seat to get a better view of the main road that ran through the village, passing the main structures of the inn, pub and his own office, the sound of many, fast moving, horses reached his ears. Leandir slowly rose from his seat and slid his hood from his head, his graying locks falling forward.

It was at this same moment that some half a dozen horses flew past his office, kicking up dust. Leandir recognized a few of the riders as men who recently passed through but it was the man leading the pack and the man bringing up the rear that caught his attention.

"Now what in all of Middle Earth are those two doing together?" He stepped down off of the stoop to watch the group as they headed out of the village. "Dorias and Rathir. Nothing good can come of this."

Leandir turned on his heel and walked briskly to the back of his office where he kept his horse. For obvious reasons the animal was kept in saddle and was ready to go when he arrived. With a quick pat to the horses neck Leandir swung himself up and turning the animal quickly went in pursuit of the fleeing bunch.

Breaking Hearts

It was shaping into a very beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly overhead and a gentle breeze tickled Adras’ skin as it passed by, weaving its way between the trees that he and the elf walked amongst.

"How do you fare? Should we return to the cabin?" He asked his new, blond friend.

Locke lifted his eyes to the branches above and a small, delicate smile appeared on his lips. "I feel better than I have in days. The trees seem to give me energy."

Adras returned the smile. It was hard not to smile at this being. The elf was a wonder to behold, even in his oversized clothing. Adras had lent Locke some of Dorias’ outerwear and the large, baggy clothing made the elf appear even younger and more frail than he had previously. The black color contrasted sharply with the elf’s pale skin and the thick pant-legs and sleeves of his tunic needed rolling to allow movement.

Walking with Locke was a gift from on high. Moving at a pace that didn’t tire the old man out and allowed him to spend time absorbing nature, Adras couldn’t help but allow his smile to grow. He adored every moment that he spent with Locke and he suspected that the elf felt the same way. Locke made him feel alive again, made him laugh and cry. In short, Locke made him feel.

In a deep, dark place at the back of his mind, Adras almost hoped that Locke’s memory would never return. It was a selfish thought, but the elf was becoming like a son to him and Adras hated the idea of losing him.

‘But what must his family feel of his absence?’

The smile slipped now and Adras stopped on the path the pair had been traversing. A split second later Locke also stopped and turned to look at the old man, a questioning look on his fair face. The elf didn’t speak but stepped closer to Adras and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Locke?" Adras began. "Have you had any improvement in your memory?"

Locke’s slender hand slid from Adras’ shoulder and his eyes fell to the forest floor. His silence persisted as he turned and began walking once more.

Adras lurched forward in pursuit of the elf. "Locke?"

Pausing briefly to watch a small butterfly flit across his path, Locke sighed heavily. "Your hospitality has been so wonderful that I find myself fearing a return to a world that I do not know. What if the world I come from has nothing but disdain for me? What would happen if my memory were to return and it is only horrible and dark?"

Adras felt his heart drop into his stomach at the mention of such a possibility. He reached out his wrinkled hand and gently grabbed the elf’s elbow. "Then you shall stay here, with me." The smile that reappeared on Locke’s face was so warm and exuded such appreciation that it warmed the old man’s heart.

"Come, if you are enjoying yourself so much, then there is no need to return home." Adras chuckled as he resumed his path between the trees.

They walked in silence for a while, Locke enjoying the nature that surrounded him and Adras enjoying the comfortable silence of his companion. The air felt warm but the gentle breeze kept either of them from feeling the heat. Birds sung in the treetops overhead and Adras found himself smiling ever bigger when he noticed that they became more animated and persistent when the elf passed beneath them. Never had he seen one have such an effect on all that he came into contact with.

So engrossed in the songs of the feathered creatures that he nearly knocked Locke over when he failed to notice that the elf had stopped. Adras didn’t say a word, he just stood, observing his companion. Locke stood still, his arm outstretched and his palm pressed flush with the trunk of a rather large, old oak tree. His eyes seemed blank as they stared openly ahead, his head was cocked sideways in, perceived, contemplation.

"Do you hear it?" Locke whispered, a look of contentment overcoming his features.

Adras leaned forward, ever so slightly, tilting his ear to the sky in hopes of understanding what it was that the elf spoke of.

"It is beautifull." Locke twisted his head to look to the old man. "Adras, can you hear it? Can you hear the trees?"

Adras’ brow crinkled in confusion and he stepped closer to the elf and placed his own hand upon the tree just next to Locke’s long slender one. "I hear nothing my young friend."

Locke didn’t speak then but continued to stand utterly still. The only sign of movement being the slight rise and fall of his eyebrows as though in response to a long, wonderful story being told by an old, dear friend. His pale faced lightened in another, more radiant smile and Adras’ heart sang to see the elf so happy.

"What do they tell you?" He questioned the elf, moving his head even closer to that of his friend’s.

Locke released a joyous chortle. "It is more emotion than words. They are happy. They act as though they are greeting an old friend. It is as though they sing. It is the most beautiful sound that I have heard."

Adras stood beside the elf for a long moment, not wanting to interrupt in the child’s moment of happiness. The conversation between the two continued and the aged gentleman watched in silence for a time before stepping back and leaning against a nearby tree to give Locke some space and time. Raising his eyes to the overhead branches, the man noticed that the birds had quieted some and the limbs seemed to bend in closer to overhead as though sheltering the pair from the warmth of the sun as midday resigned itself to early evening.

He found himself studying Locke as Locke studied what the trees sang of. As his eyes scanned over the elf, Adras kept finding himself drawn back to the child’s head, still bound very tightly beneath a blue bandage. The wrapping covered the tips of his pointy ears but the ends of the laceration could be seen peering from beneath, just behind the delicate feature. Adras knew that the two head injuries still greatly plagued Locke but the elf hid his pain and discomfort well. Blond hair poured out to the bandage and spilled down the elf’s back, shining brightly against the black of his borrowed tunic.

Then, Locke gasped and pulled his hand from the tree and Adras found himself rushing to the elf’s side. "What is it child? Are you well?"

Locke turned frightened and confused eyes to the old man and grasped Adras’ wrinkled hand with his own. "Their song shifted. Something comes."

Adras twisted his head around, scanning the small forest around them. The birds song continued and even though the trees had darkened slightly with the lowering of the sun, the forest seemed safe and secure. "I think you have had too much air. It is time for us to return home. Come."

Locke seemed to shake himself out of the shock and moved with Adras toward the edge of the trees. Adras found himself continuously looking over his shoulder to ensure that his young charge followed. The sudden change had frightened him and he worried ever more for Locke. Perhaps the child wasn’t as well as Adras had thought.

"Thank you for bringing me out here Adras. The turning leaves are magnificent." Locke smiled and Adras could detect the elf’s attempt to ease his aging, worried mind.

Adras dipped his head in agreement. "Aye, the flaming colors are beautiful but I prefer the green leaf of summer."

Locke’s sudden absence beside him forced the old man to stop and turn in search of his young friend. The elf stood several feet behind him, his palm pressed tightly to his head, just over his left ear. "Locke?" Adras queried.

"Green leaf." Locke’s voice was so soft that Adras had to strain his aging ears to understand what the elf said.

"Locke, what is it child?"

"Green leaf." Locke breathed, his brow creased as though in pain or deep thought. "I know that voice."

Adras stretched out a tentative arm to the elf, placing his shaking hand upon the child’s shoulder. "Locke,?" He could see that his young charge was experiencing a brief moment of remembrance. Something had been revealed and whatever that something was, it had an emotional effect on the elf. Adras raised a wrinkled finger to the elf’s cheek and brushed away a light tear. The old man’s heart seem to be tearing in two. Happy that the elf seemed to be improving. Sad that he had come a step closer to losing his heart.

"ADRAS!"

Both elf and man startled out of the moment as the yell that rang through the air sending birds fleeing and forest animals scurrying to hide. Adras gripped the elf’s arm tighter and the elf swayed some at the disturbance of their peaceful afternoon.

"ADRAS. GET OUT HERE OLD MAN!"

Locke shifted, turning to face his caregiver. "Who is it? What do they want?"

Adras leaned from left to right, twisting his neck in the direction of his home from which the yell seemed to originate. He strained to see between the thick trunks in hopes that he could get a glimpse of who sought him.

"I know not child. Stay here, I will call to you when it is safe to come home."

Locke moved to resist the request but Adras expected this and held a quieting hand up to the elf. "Nay, Locke. Stay put."

Before Locke could object further, Adras turned and hurried, as fast as his old legs could carry him, back toward the cabin. Along the way he found himself quickly glancing over his shoulder to ensure that Locke had not followed. So worried was he about the elf that his own well-being did not even cross his mind.

"ADRAS!"

Stepping out of the woods, Adras was stunned to see his son, sitting atop a large horse, surrounded by half a dozen men, none of which he recognized. He forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead, not wanting to give up the knowledge that Locke was hiding in the woods.

"Dorias. What is going on here?" Adras called across the way to his son. "I was in the woods hunting mushrooms. Has something happened? Are you well?"

Dorias dropped his chin to his chest and Adras stopped in his tracks, stumped by the obvious disgrace that he saw in his son’s eyes.

"Dorias is fine old man." Adras swung his gaze to a tall man sitting just to Dorias’ right. The man wore a heavy, blue cloak over brown leggings - although Adras debated shortly as to the original color of said leggings. His dark hair hung down to his shoulders and his tanned face was hidden behind a week’s worth of stubble. "Where is the elf?"

Adras felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and he glanced back to Dorias, knowing now why his son appeared so shamed. He felt his mouth fall open in shock and disappointment as he turned casually back to the stranger. "I know not of what you speak."

"Do not play daft with me old man. I have it on good authority that you have been hiding a fugitive in your home and that fugitive just so happens to be an elf." The man swung down from his horse and slowly approached but Adras’ attention was back on his own son. "Now, this will be a lot easier if you will just tell us where the elf is."

Adras shifted on his feet, his palms beginning to sweat. "I do not know of any fugitive or any elf. You must have been misinformed."

"Is that so." The stranger glanced back up at Dorias. Then, in one swift movement, he was swinging back toward Adras, his hand held wide open.

Adras stumbled backward at the force of the blow and instinctively lifted his hand to his now split lip. Turning back to where his son’s horse stood, Adras noted that now all of the men were off their horses, Dorias included. His son, surprisingly, had placed himself between the stranger and himself, his hand placed behind him, holding Adras up.

"Look Rathir," Dorias yelled, "the elf has obviously left. He was looking better when last I saw him. He has probably returned home."

Adras searched the group frantically, watching the situation spiral out of control. His face stung where he had been struck and he fought the urge to look back to the woods to ensure that Locke had remained hidden.

"Dorias, do you think you can fool me?" Rathir pushed Dorias out of the way and two other men stepped in to restrain him. "Now listen old man, your life, and that of your son’s, is not worth an elf. Hand him over."

Adras swallowed thickly and pushed his shoulders back. "I told you, I do not know of any elf." His voice remained steady and his gaze was fixed on this intruder.

Before Adras knew what hit him, he found himself sprawled out on the dirt, his breath coming in short gasps. His lungs burned and his head ached from the blow he had received. His ears were ringing, causing the sounds around him to come to him muffled. But what he heard made his blood run cold.

"Father!" Dorias’ concerned call was cut short by a loud grunt and thud. His son had fought to protect him but, in the end, he was outnumbered. Adras turned in the direction that Dorias had last been and saw his son laying on the ground, eyes closed tightly.

"Dorias?" He pushed himself up onto his knees but was halted from completely rising by a sharp pain in his chest. His right hand flew to his shoulder and clenched at it.

"ADRAS!"

NO! It was the voice that he absolutely dreaded hearing. With his hand placed firmly over his chest and shoulder Adras turned in the direction of the voice. "NO! Stay put!"

But it was too late, Rathir and his men had already noticed Locke running toward him and Adras fought to rise to his feet. He had to stop these men from hurting his charge. He had to save the one who had saved him. They couldn’t be allowed to harm his heart.

"Locke turn back. HIDE!" He heard himself yell but the words sounded hollow in his head. Locke was stumbling across the clearing which housed the cabin, his hand continuously going to his bandaged head.

Adras rose to his feet and pitched dramatically to his left. He urged his legs to move him closer to Locke, but it was strong hands that stopped him this time and Adras found himself being restrained by two large, dirty men.

The pain in his chest increased as he fought against his captors, his only thoughts of Locke. It was the scream of his young friend that made the fire burst within him. He pushed against the two men, arms swinging, legs flying. Dust swirled around the clearing making it difficult to see who still stood and who had fled.

"Locke!" Adras’ voice cracked as he called to the elf. His eyes began to fill with tears, which quickly turned to a paste from all of the dust in the air.

"Adras!" The strained, frantic voice, tore his heart even more and the old man fell to his knees, the pain ripping through him.

"Locke." This call was barely above speaking tone as Adras dropped his left hand to the dirt to keep from falling over. Then, he felt the most warm, welcome presence at his side. Long, thin arms wrapped around him and Adras felt safer then.

"Adras, what ails you? What is happening?" Locke’s quaking voice delved into the very core of the old man.

"Locke." Adras’ vision started to darken around the edges and he fought to maintain focus on the elf’s fair but frightened face. Tears filled Locke’s eyes and the sight made Adras’ throat constrict. He was on his back now, cradled in the elf’s fragile but strong arms. "Locke. The name is not fitting, for you were my key. Do not give up. Thank you."

He felt the elf caressing his wrinkled, sweat covered face and even though the elf spoke consoling words to him, he could not make out what was being said. Adras grasped Locke’s frail fingers in his own, not wanting to let go. "Thank you." He repeated once more and then he closed his eyes, the pain subsided and he basked in the warmth of the love that engulfed him to the end.

Leandir

Rooted, hidden amongst the trees, Locke couldn’t help but feel cowardly in following the strict instructions laid out for him by Adras. He didn’t feel right about concealing himself when there was obvious trouble brewing in the clearing ahead of him. But he had been shocked by the sudden memory that assailed him.

Green leaf. Two simple words had sent him reeling, momentarily caught up in a vision of sorts. He had heard the feminine voice so vividly it was almost as though the woman had been standing next to him, whispering into his ear. Then, Locke’s inability to place the voice gripped his heart so thoroughly that he found himself almost paralyzed with grief.

It may have sounded selfish, but the elf had started to feel so comfortable and safe in his new home that he had almost forgotten about his present dilemma. It seemed almost easy to do, after all, he had forgotten everything else in his life. Perhaps his real life was not worth remembering. Maybe what he had found was better than what he had lost. Locke had to tell himself these things in order to cope and now he was finally starting to believe it all.

Now, that things were just about to spiral even further out of control then they already were. Because now Locke found himself stationed behind a thick, oak trunk watching a group of men approach and they didn’t look to be seeking to aid the man they rode toward.

Shouts echoed around him. Names flying about the leaves of the trees, shushing all animals within. Straining his ears to pick up on what was being said, Locke leaned forward allowing himself a better angle on the proceedings. The men had dismounted now and one had stepped toward Adras, his voice rising in anger as he addressed the old man.

What happened next happened so quickly that Locke wasn’t sure it had occurred at all. The strange man, reached out and roughly lashed out at Adras and the words he spoke became abundantly clear. "Where is he?"

As though he weren’t in control of his own actions, Locke stepped out from the shelter of the trees and began to move quickly across the clearing. His head began to throb at the quick action and the ground tilted, throwing him sideways. Managing to catch his balance before falling to the dirt, Locke pressed on, concentrating on straightening his vision and calming the pounding of his own heart and head, his final destination never leaving his train of vision.

As he moved closer to the scuffle, dirt and dust had become airborne, clouding the ongoing scene. The prone figure of one laying on the ground briefly caught his attention but only fleetingly, he knew that he needed to get to Adras.

Dust filled his eyes, nose and mouth causing him to cough, the pressure of the action throwing his equilibrium off once again. Pressing a firm palm to his bandage covered head, Locke pressed on, squinting to see through the cloud.

"ADRAS!"

Straining his ears over the other noises of shouting and fighting, Locke searched for any type of response from Adras.

"NO! Stay Put!" It came from his left and Locke shifted his weight to force the turn. Once again, he pitched, falling to his knee. But he wouldn’t be swayed, he was up almost as quick as he had gone down and Locke continued to stumble toward the sound of the old man’s shaky, strained voice.

Then he saw what he had been searching for. "ADRAS!" His savior had fallen to the ground. One hand clutched at his chest, the other holding him propped up ever so slightly. Just as the elf found himself tumbling to Adras’ side, the old man’s arm gave out and Locke grasped him, cradling him in his tired, thin arms.

"Adras, what ails you? What is happening?" His voice quaked and he felt Adras shudder in his hold.

"Locke", the elf stared intently into the old, wrinkled face, despair filling him as Adras fought to stay focused. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision and making the face of the man he had grown to love so quickly, swim in and out of focus. "Locke. The name is not fitting, for you were my key. Do not give up. Thank you."

NO! He swept his trembling hand over Adras’ forehead and face. "You are okay." His voice shivered, his words coming barely over his heavy breath. "I will save you. I will help you. Just like you did for me."

Adras grabbed Locke’s hand in his own, intertwining his fingers with the elf’s. "Thank you." Then Locke felt the man still, his breath stopped and the warmth fled his body.

"NO!" His scream radiated around him, weaving through the clearing, forcing everyone and everything to freeze. It felt like hours that he sat there, cradling his friend’s lifeless body, but it was mere seconds before he felt the presence of another at his side. He knew who it was just from the experience of being around the man before.

Dorias’ hand appeared before Locke’s eyes and rested gently upon Adras’ chest. It froze there for a moment almost as if not daring to believe what it didn’t feel. "Father?"

His heartbroken tone nearly caused Locke’s own heart to break further and he lifted his eyes to the son. A long jagged cut ran the length of Dorias’ brow, blood spilling forth almost completely covering his face. The sight chilled the elf and he raised a tentative hand to the wound. Dorias lashed out striking his hand away and Locke recoiled in shock. "Do not touch me." He growled. "Everything you touch is ruined. You should not have come here. You should not have come."

Locke gently released his hold on Adras and slowly lowered the old man to the ground. "I am so sorry." He rose reluctantly to his feet and step back. "So sorry."

Dorias sat bent over his father, seemingly ignorant to all else around him. Blood from his wound dripped down onto the still figure beneath him presenting an eerie sight. Locke inhaled deeply, shakily and stepped further away, his breath catching in his chest, his feet shuffling in the dirt.

"Elf!" A new voice exploded behind him and Locke spun to address whomever it was that spoke, the motion, once again, almost sending him to the ground. "I thought you dead elf, for you looked it."

Locke’s brow furrowed in confusion and he tilted his head in contemplation. Did he know this man? Should he?

"Where is your friend elf?" A malicious scowl marred the man’s already unpleasant countenance. "He left you did he not?"

"I know not of what you speak."

Dipping his head as though irritated and scoffing as he spoke, the man stepped ever closer to the elf. "Do not play daft with me. You owe me a horse elf and I think I shall take it out of your hide."

He lunged toward the elf now and Locke stepped back only to run directly into another, smaller man who stood directly behind him. Strong arms slunk around the elf’s thin body, wrapping up his arms and pinning them to his body. Locke had no desire, nor strength to fight, as well he was curious about that which the man was accusing him.

"HOLD!" Once again, the current scene was interrupted by a foreign voice. "What is going on here?"

Another man, atop a regal, strong horse rode up, not stopping until he was practically on top of the elf and his captor. He dismounted quickly and pushed his horse away then came to stand just in front of the one who had been addressing Locke. He stood mere inches taller than the elf’s accuser, his hair was a shade darker than the other man’s and his eyes were as black as coal.

