Of  a Father and Son

                                              For Xander

                                           The autumn air was crisp as the group of riders journeyed over the Misty Mountains. King Thranduil was making an extremely rare visit to Imladris for a council with Lord Elrond, under the guise of attending a Fall festival that was being held at the half-elven Lord’s home. Accompanying the King was his only son and heir, Prince Legolas, and a company of Mirkwood’s finest warriors. Neither the king nor the prince were dressed in such a way to distinguish them from the other members of the group, Legolas as much because he preferred dressing simply as to conceal anything , and Thraduil to conceal his identity from possible enemies. The elves were wary, even during the daytime while passing through the mountains, as orcs and other foul things were known to inhabit such areas. The sun was still fairly high in the sky as the company emerged from the pass on the Imladris side of the mountains, and they did not tarry, but hastened to put as much distance between the pass and themselves as they could before sunset. Far too many travelers had made the mistake of camping too close to the mountains and had lived only long enough to regret it.

                                      Thranduil’s eyes swept the company and the surrounding forest as restlessly as any of his guardsmen. Wood-elves by their very nature were alert and suspicious of their surroundings, especially if they wished to survive long in Mirkwood, and their king was a survivor indeed. His eyes finally came to rest on his son, and he could not have hidden the gleam of pride that shone in them had he wished to. Legolas was the light of his father’s life, even when he seemed bent on prematurely aging the elder elf with the scrapes he frequently got himself into, either alone or with Elrond’s twin sons Elladan and Elrohir, and Elrond’s human foster-son Estel. Legolas had been home for almost a year, and Thraduil could see his restlessness, and loneliness for his friends. Although his demeanor seemed calm and unruffled, to one who knew him as well as his father did, Legolas was fairly buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Thranduil allowed himself a small smile as he addressed his heir.

                                      “Legolas, we will be in Imladris in less than two days! Honestly , one would think you were mortal with the lack of patience you have!” Wide silver-blue eyes met amused grey ones with a start, and Legolas blushed profusely at his Adar’s amused observation. He grinned sheepishly at his father, then schooled his features into an impassive mask, stilling the fingers that had been plucking at the hem of his tunic with nervous energy.

                                      “ My apologies, Ada.”  Thranduil merely chuckled in response, earning a half-hearted glare from his still blushing offspring. Both father and son returned to scanning the forest for possible threats.

The sun was just slipping below the horizon when the company stopped to allow their horses a chance to rest and graze. Water flasks and lembas were passed and shared, but no fire was kindled as they were still too close to the mountains for such comforts. Scouts were dispatched to assess the best path for the next leg of the journey. As darkness fell, the elves became even more vigilant, knowing that the night was the preferred hunting time of the fouler creatures inhabiting their world. Before long, the scouts returned bearing news of a human settlement in the vicinity, but thankfully no sign of wargs or orcs in the lands ahead of the company. Plans were made to skirt a safe distance around the settlement, and fresh scouts were sent on the group’s back trail to ensure that no attack would catch them unaware from behind.

                                    Only moments had passed when the scouts returned in haste, “ Orcs, my King, a large force! At least four for every warrior here!” The scout reported breathlessly.  

                                    Thranduil scowled, his fair countence registering anger and annoyance, “ Have they discovered our presence, or are they merely looking for something to destroy?” 

                                     “My King, I believe they are ignorant of us for the moment,” replied the scout, “ but that will not last. They will certainly find evidence of our mounts’ passing.” 

                                     Thranduil swore under his breath before making his decision, “ To the trees, then. Our best chance lies in surprising them.” The horses were loosed, and driven ahead as the company took to the trees readying their arrows.

                                       As the elven warriors readied their weapons, the approach of the orcs became audible to their sensitive ears. Long before they could be seen, the orcs’ raucus voices and loudly rattling gear announced their presence. The warriors busied themselves checking and rechecking bowstrings, arrows, and lines of fire. Legolas and Thranduil were perched within arm’s reach of each other, near the back. Legolas had argued to be in the front rank, as he was easily the most skilled archer of all present, but had been convinced that his skills were better served in direct defense of his father and king. He did not press the issue due to the fact that his duty was, after all,  to do that very thing.  If all went badly, it would be his task to break his father out and cover his escape. As the enemy drew nearer, Thranduil took a moment to study his son. The warrior beside him bore very little resemblance to the quiet, usually reserved elfling his son had once been. Legolas was totally focused on the foliage ahead of them, his sharp eyes tirelessly scanning for the first visual signs of a target for his near perfect aim.  Rustling bushes at the far end of the clearing below the waiting elves snapped Thranduil’s attention back to the task at hand.

                                       The first couple of loose ranks of orc soldiers had entered the clearing before the elves loosed the first volley of arrows. The archers of Mirkwood were considered to be among the finest in Middle Earth and the company lived up to that reputation. Orc after orc fell to their arrows, only to be replaced by more of their kind. Soon, the orcs began swarming the trees, firing arrows of their own, not nearly as accurately as their opponents’, but by sheer volume they managed to do considerable damage to the elven company. Thranduil had to dodge quickly to avoid an arrow directed toward his midsection, and to his left he heard Legolas grunt in pain as an orc’s missile lodged itself in the flesh of his thigh. 

                                       “Legolas! How badly are you injured?” He swung around the back side of the tree to his son’s side.

                                       “A flesh wound, Ada. It is not serious.” Legolas continued his barrage of the orcs, barely pausing to look at his injury. Against his paternal instincts, Thranduil took his son at his word and swung back to his own side of the tree to continue firing arrows. As he loosed his last, he came to the sickening realization that a second group of orcs had joined the first.  It was time to retreat and hopefully survive long enough to outrun the orcs until sunrise forced them to return to the hole in the earth from which they had emerged. The word was passed, and the elves quickly made their way through the branches trying to distance themselves from their foul pursuers.

                                          Although wounded, Legolas managed to keep up with what was left of the company. Of the original twenty warriors, twelve were left alive and only Thranduil and three others were unmarked. All remaining arrows were given to three who volunteered to cover the rest while they attempted to escape. The remaining nine hastened to put as much distance between the orcs and  themselves as possible. When they could no longer hear the orcs, the dropped to the ground looking for any sign of their horses. Thranduil shot concerned glances at his son every few minutes, looking for signs of poisoning from the arrow he’d taken, but saw none. Legolas was visibly favoring the leg, but was not glassy-eyed or disoriented as he would have had there been poison on the arrow.  No sign of the horses was found, but to their horror more signs of orcs were everywhere. A shout to their right heralded yet another pack of orcs, this time accompanied by snarling, slavering wargs. The remaining seven warriors quickly formed a protective ring around their king and prince, preparing to defend them to the death. Legolas drew his long knives and took position back to back with his father as Thranduil drew his sword.                                                                           

                                         Almost at once the small group of elves was rushed from all sides by orcs and wargs. The elves accounted for themselves quite well, but they were woefully outnumbered and were grimly aware of that fact. Thranduil and Legolas fought back to back against any attacker that slipped past the ring formed by their defenders. Legolas was a blur of flashing metal as he wielded his twin knives with a deadly skill borne of much practice. Thranduil’s sword separated orc heads from orc bodies in a fatally beautiful dance. Around them their defenders were falling one by one, overwhelmed by the sheer number of foes. With a shock, Legolas saw an arrow fly from the trees beyond them headed for his father’s unprotected side. Without a second thought, he threw himself in the arrow’s path taking the bolt that was meant for Thranduil’s torso in his left shoulder. The impact sent him reeling backwards into his father. Somehow, he managed to regain his balance and continue fighting.

                                         “ It is a scratch, Ada, nothing to worry about, “ he called out, before Thranduil got too distracted and gave the vile creatures he was battling an opening to wound him. The lie came easily,  for once. Legolas knew that it was unlikely that they would survive this attack, and he for one preferred to die in battle rather than in an orc’s dank tunnel. The use of his arm was hampered by the fresh wound, as was his agility by the wound he had taken earlier. He was moving more and more slowly, and knew he would not last much longer. He also knew by the dizziness that was beginning to fog the edges of his vision that the arrow in his shoulder had been poisoned.

                                         Thranduil barely managed to parry an orc sword when Legolas fell against him. He was about to turn when Legolas’ report reached his ears. He knew it for the lie it was, but was as aware of the hopelessness of their situation as his son and he chose to respect Legolas’ wishes. Grim determination filled his normally impassive face as he prepared to meet his death in battle. He had taken only small hurts thus far, slashes and bruises but nothing more serious. It was at this point that he felt Legolas lurch against his back as yet another arrow found it’s mark in the younger elf’s body. This time Legolas fell to the ground and did not rise. Shifting his position so that he stood over his fallen son he continued to defend both of them. He could not take his attention off the creatures surrounding him long enough to spare a look to see if his son still breathed. With a shock, he realized that he was the only elf left fighting. Growling and jeering, the orcs closed in.

                                           Loud voices drew the attention away from Thranduil. Startled, he realized he was hearing human voices. A well armed, mounted group of human warriors broke the treeline to his left and rode toward his attackers, lances and spears to the fore. The orcs broke and ran, fleeing into the trees with the humans in pursuit. Thranduil dropped his sword and knelt by his son’s side dreading what he might find.

                                   Disclaimer: Tolkien owns everything, I own nada.