"Rathir, what in all of Middle Earth is going on here. Let that elf go." He glanced down to where Adras’ still body lay, Dorias still having not moved. "Dorias?"

A quiet, less confident voice than was accustomed for the son of his savior, squeaked forth. "Dead."

"Do you need aid Dorias? You are bleeding quite profusely." This man’s voice was so strong and commanding that Locke, himself, couldn’t help but stand at attention.

"I am fine. I will live." Dorias shifted and slid his hands beneath his father’s body then rose staggeringly to his feet. "He killed my father. The elf should hang." Without another word, he shuffled into the direction of the cabin.

Locke’s chest tightened at the sight and he moved to follow. "Adras."

"Hold." Came the command from the newly arrived man. "No one leaves until I know what has happened here. You left the town in quite a hurry Rathir, care to tell me why?"

Rathir glared menacingly at the elf, his lip curled in disdain. "It is none of your concern Leandir."

"All that goes on in this area is my concern Rathir." He cut the other off. "It is as the townspeople will it. Now, why do you hold this elf and Gods why is Adras dead?"

Rathir turned his glare to Leandir now, the look of disdain not flinching. "We hold the elf because he is a horse thief and he tried to kill me and my men."

A look of complete disbelief flitted across Leandir’s face before he schooled himself back to an unreadable expression. "What is your name?" He addressed the elf now.

Locke felt queasy at the question. How do you answer a question to which you know not the answer? It is just the beginning of a very large mystery. "I am called Locke." He stated rather hesitatingly.

"Locke, is what this man says true? Did you attempt to kill him and take his horse in the process?" Leandir had stepped toward Locke now, circling around him, seemingly scanning over him as though looking for any signs of truth.

Locke didn’t answer, he couldn’t answer, he didn’t know the truth. Perhaps he had taken this man’s horse, even trying to take his life in the process. Could it be true that he was a thief and a murderer? Locke just didn’t know the answer to that.

"Locke? Do you understand what it is I am asking?"

"He understands Marshall. He speaks our language perfectly. I know this because he spoke rather clearly when he demanded my horse!" Rathir moved to step toward Locke but was quickly intercepted by Leandir.

"Stay your aggression Rathir. We will let the people decide the truth behind what you say." Leandir reached out to Locke and the elf shied away some. Leandir dropped his hand to his side and turned back to Rathir. "I think you have done enough here Rathir. Take your men and get out of my sight. We will set a trial for noon tomorrow."

Locke watched with some relief as Rathir and his men gathered their horses, mounted and rode quickly out of the clearing and away from the devastating scene. He breathed a deep sigh and began to move toward the cabin.

"Master Elf." Leandir pulled him back. "I need you to come with me."

Locke felt his chest constrict once again and the pounding in his head returned anew. "He is my friend. I must see to him."

Leandir steered the elf towards his own horse, being gentle with his grasp and treatment. "His son will care for him now. We need to get you to town where you will be safe and where I can see to your wounds."

Raising a shaking hand to his bandaged head, Locke paused in contemplation of what was. "I do not remember stealing his horse. I do not remember much at all." He stated matter-of-factly. He didn’t feel comfortable losing this bit of information but he felt that the marshal should know, perhaps it would help him in the long run.

"That remains to be seen. For now I just want to get you taken care of and give Dorias some peace to take care of matters." Leandir all but lifted the elf onto the horse then mounted up behind him. "I do not want to have to bind your hands. Do I have your word that you will not do anything foolish?"

Locke felt his shoulders slump as the man nudged the animal into action. "I do not know where I would go or what I would do. I am at your mercy sir."

Several miles away a small group departed Imladris at a quick pace. Two were identical in appearance, the other two as different as night and day, one dark in appearance, the other shining like the sun. Four elves they were and there mission was dire. Time was running out, each could feel it in their own way. Something was happening.

One of the twin riders stopped, turning to look back at the entry to the Last Homely House. He had made a promise and he had no intention of failing in that promise. Gripping the mane of his horse tightly, he tilted his head to the sky, lightening with the fading of the sun, and sent up a quick prayer. Then speaking urgent words to his animal he tore off through the trees.

Finally, the puzzle was coming together and the mystery would, hopefully, be solved soon.

Between A Rock And A Hard Place

He was starting to sway. At first Leandir didn’t think that he saw what he saw but it was obvious now, the elf was starting to sway. From his seat, perched atop the horse, just in front of him, the elf’s head began to bob as though it were too heavy to be supported by such a thin neck.

It wasn’t too difficult for the marshal to get a good look at his prisoner. Locke’s head was bound in a blue bandage, covering most of his blonde hair. Stained with dirt that had been kicked up during the scuffle the bandage twisted tightly, covering the tips of the elf’s pointed ears. Leandir was pleased to also note that there was no blood seeping through the threads so whatever injury lay hidden beneath had not been reopened or agitated.

“Master Elf, are you well?”

Seemingly startled by the sudden presence of voice, Locke’s head snapped up and he looked about him. “Aye.” Came the strangled response.

Leandir knew this was a lie. His prisoner was obviously not faring well but for some reason the elf seemed compelled to hide his pain and weakness. Was it just that he was being stubborn or was Locke afraid to show any weakness?

“Yet your head lulls. It is not a sign of one who is in good health. Is there aught that I can do to ease your discomfort?”

No answer was forthcoming and Leandir sighed in frustration. Knowing that the elf had been through a lot this day, and possibly in days past, the marshal decided not to push the elf. Rather, he rode on in silence, allowing Locke to rest the weight of his body up against his own.

In moments the animal emerged onto the main street of the small town and Leandir noted people who would normally be going about their daily chores, minding their own business, had stopped to watch the marshal bring in his unusual detainee. Mixed expressions of awe, wonder, fear and disgust painted the faces of men, women and children who appeared frozen where they stood.

Steering the horse to the back of his office where the animal was normally corralled, Leandir found himself almost intimidated by the reaction of the townspeople. He knew there was nothing to fear from the elf. Having always been the type to pursue knowledge rather than fear it, Leandir had done some research into the fair, mysterious creatures of Middle Earth and what he had learned told him that the fear and disgust he witnessed was misplaced.

Yet, the marshal was between a rock and a hard place, for he had to put this particular elf to trial and it would be these same frightened people who would decide his fate. Leandir, enforced the law by apprehending criminals within his jurisdiction but the people of the small dwelling were the ones who finally decided guilt or innocence and inevitably punishment. The rulers of the land didn’t interfere with the procedures because they worked and the dwellers and marshal liked it that way.

Slipping from the saddle, his strong hands holding the elf in his seat, Leandir landed hard, the weight of what the coming days held pressing down upon him.

“Come Master Locke. Let me show you to your new home.” As he spoke, Leandir gently pulled the elf from the horse ensuring that the fair being stayed erect once his feet hit solid ground. He kept his hand firmly clasped upon Locke’s elbow and guided his prisoner up the stairs and into his office.

Always comfortable in his own office, Leandir strode right in, dropping the elf’s elbow and moving about as though he had never left. Some parcels had been slipped beneath the crack under the front door, a half eaten lunch lay atop his desk. Leandir slid the meal into a nearby trash bin then reached into the drawer of his desk and removed a large key ring with several ornate keys attached.

“This way.” He called over his shoulder to Locke who stood quietly by the rear door. Stepping to a third door just beside his desk, Leandir pulled a key out and unlocked the thick, wooden, entryway. “They aren’t the most spectacular accommodations but I think they will serve. At least you will be safe.” For how long is a whole different matter though.

Shuffling feet followed behind as Leandir lead the elf into the room that housed the jail cells and unlocked the first cell door he came to. The cell was quite large, approximately five yards by five yards with a small cot on either side. The door creaked loudly as it swung open and Locke entered without being instructed. He just stood there, staring into the cell, his head and eyes straight ahead and the silence grated on Leandir’s nerves.

“Make yourself comfortable. I will send for food and fresh bandages.”

Locke took a tentative step forward and his chin dropped to his chest. “I did not kill him.”

Leandir reached in and closed the cell door, a series of vertical bars now separating him from the elf. “Pardon me?”

“Adras. I did not kill him.”

Leandir couldn’t help the scoff that slipped from his mouth. “I know that. I may look daft but I most certainly am not.”

“Then why are you keeping me here?” Locke turned to face Leandir as he questioned him and the look upon his face nearly made the marshal’s heart clench.

“I know that you did nothing to harm Adras. That is plain to me. But an accusation of horse theft and attempted murder was placed at my feet and I simply could not ignore it. Will you tell me that you had no part in that as well?”

All manner of grace and elegance seemed to flee the elf and he stuttered and looked about the room as though searching for some kind of sign or answer. Leandir watched as Locke raised an trembling hand this his head and pressed his palm to his temple.

“Master Elf?’

Locke’s head steadied and his hand fell to his side, his piercing blue eyes locked on Leandir’s own brown ones and the marshal saw fear and confusion there. “I do not remember.”

“What do you mean that you do not remember?”

“I do not remember anything before the day that I awoke in Adras’ home. He told me that he found me in the woods, but I do not recall how I came to be there or how I became injured.”

This was a first for the marshal. He had heard every excuse and lie in the book, but never had he had someone claim that they did not remember. But, he could see no lie in Locke’s eyes. Then again, he had several men who claimed that the elf had attacked them, stolen a horse and almost killed one of them in the process. Well, it wasn’t for Leandir to decide. That difficult task would fall on the people of the town and right now the marshal needed to inform the town council and start collecting stories.

“Trial is at noon tomorrow. Get some rest. Food and bandages will be forthcoming.” Leandir quickly spun on his heel and left the elf to himself. He couldn’t look at the fair being any longer. He knew that the next days events would not sit well with him, but he had done his job, the rest was up to the council.

“Elrohir! Hold!” Elladan’s voice wasn’t raised yet it was loud enough for his twin brother, some yards ahead to hear him. “I think it is time for us to rest for the night.”

Elladan leapt from his horse and patted the animal on the rump sending it off into the trees to enjoy a moment of freedom. He swung the pack from his back and went about removing the belongings that would be needed for the night.

“Why are we stopping? There is still some light in the sky.” Angrod’s agitated voice rang through the small clearing in which the group had stopped. “Legolas needs our help, we shall not stop until he is safe in our company.”

Neither Elladan nor Elrohir paused in the nighttime preparations. It was Glorfindel who stepped gracefully toward the younger, dark elf in an attempt to ease his anxiety. “Angrod, the sun has fallen and the light is nearly gone. It would be foolish to continue on this night. Come, take some rest, your worry is wearing on you.”

He didn’t wait for a response, Glorfindel knew that the Angrod would see the logic behind stopping if he would just stop and catch his breath. He had been worrying ceaselessly since word was received in Mirkwood and his three companions had wondered if he had taken any sleep since departing the forest that was his home.

“He will not take watch tonight.” Glorfindel whispered to the twin elves as he passed by on his way to unwrap his bed role.

Readying the camp was done in relative silence. Each elf engrossed in his own tasks and thoughts. A short time later the small group came together around a small campfire the silence still unbroken as each partook of a dinner of lembas, berries and dried venison.

“Tarts.” The word was barely above a whisper and three pairs of elven eyes turned to the young Mirkwood elf who spoke it.

“Did you say something young one?” Glorfindel shifted on the fallen log which he sat atop, turning to get a better view of Angrod.

“Tarts.” He said louder this time so that the others didn’t have to strain to hear the word.

“We have no tarts Angrod.” Elladan was obviously confused.

“I know this. I was remembering a time with Estel and Legolas and tarts.”

“ESTEL WAIT!” The normally melodic voice burst out of Legolas’ mouth.

Estel froze in the doorway. His head inside the kitchen, his bottom sticking out unceremoniously, just a foot off the floor. He shuffled forward on his knees some then shifted and turned to face the quickly approaching elves. But before the pair could reach him, he turned back and disappeared behind the door.

Legolas and Angrod skidded to a stop, nearly toppling over one another in their abrupt halt. They stood motionless, in shock, staring openly at one another, waiting for the other to spurt forth instructions.

“Well, he is gone. Let us go to the archery fields.” Legolas turned casually and made to move toward the exit. He knew that the young human was in no danger, just the risk of being scolded by the kitchen mistress loomed.

“You would leave him to Anala’s fury?” Angrod questioned, a small smirk forming on his face.

“It will not be that horrible. I think she will just have him washing dishes for the remainder of his stay here. If we are caught with him we will be washing dishes for much longer.” Legolas moved to depart the scene once more and once more he found Angrod’s arm grasping his arm firmly.

“Surely you can not think to abandon one so young.” He couldn’t control himself this time. A small chuckle slipped from beneath curved lips and Angrod quickly lifted his hand to hide his mirth.

“Very well. We shall rescue the little scamp.” Legolas turned again, this time coming to face the kitchen door. He reached out and pushed the swinging door open, revealing a rather large kitchen with several wood burning stoves and ovens. Long preparation counters ran along each of the walls. Items for making that nights meal were spread about. But there was no sign of the errant young friend.

Both elves walked further into the kitchen, each moving in opposite directions, scanning under counters and around corners, searching. They came together again to stand just before a large stray of tarts. It was upon closer inspection that both Legolas and Angrod noticed a rather large gap in the arrangement of dessert.

“He has already succeeded in his mission.” Angrod needlessly pointed out.

“Then I suggest we distance ourselves from the scene of the crime before the blame is wrongly placed.” Legolas said as he spun on his heel.

His motion was swiftly cut and thrown off course as he spun to find himself standing face to face with an extremely cross maiden. Anala’s hair was pulled up in a tight twist and deposited directly on top of her head. She was of shorter stature than most elves, but still held that long, elegant grace so common among her people. Her normally beautiful features were severely marred by an intense look of anger.

“Did you enjoy them My Lord?”

“But...It was not...on my honor...” Legolas had never stammered before but this particular elf seemed to elicit nothing better from the Prince of Mirkwood.

She held a hand up to hush him. “Those tarts were for everyone. Now there will not be enough. Especially with our guests.”

“But it was the guests...” Angrod attempted but was also shushed by a long, elegant hand.

“I think it would be best if the pair of you got to work making replacements so that all may enjoy.”

Legolas moved to protest once again but Anala was too fast and Legolas found himself becoming increasingly frustrated as he watched the kitchen mistress move about, pulling ingredients from the pantry.

“I will kill him. I will strangle him with my own two hands.” Legolas ground out as Anala tossed him a white apron.

Laughter burst forth from all four elves surrounding the campfire and it was several minutes before the four could contain themselves.

“Legolas meant to leave Estel to the wrath of Anala?” Elrohir questioned. “I think that I should have a long talk with our princely friend.”

Glorfindel smiled at the young words. “Now Elrohir, let us remember who suffered the consequences.” He rose from his spot and the fire’s side and glided across the clearing to where his belongings lay. “Besides, I have an inkling that Legolas will recall events differently and will be happy to recount the tale himself.”

That is if we find him.

Quickly hushing such thoughts Glorfindel eased himself to the forest floor and lay his head upon his arm. “Elladan, wake me when it is my watch. Tomorrow will be a big day.” He rolled over, turning his back to the others and listened to the quiet conversation of the young elves still sitting around the fire, the quiet murmur of their eased communication lulling him into a restful state. Tomorrow would be an eventful day, they had some distance to travel and a mystery to solve and Glorfindel was determined to get some answers soon.

The Trial

Watching the elf, like he had been for the past while, had become unnerving for Leandir. He didn’t move. Sitting, statuesque, in the corner of his cell, just below the barred window, Locke had his knees pulled to his chest and his arms were wrapped tightly around his legs. His face was turned up toward the window where what little sunlight there was beamed down, hitting him directly so that his eyes were closed against the brightness.

Leandir stood, just as motionless, in the doorway leading to the series of cells watching his prisoner, wondering what had truly happened to lead the elf here.

He had returned to the place of the arrest the night before in an attempt to speak with Dorias. Adras’ son had been busy preparing his father for the pyre that had been built just out front of the old cabin. He had wrapped the old man in an old blanket and Leandir had helped him carry the body outside, and placed it upon its final resting place. Once the fire had been lit, and Dorias seemed to have settled, Leandir made an attempt to discover what had happened before his arrival. He had been unlucky in his investigation.

Dorias had refused to speak. He was grounded, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet shoulder length apart, staring blankly at the fire which had consumed his father’s body. He had stayed like that for a time then, without word, walked back into the house and closed the door behind him.

After a long night spent thinking and trying not to be ill, Leandir had returned the following morning to find Locke in his current position.

“Master Elf?” Leandir stepped closer to the cell now. “We have to meet before the town council shortly, would you care for something to eat before you are summoned?”

No response was given, the elf didn’t so much as turn his head from the sunlight streaming in. Leaning heavily against the bars that made up the cell, Leandir’s eyes traced the beams of light which traveled from the window to the elf’s fair face. Locke seemed to bask in the warmth and light that fell upon him, almost as though he were gaining strength from the lumination.

Reaching for the keys strung to his belt, Leandir once again called to the elf. “Come, let us take a walk outside. You look as though you could use the fresh air.”

This got the elf’s attention and Locke slowly turned his head and opened his eyes to look to the marshal, a questioning look in his eyes. His hands dropped from around his legs and he pressed his hands to the floor in preparation to rise. “We are going out?”

Leandir turned the key in the lock and swung the heavy door open. He raised his left hand up over his head and grasped at the bars above his head. “If you do not want to go out then I will not force you.” He tried to hide a small smile, which came unbidden in response to the smile on the elf’s face. “Well, come on then.”

Locke practically flew to his feet and moved gracefully across the cell. His clothes hung from him like old burlap bags and Leandir cringed at how young the large apparel made him look. Clean bandaging had been bound around his head and Leandir hoped that the elf’s young appearance might help when Locke stood before the judgement council.

Turning to lead the elf out of the cell room and through his office, Leandir stopped abruptly and grabbed Locke lightly by the elbow. “You must promise me that you will not run Master Elf.”

Leandir winced has he watched the elf’s face fall. “I would not know where to run to Marshal. Your fear is unjustified.”

Yet, Leandir’s fear was that the elf wouldn’t run. He knew it was his job to uphold the law but deep down, he hoped that Locke would find a way out of his predicament. Had Leandir not been sustained by the members of the community to uphold justice he probably would have urged Locke to run.

Stepping out onto the porch of his office, Leandir mimicked the elf’s motion of lifting his head to the sun and inhaling deeply of the fresh air. He let the air flow freely into his lungs and held it there momentarily. When he reopened his eyes, he found the elf looking at him, a curious look in his deep blue eyes.

“I never really take time to enjoy the freshness of the air. I suppose I take it for granted.” Leandir confessed.

Locke smiled in understanding. “Often it is not until we lose something that we begin to understand its importance.”

Leandir crouched down and came to rest in a sitting position upon the steps of his office. Locke followed suit and the pair found themselves sitting in comfortable silence as each enjoyed the late morning freshness in their own way. Several times during their time together, perched upon the porch, Leandir noticed that the elf raised a hand and gently touched his bandaged head. He didn’t speak to Locke of this, nor did Locke make mention of any discomfort he might be experiencing. It was quiet in town this morning and neither seemed to want to break the temporary peace.

A short time after their respite began, a large, commonly dressed man came around the corner of the Marshal’s office. Standing barely taller than the pair were, while sitting, the man walked determinedly up to Leandir. He spared only a glance at the elf before addressing the Marshal. “We are ready for the prisoner Marshal.” He didn’t await a response, rather, he turned and left almost as quickly as he had arrived.

Leandir let out a large sigh and pushed himself into a standing position. “It appears that the time has come Master Elf.” He didn’t want to turn to face the elf. He didn’t want to see the look in his eyes. “Please follow me.”