                                             Chapter 4

                                     Thranduil gently turned his son onto his back. Legolas had an orc arrow protruding fron his left shoulder and from his left thigh, just above the wound he had taken in the first skirmish. Thranduil’s breath caught as he searched for some sign that Legolas still lived. As he leaned over his son, Legolas shifted and gave a low moan of pain. Tears of relief filled Thranduil’s eyes and threatened to spill down his face. A chill of fear ran down his spine a moment later as he recognized the telltale flush on the younger elf’s skin. He swore  as he realized the last two arrows had been tipped with one of the many poisons orcs were wont to use. The bushes behind him rustled ominously and Thranduil spun , snatching up his sword to face this latest threat.

                                      “Peace, Milord elf, we mean you no harm!” The human guard captain called out.“ Please, lower your weapon and let us assist you.”  Thranduil was torn. He placed no faith in humans, nor indeed in any mortals and precious few elves outside his own realm, but he knew that Legolas would not live long enough for him to reach Imladris without assistance. Swallowing his misgivings and his pride for the sake of his child, he wiped the blade on his leggings, and sheathed it. The captain almost visibly relaxed and swung off his mount. “ Garen, Tor, see to the rest of the wounded.” The captain approached Thranduil a bit warily. He bowed respectfully to the elf. “Milord, how badly is your companion wounded?”

                                       “An arrow to the shoulder and to the leg, both poisoned, and an earlier arrow wound that we were unable to treat,” Thranduil answered succinctly.

                                       The captain hissed through his teeth as he looked over the wounds of the younger elf, “Poison, that’s nasty business. And he kept fighting in spite of that?  With respect, Milord, we’d best get him to our healers as soon as possible. Are you injured?”

                                        Thranduil shook his head, “ Scratches only, nothing serious enough to require immediate attention.”  The guardsmen charged by their captain with the care of the wounded approached.

                                       “Captain Narilt, there are no more wounded. All the others are….” the man halted his report, looking at Thranduil . 

                                        “ Dead, “  The elf finished for him, his face an expressionless mask. Narilt cleared his throat nervously.

                                        “Tor, fetch a horse for our guest, please.”  Thranduil nodded a curt thanks as he mounted the horse provided for him. Narilt and Tor gently lifted the unconscious Legolas up to the Elven king and Thranduil cradled his son to his chest, careful not to disturb the arrows still lodged in the younger elf’s body. The rest of the company mounted and began to ride toward their settlement, the two elves in the middle of the column, leaving the horrid scene in the clearing behind them.

                                           As the company made it’s way through the trees toward the humans’ stronghold, Captain Narilt studied their unexpected guests. The elder elf seemed to be carved of stone, displaying no emotion on his face. He did not speak to any of the guardsmen, and in fact barely seemed to acknowledge their existence.  Narilt had had dealings with the elves of Rivendell on many occasions and had found them to be unfailingly polite, unlike the taciturn and abrupt individual he rode next to. As he thought on it, he had never seen any of the elves he had met prior to tonight dressed as these two were, only in shades of green and brown. Not even the Rivendell border guards he occasionally met in the woods during times of high orc activity dressed in this manner. He turned his attention to the younger elf.
        

                                           The wounded one’s eyes were closed, his breathing rapid and shallow.  Narilt grimaced in sympathy, he had taken a poisoned arrow several months earlier and had only survived the experience due to the quick action of his fellow guardsmen and the skill of their healer and herb-woman who had been trained by Lord Elrond himself.  It had been painful in the extreme and had taken weeks to heal. He fervently hoped that they would reach Greenglade Keep in time to save the unfortunate elf. 
       

                                            They passed into a clearing and the moonlight illuminated the two Eldar so that Narilt could clearly see their features.  As he looked at them, he noted a distinct resemblance between the two. It was obvious to him now that they were closely related, no wonder the older one had insisted on carrying the younger.  Narilt also noted that despite his impassive mask, the elder one held the younger with great care,  studiously avoiding coming in contact with the arrows or doing anything else to cause discomfort. He frequently glanced down to assess the condition of his passenger, placing a slender hand along the younger one’s face or smoothing a stray strand of pale hair from his brow. Seeing that, Narilt concluded that the younger one was probably the offspring of the stern warrior.

                                             “How is he faring?” Narilt queried the elf.
     
     

                                             “ Not well, “ Thranduil answered shortly. “How much farther is it to your abode?”       

                                             “ Just beyond the hill on the other side of this patch of trees, Milord. Orc poison is nasty stuff, to be sure, but he looks strong and we have a very good healer and herb-woman at the Keep. Trained with Lord Elrond, they did, and they’ve brought many of us through bouts with orc poison before, myself included a few months ago. They’ll do their best for him, Milord.  I promise you they will.”  Narilt wasn’t sure what made him try to reassure the elf. Perhaps the fact that he had sons of his own and knew how he would feel if one of his boys was in the shape the wounded one was.

                                              The elder elf gave him a measured look, and to Narilt’s surprise replied. “My thanks, Captain. What few dealings I have had with Men in the past have been negative. Please do not take offense at my manner. I am unused to being indebted to humans.” The elf did not look at the captain, but stared straight ahead.

                                              “ No offense taken, Milord. I only wish we had come upon you sooner.” Narilt nearly stammered his response, so stunned was he at the statement. Thranduil merely nodded, falling silent once again.

                                               Narilt tried again, “ Is he your son?”

                                               Again, the sharp grey eyes took his measure. “Yes,” Thranduil stated, “ my only child.” He was never certain afterwards what made him admit that to the human guard captain. Legolas shifted in his arms at that moment, uttering a low moan of pain. Thranduil’s attention swiftly shifted to his son, the captain forgotten instantly. 

                                               Legolas was looking up at Thranduil, his eyes glassy with pain and the effects of the poison in his system.  He had heard the obviously human voice of the captain and had opened his eyes in a near panic to see his father‘s familiar visage above him. “ Ada..?” He ventured softly.

                                               “Shhh, ion-nin, I am here. You are safe,” Thranduil spoke quietly, calming his son easily. Legolas’ eyes drifted closed again as he lost his tenuous hold on conciousness. Thranduil worriedly felt for the pulse in his son’s neck, relaxing only marginally when he found it still beating. At this point, they broke through the last of the trees and the Keep became visible in the distance. Their pace quickened as the horses recognized that they were heading towards home and food. Thranduil ruthlessly held his mount to a fast walk to avoid jostling Legolas and injuring him further. The horse snorted, but obeyed. Narilt kept pace with the Elven king out of courtesy and concern for Legolas.

                                               As they neared the tall, thick walls surrounding the Keep, the guardsmen in the front rank called up to the men standing guard on the wall.  A shout of recognition went up from the sentries at the gate, and the it opened to admit the troop and their guests. Narilt spurred his mount up to the front of the group, calling loudly for the healer and herb-woman as he went.

                                              “ Get Weder and Letha! Now, damn your eyes! We’ve got wounded!”  He dismounted swiftly, handing the reins to a waiting stablehand and turned to Thranduil. “Milord, hand him down to me until you dismount.” At the elf’s hesitation, he continued earnestly, “ Milord, I’ll handle him as carefully as if he was my own son, I pledge you!” Thranduil relented, easing Legolas into Narilt’s arms before swinging his leg over the saddle and landing as lightly as a cat next to Narilt. The captain gently shifted Legolas back into his father’s arms before leading the way into the main hall of the Keep.

                                               They were met in the Great Hall by the healer, Weder, a short man well into his middle years, and Letha, the herb-woman, a sturdy but handsome woman just entering middle age, and the lord of  Greenglade Keep,  Lord Feren.  Feren looked askance at Narilt, but made no comment other than to direct his captain and the elves to the long table near the hearth.  Thranduil placed his precious burden gently on the surface provided, and stepped quickly out of the way as the healer and herb-woman began to assess his condition. Thranduil took no notice of  the others in the room, all his attention was focused on Legolas and the two humans who worked to save his life.

        
                                                Narilt took this opportunity to explain to his Lord how the elves came to be guests in his keep. As he had expected, Feren took no issue with his handling of the situation. Indeed, the longterm, friendly relations between Greenglade and Rivendell ensured that any elf needing assistance would receive whatever they needed at Greenglade. Narilt, however, had seen enough of the state the younger elf was in to voice his concern about it to his lord, “ Lord Feren, with respect, I think we might be wise to send a messenger to Lord Elrond about these two. The younger one is in bad shape, and I’m not for sure but only an elf-healer might be able to do for him.”

                                                Feren eyed the pale form on the table and silently concurred with his captain’s assessment. “ Very well, send your best rider on our fastest horse at first light. Captain, satisfy my curiosity on one point, if you would.” Narilt looked expectantly at his liege-lord. “ Where in bloody Hell did you chance to happen upon Wood elves in these parts?” Narilt’s mouth fell open in shock. These were Wood elves? Feren chuckled at his captain‘s expression.

                                               “ My lord, I didn’t realize.. That is .. Umm.” Narilt stuttered to a stop, having no idea what to say. Wood elves were dangerous creatures, nothing like the peaceful folk in Rivendell. If one listened to the absurd granny-tales passed about of the Wood elves, one would be certain that they ate babies for breakfast. Narilt was no where near that superstitious, but he had heard enough tales that sounded credible to make him second guess his snap decision to bring the two to his Lord’s home.