Upon entering the town the night before, Locke hadn’t taken the time to notice the layout. He had been too overwhelmed by grief over the loss of his friend to note that the buildings which made up the small settlement all appeared to be in good order. Each was set approximately twenty to thirty yards apart from each other and each seemed to take on its own look, as though representing the individual personalities of those who resided or managed them.

Having only one inn and one saloon, the town was, by no means, large. But, it was large enough to warrant the employment of a marshal and a town council.

Now, as he made his away across the dirt streets, Locke took in every bit of it. He wanted to try to get a feel for the people who resided here, the problem was, so much of the town was uniquely designed that it was different to put a finger on any one personality or authority.

As they came closer to the town square the number of people on the street seemed to grow. Locke couldn’t help but notice that each turned to scrutinize him as he passed, nor could he ignore the hand that was now clasped firmly around his upper arm, steering him through the crowd. People seemed to part and step aside to let them through and Locke wondered if all hearings drew such an audience.

A large, single story building loomed up in front of them now and the pair slowly but steadily made their way toward the large, double doors that lead inside. A series of chairs filled the room in which a long table was set in front. Seated at the table were four individuals, one woman and three men. None of the council members looked up as Locke and Leandir made their way between the chairs and to the front of the room. Each seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations.

Up front, seated on the side, was a face that Locke hoped, in vain, to never see again. Rathir was slouched in his seat, looking as though he had spent the last night drinking until all hours of the morning. His clothing was disheveled and his eyes were shot red. To his right sat Thad looking equally as tousled. Their heads lifted from their chests upon the appearance of the elf and Locke stiffened and glared in response to their mocking sneers.

“Alright. Alright. Everyone take your seats. We need to begin.” It was the woman who spoke. She brushed her silver hair from her aging face as she rose and smoothed out her earthy dress. She was not petite by any measure but her appearance had a motherly quality to it. When the crowd didn’t quiet at her bidding the woman slammed her hand against the table and shouted, quickly vanquishing the first impression that Locke had acquired. “I SAID TAKE YOUR SEATS!”

Locke startled at the shout, as did many others in the room. Chatter ceased and the occupants of the room practically fell into their seats. Once all had come to order the woman lowered her large bulk back into her chair and turned herself to the middle-aged man sitting to her right.

Dark complected and large in stature, the man shuffled some pages in front of him. “Is the elf known as Locke in attendance?”

“He is Councilman Torrill” Locke looked to Leandir as he answered for the elf and tried to hide his confusion at what was happening.

“Is the accuser, Rathir, in attendance?”

Rathir rose, unsteadily, from his seat and waved to the councilman. “Right here sir.”

Councilman Torrill glanced to the other council members appearing tired. He then looked directly at Locke and held the elf’s gaze for a moment before turning back to Rathir. “What is it you accuse this elf of Rathir.”

Rathir, who had remained standing from his early address, took a few steps forward, coming to stand almost directly between the council members’ table and Locke, blocking the elf’s vision of the council members and vice versa.

“Several weeks ago I was traveling just South of town on my way in from a hunting trip with several of my men.” Rathir paused here and dropped his head to his chest as though he were having difficulty with reliving the incident. He took in a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his face then continued. “It was then that I had the misfortune of meeting this elf.” - pointing his crooked finger at Locke.

Locke shifted uncomfortably in his seat and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. His hands were folded and placed gently in his lap and he made every effort to maintain eye contact with Rathir.

“My men and I were stopped by the elf who appeared to be in some type of distress. We enquired as to any assistance that he might need and it was then that we realized that his trouble was all a ruse.” Rathir stopped again and turned to look at Locke. He attempted to hold the elf’s stare but quickly looked away and threw his hand to his eyes as though in pain

He didn’t speak for a long moment and when he did finally speak his voice quaked. “He pulled his bow and leveled an arrow at me and my men and threatened to kill us all if we did not hand over our horses.”

Townspeople gasped and murmured at the news, the room came alive behind Locke and Leandir and the Marshal rose from his seat and turned to the crowd that had come for the show. At the stern look that was thrown into the crowded room, the people hushed and the story continued.

“When I refused to give the elf my horse, he shot and killed Gillian.”

Again the townspeople began to chatter amongst themselves and again Leandir rose from his seat and turned to face the audience. This time they didn’t quiet down though and glares and quiet threats seemed to come flying toward the elf. It was Torrill who rapped his fist against the table and demanded that the room remain quiet. “I will clear this room out if you can not remain civil.” He shouted out over the din. “What happened next Rathir.”

Rathir looked from the crowd to Locke to Torrill before resuming. “It was then, when we were so in shock from the strike that the elf stole my horse and rode away. We pursued him for several yards but felt we needed to return to tend to Gillian. We were too late.”

The three men and one woman turned and put their heads together and began to whisper animatedly to each other. Had the assembled group behind him remained quiet, Locke was sure that he could have heard what was being said. He was, however, overtaken by the various sounds and noises that seemed to be coming at him from all directions.

Ceasing in their informal conference, the council members turned back to Rathir. “Can anyone vouch for your story Rathir?” Torrill questioned.

Thad rose from where he was seated and walked briskly across the room to join Rathir. “I can sir. Everything that Rathir has said is true.” Thad turned to look at Locke, a sickening scowl on his face. “Every bit of it.”

Torrill seemed to consider this information for a moment then readdressed Rathir. “Thank you. You may both be seated now.” He then turned his attention to the elf again, seeming to get caught in the elf’s intent gaze once again. Shaking himself free, Torrill turned and whispered something to the man on his right then jotted a few notes down on the pages in front of him.

“Master Elf,” it was the woman who spoke this time. “What have you to say about the accusation against you?”

Locke turned in his seat to look at Leandir but the Marshal stared straight ahead as though lost in his own thoughts. He then turned back to the woman whose eyes had remained glued to him. “I do not remember.”

“You do not remember the question?”

Locke shifted again and raised his hand, once again, to his bandaged head. It still pained him on occasion and when stressed or nervous the dizziness seemed to assail him again. Leandir finally removed his stare from the council members’ table and looked to the elf.

“Ma’am.” Leandir rose from his seat and stepped toward the table. “The elf sustained a serious head injury and seems to be having difficulty remembering anything that occurred before approximately two weeks ago.”

“That is convenient is it not.” Rathir’s mocking voice lifted from the side of the room again.

“Quiet!” The woman ordered. She then turned back to the elf. “Do you mean to tell me that you do not remember attacking Rathir and his men and stealing their horse.”

Leandir did not let the elf answer. “He does not even remember his own name ma’am.”

A loud burst of laughter came from Rathir and Thad and the two nearly fell from their seats at this discovery. Locke squirmed in his chair more and looked at Leandir with a pleading eye. Almost begging the man to quit speaking. He didn’t like his weaknesses being exposed. He felt embarrassed and ashamed. His hand flew to his bandaged head once more and it was several long moments before the council regained control of the situation.

“But, I will say this,” Leandir continued, “Rathir spoke not of any murder when I brought Locke in yesterday. It seems to be a new addition to his story.”

Rathir jumped from his seat and raced the few steps to Leandir's side, “I can produce a body if there is any doubt.”

“And yet you felt it unimportant to mention this yesterday?” Leandir’s disgust was strongly apparent.

“Silence.” Torrill began to speak but Locke couldn’t force himself to drop his hand away from his head. Its presence there seemed to comfort and ease the pain. “It seems that we have an unusual situation here.” Torrill began. “Seeing as how there is no one to vouch for the elf and his non-involvement in this murder and robbery then we, as a council, have no choice but to declare him guilty of this crime.”

Locke pressed his palm to his brow and clenched his eyes in a vain effort to shut out the noise around him.

“The penalty for such a crime is death by hanging. This will be carried out tomorrow at midday.” Torrill rose and the rest of the council members followed suit. With no further words they exited the building leaving Locke and Leandir to force their way back through the crowd and out into the brightly lit town street.

Locke’s head remained down and he fought to block out the words that were spoken around him. Words of scorn and accusation. It was the laughter of Rathir that finally broke through the wall that he had built up around him. His chest tightened and he felt himself stiffen at the scoffing and scorn. Leandir’s hand tightened on his arm and he was dragged through the streets and back to the jail cell.

It was when the cell door clanged shut that Locke’s composure failed him and he sank once again to the floor. His legs seemed to automatically curl up to his chest and his arms instinctively wrapped around his legs again. He didn’t look to the sun spilling through the window this time, however. Instead he rested his chin on his bent knees and sat in silence. Alone. The angry slamming of the cell door echoing around him.

On The Trail

Trying hard to muffle the groan that was welling up inside of him, Estel shifted slightly in his bed. He had fallen to sleep soon after speaking with Elrohir and had just woken to find himself blissfully alone. He was pleased with his lonely state mostly because it gave him some time with his own thoughts but also because it meant that his family was in search of his dear friend.

He lost it then and bit down on his tongue mid moan as the pain shot through his back and shoulder with the minute movement. In an attempt to pull away from the pain in his back, he had inadvertently rolled onto his left shoulder. That action had frozen him in his action and now his fingers were slowly going numb from the pressure he was putting on his injured extremity.

Beginning to curse himself for the subtle pleasure he had felt at waking alone, Estel now wished that Elrond would come bursting through the door at any moment. He couldn’t, however, make himself call out for aid. Partially because he was gasping from the exertion and partly because he couldn’t muster up the strength to swallow his pride.

Attempting to wiggle his fingers and get the blood flowing back through sent another ribbon of pain coursing through his body and realizing that he would not be comfortable in any position that he selected, Estel flopped back onto his back, holding his breath in response to the agony that assailed him.

It was at this time that the door to his sleeping quarters swung open to reveal the most beautiful sight he had laid eyes on in days. Elrond moved into the room carrying a silver tray filled with small bowls and bottles. One of which Estel knew held the blessed pain reliever that he longed for at that moment.

“How long have you been awake?” The Elf Lord’s smooth, comforting voice eased Estel in its own way.

Struggling to force the air from his lungs to form the words, Estel let out the quickest answer he could come up with. “Too long.”

Elrond chortled at the admission and eased himself into the cushioned chair beside Estel’s bed. “Am I to believe that you are outwardly admitting that you would like a little pain easing tea?”

Estel closed his eyes and took another deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. Reasons for his present condition swarmed him and he began to despair over the fate of his friend. Where was Legolas? Why had he not returned to Imladris? Was he safe? Was he well? Was he comfortable?

His stomach began to clench at he possible answers. Surely if he, himself, had returned to Rivendell in the condition that he was in Legolas couldn’t have faired much better. Perhaps that was the reason for his late return. These thoughts made his head spin and his heart race. Had he left Legolas alone, in the forest, possibly with their attackers? Had he abandoned one of his best friends?

“Estel?” Elrond pulled him away from his distress. “That which ails you is more than just your injuries. Do you wish to speak about it?”

Elrond didn’t await an answer and Estel watched him as he prepared a pain leveling tea for him to consume. Sifting a pale yellow powder into a small cup and pouring a small amount of cool water over the substance, Elrond still never removed his eyes from the bed.

“I worry for Legolas. I cannot ease my mind as to his well-being.” Estel tried not to move as he followed Elrond with his eyes. “My mind keeps creating scenarios and they frighten me.”

Elrond gently slipped his long, slender arm beneath the young man and lifted his upper body from the bed. Estel’s vision swam at the pain and motion and his stomach twisted. A new battle began within him, that to keep the contents of his stomach in tact. A cup was placed to his lips and Estel drank all of the contents, knowing that his pain would be eased by the substance it held.

“You will not sleep for several moments so we can continue this conversation if you like.” Elrond spoke as he slowly lowered the injured young man back to his resting spot.

A sigh of relief mixed with a small groan slid from Estel as his back once again made contact with the bed. A bed that was usually soft and comfortable but at this moment felt no better than the cold, hard grown that he had become so accustomed to.

“I keep envisioning him lying, injured and lost with no aid.” Estel’s voice quavered with the statement. “The idea makes me ill, and guilty.” The last word came out barely above a whisper and Estel didn’t know himself if he had actually spoken the word.

Realization dawned on the Elf Lord and he reclaimed his seat next to the bed. He sat quietly for a moment and Estel began to wonder if he would fall back into his desired sleep before Elrond could respond to his confession. As darkness encroached on his vision the image of an injured, abandoned Legolas once again besieged him. His eyes shot open and his gasp seemed to rip Elrond’s attention from his own thoughts.

“I can understand your guilt young one.” Elrond began. “I, myself, feel guilt at Legolas’ loss. But we must remind ourselves that we have done nothing wrong. Nor could we have done anything to change these current circumstances. The Valar presents us with challenges and paths for a reason.” Elrond leaned forward in his seat and placed a cool hand on Estel’s forehead, the coolness of it relaxing the young man’s nerves.

“Do not blame yourself for what has occurred Estel. Legolas would not want you to. I have a feeling that he would actually reprimand you for doing so.”

Estel smiled at this revelation, he knew that Elrond was right in his assumption but it didn’t ease matters in the least. His heart ached to know that Legolas would return hale. It ached to know that his friend was safe.

With these final thoughts Estel allowed the pain easer to do its job and he slipped into sleep, images of his blond friend playing in his head.

Four ethereal beings rode swiftly upon horse back. Dodging trees and downed limbs. They moved almost as one, seeming to have no need to communicate verbally their next move or action. Their mission was known and their determination solid. They were closing in on their quarry and the need for urgency was climbing.

As though the spell encompassing them were suddenly broken one stopped. Instantly the tall dark being, dressed almost entirely in dark green was off of his animal, his hand pressed to the trunk of a near by tree.

“He has been here.” Angrod’s smooth voice announced with near certainty.

The trio of remaining riders turned as one and followed the other’s earlier action of sliding from their respective horses. One golden head stood out amongst the rest and it was this one who moved forward instinctually.

“Are you certain?” Glorfindel queried..

“Almost. They seem confused and anxious for one who has been nearby. It could be Legolas.”

“And it could be another.” Elladan spoke up from where he stood next to his twin brother.

Elrohir moved closer to the tree that Angrod communed with. “Why do you think it may have been Legolas?”

His chin falling to his chest resulting in his dark hair falling around his face concealing his frustration, Angrod whispered. “I only hoped.”

Glorfindel placed a sturdy, comforting hand upon the younger Woodelf’s shoulder. “It is okay to hope young one, but we must be certain.”

“Legolas always had a stronger connection than I.” Angrod continued as though the other hadn’t spoken. “That is why I thought it might be him. Few other elves could leave such a strong impression. The trees might speak of another but they seem as though they connected with this one.”

Three elven heads nodded in acceptance and understanding. It was the younger twin that finally spoke up. “We should investigate this, but let us not get too hopeful, we do not know for sure if this was Legolas.”

Each remounted their horses and continued in the direction they had been heading before the disruption. It was mere moments later when they entered a clearing with a small, log house set off to the side. Pausing to scan the property, it was the loud bray of a donkey from nearby that prompted them to move forward.

Only midway across the grounds another noise stopped them in their tracks. “What do you want?” The voice was loud and gruff and slurred as though the speaker had been drinking. A strange action for so early in the day.

“Good day. We come in search of one we have lost.” Glorfindel addressed the dirty man with respect and politeness. “Have you, by chance, seen a young elf in this vicinity as of late?”

A sneer marred the man’s already unpleasant features and his next words came out in almost a growl. “I should have known you were looking for that murderer.”

Angrod flew from his horse and walked briskly toward the man, the action sending him stumbling back a few paces. “You have seen him? Is he well?”

“Had he never come here my father would still be alive. He deserves the punishment he will receive.”

With these few words Glorfindel was swiftly on the ground and next to the young woodelf. “Of what do you speak?”

Stepping back even further and almost in shock as though he had just barely noticed the arrival of the golden elf the man raised his hands in supplication. “Do not come any closer.” Small beads of perspiration appeared instantly on the man’s brow and his outstretched hands began to tremble slightly as be shuffled further away from the group of elves.

Angrod moved to follow but Glorfindel quickly raised a restraining hand. “Hold. We do not want to frighten him anymore than he already is.” Slowly shifting the angle of his arm so that his own palm faced the scared human, Glorfindel inched forward. “Do not be scared. We mean you no harm. We are just looking for our friend and feel that you might be able to tell us how to find him. His name is Legolas. Have you seen him?”

Seeming to ease somewhat, the scruffy human lowered his arms and shifted so his feet came together. His posture relaxed substantially and he tilted his head in curiosity as he took in the golden elf. “I have met no one by that name.”

Glorfindel’s hand mimicked the man’s and lowered to this side. Behind him Angrod and the twins held perfectly still, becoming almost unnoticeable. “You mentioned something about another elf. A murderer?”

“Locke? His actions resulted in my father’s death. He deserves to hang today.”

“Hang? Why would they hang this elf?” Glorfindel took another tentative step forward.

“Why are you concerned? Is he your relation? He did look like you.” The man’s eyes scanned over Glorfindel, sliding over his hair and shifting down to his soft boots. “He is being hung today in town for killing a man and stealing his horse.”

Elladan, Elrohir and Angrod shot back atop their horses, ready to move. This elf, whom the man had perceived to be Glorfindel’s kin had to be Legolas, the coincidence was too great. Glorfindel moved to mount his own horse, continuing his questioning in the process. “What time today?”

“Midday.”

Shifting his eyes to the sky he was alarmed to see that the time was nearly upon them. He had to move. “Where is the town?”

A subtle look of confusion crossed the young man’s face and he slowly raised his finger and pointed due North. The four elves were gone, leaving nary a trail of dust, before the man’s hand was back to his side once again.

Locke’s head felt glued to his knees. He wanted to sit with his head up, both literally and figuratively, but his despair was overtaking him.

Having all but forgotten about the arrow wound to his back, Locke was stunned when the pain from the wound seemed to flare up after his trial with the Town Council. Pressure from his head wound built and he fought to keep himself from ripping the bandages from his head. Constant sitting did nothing for any of his injuries but Locke didn’t have the desire nor inclination to move.

Leandir had come in on several occasions, bringing food, clean bandages and, at times, just to look. Not once had Locke acknowledged his presence. Not once did Locke remove his sight from where it was trained on the cell floor.

He had chided himself for such unelf-like behavior but had quickly scoffed at himself because he couldn’t really recall what elf-like behavior was. Perhaps sulking was very elf-like. He doubted it.

But it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like something that he should be doing or would be doing typically. However, Locke was having a very difficult time pulling himself out of it. It didn’t really seem to matter considering that by the end of the day he would be dead.

His punishment had been declared. He had been found guilty and perhaps he was. Perhaps he had attacked a party of men unwarranted and killed one of their party. Perhaps he was dark, evil and cruel. Maybe he could overpower Leandir and escape. He didn’t think it would be hard to do. He had a feeling that the Marshal actually wanted him to escape. He could simply give him a good shove and make a run for it.

But where would he run to.

Locke had absolutely no idea where he belonged or where he would go. Could he just wander into the first elven settlement that he came across and hope they would take him in? What if he were an outcast? What if he were hunted by his own people for crimes he had committed against them? Could he be a criminal of men and elves?

No, he would stay and accept his punishment. If he had wronged the people of this town then it was only right that he accept his punishment.

Clanging of the cell door startled him for the third time since the sun had risen that day and Locke, again, ignored the arrival of Leandir, his chin staying put on his knees.

“Master Elf.” Leandir stepped tentatively forward. “It is time.”

This got Locke’s attention and he slowly lifted his head to look the Marshal in the eyes. Pain shot through his back and head at the sudden movement but he hid his pain from the man.

“Come, the townspeople are waiting.” Leandir moved toward the elf and held his hand out. Locke ignored the offered aid and pushed himself to his feet. Ever so slowly he straightened out trying to ignore the dizziness that overcame him.

He took a shaky step toward the cell entrance but was stopped by a gentle hand. “Forgive me but I must bind your hands.”

A slight bob of the head confirmed his acquiescence and Locke casually slid his hands behind his back. Pain intensified somewhat and he felt confused by the new flare up that had only recently returned. Leandir was gentle with the binding ensuring that the bonds were tight but not uncomfortable. Locke tested the rope briefly, out of curiosity, and found that he was held tight. There would be no escaping his punishment even if he wanted to.

Gliding across the room, Locke felt as though he were floating in a dream. Objects seemed to shift in and out of focus. Strange images of people and places flitted into the places that were held by the office doors and furniture. His head throbbed with each step. Only the firm, supportive hand upon his arm seemed steady.

Locke urged himself to wake up from this nightmare. Encouraging his eyes to open and his mind to cease this facade. Reality seemed so blurred and he told himself that these past weeks couldn’t have been factual. They must have been a cruel hoax.

As he stepped out into the bright sunlight all became clear and he knew, for a fact, that he would not be saved from his predicament with the simple opening of his eyes. They were open and they were seeing and what they were seeing was the dusty street lined by small wooden buildings leading to the center of town where a large platform stood, beckoning him.

 Execution

They moved as one. Weaving in an out of trunks, leaping downed trees, ducking low lying limbs. The four horsemen were a force to be reckoned with and anyone who happened upon their journey would tell the story to their children. Their children would pass it down to their children and so on until the myth of the four determined specters would instill fear into misbehaving young ones.

Animals ceased in their daily tasks as the riders passed. Birds paused in their singing, forest squirrels stopped in the gathering of their food, deer froze in their grazing, all to be witness to the passage of the elves. One could have sworn that even the fish halted in their swimming.

One by one they leapt the small brook that dared cross their path, each clearing the water perfectly, raising no spray onto the rider behind him. In tandem they dodged a series of hanging branches, not even their quick passing elicited movement from the trees extremities.

They exchanged words and direction as they rode but the communication was inaudible to all but the foursome. At the bidding of the lead rider they simultaneously raised a slender hand and pulled their hoods up over their heads, concealing their elven heritage. Now, their faces were barely visible beneath the drawn hoods eliciting an even more eery, ethereal aura.

Soft words were spoken by the riders to halt the movement of the horses as small buildings came into view. Drawing into a canter, four sets of eyes turned to the high set sun, four hearts began to pound in unison and four elven beings dismounted at the edge of the small town.

“We do not have much time.” Angrod’s words were rushed. “The townspeople seem to be moving toward the center of town. Let us move.”

Raising a halting hand, Glorfindel spoke without removing his eyes from the scene before him. “We must remain calm and inconspicuous.” His eyes followed the people moving before him. His ears tried to pick up the hurried conversations going on amongst the inhabitants. Word of an elven execution circulated furiously. Everyone who moved about the town moved in the direction of a large platform centered there.

“Angrod, take the horses to the East of the town, just beyond the tree line. Have them wait and then join us in the town’s center.” Glorfindel turned his head toward the other three elves as he spoke buts his eyes remained rooted on the rostrum. “Elladan, you take the West. Elrohir, take South. Angrod, you remain to the East. Do not move in on the elf until you receive a signal from me.”

The blond elf gave his horse one last pat then stepped forward, the two identical elves following directly in his footsteps. Angrod moved slowly out of sight to their right and was immediately lost amongst the thick trees. But Glorfindel’s train of vision didn’t waver, his eyes remained glued to the platform directly ahead of him and the twins.

Tugging the hood of his cloak a little lower over his eyes, he subconsciously picked up the pace of his steps. The people of the crowd that had formed around the platform became more solid to his sight and grew in size the closer he got. Consisting of approximately three dozen people, equal parts men and women, the people didn’t appear malicious in their observation. Curiosity seemed to plague each of them as their eyes scanned the crowd and their words spun stories of the murderous elf.

The trio separated on the edge of the crowd and moved into their respective areas on each side of the raised platform. The platform was made of plain wood, no intricate craftsmanship adorned it as would appear in Imladris or Mirkwood. Two simple steps rose from the southern side leading up. One large branch from an oak tree loomed overhead, a long rope dangled from it. Glorfindel’s eyes followed the rope which lay over the branch then stretched out coming to end just to the North of the platform, tied securely to the pommel of a saddle strapped atop a large black stallion.

The sight made him cringe, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and his stomach turned. This wasn’t to be a quick hanging, the town was too simple for that, the elf that was to be executed was to be executed by strangulation.

Glorfindel’s attention was then drawn to a shrouded being stepping out of the woods just left of the horse. Angrod casually made his way across the clearing and Glorfindel couldn’t help but sympathize with the young elf when he noticed a pause as Angrod’s own eyes caught the rope and horse.

No sooner had the foursome settled into the crowd when hushed voices became raised and excited. Something was entering the crowd from the South. Glorfindel twisted and raised up on his toes to get a better look of what was causing the commotion. As the crowd began to part he felt his own anxiety rising and the probability of what was about to occur. He had already decided that regardless of the identity of the elf to be executed he would do everything in his power to still the punishment.

His senses detected the straining nerves of the other three elves in the crowd as the prisoner came into view. A tall dark man entered the crowd, Glorfindel could just make out the top of the man’s head. It was who he guided by the elbow that seized his attention. White bandages were all that he saw to begin with, the elf’s head was bound tightly. A pale face is what he saw next and not matter the pallor of the complexion, Glorfindel would never mistake that elf for another.

He turned quickly in the direction of the other elves and leveled each of them with a glare, telling them that if they moved he would personally see to their removal from Arda. When he turned back to the direction of the prisoner he steeled his nerves for what he saw and was about to see. The elf looked so young with his head covered, dressed in oversized men’s clothing. His arms were bound very tightly behind his back and his head hung, his chin almost coming to rest on his chest.

Yet, the elf seemed more resolved then frightened. The man lead him very gently through the crowd of people who had gathered to watch this spectacle, clearing townspeople out of the way and ensuring that the elf didn’t trip or run into anyone. His large hand remained firmly on the elf’s elbow as he guided the prisoner up the stairs and onto the platform. The elf was then quickly handed over to another, rather obese man with no hair before the first man’s shoulders dropped and he removed himself from the platform more quickly than he had arrived.

“Interesting.” Glorfindel watched the man as he walked to the edge of the throng. As soon as the man stopped, the blond elf moved hurriedly in his direction. Perhaps he could stop this before it went to far.

Locke scanned the horde before him as he tried to still the quivering that seemed to have overtaken him. He didn’t feel fear for the events which were about to occur, yet he could not calm his nerves. He had resolved himself that death was a much more desirable outcome to his predicament then spending the rest of his days searching for his life only to eventually discover that it was not a life he wanted to have.

He had tuned out the crowd as Leandir had guided him through the curious onlookers. He didn’t want to look at them, nor acknowledge their presence, he just wanted it all to be over with. Yet, the people had been remarkably calm, there had been no shouting or shoving, there didn’t even appear to be any anger. All that Locke felt was curiosity and apprehension although he was not sure what the townspeople could be feeling uneasy over.

Climbing the steps up to the platform took all of his strength. Locke could feel his chest constricting with each step as the hollowness of the stairs reverberated in his still aching head. All sound seemed to vanish as he strode, slowly across the platform toward the councilman, Torrill, who was stationed in the center of the platform, one hand holding tightly to a noose dangling from a heavy branch, which hung overhead.

Locke restrained himself from following the length of rope with his eyes but he suspected that - because of the absence of a trapdoor or stool - his hanging would not be quick, nor painless.

He could sense Leandir’s hesitation as he was handed over to the councilman and Locke raised his eyes to the marshal, giving a comforting smile to the man who had been his only friend since his arrest. “Thank you.” He whispered as Leandir backed away a guilt-ridden expression marring his dark face. He followed the marshal as he finally turned and descended the stairs then made his way across the town center to the edge of the crowd.

He then allowed his vision to rove over the gathered multitude stopping momentarily on faces and studying them closely. Locke could see the intrigue in their eyes, the questions and the small doses of fear. He hadn’t gone far into the crowd when he started at a familiar, unnerving presence.

Standing just to the left of the platform were Thad and his cronies. They leaned into each other as though they had spent the morning in the local pub, drinking in celebration. Laughter could be heard over the rest of those gathered and, because of his acute hearing, Locke could make out the crude jokes and slanderous remarks coming from the group. Thad, however, did not speak. He just stood in the center of the group of drunken men, a malicious smile on his face and when Locke made eye contact with the man Thad tilted his head in mock greeting. He then lifted his black, stained hand and twitted his fingers at the elf.

Locke nearly lost his composure at the complete disregard for life and lack of respect. Even this close to his death the man taunted him and it made the elf’s stomach roll in disgust.

He pulled his gaze away from the disgusting men and moved deeper into the crowd. He caught the eyes of a young mother, her baby pressed firmly to her shoulder, a look of sorrow in her eyes. He then moved on to an elderly gentleman, not much younger than Adras, profound indignation set forth on his complexion. Then onto an older woman, standing hand in hand with, what Locke assumed was her husband. The woman carried a look of hatred, the man pity.

Locke’s vision then skirted across other members of the collection until they landed on him. Hidden deep beneath the hood of a cloak were a set of the clearest, gray eyes that the elf could ever recall seeing. He tried to delve deeper into the mask but the eyes were all that was visible and Locke found the image unsettling.

Forcing himself to move along, Locke nearly stumbled backward when he fell across the same cloaked figure, grey eyes shining. He turned his head back to where he had seen the other figure and his breath caught in his throat when he discovered the being still there. Two of them there were and Locke found his head swinging back and forth between the two.

Something pulled at him from the opposite side of the platform and Locke turned his gaze only to be met by a third cloaked figure, this one with intense blue eyes staring back. The elf swallowed heavily and his eyes grew wide as the being took a step forward, coming closer to the platform. Now the elf’s head cut, rapidly amongst the three. The longer he stared the more familiar the eyes became.

Who were they? Could they have come to escort him to the other side? But, though the figures instilled a sense of fear in him, they also comforted him. A discreet awareness of recognition inkling at the back of his mind.

Seeking some kind of guidance Locke looked in the direction that he had last seen Leandir. He nearly gasped when he saw a fourth cloaked figure engaged in an intense discussion with the marshal. The mysterious figure seemed to be shouting at Leandir but Locke could not make out what the pair were saying to each other.

A slight breeze picked up, catching the leaves overhead and the rope dangling next to him swayed subtly but it was not these things that made Locke freeze. The shift in the air had caused a hair to come loose from the fourth figures cloak. A long tendril of gold flipped out but for only a brief second before the mysterious creature snatched it back and tucked it under his hood once again.

Gold hair. A vision shot through Locke’s mind at the sight and the elf look another step back before being grasped tightly by the arm by Torrill. But it was what he saw in his psyche that made his heart ache. The picture of an elf of royal stature, a loving look in his eyes as he regarding the troubled Locke. His heart swelled at this vision and he closed his eyes to keep the picture in his mind. He clung to the image even as it faded from his vision before being lost to him. Then the present situation slammed back into him.

“Locke the elf.” Torrill began, his hand still firmly grasping Locke’s arm. “You have been charged with murder and horse theft and found guilty before the council of this fair town.”

The monotone voice of the councilman continued on but the words were lost on Locke as he searched the crowd for the intimidating figures he had noted earlier. Each, with the exception of the golden haired one still arguing with Leandir, moved steadily forward, coming closer to the platform.

It was the movement of the larger man to his right that caught his attention yet again as a noose was slid over his head, snagging the bandage wrapped tightly there and coming to rest upon his slender neck.

“You must stop this. You know not what you do.” Glorfindel was frantic now as he tried to instill the level of importance into the marshal without raising his voice.

“There is naught that I can do master elf.” Leandir refused to make eye contact with Glorfindel as he spoke, his eyes rooted on Locke. “I have done my job, the decision is that of the council members.”

“For what is he being executed?”

Leandir shifted uncomfortably as though his feet burned beneath him. “He is charged with murder and theft. There were many witnesses to his crime.”

Glorfindel clenched his fists at his side. “He could not have done it.”

“He has no memory.”

Glorfindel didn’t pick up on the severity of the statement. “It matters not, we have a witness in Rivendell who says that they were attacked on their journey and only retaliated in self defense. You must believe this. You know not you who hold. Who you are about to put to death.”

This series of statements got Leandir’s attention and he finally turned his head to meet the eyes of the elf accosting him. That it didn’t matter that Locke had no memory at all stunned Leandir. How could this elf think that. The elf had lost everything in the blink of an eye. He had lost his own identity. How could this be of no importance?

“What mean you?” He enquired of the regal looking elf.

“This is Legolas, Son of Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. If you put him to death you will have the wrath of the elves upon you. Do not do it.” Glorfindel pleaded. He wasn’t above groveling in this instance. The life of his young friend was at stake as well as the life of many others if this execution was allowed to continue.

Just then a breeze kicked up, knocking a strand of hair loose from Glorfindel’s cloak. The elf snatched it back quickly but the similarity was not lost on Leandir. “Is he your kin?”

Glorfindel seemed shocked by this question and turned an inquisitive eye on the marshal. “Please, you can not allow this to go on. If you do not stop it then we must.”

The man upon the platform with Locke began to speak now and it took every ounce of Leandir’s and Glorfindel’s restraint to keep from looking.

“I can not stop it.” Leandir spoke softly. “I would lose the respect I have worked so hard for. Criminals would come from all over to this town because word would get out that I was lenient. It is my job to protect these people.”

“And yet you let the real criminals go unpunished and risk a war over an unrightly death?”

But before the marshal could answer the elf’s inquiry the words they had both been dreading rang about the town. “ENGAGE!”

Why did he look frightened of me? Why are we not moving to stop this? The questions ran through Angrod’s head too quickly for him to keep up with them. He glanced to his left to make quick eye contact with Elrohir, who was obviously asking himself the same questions as a look of despair crossed over his fair face.

Elrohir stepped forward and Angrod found himself mimicking the action. He was drawn to Legolas, he wanted to fly up there and release him from the grasp of the large man who stood reading off some absurd charges. Legolas would never kill a man for his horse. The thought angered him and he found himself taking large breaths to calm his anger.

He knew that they had been told not to move on the platform until they had received the signal from Glorfindel but when the man slipped the noose over Legolas’ head Angrod fought to hold his ground. He took another step forward.

As Legolas made eye contact with him again, confusion and anxiety marring his bandaged head, he took another step forward.

He noted a wince of pain on his Prince’s face and he felt Elrohir and Elladan moving forward and he took another step forward.

He could hear Glorfindel arguing with, what he perceived to be the marshal, making no ground in his case to let his friend go and he took another step forward.

Then the word that he had been dreading rang out and that was all it took. Angrod was in motion before the councilman finished the order. “ENGAGE!”

 The Rescue

There was no question in Leandir’s mind as to what the appropriate thing to do in this situation would be. There had always been that niggling in the back of his mind that Locke was innocent of the things that he had been accused of. It was the expectations of his appointed position in the community that had already kept him from acting on this knowledge.

But hadn’t he once previously encouraged the elf to run? And it was the elf who had chosen to stay. But were the elf’s reasons for staying rational? It was fear that had kept the elf there and it was fear that had kept Leandir from letting him go. Perhaps now it was time for both the elf and marshal to take command of these fears.

If Leandir forced Locke into freedom then Locke would have no other choice but to find his real life. And yet, here was one of his own, standing mere inches from him, with the information that Locke needed. And if this elf, who looked an awful lot like Locke, had come searching for him and if Locke was who this new elf claimed he was then Locke’s fears were completely unjustified after all.

The entire time that this new elf had been shouting at him, Leandir’s eyes hadn’t left Locke - except for the time that the wind had blown that strand of gold loose from its hiding place underneath the hood. Even now, as the elf had been entirely prepared for his execution and Torrill had given the final command, his eyes were rooted on Locke.

Then everything happened so quickly and Leandir found himself being sucked into the mayhem that ensued.

From his position directly opposite of Angrod, Elladan was nearly trembling with adrenaline. He had watched the young woodelf take tentative steps closer to the platform that held Legolas and had found himself mimicking his movements. He had seen that Elrohir had done the same, each moving closer and closer to the object of their hunt.

Then the order had been given and the large man’s voice had echoed amongst the surrounding buildings and within Elladan’s head. The gathered townspeople had taken a collective breath at the same time that Elladan had released the one he had been holding. And then he was moving.

He had first seen Angrod break his command and begin sprinting toward Legolas and the platform. Then he had noticed Glorfindel, too, was in motion, flying across the square in their direction. His feet readily flew, pushing him closer, the knowledge that protection for Legolas would be needed once the townspeople realized that the prisoner was about to be set free.

But the townspeople didn’t move to stop the elves. As a matter of fact, they cleared out of the way entirely, running away from the unfolding scene and heading for their homes and places of business. A brief moment of relief washed over the older twin as he slowed his movement and then he saw his friend.

Suspended some five feet above the platform, strung up by his neck, was the elf they had been searching for these past days. Legolas swung from side to side as he struggled against the confining ropes. His face was turning red and Elladan’s heart began to bang, violently against his chest. He screamed at himself to move.

Pushing forward once again, Elladan now encountered his next obstacle. A long, thick blade swung into his path. Had he not had the elven reflexes that he had been born with and had so many years to hone these skills, Elladan would have been looking up at his own body as his head would have been cleaved from his shoulders.

At the other end of the sword, holding tightly to the pommel and smiling malevolently, stood a man of large stature. Dressed almost entirely in browns - whether by design of the material or covered in dirt, Elladan couldn’t tell - and hair disheveled, the man pressed the blade even closer to the Noldorin elf’s neck.

“I would not do that if I were you.” A sneer marred the man’s already homely face. “That elf deserves what he has coming.”

Glancing quickly between his waylayer, Legolas and his hunting companions - who seemed to have found themselves in similar situations as his own - Elladan realized he could wait no longer, Legolas’ lips were turning blue and his struggles had slowed.

Spinning to his left and crouching at the same time Elladan slipped beneath the man’s guard and came up his sword already drawn. He forcefully knocked the man’s sword away and came to a halt in exactly the same position as before, except this time his sword was laid across his attackers throat.

“You are obviously not me.” Elladan swiftly raised his hand and slammed the hilt of his sword against the base of the man’s neck, he was moving again before his assailant had come to a complete halt in a heap in the dirt.

Before even moving another three steps Elladan ran directly into his next attacker. This man had an even uglier expression upon his face. Yet this man carried himself with more confidence and was somewhat cleaner than the other men that had intercepted him and his companions. This man also seemed to have much to say.

“Must be my lucky day,” The man growled. “Gets to see more than one of your cursed race put to death.”

He moved in quickly to Elladan’s right, getting himself behind the swing of the elf’s sword, and kicked out, his heavily booted foot collided roughly with the back of Elladan’s leg sending the Noldor tumbling to the ground, his sword spiraling out of his grasp.

Elladan cursed himself and rolled quickly to his back to face the oncoming attack. “I thought you elves were supposed to be formidable foes, yet two I have sent to there knees in just months.” A deep throaty laugh was emitted after the statement and the sound of it got Elladan’s ire up. “I would just stay there elf. This confrontation will not go your way. My men have already taken care of your companions.”

Elladan’s hands clenched into tight fists and he glanced quickly to his left to see Elrohir fighting off two men from a similar position, one knee on the ground, a small cut on his brow. Further to his left was Angrod in the midst of being pinned beneath three other men, the young Mirkwood warrior seemed to be restraining a scream. He looked even further to see Glorfindel had actually made it to the platform but had been stopped by four men, surrounding him on each side, taking swings, in quick succession, toward the Balrog Slayer.