                                                Feren guessed his captain’s train of thought and hastened to reassure him, “Peace, Narilt. Most of what is trotted about of them is nonsense spread by those who know no better. Forget you that I was raised in Mirkwood’s shadow? So long as we deal fairly with them, they will do no harm.  They do not usually mix with mortals, but are not given to harming any that do not first harm them or trespass in their lands. I can only think that they must have been traveling to Rivendell. I can think of no other reason they would be so far from their home, even though it was my understanding that they are not on good terms with Lord Elrond’s folk. Strange goings on, indeed. The rest of their party was killed?” Narilt nodded, fascinated with Feren’s revelations. Feren continued,                          “ Surprising, that. Wood elves are fierce fighters, especially against orcs. They must have been vastly outnumbered. Did you manage to find out anything about them?”

                                                Narilt cleared his throat self-consciously, “ My lord, the wounded one was not able to speak for most of the journey here, and the other’s not much of a talker. He did tell me that the younger one is his son, the only child he has. He also said that his experience with Men has been bad, but he did thank me for our assistance.” Feren’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline upon that tidbit of information. “ My lord,” Narilt continued, “ I think he might be someone of importance, judging by his manner.”

                                                “ Never can tell with elves, Narilt. They all carry themselves like nobility. Although, you might just be right about this one. The sooner we contact Rivendell the better, methinks.”  Narilt nodded, and respectfully took his leave to arrange for the messenger to leave for Rivendell at dawn.

Disclaimer: Tolkien-all, sheraiah-zip. The only things of value I have are my kids. Suing me would be an exercise in futility.

                                                    Chapter 6

                                              Thranduil was aware of the men discussing him at the other end of the room, but he paid them no notice. His sole concern was the pale, motionless form lying on the table before him. The human healer had removed the arrows and was cleaning the wounds carefully, making certain to remove all traces of dirt, and as much of the poison as he could. He allowed the wounds to bleed freely for a short time to aid in cleaning them, then washed them and applied a thick paste before placing bandages on all three of Legolas’ wounds. While the healer was occupied washing and bandaging, the herb-woman mixed potions, one for application to the wounds and one to be forced down the wounded elf’s throat to counteract the poison in his system. After the last bandage was in place, the healer stepped to the end of the table by Legolas’ head and gently lifted his head and shoulders, supporting him with one arm, while the herb-woman held a spoonful of  the tea she had brewed to the elf’s lips. Legolas stirred, and began to struggle against the hands that held him. Although he was very weak, he was an elf and even in his current condition, he was too strong for them to handle without assistance.

                                               Thranduil stepped in immediately, before any other human could be called in to help. “Move aside,” he gruffly ordered the healer.  Weder was no fool, and gracefully conceded his position to the Eldar. Thranduil gently restrained his son, speaking softly to him in Sindarin. When Legolas had calmed, Thranduil nodded to the herb-woman to continue her ministrations. Letha again held the spoon to the younger elf’s lips, patiently allowing the tea to drip into his mouth. Legolas made as if to spit the mixture out, but his father stopped him with a word and when Thranduil bade him to swallow the unpleasantly tasting brew, he did so without protest. Between them, Thranduil and Letha got the entire cup of antidote into the gravely ill prince.

                                                Letha studied the Elven king a moment before addressing him, “ He should sleep for awhile, and he may become fevered. We will have to give him another dose in a few hours, but beyond that all we can do now is wait and see how he does. The women have made a pallet for him here by the fire, so let us get him settled and then we will see to your wounds, my lord.”  Letha motioned for Weder and a young man who bore a strong resemblance to her to move Legolas, but Thranduil was having none of it.

                                               “ No, I will see to him.” With that he lifted his son carefully from the table and moved to the pallet, shifting Legolas onto the makeshift bed much more gently than any human could have managed. He arranged the younger elf carefully, having removed Legolas’ ever present bow and quiver from his back earlier while they were still on the horse. These he laid beside his son’s resting place where Legolas could see them when he woke. Thranduil then turned back to the healer and herb-woman to allow them to treat the cuts and bruises he’d suffered in the fighting, keeping his attention focused on the pallet should Legolas need him. He was pleasantly surprised by how gently they tended him. He had not thought humans capable of such. Even the herb paste they spread on his wounds did not sting very much, and almost immediately took the pain away. When they had finished, they began to tidy up the mess thay had creating in performing their duties.

                                              Thranduil stared into the fire for a moment deep in thought before addressing the two humans. “ My thanks for your help.” He spoke in an almost brusque fashion, not used to feeling gratitude to those whom he considered at best a potential threat, at worst an enemy.  The beings addressed looked startled for a moment, then merely nodded and continued their tasks sensing that to be the best way to respond to the grim-faced elf. He stood and moved next to his son. The Elven king sat down next to his son’s head, his back against the stone wall. Gently, he eased Legolas’ head up until it was pillowed on his thigh. Thranduil leaned back against the wall settling himself to wait, one had resting on his son’s chest the other absently stroking the tangled strands of blonde hair adorning his head. He watched the humans warily with half lidded eyes. Letha settled herself in a chair at the table measuring out herbs for the next batch of tea, while Weder left to report to his lord.

                                               Several minutes had passed in silence when a door on the far end of the Hall opened. Lord Feren emerged from the doorway and approached the pallet beside the hearth. Bowing, Feren placed his hand over his heart, then swept it outward in the traditional Elven gesture of respect, “ My lord, you are most welcome in my home, but I wish your arrival had been under far better circumstances. I am Feren, Lord of Greenglade. Please be assured that you are my most welcome guests and that we will do everything in our power to assist you. We are sending a messenger to Rivendell at first light to request Lord Elrond’s assistance in healing your son. In the mean time, if there is anything you need do not hesitate to tell us.”

                                               Thranduil was nonplussed to say the least by the gesture and Feren’s words. He recovered quickly, however. “It seems that I am in your debt,  Lord Feren. You have my thanks,” he replied gruffly. This closer look at Feren was yielding unexpected results for it seemed to Thranduil that there was something about this human that struck a familiar cord. He could not have said who, but this man looked like someone he had seen before. A moment later he had his answer.

                                             “ My lord, I am aware that you are not accustomed to pleasant dealings with my kind. I was born and spent most of my childhood on the edge of Mirkwood and I have met your folk before. The people of my village were respectful of your boundaries, and never caused any trouble to you. In fact, I have fond memories of some of the border guards. They were very kind to the children, you see. I still have a carved toy horse that one of them gave me. My father was headman of the village and so my family had more to do with your folk than most,” Feren explained mildly.

                                             “ You are Theren’s son,” Thranduil stated matter of factly. “ I knew I had seen you before. We were disappointed to see your village deserted, although we well understood the reasons why you had to leave. The warrior who gave you that toy was a friend of my son’s. My son told me of it when he returned from that patrol.”

                                              
                                            “ Was, my lord? Is he gone then?” Feren queried.

                                            “ Yes, he was one of the warriors who fell  tonight.” Thranduil confirmed Feren’s guess.

                                             “ I am saddened to hear that. He was very kind to me.” Thranduil nodded absently in response. “ My lord, I will leave you to whatever rest you can find tonight. Please, send for me should you need anything.” Feren politely took his leave and Thranduil returned to his brooding.

                                             Weder and Letha stayed in the Hall so that they would be close by if there was any change in Legolas’ condition. Weder appropriated one of the comfortable looking chairs in front of the hearth slumping into it and staring into the fire, and Letha settled herself by Legolas’ feet, patiently making bandages. Thranduil ignored them both, lost in his own thoughts.

                                             He had made a grave error in loosing the horses. His mistake had cost the lives of eighteen of his finest warriors, and might well cost him his son. That was something Thranduil knew that he could not bear. If he were to lose Legolas, he knew that he would fade and die of grief, as his mother had after the death of his father, Oropher, in the Great Battle. Legolas had been the anchor that had kept him alive after his wife died when his son was little more than an infant.  His son was the driving reason behind most of what Thranduil did. He fought to turn back the Shadow that was slowly consuming Mirkwood, in part because it was his son’s home and in part because he wished to have a kingdom for his son to inherit when he was ready to leave and go to Valinor. 

                                             He shook himself out of that line of thought. Legolas was not going to die. He had to believe that Legolas was going to recover. Thranduil allowed himself to drift through memories of his son’s life, preferring to dwell on happy times rather than the present. A faint smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he remembered Legolas’ habit of teething on his formal robes during his infancy. On one occasion, Legolas had mistakenly gotten his father’s skin intead of the fabric causing Thranduil to yelp in surprise and pain. His wife had come rushing into the room, concerned that something had happened to her son only to find him chuckling at the pained expression on Thranduil’s face as he rubbed his abused flesh.

                                              “What happened?” His queen had asked. Instead of answering her, Thranduil had a question of his own.

                                             “ My heart, precisely how long does the ’ I now have teeth, therefore I must bite everything I can get into my mouth’ stage last?” His only answer was peals of laughter at his expense from his lovely queen as she left him to his son’s less than tender mercies. It was a good memory, and one of his last of his wife and son together. She had died only months later.
                  

                                             Legolas had inherited his mother's eyes and her demeanor. He was quiet and reserved until he became comfortable with a new acquaintance, but once that happened he was the merriest of companions and an invenerate prankster. Thranduil himself had been on the receiving end of a few of his son's more minor pranks. He also was the most loyal of friends, especially to the human that Elrond was fostering, much to his father's dismay. In his more honest moments, Thranduil had to admit that he did rather like Estel, in an almost grudging fashion. The boy, for he was not much more than that even in human terms, was every bit as loyal to Legolas as Legolas was to him. He was also respectful, honest, and a skilled fighter. Thranduil's main objection to him was his mortality, and that only because he knew that the friendship would inevitably end with Estel's death and he did not wish to see Legolas hurt.
                  