“It is over. That murdering elf is done for. You should have taken a lessen from him and his friend. I took care of them and I will take care of the four of you”

That was all it took. That this was the man that had seriously injured Estel and kept Legolas from them was enough for him. He was just one man and Elladan was furious with anger and sorrow.

Kicking out violently with his legs, Elladan didn’t even wait to see where his blow landed or what effect it had on the man. He continued to swing his legs around and twisting his body came to stand erect several feet from the man who now seemed to favor his left leg. A merciless scowl greeted him as he glared into the man’s eyes. “Looks like your fight is not yet over with.”

Spinning again, Elladan caught the hilt of his sword with his foot and tossed the weapon several feet in the air. When he came to face his attacker yet again, he held the blade firmly in his strong, slender hand, then lashed out swiftly, catching the man directly across his right cheek. A crimson line was left where the blade had touched the man and Elladan felt a small sense of pleasure at the mark that he knew would be permanently upon the man’s skin.

When the order had been given and the horse had moved out and the rope had tightened around his neck, Locke had resolved himself that this was the end and had accepted it. That resolution had lasted all of ten seconds.

Once his feet lifted off the platform the unrelenting desire to live had taken over. Locke wanted to find out who he was. He wanted to know the reason that he had been traveling alone in the woods that night and more than anything he wanted to know who the elves from his memory were.

His throat closing in on him and the pain that filled his head at the pressure that no air warranted seemed to blur his vision and he had to force himself to keep control of his emotions and focus on the bigger picture. He pulled against the ropes that bound him. Damn you Marshal. If you wanted me to escape then why did you bind me so tightly?

The rope bit into his arms and neck and pulled on his flesh, had the areas not already been numb he would have surely felt the blood that sprang from the wounds that the rough cord caused. He lifted his legs in an effort to pull his arms around them, ending up in front, but the rope would not give way and the only thing resulting from the movement was an intense jarring to the binding around his neck when his legs swung back into place.

Something was happening in the crowd that had formed around platform. Shouts and screams filled his ears, followed shortly by the clanging of metal on metal but Locke could not see, his head was lifted to the sky, tensing against the strangling hold.

Beginning to feel light headed, Locke could not find the strength in him to struggle much more but could not give up. He pulled, weakly against the ropes on his arms again and kicked his feet in a last ditch effort to free himself.

Bright light flashed before his eyes and the edges of his vision darkened. He could hear someone calling out but could not make out the name that was shouted. His lungs screamed and he felt the urge to cough but no air was getting in or out.

Panic set in and Locke could hear his heart pounding violently against his chest wall and in his head. He could feel the cuts on his head and back throbbing with the pressure. The darkness on his vision closed in and Locke quit fighting.

Running quickly across the square in the direction of the platform and the now dangling elf, Leandir shouted to the people fleeing around him, commanding them to remain calm and not panic. It was for nothing. When the square had cleared and all that was left were the five elves, himself and Thad with his men, Leandir pulled his sword and began fighting his way to the platform.

It was an easy trek to the platform for him. None of the Thad’s men wanted to confront him and the elves were too busy to notice him. He mounted the platform then froze. Just beneath him a battle raged on. The elves were vastly outnumbered and it was obvious that, had they not been avoiding killing their adversaries, they would have had a vast advantage.

For years to come Leandir would wonder at what had caused him to freeze on that platform. Had he been so enthralled by the graceful movements of the elves? Or had he been confused by the compassion they held for the men who had caused so much trouble in their lives? It was mystifying. Locke had already intrigued him and this most recent experience had proven to him that there was much to learn of the firstborn.

A quiet grunting ripped him back to reality and Leandir turned to see that Locke had lost his battle. His fighting had slowed and his eyes were clenched tightly closed and Leandir knew that he needed to move quickly.

The Marshal lifted his sword and swung but the height was too great and his swing fell short of the rope holding Locke up. He crouched low, his sword held vertically in front of him, then leapt with all of his might and swung again. Still, his reach was short. He thought to grasp Locke’s legs and him up to relieve some the stress on his airway but he knew that could only help for a short amount of time.

His eyes followed the rope across the bow of the tree and down to where it stopped on an agitated horse. Nearly throwing himself from the rear of the platform, Leandir landed hard, startling the already upset animal. The horse whinnied and the Marshal flipped his glance over his shoulder to the direction of Locke, the elf had ceased in his movements and Leandir feared he had been too slow.

Racing to the horse’s side he sliced through the offending cord and smacked the animal on the rump sending it running into the forest. He turned back just in time to see the limp form of Locke slam into the platform base, unmoving.

Moving quicker than he had previously, Leandir was at the elf’s side in no time. Locke was motionless, his blue lips and now sunken eyes made him appear dead and the marshal’s chest constricted at the thought. He reached out trembling fingers and unwound the bindings from the elf’s neck and arms then lifted a tentative hand to the elf’s throat and placed his fingers there, holding them in place for several seconds.

A quiet sigh escaped his throat and he rose from his hunched position. He turned to the still raging battle and stepped to the edge of the platform the rope still grasped firmly in his hand. “HOLD”. His voice reverberated about him and although the men and elves slowed they did not still. “I SAID HOLD. This battle is over. The elf is dead.”

Man and elf alike ceased their fight. Half the men had been dropped in unconsciousness and each of the elves were decorated with mild wounds. “The execution has been fulfilled. Take him home.” Leandir went to turn back to Locke but paused briefly. “Thad, take your men and leave here. These elves will receive safe passage out of this town. If any further harm should befall them I will allow their people to delve out their own justice.”

Leandir then turned back to Locke and dropped to one knee. He brushed a few stray strands of gold hair off of the elf’s brow and brushed his hand over the pale, cold features.

He didn’t hear the other four approach their fallen friend and it wasn’t until the one dressed in green with dark hair and blue eyes bent to scoop Locke up that he acknowledged them. “I am sorry for what has occurred here. Take him home. He needs to be home.” Leandir then rose and subconsciously descended the stairs. A small smile pulled at the edges of his mouth as he left the fives elves on the platform.

A/N - I think I covered everyone with the reviews except Lyn who raised the question of the authenticity of someone surviving a hanging. I got my information from two sources; the Wikipedia encyclopedia which talks about the different hanging methods and from research done by Richard Clark in which he also discusses the different methods of hanging, their results and he even states that people have actually been revived 30 minutes after hanging. If you want the address to his link let me know and I’ll email it to you.

Overwhelming Confusion

Rathir sat atop the rickety bar stool, holding half a mug of warm ale firmly in one hand, a long, white knife held loosely in the other. He lifted the heavy mug to his lips and took another long drink, letting the warm beverage slide easily down his throat. He had chosen not to go to the hanging, mostly out of boredom with the entire situation. It was over as far as he was concerned and he just didn’t want to be bothered with it anymore.

A ruckus outside caused him to turn his head toward the tavern entrance, the first time he had moved his sight from the mug of ale since his had taken his seat hours earlier. Thad and his other men were all but running into the smokey room, large smiles on their faces and laughter filling the air around them.

“Well?” The question needed no explanation, Rathir knew they would understand what it was he inquired over.

“All done.” Thad laughed his answer as he fell onto the stool next to Rathir.

“Good.” Rathir raised an arm as he spoke, motioning to the bartender that he was ready for another round. “Drinks for all of my men here.” He ignored the men’s laughter and story telling around him as he waited patiently for another ale. When all had been satisfactorily served he turned to the group of grungy thieves and raised his mug. “To Gillian. Whoever in Middle Earth he might be.”

The men filling the room began to laugh heartily at the statement then lowered their drinks to their mouths and partook of the warm, refreshing substance. Rathir smiled to himself at their pleasure, then joined in on the celebration, content that this latest set of mishaps and trouble was now over.

With Legolas riding in front of him, the Prince’s warm body pressed firmly to his chest, Angrod was having a difficult time containing himself. He had known from the moment he had picked his friend up off of the hard platform and cradled his limp body in his arm.

He had fought the urge to speak the words when Glorfindel had called the horses and each had mounted, making sure that Legolas was secure for the trip home. He had known that he needed to get the Prince far away from the town before he let his secret slip.

It was once they were well outside of the town’s center and deep into the surrounding woods that he could contain himself no longer. “Legolas lives.”

It was Elrohir that grasped what was spoken first and he stopped his horse from where he rode ahead of the pair of Woodelves, waiting for the two to approach. “Are you unwell Angrod. Perhaps I should take Legolas and relieve you of your burden so you can properly mourn.” His words carried a tone of concern and Angrod knew that Elrohir truly believed that he had lost his mind.

“Nay Elrohir. I speak truthfully. The Marshal was mistaken.” His words were rushed and whispered. “I have known from the moment I touched him back in the town square.”

“His light is diminished and the Marshal checked him and stated that he had passed.” Elladan had approached the trio now and was also voicing his confusion.

“He lied. Now help me down with him.” Angrod spoke urgently.

“You chose not to share this information with us for what reason Angrod?” Glorfindel had dismounted and now stood next to Angrod’s horse, reaching up and touching Legolas gently.

Angrod gently slid Legolas from the horse into the Golden Elf’s firm grasp. “I knew that he had no serious injury and I felt it wise to get as far away from the town as possible so that none other could hear this secret.”

Elrohir removed his cloak and swept it out onto the dirt just beneath a large oak tree. “Why would the Marshal lie about such a thing?”

Angrod had swung off of his horse by now and handed the animal over to Elladan who was busying himself with settling the large creatures for the night. He chased after Glorfindel, hesitant to be away from his friend for too long.

Glorfindel gently placed Legolas on the spread cloak then removed his own and covered the unconscious Prince. He then turned to the group that had come to surround them. “The Marshal lied so that we could remove Legolas from the situation without further incident. He knew that Legolas had not done the things that those men had accused him of.”

The Balrog Slayer then turned back to Legolas and crouched over his friend, placing a delicate finger to his throat. Angrod fell to his knees beside the two blond elves and looked to Glorfindel for reassurance. “Please tell me that I did not err.”

Glorfindel gave a small, sorrowful smile to the Mirkwood Warrior while running a hand over the bruises that had formed on Legolas’ neck. “You did not err young one. Now, we must give him care and set up camp. We need wood for a fire and water. I will gather those. Elladan and Elrohir please gather herbs for Legolas’ care and food for this nights meal. Angrod, stay with Legolas, he will need your familiarity once he wakes.”

With these instructions the elves departed the small, flattened area beneath the large tree and took to their tasks. Angrod pressed himself against the base of the tree and placed a hand on Legolas’ chest, both for the assurance that his friend was actually before him and that he still breathed.

A cool breeze picked up and slipped between the branches of the trees and Angrod pulled the cloak up higher over Legolas then tugged the hood of his own cloak up covering his ears and concealing his identity. He took Legolas’ hand in his own and traced the marks that the rope had caused on his wrists, his eyes, however, were glued to the bandages surrounding his friend’s head.

The once previous wrapping had become stained with dirt from the fall to the platform and the ride through the woods. His golden hair fell from beneath, the tips of his ears were covered and Angrod fought to control his curiosity. He yearned to peer beneath the bandages and see the damage done there but he knew that he should wait for the twins to return with the healing herbs.

It was then, as Angrod had lost himself in thought, that he felt Legolas stir. A small grunt came from the elf and he slowly turned his head to the left, laying his cheek against the cloak beneath him. His eyes clenched and his hand subconsciously rose to his neck.

He seemed to fight the return of consciousness for a moment before his eyes slowly opened, still appearing glazed and distant. Angrod had risen to his knees by this time and was hunched over Legolas, staring intensely into his face, his own dark hair falling from beneath the cloak that covered his head. Legolas’ head rolled back into Angrod’s direction and he fixed his eyes on the cloaked elf..

Without any type of warning and faster than Angrod could have ever imagined for one so injured, Legolas shot to a sitting position and pushed himself backward, his oversized clothing snagging on exposed roots and rocks. He looked at Angrod with intense fear and the reaction confused the dark elf. “Legolas?”

With that one word, Legolas scrambled to his feet and stumbled to the far side of the small clearing his eyes wide. Angrod slowly rose to his feet and raised his hand placatingly in front of himself. “Legolas, all is well. Peace.” He stepped slowly toward his friend as he spoke calmly. But before another step could be made Legolas turned on his heel and vanished into the trees.

“LEGOLAS WAIT.” Without sparing a moment’s thought Angrod tore after him, dodging trees and pushing himself to keep up so that he wouldn’t lose the just found elf. “ELLADAN. ELROHIR. GLORFINDEL.” The bushes to his right shifted and Angrod adjusted his course accordingly, ducking a low hanging branch as he ran. He thought about taking to the trees but was afraid of losing the Prince from that angle.

He could hear the twins calling to each other as they searched the woods for the two missing Woodelves. Then all fell silent and Angrod paused, listening to the surrounding nature for any clues. “Legolas, we mean you no harm. Please come back.” He called, hoping that his longtime friend would come to his senses.

A slight rustling of leaves behind him alerted him to the other’s arrival but Angrod’s lookout didn’t falter as the three approached from behind. “He became frightened and fled. I do not understand.” All four elves stood perfectly still, listening and waiting.

A flash of black to their left and four heads moved as one in that direction. When a small, barely noticeable tree limb shifted in the direction they gazed, all four took off. As they drew closer to the area where the movement was seen they split up, Angrod continuing straight, Glorfindel going right and the twins going left.

As Angrod entered the area where they had seen a flicker of Legolas he was saddened by what he saw. Legolas had fallen to one knee, his hand pressed to his bandaged head, his chin hanging to his chest. “Legolas. Let me help.” Legolas lifted his head in Angrod’s direction and froze.

Without sound, the three other elves emerged, surrounding Legolas on all four sides, taking small, careful steps forward. “Legolas, I want to help.” Angrod continued in hopes of keeping his friend calm.

Legolas didn’t turn his head but rolled his eyes around, catching each of the others in his sight. “What do you want? Can you not leave me alone?” His voice was raspy from the abuse it had taken and he coughed to clear the air.

Glorfindel moved closer. “We only want to help you young one.” Legolas’ head snapped toward Glorfindel and he crouched somewhat into a defensive stance. His oversized pants had become unrolled and it was a miracle that he hadn’t tripped over them in his flight. The sleeves of his large tunic covered most of his hands but even in this state Legolas looked a formidable foe.

“Legolas, we do not want to hurt you. Please.” Angrod had moved so closely that he was within arms reach of the Prince. He reached out to Legolas in an effort to make contact with him, hoping that his touch would ease the elf. He was wrong.

Legolas tried again to bolt, but this time he was outnumbered. All four elves moved in to restrain him. Elladan, who had come in from behind, wrapped his arms around Legolas chest and began to speak calmly to the elf as the others moved to subdue his arms and legs.

“Legolas. Please calm down. We only want to help you.” Elladan called to Legolas but his voice remained calm. “Peace Legolas please. You will disturb your wounds.”

Angrod and Elrohir had managed to get a firm hold on Legolas’ legs while Glorfindel moved in to grasp him around the waste. None spoke with the exception of Elladan and the grunting and whimpering that came with Legolas’ struggle drowned out his words.

“LET ME GO.” The plea was ripped from the elf’s damaged throat, the sound of it causing the others to cringe. Legolas’ struggles weakened and the elf let out a scream unlike any Angrod had ever heard before. It was a scream of utter frustration and it ripped at his heart. When the long, drawn out cry had ceased Legolas collapsed against Elladan, his energy spent.

Angrod, Elrohir and Glorfindel let go of the elf and Elladan scooped him up into his arms. Legolas’ eyes had fallen closed but his body remained rigid in Elladan’s arms.

“Will he be okay?” Angrod enquired.

The small group began to return to their camping spot, moving hurriedly so they could begin tending to Legolas.

“What was wrong with him. I have never seen him so disoriented or frightened.” Angrod went on. “He just took flight without warning.”

Glorfindel stood back, holding a stray branch out of the other’s way as they passed. “The Marshal said that Legolas did not remember. I had assumed that he meant that Legolas did not remember what had happened with the men. I now believe that he meant that Legolas has lost all memory.”

Angrod tried to hide his shock at this revelation and he could tell that the twins were doing the same. They all moved in quiet contemplation, hardly noticeable within the heavy woods. When they had returned to their campsite, Elladan replaced Legolas upon the cloak and recovered him.

“Memory loss in an elf is unheard of, is it not?” He queried as he began to remove the soiled bandage from Legolas’ head.

“Nay, not unheard of, but rare yes.” Glorfindel responded as he began to build a fire just beneath a break in the trees where the smoke could escape. “I have heard stories of elves who have had injuries that have resulted in memory loss but I have never met such an elf. Legolas would be the first.”

Before anyone could respond Elladan let out a slight gasp and the other three elves moved quickly to his side. “It is easy to understand how his memory could have been affected by such wounds.” A large bump adorned his right forehead, the swelling from the wound had not gone down since its inception. Elladan turned Legolas’ head to the right exposing the long jagged cut behind his ear, the sight causing Angrod’s stomach to turn.

“Two major head wounds would assuredly result in some type inordinate result.” Glorfindel stated as he traced his fingers over the slow healing cut. “Elladan, will you take care of him? I want to return to Imladris as soon as possible, Legolas needs Lord Elrond’s care.”

With a slight nod of the head, Elladan began to attend to Legolas’ wounds, a quiet humming breaking from his throat as he did so. The song comforted Angrod as he hoped that it would comfort Legolas.

 Imladris

Legolas’ eyes opened slowly and cautiously to the sight of swaying leaves high above him. Voices to his left tinkled in his ears, the familiarity tugging at his memories. He sluggishly turned his aching head bringing the speakers into his line of sight. Four elves stood around a small fire roughly five feet from where he lay, speaking quietly to one another.

The realization of who these four elves were hit him and humiliation mixed with sorrow struck him with full force. He recalled those eyes that bore into him as he stood upon the platform awaiting his execution. He had feared that they belonged to incorporeal beings who had come to guide him through his own death. Then when he had become aware of their presence when he had regained consciousness after his hanging his confusion and dismay had gotten the better of him.

It seemed irrational and juvenile now, when he thought back on the incident, but at the time it seemed to be Legolas’ only recourse. He had been in the company of so many strangers, each with their own motives and rationale for wanting him around that his already fractured mind had ceased the ability to conclude who was friend and who was foe. So, in his panic, he had fled.

“You are awake I see.” It was the blond elf that Legolas had seen speaking with Leandir but he offered no response to the statement. “How are you feeling?”

Just behind the questioning elf, Legolas could see the other three, two identical in appearance, watching with concern. Still he failed to respond, instead, he shifted himself in an attempt to rise to a sitting position.

“Let me help.” The blond elf reached in, slipping his arm behind Legolas’ back and lifting him up so that his back came to rest against the trunk of a large oak tree. He saw the other three step tentatively toward him but the blond elf raised a hand, holding them at bay. “Angrod, would you be so kind as to heat some water for some tea, please?” There was a slight hesitation then one of the others moved off at the blond elf’s bidding.

“Legolas, do you remember me?” Legolas’ eyes snapped back to the blond elf and he searched his blue eyes for anything recognizable. Whether it was the quick movement or the straining of memory Legolas didn’t know but his head began to ache mildly and he raised his hand to his still bandaged head. The blond elf cautiously stretched his own fingers out to touch the wound and Legolas found himself subconsciously recoiling causing the other’s hand to freeze in midair, inches from Legolas’ face.

“It is okay Legolas. I know things are very confusing for you right now, but you should know that even under the most extreme circumstances I would never raise a finger against you.” A caring smile came to the blond elf’s face and he tilted his head ever so slightly to the right as he peered into Legolas’ face. “My name is Glorfindel, and you are Legolas son of Thranduil. We have known one another for many years, and I am going to help you if you will allow it.”

Again he froze with the kind smile upon his face looking deep into Legolas’ eyes, waiting patiently for a response. Legolas searched his memory for anything of this blond, powerfully statured elf. Nothing came and the despair and sorrow in Legolas’ heart intensified. “I am sorry.” His chin fell to his chest and his hand rose again to his injured head.

Glorfindel shifted and came to a sitting position in front of Legolas, his knees touching Legolas’ own. “It is I who am sorry Legolas.” Glordindel’s strong hand reached out and gently tilted Legolas’ head up so that he could see his face. “Let us help you.”

Nodding in acceptance, Legolas felt a slight lightening in his heart. These elves meant him no harm and they seemed to know more about him than any others he had met since this whole ordeal had begun. It seemed that he had nothing to lose by accepting their help.

Glorfindel’s smile widened at the affirmative action and he bobbed his own head in pleasure. “Good. Now, does your head still pain you?”

“Somewhat.” Legolas admitted

“May I have a look?” Glorfindel waited for Legolas’ acquiescence before he reached up and unwound the bandaging. Legolas watched the expressions on Glorfindel’s face change from concern to horror and on to sorrow. He could see that the dark haired elf had returned from starting water to boil and then had moved forward with the twin elves to get a look at his wound.

“Hit twice would you not agree Elladan?” One of the twin elves knelt before Legolas and traced his fingers over the remnants of the wound on his right forehead. This same elf then raised his right hand and felt along the wound behind Legolas’ left ear.

“I would concur Glorfindel. I think that father needs to see him as soon as possible.” Elladan let his hand come to rest on the side of Legolas’ face. “Well met Legolas. When was the last time you ate something?”

Legolas thought deeply on this. “I do not recall.”

Elladan raised his right hand and extended it back over his shoulder with his palm up, all the while not taking his gaze off of Legolas. His twin stepped forward and placed a small piece of bread into his palm and then took a step back, remaining quiet the entire time. “Eat this. I think that part of the reason you passed out on us was lack of sustenance.” Elladan placed the bread in Legolas’ hand and then rose to his feet, coming to stand over his friend.

Taking a small bight of the bread, Legolas instantly felt the despair in his heart diminish and his limbs gain more strength. “Thank you.”

It was the other dark headed elf, Angrod, who stepped forward now, a steaming cup in his hand. “Please drink some of this tea Legolas.” He handed the steaming cup over to Legolas and then took a seat next to Glorfindel who remained seated directly across from the once lost woodelf. “I am so happy to see you my friend. I cannot express to you the fear you had evoked in me. Can you tell us what happened?”

Legolas took a small sip of the hot tea, the warmth of it sliding down his throat and filling his stomach then spreading out into his limbs. The ache in his head eased somewhat and a calmness filled him like he hadn’t felt in weeks. He then began to recount the events of the past few weeks, beginning with the moment of waking up in Adras’ home and ending with the verdict of the council hearing. When he had finished his tale his voice hitched and he fought to control his emotions. Recalling the loss of the man who had saved his life and been so fatherly toward him hurt deep inside and Legolas took another drink of the tea to numb the pain.

“Forgive my weakness.” He plead to the four elves who were all now listening intently.

Glorfindel leaned in and placed a comforting hand on Legolas’ thigh. “There is nothing to forgive young one. You were very brave under the circumstances.”

“And you have been unable to remember anything of your life since you awoke?” It was the other twin elf that asked, the one Legolas had not yet learned the name of.

With a small sigh expressing his fatigue and self frustration, Legolas answered. “I have had a few vague moments with flitting visions that were unexplainable that I can only assume were flashes of memory but otherwise no, I have not been able to recall a thing.”

All fell quiet now and Legolas could sense their unease at his predicament. He felt sympathy for them and their inability to know how to deal with him. He didn’t really know how to deal with himself. He could see the sadness in their eyes when they looked at him and he felt anger and humiliation at being the recipient of such downcast looks. The silence persisted, the only sound being that of the flame colored leaves as they fell to the ground around them. All were lost in their own thoughts.

It was Glorfindel who finally broke the uncomfortable silence as he turned and began rifling through a small pouch that lay just off to his left. “Finish your tea and lembas Legolas. I will rebandage your head and we will depart shortly. We should return to Imladris immediately.” He pulled a small jar from the satchel and opened it, revealing a thick, white paste. Without a word he began spreading the salve over Legolas’ wounds. Cold spread through his head, carving its way along the jagged cuts left over from the damage done. A tingling sensation followed and the cold of the salve combined with the heat of the tea made Legolas’ head pulse.

“Prepare the horses, we leave as soon as Legolas and I are finished here.” Glorfindel ordered as he began to wind the fresh bandage around Legolas’ head. “Eat young one. You need to rebuild your strength.”

Legolas took more lembas and tea, delighting in the energy that seemed to flow through him after each intake. He began to feel very relaxed in the company of these elves. More relaxed than he had even felt while with Adras. They built a comfort in him that he could not explain. He felt safe and protected, as though he knew, deep down, that they would never let anything happen to him. He watched each of them as they went about making preparations for their departure and he caught each of them glancing his way, a concerned yet comforting smile on each of their faces as they made eye contact with him.

“Are you ready to go home young one?” Legolas shifted his gaze to the tall, blond elf before him. Home was someplace that he couldn’t imagine. Someplace that he had wondered about since his first conversation with Adras.

“Am I really going home?” He inquired, a wishful tone in his voice.

“Well, not your real home, with your father, but a very close second.” Glorfindel had used all of the bandaging to bind Legolas’ head and tied the ends tightly. “Does that sound okay to you Legolas?”

“How am I to really know? I do not remember either place.” Legolas popped the last of the lembas into his mouth, having already finished the tea, and chewed slowly. “I suppose I will have to lay my trust in you.”

“I will do my best not to betray that trust then.” Glorfindel rose, extending his hand to Legolas to help him up. “Come now. You shall ride with me.”

Glorfindel gently guided Legolas to his horse and spotted him as he mounted then he climbed up behind him. “If you feel tired and the need to rest you may lean against me my young friend.” Glorfindel gave Asfaloth a light touch upon his neck and the strong animal moved out. “I have you now and you are safe with us.”

Legolas allowed himself to relax at these words but the sorrow in him began to grow at the loss of memory for these kind souls. If these were his friends and they cared enough about him to have come looking for him and take him to safety, then why could he not remember them? Why, even at the sight of them, did he have no recollection whatsoever of any of them?

For the next several days they rode toward Imladris, speaking little and taking only short stops at night to rest. Rising with the sun and stopping with the stars. Legolas took joy in the shining orbs that dotted the sky overhead. He was awed by the falling of the leaves around him and he was comforted by the steady presence of his friends around him. But with each day with no return of his memory, his heart sank a bit further.

He had asked Glorfindel, whom he had ridden with every day, to tell him of his home and of his father. There were some things he hesitated to tell him, stating that it would be best for his father to recount such tales with him. Legolas suspected that this included the absence of any mention of his mother and with that thought, the feminine voice that he had heard whilst in the woods weeks earlier, replayed itself in his mind.

At times Glorfindel would call forth Angrod to fill in details and it was at such a time that Legolas learned of Angrod’s role in his life. That Angrod had been his friend since they were both elflings and that Angrod had been his personal advisor and guard. And it was at this time that Legolas learned of his royal status back at his home in Mirkwood. This realization made Legolas’ imagination real and he recalled the thoughts that he had had with Adras regarding the possibilities which awaited him at home.

Yet, all of this time, Legolas’ own memories would not return and his head continued to ache somewhat. Each night one of his companions would remove his bandaging, apply the cooling salve then tightly rebind the wounds. Each night they would tell him stories of himself or talk to him of Adras and his experiences. Legolas was strengthened by their persistent vigilance and he could feel his physical wounds healing.

In no time at all, or so it seemed, the five elves found themselves riding into the courtyard of Imladris. Legolas was not allowed to dismount until someone was by the horse’s side to spot him and ensure his balance was set. As his feet touched down on the cobbled ground, Legolas felt a sense of belonging that he had never recalled feeling before. His eyes lifted to the rock cliffs and trees about him and he took in the beauty that was Imladris. When he turned around he found himself staring into the noble face of a dark elf resembling the twins that had escorted him back.

This elf reached out to embrace him and Legolas inadvertently stepped away. Before this noble being could come any closer, he was intercepted by Elladan who placed a loving arm around his shoulders and spoke hurriedly into his ear. The pair continued as thus for several long moments while Legolas watched, the others moving about him, unpacking their horses and speaking to him in gentle words, although Legolas would never be able to recall what it was they were saying. His attention was fully focused on the elf before him.

This noble, dark haired elf watched Legolas closely, his eyes never leaving the blond elf but roaming over him as though assessing all of his injuries. Elladan had finished speaking to him then turned away and moved to his own animal to begin the unpacking process.

“Legolas,” The tall elf lord stood directly before him now. “I am Elrond, Master of Rivendell, and your friend. I believe that you and I have some healing to do.” He placed a comforting hand on Legolas’ shoulder and Legolas found himself leaning into the touch. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes misted against his will. “Come now, let me show you to your room.” His arm slid down Legolas’ arm and stopped on his elbow and he gave a light tug to guide the young blond elf into the house.

They mounted the marble stairs and entered through the large open doorway and Legolas froze at the beauty that expanded before him. His chest constricted somewhat and he felt Elrond’s grasp on his elbow tighten. “Legolas?” The voice was gentle and soothing and Legolas fought to recognize it.

“I do not remember.”

“I know little one. I know.” Elrond pulled Legolas into his embrace and held him for a brief moment, speaking into his ear as he did so. “I will try to help you remember Legolas but you should know, even if you could remember I would still tell you that you are well loved and cared for and I am happy that you have returned to us.”

He pushed Legolas out to arms-length away but continued to face him. “Come now, first things first, you need some rest.” They both turned and Elrond led Legolas further into the Last Homely House.

 A Father’s Love

“You should not be moving.” Elrond’s authoritative voice filled the room somewhat startling Estel and forcing him to freeze in his adjustment.

“I know. My muscles are beginning to get achy from lying in the same position for so long. I needed the change.” The words came out strained and laced with pain and Estel cringed at the tone that he had fought to hide.

He continued to push himself into a semi-raised position, his ever tender back easing into the array of pillows piled up behind him. He let out the breath that he was holding and then looked to Elrond with expectant eyes.

The elf lord pushed an extra pillow out of the way then sat down at the foot of the bed, the blue silk duvet billowing around him. “I would imagine that you would be sore from more than just sitting still. How are your wounds? Do they still pain you excessively?”

Estel knew that Elrond already knew the answer to the questions that he asked. He also knew that there would no use in exaggerating to his guardian. “They ache and sting. They heal slowly.”

“May I?” Elrond motioned to the young man and rose again from where he sat. Estel leaned forward slowly, exposing his back so that the healer could have better access to the wounds. He felt comfortable in the presence of the Lord of Imladris and his pains and anxiety seemed to ease with the first touch of Elrond’s hands.

His loose tunic was raised exposing the bandaged wounds and he tried to relax under the pressing fingers that tested the skin around the binding. His elbows rested upon his raised knees and he placed his chin into his open palms. The position making him look even younger than he was. He tensed slightly as Elrond removed the bandaging from the wounds, the fastening pulling on his skin slightly. A hiss of pain slipped through his teeth as pressure was applied to the wound marring his lower back and Estel pulled away reflexively.

“My apologies.” Elrond responded quickly then lowered the tunic back into place. “I do not think they need the bandages any longer. The air may do them well.” The Elf Lord then returned to his previous spot at Estel’s feet and looked the young man in the eyes. “They do not heal slowly. Maybe slower than you would like, but they look quite well. I believe I may allow you to step outside into the gardens in another week.” A small smile graced his elegant face and Estel found it difficult to not return the gesture.

“Thank you. I am anxious to be up and moving again.” Leaning back into the pillows again, a small sigh of relief escaped him and Estel found his thoughts drifting to a topic that had become popular lately. “Any word on Legolas?”

Estel stared intently into Elrond’s eyes, looking for any telling signs but the Elf Lord’s expression remained impassive. He watched as Elrond brushed something imaginary from the duvet and shifted his seat on the bed. “Glorfindel, Angrod, Elladan and Elrohir returned several hours ago. Legolas was with them.”

Estel’s head snapped up at the news and he attempted to push himself up further onto the pillows. “What? Why am I just hearing about this now.”

A strong but gentle hand came down upon Estel’s knee holding him in place. “Peace Estel. Relax before you do more harm to yourself.”

“But I do not understand. Why did you hold this from me?” Estel could feel the panic rising within him at the prospective possibilities of why the information of Legolas’ return could have been held from him.

“Estel please. You are working yourself up and I am afraid that you can not handle the stress right now. Just listen.” Elrond rose from his seat again, as though sitting still were killing him as much as it was Estel. He slowly began to walk to the other side of the bed and finger through several glasses that sat atop the bedside table. “We did not tell you immediately because I ordered Glorfindel and the others to get some rest. As for Legolas, he needed a little care and a lot of rest himself.”

Estel watched the Elf Lord as he picked up miscellaneous glasses and looked at the contents within. His eyes hesitantly returning to where Estel lay. There was something else that Elrond wasn’t telling him. Estel could see it in his eyes and Elrond was usually very good at hiding his thoughts and emotions.

“There is something that you are keeping from me. What is it? What is wrong with Legolas?”

Elrond held the young man’s gaze and then sat, once again, upon the bed, this time on the opposite side of Estel’s legs. Estel found himself shifting upon the pillows again. Apprehension for the news pooling inside of him.

“Estel, Legolas is having some trouble with his memory.”

They were not the words that Estel expected and he took a moment to allow himself to grasp the words that were spoken. “What do you mean trouble?”

“There is a lot to be told but when the others finally found Legolas he was to be hanged for a murder which he could not remember committing.” Elrond paused briefly to think through his next words. “After he was recovered, Glorfindel discovered that it was not just the crime that Legolas could not recall. It was everything. The young Prince has taken trauma to his head and can not remember who he is or where he comes from. He could not remember Angrod, Glorfindel, Elladan or Elrohir. He could not remember me or Imladris and I fear that he will not remember you. I wanted you to be prepared for when you meet him again.”

Estel was dumbfounded. He could think of no words to respond to what he had just been told and his head fell back against the pillows. As he stared up to the ceiling, he searched his own memories of that fateful day. He remembered the run-in he and Legolas had with the bandits. He remembered being thrown to the ground. He remembered Legolas helping him to escape and the both of them fleeing through the woods. He remembered receiving both arrow wounds. But he could not remember all that had happened to Legolas afterward.

“What can we do for him?” Estel’s voice trembled with worry and sorrow. The fear that Legolas must have experienced over the past weeks. Not knowing who he was or why he was being charged for murder.

“We can be patient with him and talk with him.” Elrond rested a comforting hand atop Estel’s knee again and the contact forced Estel to raise his eyes to his guardian again. “Legolas has been receptive to the talk and I think it is helping him. I know that it is helping him to know that he has friends and family that love and support him. So, that is what we will do.”

“When can I see him?”

“I will bring him here once he wakes. He had not eaten or slept in days and he was in dire need of both. I believe it will do you both good to see one another and discuss what happened that day.” Elrond rose from the bed again and made for the door. “Be patient with him Estel. The memories will not return fast but I believe they will return.”

Estel watched as Elrond slipped quietly from his room but his eyes were glued to the now closed door. He worked the new information through his mind, trying desperately to grasp what he had been told. Trying to force the nightmare from his mind and believe that what he had been told was that Legolas had returned healthy and happy and eager to see him. Trying to picture himself and his friend returning to the life they had forcibly taken from them weeks before.

His own pain had all but fled him at Elrond’s words. Now he was overcome with the pain that he knew his friend must be experiencing.

Elrond walked briskly down the hall of the Last Homely House. He knew his destination and was eager to get there. Since he had left Legolas’ side several hours earlier, he had been curious and ardent to speak with him again. There had been a hope that once Legolas had eaten properly and slept in the healing atmosphere of Imladris that his memory might return to him. Elrond was anxious to see if his hopes had come to fruition.

Clasped tightly in his right hand was an envelope, weathered from travel and sealed with the seal of King Thranduil. It had arrived just moments ago, via messenger bird, and Elrond felt it was as good an excuse as any to check in on the young Prince.

As he approached the door to the guest room where Legolas had taken his rest earlier that day, Elrond hesitated. He was reluctant to disturb Legolas and he warred with his own desires to know of the Prince’s well-being. He raised the envelope up, taking a good, long, hard look at it then tapped lightly on the heavy wooden door.

He didn’t receive a response from within the room as he had expected. Rather, the door opened slowly and the uneasy, pale face of Legolas appeared in the crack.

“May I come in Legolas?” Elrond stood confidently now. He did not want to appear ill at ease in front of this elf who he knew was more uncomfortable then he would ever be.

Again, Legolas did not respond verbally but stepped back, pulling the door open further and allowing the Lord of Imladris to enter.

“Are you finding everything that you need young one?” Elrond stepped into the room but only far enough to be inside. He would not go further until the invitation was extended by Legolas.

“Yes. Thank you. You have been very hospitable.” Legolas moved across the room and took a seat in one of the large cushy chairs that sat before the empty fireplace. “Much more comfortable than my previous accommodations. Please sit.” A small smile pulled at Legolas’ mouth and Elrond was warmed by this sign of happiness from the elf.

Moving quickly and gracefully across the room, Elrond was seated in the matching chair opposite Legolas, before either could think to say anything else. They sat in silence for a brief moment, each fighting the awkwardness that seemed to smother them. Elrond leaned back in the chair and rested his arms upon the rests to each side of him, the letter still grasped in his hand.

“I have received word from your father.” Elrond raised the envelope, showing the seal to Legolas. Legolas reached out hesitantly, taking the letter from the Lord of Imladris. “I am sure that he will want you to return home quickly. I would have you know, however, that you are welcome to stay in my home for as long as you feel necessary.”

Legolas’ eyes were fixed on the letter that he now held in his pale hand. “Thank you.” The words were but a whisper and Elrond could tell the elf was lost in thought.

“There is someone that desperately wants to see you.” Legolas’ head rose from its bent position at these words and he looked Lord Elrond in the eye, a look of question deep within. “Estel can not get out of bed just now but he has asked to see you. Would you feel comfortable going to his bed chambers?”

“Estel?”

Elrond smiled warmly at Legolas’ question. “Estel was with you the day you had the accident. He was grievously injured and has been abed since. He misses you and has worried about you non-stop. He would be heartbroken if you refused to see him but would understand if you were not ready.”

Legolas glanced down at the letter in his hand once more and Elrond studied his actions, waiting patiently for a response. He watched as Legolas broke the seal on the envelope and unfolded the paper within. He refrained from rising from his seat and embracing the young elf when he saw tears well up within his blue eyes as he read the words from his father. And he nearly felt his heart tear in two as he watched Legolas refold the paper and press it to his chest, his other hand gripping tightly to the armrest of the chair.

Unable to watch any longer, Elrond rose from his chair and crossed the small distance between the two. He knelt down before the elf Prince and placed his hand atop Legolas’ own. “Your father wants you to return home.” He didn’t ask, he knew. He knew that he would want his own sons to be at home it they were going through what Legolas were.

“What can you tell me of him?” Legolas’ tear filled eyes met those of the Elrond’s and the Lord of Imladris squeezed the hand beneath his.

“Your father?” Elrond laughed quietly to himself. What could he tell Legolas about the King of Mirkwood? The elf that he had known for centuries. The same one who had such a reputation that others would steer far clear of his realm. He couldn’t help the smile that was plastered to his face at the thoughts that filled his mind when he heard Thranduil’s name.

“Legolas. Your father has a fierce love for those that he holds dear and those he holds in his protection. He is loyal beyond measure and passionate to a fault. He loves you more than life itself and would do all in his power to ensure your safety and happiness.”