             
                                              Once the messenger reached Imladris, he fully expected to see Estel, if not Elladan and Elrohir as well. The four ran as a pack when they were able, and the very trees quaked from the mischief the three elves and one human stirred up. Legolas kept few secrets from his father, so Thranduil was aware that their escapades usually ended in healing sessions with Elrond. He knew his son well enough to guess that Legolas frequently downplayed the seriousness of the injuries he had taken, but he did not have the heart to forbid the friendship. So lost in his thoughts was he that he did not notice Letha's approach until she knelt next to them.

                                              " My lord, it is time for another dose of the tea," Letha stated with a slight smile for her charges. She held the mug and spoon ready while Thranduil lifted Legolas almost into a sitting position. Letha spooned the tea between the prince's lips, watching to make certain that he swallowed it all. After the last spoonful, Legolas' eyes fluttered open.
                   

                                               " Mistress Letha?" he ventured, seeing her face above him. " Only someone Lord Elrond taught could make something that foul-tasting," he said weakly, but with a slight smile. The smile widened a hair when he caught his father's expression of surprise, then he sighed deeply and his eyes closed once more.
                   

                                              " I was not aware that you knew my son, Mistress Letha," Thranduil intoned softly. " Why did you not mention this?" Thranduil, as always, was suspicious of the motives of mortals.
                   

                                              " I did not mention it, King Thranduil, because you have so carefully avoided giving your name. Do not worry, Weder sleeps as one dead. He will not hear us. You name will remain your secret until such time as you reveal it."
                   

                                              " My thanks then, Mistress. How did you come to meet Legolas? I know it must have been in Imladris. I know him well enough to know that he would not enter a human settlement unless he had no other choice."
                   

                                               Letha raised an eyebrow at that, but replied readily, " Yes, the last time I was there he and that young scamp Estel had had a run-in with some orcs. Lord Elrond bade me help with the healing, as he wished me to become familiar with the healing of an elf should I ever need the knowledge. The wounds were not serious, and Prince Legolas was very gracious in allowing me to learn which herbs to use on him. He is so much more polite than Elladan and Elrohir, if you ask me, and much better behaved." Letha smiled down at the prince fondly.
                   

                                                Thranduil allowed himself a small chuckle, " Having had those elflings inflicted upon my household on occasion over the course of many years, I can readily agree. However, it is mostly that they are still fairly young by our standards. I can also assure you, mistress, that Legolas is certainly not immune to high spirits and mischief."

                                                " Perhaps not, My Lord, but he seems to think things through more toroughly than the others do. I became quite fond of him. Now let me take a look at his wounds, and then yours." Letha became all business again. Thranduil allowed her to perform her duties and when she was satisfied that all was well, she left them to themselves once again. It was now well after midnight, yet she showed no signs of retiring to her bed. She sat by the fire, mending some article of clothing and singing softly to herself. Thranduil returned to his vigil over his son and his memories.

Disclaimer: same as before, Tolkien owns all, I own nothing, yada, yada, yada

                                             Chapter 7

                          Thranduil was startled out of a light doze when his son began to thrash about deliriously believing himself to be back in the clearing and under attack. Thranduil swiftly, but gently restrained him reassuring him in Sindarin that he was indoors and safe. Legolas quieted, but it was apparent that his condition was worsening. He was now feverish, and risked re-opening his wounds if he was not kept calm and still. The Elven king looked up at Letha and Weder for any assurance that there was another antidote that could be tried. Letha was busying herself doing just that while Weder approached to make certain that the prince’s wounds had not begun to bleed again. No harm had been done and Weder smiled reassuringly at Thranduil before returning to Letha’s side to assist the herb-woman. As soon as the potion was ready, Letha hurried to Legolas’ side to administer it. This time proved more difficult and in the end they were forced to pour it into the wounded elf’s mouth and clamp his mouth and nose shut to force him to swallow the bitter liquid.

                        Thranduil was becoming more and more fearful of losing his son as the hours passed. He had lost all track of time and found it necessary to inquire as to how close it was until dawn. Letha assured him that dawn was less that an hour away, then excused herself.

                         
                         Letha hurried down the corridor to the courtyard door. It was imperative that she reach the messenger before he departed. As long as Elrond did not know the identity of the elves at the Keep, he might only send members of his household to fetch them. If Legolas were to survive, Letha was certain nothing less that the skills of the Elven lord himself would be necessary. She had no intention of allowing the prince to perish while it was in her power to prevent it. She also knew that if he did die, it was unlikely that his father would live very long after. Letha had lived all her days in close proximity to Rivendell and had more knowledge that most of her race about the customs and peculiarities of the Eldar race. She reached the doorway and fairly ran out into the yard toward the stables. The first faint rays of the rising sun were just peeking over the horizon as she reached the stable door.

                           To her vast relief, the messenger was only just finishing the inspection of his horse’s tack when she rushed into the stables. Breathlessly she made her request and was relieved when the messenger readily agreed to relay her message to Lord Elrond, and only to Lord Elrond. She watched as he rode out at a full canter toward the Elf lord’s home. Sighing, and breathing a prayer for assistance, she hurried back into the Hall to her charge.

                        In Imaldris, the dawn found the Last Homely House in a rare state of uproar. In the early hours of the morning, several riderless horses had entered the valley to the surprise of the border guards. It was obvious that the horses had belonged to elves, by the look of their tack, but no riders anywhere to be found.  The horses were taken to the stables, and Lord Elrond was summoned to view the unusual arrivals, as he frequently observed more than even the average elf and might be able to solve the mystery behind the animals’ appearance.  Elrond inspected the animals and their tack with a growing sense of forboding. His worst fears were realized when he came to the last two horses. Both animals bore tack that was subtly embroidered with a hauntingly familiar pattern. Beckoning to a member of his household, he requested that his sons and foster son be summoned to the stable yard immediately.

                          Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel arrived minutes later, yawning and hair still touseled from sleep. Estel was the first to notice the horses.

                          "Where is Legolas," he asked. looking around for his friend.

                           "Estel, the horses arrived without riders." Elrond knew of no way to soften the news, so he simply stated the facts.

                            " Ada! He wouldn't just lose his horse, he has to be somewhere hurt, or..." Estel swallowed hard.

                          “Estel, we do not know that anything has happened.” Elrond gripped his foster son’s shoulder tightly. “ All we know is that the horses arrived without their riders, and because there are two horses with the tack of the Royal House of Mirkwood, I think it safe to assume that wherever Legolas is, his father is also.”

                           Estel slipped out from under his foster father’s hand and began to walk swiftly back to his room. Elrond called him back, “ Estel, where do you believe that you are going?”

                             “ I have to go, Ada. I have to find Legolas.” Estel’s face was set in an expression that told anyone at a glance that he would not be denied.

                              Elrond nodded his consent and turned to his twin sons, “ Let us go get dressed and we will be on our way within the hour. I assume you two are coming along as well?” He wore a well practiced, resigned expression on his ageless face. Estel was already through the door and halfway to his room.

                              “ Ada, “ sighed Elrohir rolling his eyes, “ Need you even ask that?” He and his twin bowed to their father and followed Estel into the house.

                                 Less than an hour later, a troop of riders left Imladris heading in the direction the horses had come. Elrond was lost in thought . He was the only one in Imladris that had known that Thranduil and Legolas were expected for the festival. He also knew that Thranduil was traveling incognito. What could have happened to them? He refused to share his concerns with his sons, particularly Estel, but as soon as Estel had confirmed his guess about the tack, he feared that both Legolas and Thranduil were lost. Elrond sent up a fervent prayer that he was wrong.

                               Thranduil stepped back from his son's pallet with a wince. Legolas was becoming more and more disoriented. He no longer recognised his father's voice and had begun to suffer from halluciations. Thranduil and Weder had just had to hold him down to keep him from opening the wounds in his shoulder and thigh. During the altercation, Legolas had managed to not only split his father's lip, but had landed a hard blow on Thranduil's right knee. Weder had not escaped harm either and was sporting the beginnings of a blackened eye.

                              "Thankfully, most of my patients are not so strong as your son," Weder chuckled ruefully, attempting to lighten the mood in the room a bit. To his surprise, he got a response.

                               " If they were, and you chose to remain a healer, I would begin to doubt your sanity." Thranduil smirked at the healer a moment, before returning his attention to Legolas. " He is getting worse."

                               " Aye, he is. But while he lives, there is hope that he will be strong enough to survive long enough for the effects of the poison to wear off. Letha and I are not willing to give up on him, my Lord. Do not you give up on him, either. If anything can pull him through, it's you fighting for him. I have seen that make the difference many times." Weder stated bluntly. He had developed a fair measure of respect for this brusque elf over the course of the last few hours. "Come, the women have brought us some breakfast. You must eat and care for yourself so that you can care for him. Remember, you have injuries as well." Weder brooked no disobedience from any patient, elf-lord or human.