Legolas pulled the letter from his chest, tears pouring from his eyes as he looked upon the words that were written there. Elrond’s hand rose to the young elf’s face and lay gently on his cheek. “He loves you Legolas.” The Lord of Imladris rose from where he knelt and removed his hand from Legolas’ face. Then tapping the paper that Legolas held in his hand he spoke again. “But you knew that did you not.”

He then turned and walked toward the door and stopped as he reached for the handle. “Take your time Legolas. Estel will see you when you are ready.” Opening the door, Elrond slipped from Legolas’ room, just as he had done from Estel’s.

Legolas sat in peace for a moment, letting the tears in his eyes dry. He lifted the crinkled paper in his hand and read the words once more.

My Son,

My heart sings to know that you are alive and safe. You can not know the fear and pain that I have felt since receiving that letter from Lord Elrond all those weeks ago.

I know what has befallen you and I worry even more now, knowing that you are so far away from me and I am crippled to help you.

You are my heart and the heart of our people. We are all anxious to have you home where you belong and where we can make new memories with you.

I love you more than you can possibly know. Come home my son. Please come home.

All My Love,

Your Father

Legolas folded the paper and tucked it inside of his tunic, next to his heart. He rose from his chair, wiped the tears from his eyes and followed Lord Elrond from the room.

First Meeting of Old Friends

Legolas tapped lightly on the heavy wooden door that lead into Estel’s bed chambers. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and swayed from side to side in anxiety. He lifted his hand up and splayed his fingers so that they delicately tested the bandage wrapped around his brow. The wounds were no longer bound as heavily as they had been the day before when he had arrived in Imladris. Now there was a single strip of white cloth wound around his head twice to hold the dressing beneath in place.

As he slowly lowered his hand and began his turn to leave there was a quiet call from inside the room. Legolas couldn’t quite make out the words that were spoken but he took a chance that they were bidding him to enter and reached for the handle of the door. The metal felt warm beneath his fingers and his hand lingered there, feeling the intricate design etched into the handle.

“Hello?” The word from inside the room was spoken louder this time and Legolas was pulled into action as he pressed the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit by several candles placed strategically about. The curtains covering the window were pulled closed and Legolas wondered if he might have woken the room’s occupant. He gazed around the room taking in details. The set-up was very similar to his own. A fireplace sat to his right, a small fire burning within. Two large, cushioned chairs sat before the fireplace, a warm looking, grey blanket sprawled over the one furthest from him.

On the wall directly opposite of where he stood was a rather large, picture window. Sunlight peered between the curtains but offered little light. A large bureau stood just left of the window, several jars and glasses sat atop of it. A long, sword and scabbard leaned powerfully against the wall. A bow and empty quiver just next to that.

“Legolas?” The voice came just from his left where a large bed was positioned. Legolas took a few steps toward the bed to get a better look at the occupant. He was young, possibly nineteen or twenty. Short, dark hair adorned his head and would have appeared well combed but for the slight curl it held giving it an unruly appearance. Bright eyes stared back and a smile filled the handsome face. A fading bruise marred his left jaw. He sat, somewhat awkwardly, leaning against a rather large stack of pillows. Most surprising, he was human. Legolas stared at the young man, curiosity beginning to get the better of him. The individual that had been with him on the day that he was attacked by men, was a man. He had trusted a man well enough to be traveling with him alone. Yet, he didn’t fear this man. As a matter-of-fact, when he looked at this man he felt comfort, admiration and loyalty.

“Please sit Legolas.”

Legolas moved cautiously across the room and took a seat on a padded chair that stood just right of the bed. “I apologize if I have woken you. It was not my intention. I was told that you wished to speak with me.”

Estel’s head turned and a soft, sorrow filled, sigh pushed from his nostrils. “You did not wake me. Thank you for coming.”

Legolas sat back deeper into the seat and crossed his right foot over his knee. He subconsciously padded the letter from his father that lay just inside his tunic. “I would have come sooner but I could not find your room.”

“Worry not. I am just overjoyed to see you again.” Estel shifted in his bed in an attempt to sit up further but the movement sent a jolt of pain down his back and he hissed in pain.

Legolas nearly sprung from his seat at the sound and moved quickly to Estel’s side. “Can I help you? You should not be moving about so much.” He gently slid his arm behind Estel’s back, being careful to not aggravate the wounds, and eased the injured young man further up before stacking the pillows so that they would hold Estel higher up. “Is that more comfortable?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Estel paused momentarily, taking in his friend and Legolas couldn’t help but notice the compassion he saw in the man’s eyes. “You have always been somewhat of a mother hen.”

Legolas felt shock at the casualness of the statement and looked to Estel for any sign of jest or seriousness. A smile spread over the young man’s face and Legolas contemplated the statement for a moment. “I was nagging?”

Estel laughed out loud at the question and it took him a few minutes to regain his composure. “Yes, you could say that. You have a habit of being annoyingly overprotective.” Legolas’ expression did not mirror that of Estel’s and the young man ceased in his mirth immediately, his smile instantly replaced by a look of concern.

“Perhaps if you find some of my behaviors aggravating it might be wise to not remind me of them. Maybe then you will be spared from a lifetime of exasperation.” Legolas had regained his seat and now sat perched forward on the edge, looking intently into Estel’s eyes. Estel seemed to stumble over his next words, not knowing what to say or how to move past the uncomfortable moment. But before he could think on it for too long, Legolas let out a small chuckle and leaned back in his seat, his face lit up with amusement.

“Grrr! Legolas. I thought I had truly upset you.”

“Nay. But it does seem wise to keep a few secrets.”

Estel’s expression returned to complete seriousness. “I would not keep anything from you Legolas. Anything that you wish to know, I would tell you.”

Legolas sat quietly, thinking of all the things he wanted and needed to know. His hand had, once again, risen to the letter in his pocket and rested there on top of it. The folded pages seemed to give him comfort. For so long he had wondered about his family and whether he had a home and friends. The answers to his questions could be found in the words on that one page alone and the more he thought about them the more he longed to meet the one who had written them. But, he also knew that there was a history with this man named Estel, and he knew that he could learn much from him as well.

Estel, the name alone gave him assurance that all would be well. That he would forever be safe and cared for by those he had met only days earlier. It seemed so odd to think that he actually had known these people for years. Some of them for his entire life. It saddened him to be reminded of what strangers they were to him now. How much of his life had been lost.

Now, here was this man, promising to tell him all that he would ever wish to know, but where should he start? Centuries had been lost, not just days. Long periods were gone. He could only recall vague moments of days that he didn’t understand. He would see faces but not conjure up the names to go with those faces. Where should he begin?

“Why were we in the forest that day?” It seemed as good a place as any. Maybe working backward would make the remembering easier.

Estel seemed confused by the question and Legolas assumed that it could only be because the man had expected a much more different line of questioning.

“You had come to Imladris bearing a message for Lord Elrond from your father.” Estel lifted his knees so that he could rest his arms upon them as he spoke. “You were given permission to stay a few extra days and had agreed to accompany me on a short scouting mission. Well, at least it was supposed to be short.”

“Do I carry messages for my father often?” Legolas was curious now as to his role in his father’s realm.

“Nay. Only when they are of extreme importance or your father believes that you are in need of a break from your duties at home. I believe the latter was the purpose for your visit this time.” He smiled to the elf and Legolas couldn’t help but return the warm, friendly expression.

“Lord Glorfindel told me all that you had said of the events that day. Do you remember nothing else?” Legolas’ heart ached to know all that had occurred that day. Small bits of his life would appear to him at strange times but never would anything from the day of the accident come to him.

“No. I have told him all that I remember of the incident. The last that I recall is fleeing on the horse then I awoke here, in my room.”

Legolas’ head tilted in confusion. “Your room? Do you live here?”

An understanding smile spread across Estel’s face and Legolas felt himself blush in embarrassment. “Aye. I have lived here with Lord Elrond and his family since my father was killed when I was just a babe. They have looked after me and guided me in all aspects of life and I am honored to know them. As I am you.”

Legolas smiled at the nice words and leaned in for more. “How did we meet Estel?”

Estel’s expression now showed some confusion as he pondered the question. “I do not really recall the day we met. I was very young. I am told that you and your father had come to Imladris on business and I was instantly taken with you. We have had many small adventures since then though and I would be willing to recount those to you whenever you would like.”

“Thank you Estel. You certainly make me feel more comfortable.” Legolas leaned back in his seat again and placed his hand upon the letter again. “What can you tell me of my father? Of Mirkwood?”

Estel’s legs slid from their bent position, falling flat beneath the heavy duvet and he sat silently for a moment. Had Legolas not discussed this same topic with Elrond earlier he might have been concerned but he didn’t think the Lord of Imladris would lie to him. He just wanted to hear another’s opinion of his father. He wanted to know that his father was the man that Elrond spoke of and not just to the Lord of Imladris.

“King Thranduil frightens me.” Estel raised his hand to stop any response that Legolas might have to this statement. “He can be rather intimidating at times. He commands respect and he gives it only to those who deserve it. But, he has been nothing but kind to me and he loves you so fiercely that I fear sometimes it will smother you.”

An image of a tall, refined, blond elf burst into Legolas’ head and his hand instinctually flew to his bandaged wound. The vision of his father filled him with love. The kind smile upon the elf king’s face and the warmth in his intense eyes filled him with ease. Various images flitted through his mind, times where his father was commanding, comforting, angry, laughing joyously, crying inconsolably, ruling furiously. His father was filled with passion and Legolas could see that in his demeanor alone.

“Legolas, are you well?” Estel’s concerned tone pulled Legolas from his memories and his hand fell from his head.

Being smothered by his father’s love would be something Legolas would welcome at the moment. If his own father’s affection were even a fraction of what he had received from Adras then it would be twice as much as he had hoped for. The words made him even more eager to return home and he found himself fidgeting in his chair as he continued to speak with Estel.

“I am fine, thank you. Please, continue. Please tell me of my home.”

“Mirkwood is a forest unlike any other I have visited. There is a life there and even though I can not hear the song of the trees I feel as though I can hear them when I enter Mirkwood. It is hard to give words the feeling, sights and sounds that those woods invoke. One should experience them for themselves. It is a marvel to behold.”

Again Legolas was assaulted with memories. Woods so dark that it seemed as if no light could ever pierce its branches. But then there was a light there. A light so bright and brilliant that it seemed as though nothing could suppress it. The trees sang and spoke to him as though they were old friends, and many of them were. Legolas wanted to return home.

“Legolas?”

A smile spread across the young elf’s face and he turned tear filled eyes to Estel. “I can see my home Estel. I can see my father. They are wonderful. They are more than I ever dreamed they would be.”

Estel returned Legolas’ smile and tilted his head to the side to assess the elf who was one of his dearest friends. “They are wonderful Legolas and when you return there they will be even more wonderful.”

The pair talked long into the night. Legolas recounted for Estel his experience with Adras and the small village he had spent so many weeks in. When he became dismayed and tearful at the mention of his lost friend and protector Estel listened with an empathetic ear and comforted Legolas. When he asked his questions of his own past and home Estel was eager to answer and was complete and thorough in his explanations in hopes that the words would help Legolas’ full memory to return.

Several times was a hand raised to knock on the bedchamber door, but the visitor would hold their intrusion when the sounds of laughter or quiet weeping would fill their ears. They were left in peace to talk and catch-up and reacquaint themselves with each other only needing each others companionship and words. The jaw session was therapeutic for both and Legolas knew that when he decided to return home to his father that he would forever have friends in Imladris.

More Healing

His horse shifted anxiously beneath him, the tapping of his hooves against stone echoed about him unrhythmically. Everything and everyone in the courtyard seemed to have quieted down in uncomfortable anticipation of the event that loomed before them. The wind ceased, the birds and other forest animals fell silent the elves seemed to be holding their breath, all as if their silence might halt what was about to happen.

It was only the sound of his horse that could be heard and Angrod failed to quiet it. The minute sound eased him, bringing some sense of normalcy to recent and current happenings. He pushed his long, dark hair back over his shoulder and twisted slightly in his seat upon the great equine but Angrod’s eyes never left his liege. Legolas was preparing to leave. To return home and Angrod’s anticipation warred with his sorrow over their departure and return.

There was obviously an eagerness to return to Mirkwood for Angrod truly believed that once Legolas saw the mysticism and beauty of his home and his Father’s loving face and the welcoming admiration of his people that his memory would come back almost instantly. How could it not? Legolas had spent the vast majority of his life in those woods and with those people, leaving only on occasional diplomatic missions to neighboring towns, cities and dwellings.

But, then again, was not Angrod himself one of Legolas’ people? Had he not grown up with the Prince from a very young age, spending nearly every waking minute with him and sharing in celebrations, sorrow, frustrations, fears and all other random events that came with elven life? Why then could his presence and love alone not bring Legolas back to his old self?

It was these thoughts, combined with the goodbyes Legolas was struggling through that leant to the sorrow that Angrod was feeling.

His heart clenched in his chest and he watched Legolas sway from side to side in discomfort, struggling for the words to express his gratitude to the Lords of Imladris. The sadness and confusion that intermingled in the skewed expression on Legolas’ face made all those present look away in grief almost as though they looked upon the Prince for the last time.

“I know not what to say.” Legolas’ voice was tentative and shook ever so slightly.

“There is nothing that you need say Legolas. We will see you again very soon.” Elrond stepped forward placing his hands on each of Legolas’ shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. “Do not let your heart be so troubled Young One. All will be well. Your memory will return with time. The key lies within you. Do not force it. Allow it to come when it and you are ready.”

A small dip of the head signaled that Legolas understood and he turned to where the twins, Elladan and Elrohir stood. The two stepped forward, identical smiles upon their handsome faces. “We shall expect some of your homemade tarts upon our next visit.” Elladan laughed out the sentence and Elrohir joined in after the words were spoken. The corners of Legolas’ mouth twitched and the confusion upon his face was enhanced.

“There are some things that I think would be best left forgotten Son’s of Elrond.” Angrod shouted from his horse, while making a slashing motion across his own throat.

“Angrod, you did not share that story with Elladan and Elrohir did you?” Estel was fighting to hide his own mirth and Angrod could feel his cheeks heating up with embarassment.

“He did indeed Master Estel and you should be ashamed of yourself.” Glorfindel could not help but join in the tease and he also stepped toward the young Prince of Mirkwood, grasping Legolas’ arm and squeezing in a brotherly affection. “Ignore them Legolas, they only speak to get your ire up. They find twisted amusement in the discomfort of others. Something I have spoken to Master Elrond at length regarding.”

Angrod couldn’t help but join in on Legolas’ laughter over the statement but his amusement quickly returned to remorse at Legolas’ next words. “That may be so My Lord, but I shall expect Angrod to share this story with me on our trek home.” He glanced over his should at Angrod after these words and Angrod gave a shameful smile.

Estel gently pushed the twins aside and came to stand before Legolas. “Do not be too hard on him, it really is not that bad of a story.” He then leaned forward in a pretense that only Legolas would hear his next words, knowing full well that the heightened hearing of the elves would allow them to hear his words. “I suspect that they did not hear the end of the story and serving them your homemade tarts would be the perfect revenge.” Estel then slipped a wink to Angrod then threw his arms around Legolas’ neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Be careful.”

Legolas returned the hug and Angrod’s heart swelled at the safety and happiness that he could see his Prince was feeling. He hated to take him away from this but he hated to keep him from even more pleasant feelings that would come with returning to Mirkwood.

Legolas loosed his hold on Estel then turn and swiftly mounted his horse. He tapped lightly on the animals thick neck, the result being the horse turning slowly in a circle, coming to face those still standing in the courtyard. “Thank you all for everything you have done.” Smiles were returned and each raised a hand in farewell.

Unable to leave without voicing his own gratitude and goodbye, Angrod urged his horse forward slightly. “I thank you as well. I do not know what I would have done if we had not found him.” He then turned his horse back towards the courtyard exit and the pair slowly began to ride away. Just before leaving the enclosure both paused and turned to the small group still gathered there. Each raised a hand, holding it there for several long seconds.

“We will send word on his recovery.” Angrod offered. “All will be well. Thank you.” Together they turned and rode out of sight.

Barely had they gotten out of Imladris before Legolas spoke. His voice quavered as the words fell from his mouth and Angrod could see his knuckles whiten as he gripped horses mane tightly. “Is it wrong that I am scared? I know not where I am headed. Not only on this journey but in my recovery. What is to happen if my memory does not return? How am I supposed to look upon my Father and the elves of Mirkwood and not feel loss, frustration and confusion? My head aches. Not only for the damage done it but for all of the contemplation it has endured. I am frightened Angrod. I am frightened because I fight an enemy without face or name. How do I fight this?”

Angrod’s mouth nearly fell open in shock and he could feel the tears fighting to break through. He had guessed that Legolas had been feeling despair and some fear but he had been removed from Legolas while the Prince had been healing physically. He had not really known the extent of Legolas’ hopelessness nor his loneliness. His heart screamed anew for his friend’s pain and for his own. They had both lost in this unfortunate turn of events. But Angrod had vowed that he would not allow Legolas to lose any more.

“Legolas, I cannot even begin to understand the pain and fear that you have been experiencing. If it is anything even remotely close to what I have been feeling since I received news that you were lost then I know it must be great indeed.” Angrod paused as he maneuvered his horse around a tree, Legolas passing on the opposite side. “But your are not alone now. Your Father loves you more than life itself. Your people would willingly give up their own lives to protect you, so great is their admiration for you. I would trade places with you if it were possible just to save you this pain.

“Mirkwood is your home and I believe it will feel like such. I believe with all of my heart that you will find healing there and I know that you will find love and support. This you should not fear for it shall be so.”

He steered his animal closer to Legolas’ and grasped his hand in his own. “I pledge to you this Legolas, I shall never leave your side as long as you will it so. I shall always be your rock of support. You shall not know fear or want in Mirkwood.”

Tears glistened in Legolas’ eyes and Angrod felt his pain but he fought to control his own emotions so that he could remain strong for Legolas. A small, wisp of a smile flitted appreciatively over Legolas’ face and he squeezed Angrod’s hand in return. A look of deep gratitude filled his eyes, burying the tears and Angrod nodded his recognition of Legolas’ quite thank you.

The pair rode on in silence for over an hour, neither daring to breach the peacefulness of the woods and the beauty of the birds singing overhead. Their passage was marked by many forest animals. Small squirrels, deer, raccoons and other creatures of the wood peered out of their burrows and dwellings, watching the passing of the elves in silence. Then, seemingly, they chattered amongst themselves in excitement for the passing. Happy to have been witness to such majestic beings. Legolas and Angrod, for their part, smiled and played back with the animals gaining as much enjoyment from them.

“Angrod,” It had been so long since either had spoke that Legolas’ voice almost made Angrod jump. “Do we always travel together in such silence?”

Angrod couldn’t help himself, he had to laugh to himself at the absurd suggestion. “Nay Legolas. Barely can we keep each other quiet, even when circumstances require it.”

Legolas nodded his head in acknowledgment of this and Angrod suspected that he already knew the answer to the question before he posed it. “Why then do we ride so silently now?”

This question really caught Angrod off guard and he fumbled the words in explanation. “We...you...it...I do not know.”

“Perhaps it is your inability to speak that silences your tongue.”

Angrod nearly fell off of his horse at the accusation. It wasn’t until Legolas began to laugh openly that Angrod realized that he had been jesting. “Aye Legolas, my tongue does seem to be a little tied up today.”

Legolas’ eyes fell at the admittance and Angrod felt shame once again for his inability to do what he wanted in comforting his Prince. “I do not know for sure my friend,” Legolas uttered, “but perhaps if you spoke to me as you always have I might be able to pick up on some memories. I think normalcy is the best remedy.”

He was right and Angrod knew it. Even if a normal routine didn’t help Legolas’ memory, it would permit him to feel more normal. If Angrod did not treat him differently, or look at him differently then perhaps the same would be said for Legolas himself and he would not feel so apprehensive regarding his predicament. “You are right Legolas. I shall try harder.”

“Do not try Angrod. Just be.” Legolas offered a warm smile and Angrod found it hard to believe that his friend could not remember who he was. He was acting so much the same, as warm, kind and accepting as ever. How could he be so different and so the same?

“Again, you are correct my friend.” Angrod pulled his horse slightly ahead of Legolas’. “If normalcy is what you want then normalcy is what you shall get. I will beat you so mercilessly to that clearing up ahead that you will remember how shamed you are by your inability to beat me in a race.” Before Legolas could retort Angrod yelled to his horse in encouragement and both flew ahead leaving Legolas sitting in stunned silence.

Air whipped around him and trees flew past. Leaves smacked against his face and Angrod felt alive. More so than he had in weeks. He had his dearest friend back and he was going home to where they could resume their life and Legolas his healing. His horse leapt over a fallen tree and he swerved to miss a hanging branch. His face ached with the huge smile that covered it. He could hear Legolas coming up behind him and he urged his horse on, pleading with it for speed. He crouched down over the horses neck limiting the resistence that would oppose them, almost becoming one with the animal. He spoke words of encouragement and could feel his pleasure increasing as he saw the clearing come into view up ahead. A laugh escaped him but it was cut short as Angrod saw something out of the corner of his eye.

“It cannot be.” He exclaimed then pushed his horse even harder. But it could not be mistaken. Angrod had seen a flash of gold to his right and he knew that he was doomed. Mere feet from the clearing Legolas overcame him and his horse and burst from the trees the obvious victor.

He pulled his horse to a stop, a pleased grin brightening his fair face. “Perhaps I have become a better rider since last you saw me. Or perhaps the Valar seek humility from one who would cheat so openly.”

Angrod could not help it. His laugh came fast and hard. “Well, it is only fair for me to allow you to win once in a while.”

“Oh ho ho! Is that so?” Legolas shook his head in mirth as he turned his horse back to their original trail. “Have you always been such a liar Angrod?”

Angrod patted his horse affectionately on the neck and praised it for a job well done before following his Prince into the forest again. “I suppose you will never know will you My Lord?”

“You take advantage of my condition?”

“I must take advantage where I can get it when it comes to you dear friend.”

They both laughed quietly as they moved amongst the trees again. “I think it only fair that I am awarded something for my win do you not agree.”

Angrod was almost shocked by this statement. Legolas had not changed at all. His memory may have been marred but his personality and sense of humor were still well intact. “And what would you wish for your prize?”

Legolas looked to Angrod out of the corner of his eye a mischievous smirk on his lips. “Do not look so worried Angrod I only wish to know what it is was meant by Elladan’s tart comment.”

Angrod burst with laughter, his eyes watered with mirth and he fought to control himself and gain his breath but he was fighting a losing battle. He tried to speak but so overcome was he with glee that it took several minutes for him to regain himself.

“Is it truly that amusing?” Legolas asked in mock confusion.

“Nay. Actually aye. It is quite humorous Legolas. I shall tell you not only that but I shall tell you anything that you wish to know.”

They continued their journey as such, a quiet moment rarely to be found. Angrod told Legolas of the tarts and he told him many other stories of his childhood and adolescent years. Many laughs were shared and many more tears. They rebuilt all that they had lost and they added to that. They did not hurry but they did not tarry. They traveled at a pace that was comfortable for them. They allowed themselves time to talk and search and hunt and several days later when the uppermost spires of Mirkwood palace came into view one would be hard pressed to believe that anything had come between them.

As they rode into the courtyard the powerful visage of the King of Mirkwood greeted them. They both removed themselves from their animals and before Legolas could even fully turn he was swept into Thranduil’s arms.

“Legolas, My Heart, welcome home.” Thranduil’s usually sturdy, strong voice shook in happiness and he held Legolas tightly to his chest. Legolas’ own arms were wrapped tightly around Thranduil’s torso and Angrod stood momentarily watching the reunion. Tears filled his eyes as he saw Thranduil lift his head and make eye contact with him. Unmistakable words of gratitude were mouthed and Angrod bowed deeply then silently removed himself from the scene.

Returning to Normal

Moments of peace were becoming favorable to Legolas. Unfortunately, those times were also becoming more and more rare. The silence and serenity that he had experienced while living with Adras had become so overwhelming. The need to know who and what he was screaming at him, from deep inside, begging him for action. Imploring him to remain dormant no longer. Whispers in his mind warring with screaming in his heart. Search out his true existence or stay with the man who had created a happy, comfortable sanctuary for him.

Things had gone dramatically downhill from there and Legolas kicked himself for his slovenly ways at the time. Granted, he was held down my injuries but now he questioned if that was a good enough excuse.

Once arriving in Imladris Legolas’ life returned to the quiet nature that he had grown to love with Adras. Nearly. The eager, imploring eyes of Angrod and the Lords of Imladris became unnerving and Legolas felt almost as though he were letting them down by his inability to remember the things they spoke of or questioned. He had heard many stories, always with the anticipating, sorrow filled expressions of his friends looking on in hopes that he would declare that he recalled the events narrated. Then, no matter how hard they tried, the disappointment that each felt at his inability to do so was so evident that it still haunted Legolas’ thoughts.

When he had arrived home and into his Father’s arms Legolas thought that things were about to improve. Thranduil had whisked him away from the courtyard and inquiring eyes of the elves of Mirkwood and taken him to the private chambers of his family. A large fire was burning, even though the day was quite warm. Multiple, overstuffed chairs were set about the room, several surrounding a low, dark wooden table upon which sat a silver tray with wine filled goblets.

After the pair had shared a glass of wine and a few words, Legolas was shown to his room and left to reacquaint himself with his own personal affects. His own small sitting room resembled that of the family room he had just come from. The same overstuffed chairs, table, wine and fire but on a smaller scale. Off to the right of this room were two oversized doors which lead to Legolas’ sleeping chambers. A double-sized bed with thick blankets and full pillows strewn atop, sat center room. A clothing bureau to one side and a wide desk to the other. All in the same dark wood as the table outside. Across the room, again to the right, was another set of oversized doors which lead to his veranda and the most exquisite view of the trees of Mirkwood he could have ever conjured up in his most wild of imaginings.

That had been one week ago and that had been the last of the quiet that he had experienced. Since arriving home he had been the recipient of many visitors and well wishers all of whom wore the same expression that he had seen originally in Imladris. First, anticipation and sorrow. Then, disappointment at his inability to remember. He was only able to find comfort in Angrod, who had shared many stories on the trip home and who seemed to have it out of his system. And his Father who treated him as though nothing had happened and threw him back into, what he was told, were his typical daily activities.

Now, as he put pen to paper in a letter to Estel of Imladris, he was being waited on by his valet who was attempting to usher him to the Grand Ballroom for a celebration in his honor. A celebration for his safe return home and for a speedy recovery. A recovery, which in Legolas’ opinion, wasn’t coming quickly enough.

“Master Legolas your guests are waiting.” Calorthil fidgeted with a long, cream robe with silver trim from where he stood by the doorway.

Legolas hid a smirk as he finished up the last few sentences of the letter he wrote. He enjoyed Calorthil’s company as well. The young elf was always too preoccupied with making Legolas look presentable to bother him with memories and stories. For his part Legolas seemed to fall right back into the role of annoying the valet with his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Please My Prince.” Calorthil seemed to be breaking into a sweat now and he made continual glances to the doorway. “Your Father will have my head if you are late to another feast.”

“I most certainly will not have your head Calorthil.” Thranduil had snuck into the room without either of the younger elves’ knowledge and both spun around to face him. “I stopped taking the heads of attendants just before your birth. We were running low.”

Legolas snorted at the remark and the small mischievous smile that graced his Father’s handsome face. He turned back to the letter, signed his name, folded the parchment then rose from his desk and turned to greet his Father. Thranduil now stood where Calorthil had once been, holding the robe and watching Legolas with impatient eyes.

“You really should hurry Legolas. It would not do to have your guests waiting long.” Thranduil smiled warmly then stepped forward to meet his son.

“I know. I was just finishing a letter to Estel.” Thranduil nodded in acknowledgment then held the robe out in an effort to assist Legolas into the impressive garment. Stepping forward Legolas turned his back to his Father then slipped his arms into the sleeves as Thranduil lifted the robe onto his shoulders. As he turned and made to follow the King from the room he was grasped by the elbow and spun to face his Father. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Legolas found himself in a tight hug. Thranduil then released the embrace and extended his arms so that Legolas was held before him. He looked deep into his son’s eyes and Legolas felt himself shying away from the gaze.

“I know that times have been difficult for you lately my son.” Thranduil released his son and stepped away and Legolas felt his stomach sink at what he knew was coming. “I have tried to not pry and give you time to heal and remember on your own. But, my curiosity and concern has gotten the better of me and I must ask. How goes your healing? Is your memory returning at all?”

Legolas released the breath that he had been holding and turned from his Father. He paced across the room and stood at the doors which lead to his veranda. He stood for a moment thinking. How was he to deliver the news that his Father sought? Thranduil would probably be upset that he hadn’t been informed sooner. If that were the case then would he feel disappointment in his son for his dishonesty or would he be happy for what he was about to hear. The thoughts that ran through his head were evidence that his memory hadn’t returned fully. He turned back to his Father and smiled.

“Yes.”

Thranduil blanched at the admittance and he stepped forward to grasp the back of a chair. “Yes?”

Legolas moved forward quickly and grabbed his Father’s hands. “Do not be angry. I did not want to say anything until I had worked this out in my head. It has not come like I had thought or hoped.”

Thranduil released Legolas’ hands and moved around the chair then slid, very un-Kinglike into the seat. “Explain.”

Legolas grimaced at the reaction. But then brushed it aside and followed Thranduil around the chair. He swept his long robe out of the way and then bent to his knees on the floor before the chair and his Father.

“Whispers in the dark.” The words were barely above a whisper and had Legolas not know what he had spoken he would not have been able to understand upon hearing them alone. He saw Thranduil dip his chin in confusion and look more intently at his son.

“I can hear them and sense them but I can not always find them.” Legolas began and he knew Thranduil was all ears. “I hear a story or see an object and I feel a little nagging at the back of my mind begging me to remember. A voice in my mind, an ache in my heart, a tickling in my ear.

“I remembered you almost on sight. I remembered Mother in the woods with Adras. It is not a complete remembrance though. It is a word or a flash. Something that was said or done. Each time I think on them or you I gain a little more. Each time I see the trees outside my window I get a small piece of something I did or something that occurred within them.

“They are returning to me but they are like whispers in the dark. I just need to find them once the clue or hint returns to me.” Legolas looked upon his Father’s saddened face and could see that the words hurt. “I am sorry that they are not coming quicker Father but they are coming.”

Thranduil’s regal head shot up at the declaration and he smiled brightly at Legolas. “Oh my Son. You have naught to apologize for. I am not saddened that the memories return slowly. I am ecstatic that they are returning at all. I am saddened that you have had to endure this. That you do not remember your mother fully. You and I can make new memories. We can have new adventures, new laughs and new arguments.” He said the last words with a smirk upon his face. “Your mother is lost to you. All that was left were your memories and those were stolen from you.”

Legolas squeezed his Father’s hand and Thranduil returned the comforting grasp. “Not lost to me. Hidden. But I am finding them. They are returning to me more quickly since I have returned home. It is just taking time to sort through the rubbish to find the gems.”

Thranduil smiled at his son’s wise words and then rose from the seat. “We should head to the Ballroom before Calorthil becomes overly distressed at your absence.” The pair laughed and began walking down the long corridor toward the room where all the elves of Mirkwood had gathered to celebrate Legolas’ return. “I understand that Angrod has been filling your head with stories and reminiscence of past adventures.”

Legolas looked to his father inquisitively. “Aye.”

“Then I will speak to him of the many fables and exaggerations that I know he is feeling your head full of.” Legolas suppressed the laughter that he felt building up within him. “I am sure that he is telling you of his great feats and what a wonderful warrior he is. Nonsense. All of it.”

At that moment the aforementioned elf sprung around the corner, a look of stress firmly upon his brow and Legolas could contain himself no longer. He burst into laughter and it wasn’t long before tears of mirth sprung to his eyes.

“What?” Angrod’s stressed expression quickly turned to one of confusion and soon Legolas’ musical laughter was joined by that of Thranduil’s. “What is so hilarious?”

The two Royals of Mirkwood pulled themselves together, straightening their robes and brushing the tears from their face as the door to the Grand Ballroom swung open. With every ounce of regal bearing they could muster up in the wake of their conversation and laughter, Father and Son entered the room with a confused Angrod on their heels.

Friend Estel,

My time is short so I do not have much time to write and I apologize for my briefness in this letter. Father has planned a grand feast celebrating my return and Calorthil is now standing over my shoulder begging me to write faster.

This is okay for I have not much to tell you at this time. Not much has changed. The scar upon my head has lessened dramatically and I think that it will be completely gone by the time I see you next.

Which brings me to my next topic. Angrod, while traveling with Elladan and Elrohir, seemed to think it necessary to recount the tale of our tart adventure when you were young. You may tell Elladan and Elrohir that the tarts that I made were quite horrible to the taste but I think that you and I remember quite differently. I seem to recall them being quite tasty and although I am loathe to repeat my baking experience I think it would be a rather humorous sight to see the twins shamed into eating some pastry especially made for them with a little added ingredients. Say thimbleweed. This shall be our little secret.

However, mayhap I shall save one for you as well. I do not recall ever getting my revenge for you little expedition into the kitchens. This shall be my little secret.

I look forward to our next meeting.

Ever your friend,

Legolas

Estel laughed as he refolded the letter. He is back.

Epilogue

Rathir leaned unsteadily against the bar in the tavern, swaying slightly with the sloshing of the ale in his mug. In his right hand he held a long white knife, the tip of which was firmly lodged into the wooden bar top. He twirled the knife around by the handle, admiring the intricate details etched onto the blade and into the handle.

Behind him his rowdy group of men raged on in their boisterous laughter and loud, crude harassment of the barmaids. Rathir ignored their childish behavior as best he could but the continuous knocking from the men that he received as they danced and stumbled about made that task extremely difficult.

With each subsequent bump Rathir would turn and give a hearty shove in return. Attempting to keep the slowly diminishing smile upon his face. He was not happy. He wasn’t angry either. It was just one of those nights where he did not want to be bothered. He just wanted to drink his ale and admire his knife.

Another collision and Rathir’s patience slipped another notch as the men began to sing some song regarding a rather, flirtatious maiden and her aptitude for lifting her skirts when she became overjoyed or excited. Rathir did enjoy a good laugh, song and beer with his men as much as they did but it just wasn’t that type of evening.

One more hefty shove came, this time throwing Rathir forward knocking into his ale and sending the mug flying. It came to a loud crash on the floor behind the bar and ale flowed freely about the shattered glass. The tavern went silent. That was it for Rathir, his patience was spent. He spun from the bar, a rather obscene expletive on the tip of his tongue. His offensive words were never to be heard as he turned to be greeted by the rather sharp end of a long sword.

“Remeber me?” Rathir searched the young man’s face for anything he could recognize. He did look rather familiar but Rathir couldn’t place from where. Next to the young man stood Leandir. Both men had identical expressions upon their dark faces and Rathir shied at the anger he saw there,

“Is this him?” Leandir asked but not to Rathir. He was speaking to the younger man even though his eyes never left Rathir.

Before the young man could answer, Thad came stumbling into the circle that had emptied around Rathir. “Hey!” His words slurred as he fell into Rathir. “That is the kid that we ran into on the road with the elf.”

“Quiet Thad!” Rathir cringed at the stupidity of his second as the young man with his sword still poised at his throat smiled broadly.

“I believe that answers your question Marshall. But if you need it to be a little more official. Yes, this is the man who lead the attack on Legolas and myself.” Out of the corner of his eye Rathir could see Thad sober up immediately and slowly step away from the three men. His foot was just barely out of the circle before the young man’s sword swung around and cut off his path. “And this is the man who helped him by doing his bidding.”

Leandir stepped slightly to his left and came face to face with Rathir. Rathir could feel his hot breath on his face and the dark fire in Leandir’s eyes as he glared. “Now this sounds much more believable than your story several weeks back.” He held Rathir’s gaze for a moment then stepped sideways again, clearing a way to the doorway. “Come on. Move.” Leandir gave a light shove to Rathir and urged him in the direction of the door.

Rathir reached back and grabbed his knife off of the counter and began to walk forward. Again he was greeted by the end of a long sword. “Hold. I believe that knife does not belong to you.” The young man held out his hand for Rathir to place the knife in. “I know someone who would very much like to have it returned.” Rathir spun the knife in his hand and handed the long, white blade to the man, handle first.

Rathir knew his time was coming to an end. He just didn’t think that this one and his elven friend would be the source of it. He had done everything right. When he had seen the elf shove this unconscious man down low he knew that the elf would not be able to miss the low hanging branch. Even he flinched at the impact of the elf’s head against the limb and as he approached the downed elf he believed him dead because not only had he hit his head on the branch but he had been met by a rather large rock upon impact with the ground. Blood had pooled around the elf’s head and Rathir had looked up to see the young man they had shot, slumped over the back of his horse, riding off randomly into the woods.

He had bent then and taken the elf’s knife and with a light tap of the arrow wedged into the elf’s back he rose and ordered his men to leave. If the elf weren’t dead already, he would soon succumb to his injuries and the young man had probably already proceeded him in this venture. Rathir obviously didn’t know what luck this pair had. That the Valar looked after this pair was undeniable and it raised Rathir’s ire as he was lead out into the street.

“Times up Rathir.” Leandir looked to the thief mockingly. “It has taken me years to get you into my jail and I think I shall keep you there for many to come. What do you have to say to that?”

What could he say to that? He knew he had been playing against fate and fate always, inevitably drew a good hand. He grunted to the Marshall then, nothing more could be said. He didn’t even fight the harsh grasp that came to his arm as he was lead to the town jail. The only thing he dreaded was the idea of Thad being his roommate for the next several years. That one could truly drive a man insane.

Estel shook Leandir’s hand firmly. “Thank you for your help Marshall. It is much appreciated. Not only by me but by the elves of Middle Earth.”

“It was the least I could do. Legolas did not deserve what he received and I only hope that he will forgive me for not acting on his behalf sooner.”

Estel had spoken with Legolas at length regarding Leandir and he knew that the elf held no ill will toward the Marshall. He had even lost his anger towards the men that he and Leandir had just delivered into the jail cell. “Legolas is quick to forgive and I do not believe that he ever held you responsible. He was just eager to forget Rathir and begin remembering his family.”

Leandir nodded in understanding before stepping out onto the porch of his office. “How is he doing?”

Estel pulled the long white knife from his belt and turned it over in his hand. The faint etching on the blade sparkled under the setting sun making the inscription easier to see and the beauty more evident. The weapon seemed to shine more in the hands of a friend and Estel could almost hear it calling to its owner.

“He is happy to be home and he thrives in the company of his family.” Leandir laughed lightly at the news and Estel joined in with a smile of his own. His heart swelled with the knowledge that what he spoke was true and he beamed at the knowledge that the pieces of the puzzle had all been found and that the scene was coming together. The Locke had been opened and Legolas would be fine.

“Where do you go now Estel?”

Estel looked to the distance, his gray eyes glowing with health. “I think I shall travel to Mirkwood. I understand that Legolas has a wonderful batch of tarts waiting for me.”

The End