                                As Thranduil allowed the human healer to usher him to the table, he realized that Letha was no longer in the room. He had not seen her leave, and had no idea where she had gone. Before he could voice a question to Weder about the herb woman's whereabouts, Weder placed a full plate in front of the elf and in a voice that would have done Thranduil himself proud ordered the elf to eat. Thranduil shot the healer a look that would have had a member of his household quaking in their boots, but did as the human bade him. Weder merely raised an eyebrow at him, then began to heed his own advice and filled a plate for himself. Thranduil ate lightly choosing only fruit and bread, human meals were not to his liking. As he was finishing, Letha entered the hall from a small door at the left. She carried a basket filled with herbs. She immediately crossed to the hearth and began brewing another potion. Looking up at Weder and Thranduil, she smiled reassuringly.

                                 " So far we have been trying to counteract the poison, now we will treat each symptom as it appears. Right now Weder and I believe that our best chance lies in easing his discomfort, and supporting his strength."

                                 " Very well, Mistress Letha. What must we do?" Thranduil asnwered the herb woman without a pause.

                                 "We will keep giving him teas to fight ease the effects the  poison is having on his body, and broth to nourish him. You will be the best medecine, I think. Even when he does not seem to hear you, he knows that you are with him. Your task will be to talk to him, reassure him, sing to him if you wish, whatever you can think of to anchor him here. He is weak and in considerable pain. He is halluciating, and his mind will tell him terrible things. He needs you to make the ill dreams the lie that they are and give him enough reason to keep fighting." Letha hesitated a moment, then made her way to Thranduil's side. She spoke so softly that only an elf could have heard, " King Thranduil, I believe Weder can be trusted with your secret, I think you should tell him. It may become important that someone else knows." She met his eyes unflinchingly.

                                 " Mistress Letha, by now you know that I trust you both with my son's health, but what has happened?" Realization dawned, and the color drained from his face, " You think my son will not survive this."

                                 " I think he will with help. That is why I wish you would be honest with Weder," she replied, a serene expression on her face. " A healer always works better when he knows what is at risk."

                                  " I will consider your words, but I cannot give you an answer now. If you know anything about my kind, you know why I find it difficult to trust mortals." Thranduil's eyes were as hard as flint for a moment, then he looked at the pallet by the hearth and his expression softened. " I will think on this, that I do promise you."

                                  " I know that you will make the right decision. You love your son too much to do otherwise, " Letha smiled at him and returned to the hearth and the potion she was brewing.

                                 During this intense exchange, Weder wisely kept his distance. He was aware that Letha knew more about the two elves than she was telling, but he was content to bide his time. If it was something he needed to know she would make certain he was told. They had known each other for many years and had worked side by side for most of that time. He trusted her implicitly. With a tired sigh, and a wince for his now blackened eye he rose and made his way to his charge's makeshift bed. A thorough look confirmed that the wounds were healing well, with no sign of infection. The sole enemy was the poison. Weder was far more concerned about the elf than he was allowing any to see. It was never wise to show worry to a patient's family, especially when that family was as obviously close as these two were. He found himself hoping fervently that Lord Elrond would decide to accompany whomever came to collect the two elves. They were in dire need of his skills.

                                 Thranduil had resumed his preferred place, sitting against the wall with his son's head pillowed on his thigh. He rested his head back against the cool stone of the wall, deep in thought. Letha's words had created a great debate within him. On one side, he could not falt her logic. On the other, he had lived for many centuries with his deep distrust of all mortals. His internal debate continued until he fell into an light doze, exhausted from the fight the night before, his own wounds, and his worry for his son.

                                  The sun had reached it's zenith when the group from Imladris stopped to briefly rest and feed their horses and themselves. The trail left by the riderless horses was clear and very easy to follow, but the terrain was rough. Estel was anxious to be back in the saddle, but wise enough to know that tired, hungry horses would slow them down. They were not far off the track between Imladris and Greenglade Keep, and Elladan wondered aloud if they might not be wise to head there to see if the Greenglade patrols had seen any sign of the missing ones. After a short debate, Elrond decided that they would head for the Keep. They mounted their horses and turned towards the track.

                                  Estel was not happy. He had argued strenuously for continuing to follow the horses' trail, feeling that Legolas would not have gone near a human settlement for help, especially if his father was with him. He was more than a little surprised when Elrond decided to go the other direction. Of them all, Elrond had known Legolas and Thranduil the longest. He of all of them should have known it was not likely that the humans would have found any trace of the King and Prince of Mirkwood. He brooded for awhile, before ruefully reminding himself to act his age and approached his foster father to ask him what had made him make this decision. Elrond merely said that he simply felt that this was the best way to proceed and volunteered no further information. Estel knew his foster father well enough to know that he would receive no further insights and held his tongue.

                                  The group had only been traveling for less than an hour when they heard the unmistakable sound of another rider approaching. The stranger's horse moved at a canter, unusual for a mere traveler not that there were many of those on this track. As he came into view, his tack and livery identified him as a messenger from Greenglad Keep. He approached the group warily at first, then a huge grin crossed his face as he recognised them.

                                 "Well met, Lord Elrond! You have saved me a longer ride, as I was sent with messages for you." The rider called out as he came within a human's hearing range of the Imladris residents. He took a deep breath, and began his recitation, " Lord Feren sends his regards and greetings and hopes all is well in Rivendell. He begs your assistance with a situation that has occurred in the Keep. Last night one of our patrols came across a group of elves that was being attacked by orcs and wargs. The patrol managed to run the orcs off, but by the time they had arrived, only two elves were left alive and one is very ill from poisoned arrow heads. If you would be willing to provide assistance Lord Feren would be most grateful."

                                 "How fortunate, good messenger, for we were riding to Greenglade Keep when we met up with you. Please, lead the way and we will be happy to assist Lord Feren in any way we are able." Elrond smiled politely keeping his face a pleasant mask, but in truth the rider's words had chilled him to the bone.

                                 "Lord Elrond, I also have a message from Mistress Letha," the rider turned his horse back in the direction he had come as he spoke. "She said to tell you that Legolas needs your skills." The rider looked puzzeled, but relayed his message nonetheless. He was surprised to see Elrond's eyes sharpen, then turn to his foster son.

                                 " Messenger, I suggest we proceed with haste," Elrond stated flatly, spurring his horse into a canter. The rest of the group followed suit and headed toward Greenglade Keep.

                              Legolas was burning with fever and mumbling incoherently in Sindarin. Thranduil and Weder had stripped him of his tunic and were bathing his face and torso with cool water in an attempt to bring down his body temperature. Letha had brewed another potion for the fever, and thay had administered it only moments ago. Weder spoke soothingly to his patient as he sponged the elf's chest. Thranduil looked away from his son's face and met Weder's eyes for a moment.

                              "His name is Legolas, and I am Thranduil."
                                 

                                   Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all, I own nothing.

                                                           Chapter 8

                                   
                                    Weder inhaled sharply at Thranduil’s revelation. He had guessed that the elves were of no small importance, but never did he consider this. Thranduil held his gaze, waiting. Weder appeared to gather his thoughts for several moments, continuing his ministrations to Legolas all the while. After a time, he looked up again and smiled ruefully at  Thranduil.

                                    “ You do have a fine sense of the dramatic, Your Majesty.” Weder remarked wryly. “ Be at peace, I will tell no one unless you wish it. I am glad that you did tell me, because I now know exactly what is at stake here.”

                                      “ And for that I thank you, on both counts,” Thranduil replied. “I do not trust mortals easily, but I do trust you with my son. I have no choice but to do so. You and Mistress Letha are my only hope of saving his life.” The Elven King’s mouth twisted briefly in grief as he added softly, “ And my own as well, for if he dies so will I.”

                                       Weder watched his face in shock as he spoke, at first unwilling to believe his statement.  As the impact of this sunk in, Weder suddenly felt as if he carried all the weight of the vast number of years Thranduil had lived. He was more knowledgeable in the ways of elves than most humans, but never had he believed that the tales of elves dying of grief were anything more than tales. Faced with the knowledge that they were truth shook him to the core. He took a deep, steadying breath then faced Thranduil again.

                                       “ My lord King, I am not about to lose one patient this day, much less two.  We will keep him with us, he will not go while we both hold him here. I will do everything in my power to see you both through this, I swear it!” Weder’s intense stare bored into the elf’s grey eyes. He held out his hand in pledge in the manner of Men.  Thranduil swallowed hard, touched beyond measure by the fierce determination in the human’s gaze and his words, and clasped his hand like a lifeline completing the pledge. Weder smiled, then returned to his task of sponging cool water on Legolas’ torso.

                                      Thranduil drew a ragged breath, then turned his attention back to his son. Legolas had calmed considerably. He was no longer mumbling or moving restlessly and he seemed to be breathing more easily. Thranduil wiped his son’s pale brow with the cool, wet rag  again and was pleasantly surprised to see the silver-blue eyes flutter open. Legolas’ eyes darted about, searching the room. He started visibly when his eyes landed on Weder. Weder smiled and hastened to reassure him.

                                    
                                      “Peace, Prince Legolas, you are among friends and your father is right here. You have been giving us quite a fright. How do you feel?”

                                       “Like I have been dragged behind a horse through Mordor,” Legolas replied, too weary and ill to be tactful or polite as he usually was. “Do I have to drink another vile brew?” he asked as plaintively as an elfling.

                                         “I am afraid that the answer to that is yes, but after the “vile brew” will come broth and that should help a bit, I should think,” Weder replied with a grin. “Wait just a moment and I shall fetch it.” He levered himself off the stone floor.

                                           Legolas tried to twist around to look at his father, but Thranduil’s hand on his uninjured shoulder stopped him. His father moved from his seat at Legolas’ head to sit beside him. Legolas was shocked to see how weary and worn his father looked. Thranduil actually looked older than Legolas had ever seen him look, even after long and difficult battles with orcs. He frowned as he examined the face above him minutely.

                                         “How long have I been ill, Ada?” he asked solemnly, clearly upset that he was the cause of the weariness and pain in his father’s face.

                                          “Long enough for me to worry, ion-nin, and you are not to upset yourself over it. I am your father, it is my occupation to worry over you.” Thranduil brushed a stray strand of Legolas’ hair from his brow. “You are not to concern yourself  with anything besides recovering from your illness. Do not fear for me, I will be well when you are.” Thranduil glanced up as Weder approached with the dreaded “vile brew” and the promised broth. He accepted both from the healer with a nod of thanks. “Now, let us get this into you, then you may have the broth.” He chuckled at the expression of distaste on his son’s face. Legolas drank the potion as he was bidden, grimacing in disgust as he swallowed the last of it.

                                               “Feh! Why can healers not brew out the foul taste? It is enough to choke an orc.” Legolas groused as grumpily as a troll.

                                                “Hmmph, I heard that, you scamp.” Letha spoke from behind Thranduil. “One might think you would be grateful for anything that would speed your recovery.” The twinkle in her eye spoke of humor that belied the gruff words. “ In all seriousness, how are you feeling?” she queried.

                                                 “Ill and weary and very tired of terrible tasting potions, Mistress Letha, but for all of that I do appreciate all you have done. Both of you.” Legolas belatedly remembered his manners. Even in the condition he was in, he was still the Prince of Mirkwood.

                                                  Letha clucked her tongue at him, “Tsk, worry less about courtesy than about your recovery. I am no fine lady for you to charm, and well we both know it. Fine words to me are as useful as lace on a horse blanket, so save them for the elfmaids. Besides, your father has as much to do with caring for you as Weder and I do. He has not left your side since you were brought here.” With that, she smiled at both elves and left to fetch herself , Weder and Thranduil something to sup on as it was an hour past noon.

                                                 Thranduil assisted his son in drinking the broth that Weder had brought to them. Legolas was able to take a little more than half of it before laying back on the pallet wearily. He lay quietly, taking in the large room for a few minutes before drifting back into sleep. Thranduil was relieved to see that Legolas truly was sleeping this time rather than unconscious. He got up, stretching like a cat, and made his way to the table. He was surprised to find that he was very hungry.

                                                  The meal passed in relative silence. Both the humans and the elf were tired beyond measure, and could barely manage to feed themselves without dozing off in the process. They were just about to leave the table when Legolas woke with a groan, rolled quickly onto his side, and Violently expelled the contents of his stomach. Thranduil was at his side before the humans had a chance to move, supporting his head and holding his hair out of the way. Sobbing for breath, the prince tried to speak, but his father hushed him and eased him back onto the pallet. Taking up the wet cloth, Thranduil gently washed Legolas’ face, noting that his skin was very warm to the touch.

                                                   “Weder, the fever has returned.” Thranduil stated flatly.

                                           “Damnation, I was afraid that was going to happen. Well, let us bathe him with the water again. We had some success with that last time.” Weder picked up a cloth and made good on his words while Letha cleaned the floor next to them. It was necessary to change the bedding as well and Legolas' clothing. After that was accomplished, Weder and Thranduil resumed sponging Legolas with cool water to bring the fever down again.

                                            They continued to treat the fever in this manner throughout the afternoon to no avail. Even worse, Legolas was unable to keep even water in his stomach. It had become obivious that they were losing the battle with the orcs' poison. Thranduil had begun to feed his own strength into Legolas at an alarming rate. He had been doing this from the beginning, all elves could to varying degrees, but now as his hope waned he had made the decision to give Legolas all the strength he possessed. He was doomed if Legolas were to die, and now it was unlikely that he would survive even if his son did. Thranduil reasoned that his life mattered little at this point, if by his death he could manage to give his son the strength to survive it was worth the sacrifice. If not, he would die within minutes of his son and that was better to his mind than fading slowly.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all, I own nothing.

                                                Chapter 9

                                                 The sun was setting outside the keep. Inside however, it was as if darkness had already fallen. Weder and Letha could only stand by and watch helplessly as both elves grew weaker and weaker. Weder could not understand why both were affected. He turned to Letha for explanation.

                                                  “Why both of them? I cannot understand it. I know Prince Legolas’ body is failing because of the poison, but why is his father’s as well? It cannot be the grief so soon, can it?” Weder queried in growing frustration.

                                                   “No, it is not the grief,” Letha answered. “ Not so soon. I believe I know what is happening. Elves have certain abilities that we do not. One is an ability to heal themselves. Another is the ability to lend their strength to another to aid them in healing themselves. All elves can do this, some to a greater degree than others.  It is an amazing thing to see when it is successful.  If I am correct, this is why both are failing. The father does not have enough strength left in him to help the son and now we shall have to watch both of them die, “she finished with a sob, tears streaming down her weary, haggard face. Weder made no reply save to gather her into his arms, his own face tear-streaked.

                                                    Thranduil could no longer see or hear anything. His entire existence was wrapped around keeping his son’s heart beating and his lungs moving air. Every vestige of strength in his body was pouring into Legolas. His own breathing was becoming labored and shallow, his heart fighting to keep beating. He slumped over his son, barely conscious.

                                                Weder and Letha were startled out of their grieving by the sound of loud voices beyond the door. The wooden door was flung back, slamming into the wall as Lord Feren burst into the Great Hall flanked by several elves and a young, dark haired man. Feren shouted for food and drink to be brought for the visitors, but the visitors’ attention was occupied solely by the two figures huddled on the pallet by the hearth. An elf clad in a fine cloak of midnight blue broke away from the rest and swiftly crossed the Hall to kneel beside Legolas.

                                                  Elrond swept back his hood and quickly took in the condition of the two elves before him. They had arrived with not a moment to spare. If he was to be able to help Legolas heal it would have to be now. He knew Thranduil was in almost as bad a state as his son, but he could only help one of them. Turning, his eyes sought his sons.

                                                    “Elladan, Elrohir see to Thranduil! I will see to Legolas.” He leaned over the deathly pale form beside him, placing one hand on either side of the prince’s face and closing his eyes in concentration. His sons leapt to obey his edict, each grasping one of Thranduil’s arms and forcibly lifting him from the pallet and onto a bench near the hearth. Each twin placed a hand on the Elven king’s face mimicking their father’s pose. Eyes closed in concentration, shutting everything else out they let their strength flow into the elf sitting between them. A few moments later, Thranduil’s eyes fluttered open to see two elven faces before him, two faces so alike as to seem reflections of one another.

                                                      “Peace, King Thranduil, you are very weak still. You must remain still and rest yourself.” Elladan intoned softly. Thranduil attempted to struggle against the twins’ hold, but he was truly as weak as a newborn kitten and his struggles had no effect.

                                                       “Legolas,” he croaked hoarsely.

                                                        “Our father is with him, all will be well,” Elrohir assured him.

                                                 Thranduil slumped against Elladan, unable even to hold himself upright. Elrohir shifted out of his line of sight so that he had a clear view of Elrond and Legolas. The dark haired elf lord knelt beside Legolas his hands resting on either side of the younger elf’s face, eyes closed and brow furrowed. After long minutes, he sighed heavily and sat back on his heels. Elrond lifted a weary countenance to the others and allowed himself a slight smile.

                                                  “All is well. He will recover in a few days.” Elrond made as if to rise, but so drained was he that his legs would not support him and he fell back onto his knees, saving himself from sprawling only by bracing himself on the floor with one hand. With a rueful grimace, he addressed the Lord of the Keep. “Lord Feren, it seems that I am now in need of your assistance. Would you be so kind as to house us for the time it takes for King Thranduil, Prince Legolas and myself to recover?” He noted the expression of consternation that crossed Feren’s face and chuckled softly to himself. Some things didn’t change, nor did some elves. Feren recovered his aplomb with remarkable speed considering the fact that he had only now discovered the identity of his unknown guests.

                                                   “My home is your home for as long as you like, Lord Elrond, with my pleasure. You have only to tell me what you require.” Feren was nothing if not a gracious host, and by his reckoning he owed Lord Elrond much more than he could ever repay. “I have not forgotten all you have done for my family. Were it not for you, I would have no wife and no son to hold this Keep after I am gone. You will always be welcome in my house whenever you choose to visit and for however long you wish to stay. Now, my Lord, you and all your companions should take some food and rest.”

                                                    Estel had been waiting, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other while his foster father and foster brothers aided Thranduil and Legolas. As soon as he knew his friend would recover, he breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief, and then hurried to assist his foster father off the floor and to the table. He served Elrond himself before stepping over to Letha and Weder to request that another pallet be laid next to Legolas. When this was done, Elladan and Elrohir settled Thranduil on the fresh pallet. They knew that the Elven king would rest easier if he lay next to his son. Estel served his brothers their meal, as well as Weder and Letha before taking his own plate. His actions earned him an odd look from his brothers and an approving one from Elrond. After the meal, Estel turned to the rest of the group.

                                                     “Elladan, if you and Elrohir wish to assist Ada to his room and then continue to yours, I will watch over Legolas and King Thranduil.”

                                                 “An excellent suggestion, Estel, thank you.” Elrond smiled at his foster son, proud of the mature behavior the young man was displaying. “And I believe you should seek your beds as well,” he remarked pointedly, fixing Letha and Weder with his sharp gaze. “Unless I am very much mistaken, neither of you has slept since your patients arrived.”

                                                 “Aye, Lord Elrond, it has been a trying couple of days.” Weder confirmed. “If no one objects, this healer recommends sleep for all of us.” Letha merely nodded her agreement, too weary and emotionally drained to speak. They excused themselves and departed.

                                                   Estel watched the women of the household clear away the dishes. One of them set a pot of broth on the hearth in case the elves woke during the night and needed nourishment. When they completed their tasks and exited, Estel settled himself cross-legged on the floor by Legolas’ head and leaned his back against the wall to wait out the night.

                                                             <          TBC       >

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                                                          Chapter 10

                                                 It was well after midnight when Thranduil stirred, coming out of the heavy sleep he had fallen into almost before his head had touched the pallet. His eyes immediately sought Legolas, and he relaxed as he took note of the younger elf’s improved color and easier breathing. A faint smile touched his lips as he noted the young human seated by Legolas’ head. Estel had dozed off, but a tanned hand rested on Legolas’ chest. If his son so much as sighed heavily, Estel would awaken. Thranduil was too weary still to remain awake for very long, and having reassured himself that his son was in no danger, he sank back into sleep.

                                                   Estel woke to a faint noise in the room. From under his lashes, his gaze swept the room. Looking down, he grinned at the source of the noise. Thranduil had shifted position and was now resting on his side facing Legolas, one hand resting on his son’s chest next to Estel’s own hand. The Elven king was sound asleep, eyes half lidded and unfocused. Estel’s smile widened briefly as he considered the elder of the two elves next to him. Thranduil had a reputation outside his realm of being cold and emotionless. The young human shook his head ruefully. Anyone who believed that notion had likely never set eyes on him. While it was true that Thranduil was frequently stubborn and could be very stern, he certainly was not cold. One had only to see him with his son to realize that. Estel suppressed a chuckle; the human population at Greenglade Keep was certainly getting an education in elven behavior.

                                                      Estel turned his attention to Legolas. While his color was better and there was no sign of fever, he was still ill enough to be sleeping with his eyes closed. The human grimaced. They had come so close to losing him this time. Estel shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. A noise drew his attention to the doorway. The door opened quietly, and Letha slipped in. Seeing Estel awake, she smiled at him and made her way across the room.

                                                  “Were you not supposed to be asleep?” Estel asked wryly. “I thought Elladan, Elrohir, and I were the only ones brave enough to risk Adar’s wrath.”

                                                   “Well, what he does not know cannot harm him, or me.” Letha grinned. “I certainly will not tell him if you do not.”

                                                    “I can tell you from experience, Mistress Letha, that never works. He always finds out somehow.” Estel rolled his eyes dramatically then returned her grin.

                                                    “Be that as it may, you young scapegrace, I wish to check on my charges. How are they faring?”  Letha smiled down at the two sleeping elves fondly.

                                                    “I, for one, would fare better if not awakened from sleep by chattering squirrels, “Thranduil stated, rolling onto his back. A sly, teasing grin took the sting out of his words. Estel shook with suppressed laughter as Letha’s jaw literally dropped, so surprised was she at being teased by the Elven king. “To answer your question, Mistress Letha, I am much improved, but still weary.” He appeared to consider for a moment, then continued, “And more than a little hungry it seems.” He pushed himself off his pallet slowly, careful not to disturb his son.

                                                       “Rest yourself, King Thranduil; I will fetch some bread and cheese. Fruit as well, if I can find some. I will return shortly.” Letha slipped out the door and was gone before Estel could comment. Sitting back down on the pallet, Thranduil turned his attention to Estel.

                                                         “He will be very happy to see you when he wakes, “Thranduil said softly. “ He has missed you, and your brothers.” Thranduil brushed a strand of pale hair from his son’s face as he spoke. Estel merely nodded, sensing that Thranduil needed to speak more than he needed a reply. “He could hardly keep still on the journey here; he was so looking forward to seeing the three of you. It reminded me of when we used to visit back and forth to Imladris when he was an elfling.”

                                                 “He is going to be all right. Ada would not say so if it were not true.” Estel replied in a calm voice. Thranduil seemed to shake himself out of his downward spiral and nodded.

                                                  “I know. I am weary, and grieving the loss of our escort and am becoming maudlin because of it.” He shook his head ruefully. “Perhaps once I deal with my stomach and rest again I will be more myself.”

                                                   “You will be more yourself when Legolas opens his eyes and speaks to you.” Estel met the Elven king’s eyes squarely. Thranduil smiled faintly.

                                                    “When did a human whelp become wiser than an elf?” He asked, shaking his head in mock disgust. Estel grinned at him unrepentantly, but was prevented from further comment by Letha’s arrival with the food.

                                                     “By the Valar, woman, how much do you expect that I will eat? There is enough there for a small army.” Thranduil quipped, eyeing the heavily laden tray in Letha’s hands. The herb woman chuckled.

                                                      “But there are two of you and one is a young man. I have sons; I know how much young men eat. Believe me when I say that this may not be enough.” She arched an eyebrow at Estel, challenging him to dispute her statement. He had the grace to blush, but did not refute her words. Smiling at them once more, Letha excused herself and returned to her bed.

                                                          Thranduil sighed looking over the selection of food on the tray. The fruit looked good, but the bread and cheese did nothing for him. Estel grinned enigmatically and rising walked to his pack. He rummaged in it for a moment before returning with a packet in his hand. He offered it to Thranduil with a smug smile. Thranduil raised an eyebrow, but accepted the packet and opened it.

                                                          “Lembas! Estel, I thank you. As much as I do appreciate Letha’s efforts, human food simply is not to my liking.” He caught up two of the fruits and settled down next to the hearth with his meal.

                                                 “Think nothing of it. I will take care of the rest of it, “Estel returned with a grin. “ I am very hungry myself.” He proceded to make inroads into the bread and cheese. The room was silent while both satisfied their hunger. After he finished his fruit and lembas Thranduil rose, stretching like a contented cat and returned to his pallet. He settled himself on his side, facing his son again with one hand extended to rest back on Legolas’ chest. Within moments, he was again asleep. Estel finished the food on the tray and set it aside. He laid a hand on Legolas’ brow briefly, checking for fever and finding no sign of it. He settled himself against the wall once more; resting a hand next to Thranduil’s on his friend’s chest and drifted back into a light doze.

                                                  He woke again when the chest under his hand shifted slightly. Estel looked down to meet a blue-grey gaze and a tired smile. He smiled back, sagging with relief at his friend’s lucid gaze. He glanced at Thranduil, but the Elven king had not yet awakened. Legolas turned his head, following Estel’s gaze and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of his father stretched out next to him. Estel gripped Legolas’ forearm briefly, then stood and exited the room almost as silently as an elf.

                                                   Legolas stared at his father’s sleeping face. Despite the hours of rest that he had gotten, Thranduil looked as weary and careworn as if he were twice that age that he actually was. A strand of hair as golden as his son’s had fallen across his face, and Legolas reached out to smooth it back. At the light touch, Thranduil’s eyes focused and then widened as he realized that Legolas was awake and aware. A smile bloomed upon his face, chasing some of the weariness away. Without a word, he sat up and gathered his son into a warm embrace, careful not to jostle Legolas’ wounded shoulder or leg. Legolas’ wrapped his good arm tightly around his father’s shoulders and buried his face in Thranduil’s neck. Adult though he was, Legolas was still young enough to accept hugs from his parent, especially under circumstances such as these.After a few moments, Thranduil released him and lowered him gently back onto his pallet.

                                                    “I thought I had lost you, ion-nin, “Thranduil said, his voice husky with emotion. “ I do not ever want to come that close again.”

                                                             To Be Continued

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                                                            Chapter 11

                                               Estel exited the Hall closing the door behind him and resting his back against it. He would give the elves a few moments before he re-entered the room. Estel felt that although his presence would not have bothered Legolas in the least, Thranduil would be less likely to feel that he had to maintain his dignity if he was alone with his son. He was still leaning against the door smiling, when Elrond approached a few minutes later. The elf-lord raised arched an eyebrow at his foster son.

                                                 “I take it that Legolas has awakened?” He queried, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. Estel nodded grinning from ear to ear.

                                                  “Yes, Ada. I thought it best to give them a moment.” Estel sobered meeting Elrond’s eyes. “Legolas looks a little better.”

                                                   “He will be healing for several days still, Estel, as will Thranduil. We came so very close to loosing both that it does not bear thinking about.” Elrond closed his eyes briefly. Legolas was as dear to him as a close relative, and although Thranduil occasionally grated on his sensibilities, he respected the King of Mirkwood and counted him a friend. The loss of either or both would have been a terrible blow. “Shall we see how well they are recovering?” Estel nodded and stepped aside opening the door for his foster father.

                                                     Thranduil was supporting Legolas’ shoulders, steadying a cup of water at his lips while the younger elf drank. Hearing the door open he glanced up to see Elrond and Estel entering the room. Setting the cup aside he eased Legolas back onto the pallet before turning to the approaching elf and human.

                                                      “ Peredhel, “ he acknowledged Elrond’s presence with a nod. “ You have your usual impeccable sense of timing. My thanks.” He finished gruffly. His brusque manner was masking the grief and guilt he felt over the events of the last couple of days. Elrond’s sharp eyes missed none of it, but he refrained from commenting.

                                                 “ And you are your usual charming self, Oropherion.” The Lord of Imladris returned smoothly. If Thranduil wished to take refuge in verbal sparring with him, Elrond was willing to humor him for the present. “ Will you cooperate and allow me to assess your health, or shall I call my sons to hold you down and give the humans something to gawk at?” Thranduil graced him with a haughty look, but conceded to Elrond’s request.

                                                 Elrond rested his palm along Thranduil’s cheek and gave him a searching look. “ You need a great deal more rest, mellon, but you are mending well. You sorely depleted your resources.” Elrond raised his hand, gesturing the other into silence when he would have taken offense, “ Peace, mellon-nin, I know well why you took that course of action and truly I would have done the same had it been one of my children. Rest yourself now, while I see to Legolas.” He turned to the prince with a faint smile which Legolas returned.

                                                   “ Mae Govannen,” Legolas greeted the Lord of Imladris formally. He was rewarded with a fond smile from the half-elven lord and an unconcealed look of pride from his father.

                                                    “ Not so well met as I would have liked, elfling. “ Elrond said wryly. “ I would have preferred to have greeted you when you rode into Imladris, but I am very happy to see you looking better than you did last night. Now let me take a look at you wounds.” Elrond’s tone brooked no dissent and he was somewhat relieved when Legolas made no protest. The elven prince was historically not a cooperative patient, prone to insisting that his wounds were minor even when they were not.  “Well, you seem to be on the mend, but it will be at least a week before you will be in any shape to pull a bow. I expect you to abide by that, youngling.” Elrond fixed him with a pointed glare.

                                                      “ He will, or he will answer to me,” Thranduil stated firmly, directing a glare of his own at his stubborn offspring. Legolas scowled, but acquiesced. The scowl’s effect was ruined by Legolas’ stomach choosing that moment to protest its current state of emptiness. Elrond’s chuckles joined Estel’s as the young man bent to fill a bowl with the broth on the hearth.

                                                         Thranduil rose from his seat on his pallet. After entrusting his son to Elrond and Estel he excused himself to leave the Keep’s walls to greet the sun as it rose. In truth, he had been inside the human structure far too long for his peace of mind. While the residents of the Keep had been nothing but solicitous, he was still uneasy around so many of them, his long held wariness of all but his own still firmly in place. He also needed time to mourn the losses of the days before.

                                                 Finding a staircase leading to the top of the wall, he swiftly made his way as high as he was able to go. He climbed up to top of the stairs and over to the deeping wall,  leaning his forearms on it and allowing the morning breeze to fan his face and ruffle his hair. He closed his eyes, letting the sun’s warmth seep into his body and listening to the birds and insects in the trees around the Keep. He could see the faces of all the warriors that had perished defending him and his son clearly in his mind. He stood still as stone, remembering each of them, mourning that he could not even offer their families the sparse comfort of their bodies to mourn over. By now the orcs would have left nothing to find. He was so lost in his dark thoughts that he did not sense Elrond’s approach until the Imladris lord was beside him.

                                                   “ Well it seems that the fruit falls not far from the tree, Oropherion. You are as good at brooding as your son can be. Berating yourself for the loss of your warriors, are you?” Elrond’s sympathetic look belied his harsh words.           “ Place the blame where it belongs, Thranduil, with the orcs. None of this was your doing.”

                                                     “ Was it not? I should not have ordered the horses loosed.  We might have been able to outrun them.”  Thranduil grimaced at the thought.   “ Taking to the trees was a mistake, and coming down from the trees was a mistake. Those warriors died because of a series of mistakes on my part, and I cannot pretend otherwise. My lack of good judgment cost the lives of eighteen warriors and very nearly cost the life of my son. Do not tell me it was not my doing.”

                                                       “ So you wish me to tell you that you are an idiot? What exactly did happen? I will have a better understanding if I know all the facts.” Elrond met Thranduil’s gaze steadily. He listened intently as the King of Mirkwood described the ambush and subsequent battles. He in fact already knew most of what had happened from speaking to Lord Feren and to Legolas, but he knew that Thranduil would not begin to heal until he spoke of what had occurred.  After Thranduil had finished, Elrond was quiet for a moment.

                                                        “ Thranduil, you had no way of knowing that there was a second group of orcs behind the first. You also had no way of knowing that they were herding you into yet another group. The only conclusion that I can come to is that while there were certainly mistakes made, none of them were such that would have much changed the outcome of the battle. As far as I can see, the fault still rests with the orcs and that is where the blame should rest, not with you.”  Elrond favored his companion with a strained look. “ I find that I am wearied and very much in need of refreshment. Let us go back inside and find out the quality of Lord Feren’s wine cellar.”

                                                  “ Elrond, we will likely shock him speechless. If I recall correctly, humans do not drink wine before their midday meal.” Thranduil’s mouth quirked at the thought.

                                                    “ Then we will shock him, although knowing Feren it will not be to the point of speechlessness. At the moment, I could not care less.” Elrond allowed himself a wicked grin. Thranduil shook his head, his mood lightened considerably as Elrond had intended.

                                                     “ I need to check on Legolas first, but I find that your idea appeals to me.” Thranduil answered sobering a bit.

                                                      “ He is sleeping again, and Estel is with him. You need to take some time to relax and come to terms with your grief apart from Legolas or you will do him no good. Come, mellon-nin, I insist.” Elrond smiled again as Thranduil allowed the Imladris lord to steer him away from the Great Hall.

                                                     To Be Continued

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                                                            Chapter 12

                                                   Elrond and Thranduil sat before the hearth in Lord Feren’s private study glasses of wine in hand. Feren had been gracious in granting them the use of his study so they could continue their conversation away from curious eyes. Elrond studied the elf opposite him with concern. It was apparent that there was more troubling Mirkwood’s King than he had revealed thus far. He had fallen silent several minutes ago, staring into the flames. Elrond decided that the direct approach might be best at this stage.

                                                    “Mellon, there is yet another burden you have not shared with me. Will you allow me to help you carry it?” Elrond watched Thranduil’s face as the statement registered.

                                                     “Yes, there is more. I am almost certain that this ambush was not random. The attack was too well organized to have been planned by orcs; they are not capable of such.  I believe that those orcs were sent to eliminate us, but by whom and for what purpose I do not know.” Thranduil frowned, pausing to drain his wineglass. “I have long been aware that it would suit the Dark Forces to be rid of the elves in Mirkwood, but very seldom do they act openly. Another factor that worries me is that none outside my council of advisors knew that I would be traveling to Imladris. It is well known that I usually send Legolas as my proxy, so the question I must now ask is whether the attack was meant for him or was the fact that I was with that patrol known to this enemy? “He lapsed into brooding silence.

                                                       “From your description of the attack, I would agree. If you are correct, there may be much more at stake than Mirkwood. The delegation from Lorien has not yet arrived. They may be targets as well, and must be warned. For that matter, Lord Feren needs to know of this as his people are in the line of fire by virtue of their choice of abode and their friendship with Imladris. “Elrond wore a frown now as well, irritated at himself for not seeing this possibility much sooner. Thranduil frowned at his words, but upon consideration of them had to agree that Elrond’s statements had a good measure of merit.

                                                 “Agreed, Peredhel, we must inform Feren of our suspicions, and warn Lorien. I wish no more blood spilled save that of the individual or individuals responsible for this butchery. As much as I am loathe to admit it, I owe Feren a great deal and would not repay him by failing to prevent harm to his people.” Thranduil’s face was once again an impassive mask, revealing nothing unless one knew him well enough to see beyond it. Elrond assumed the same mask.

                                                  “Just so, Oropherion. Shall we?” At Thranduil’s nod, Elrond led the way. At this time of day, Feren would be in the salle overseeing the training of his guard troops. Elrond had been more than a little impressed by the discipline that Feren required from his guard troops on his first visit to Greenglade Keep. There was none of the rowdiness and overindulgence in strong drink that he had come to expect from his extensive travels through human settlements. Thranduil and Legolas were truly fortunate that it had been this group of humans to find them. Had it been any of the others, things would have gone very badly indeed.

                                                    This day found the humans in the salle greeted by a rare sight. Elladan and Elrohir had grown weary of inactivity and were engaged in a mock swordfight. The twins were well matched in their skills and their bout was truly amazing to those who had never seen elves in combat. The humans were well versed mostly in the use of spears and bows, with some wielding short swords. The whirling, gliding, gracefully deadly dance the twins performed was utterly alien and engrossing. All other activity had stopped in favor of the spectacle before them. Even Feren had stopped to watch. Elrond and Thranduil also paused to observe the sparring session.

                                                     “They are quite skilled. Did Glorfindel have the teaching of them?” He leaned closer to the Imladris lord as he spoke softly to avoid breaking the twins’ concentration. At Elrond’s nod of affirmation, he smiled in satisfaction, “Ah, I thought I recognized the style.” Feren noticed the two and made his way over to them.

                                                        “Greetings, King Thranduil, Lord Elrond. Did you need to speak with me?” Lord Feren bowed respectfully to the elves. Drawing the human to the side of the salle, the elves laid out their thoughts on the attack to him. He frowned, his mind moving quickly.

                                                 “That would also explain why we have been finding more orc sign the last two weeks than we have in the last several years. I like this not at all. I think you are correct, King Thranduil. Someone wanted either you or your son dead. More likely both of you if they know anything of elves. They may have been trying to deal you a fatal blow by killing him,” Feren finished, his brow crinkled with lines of worry. Thranduil nodded grimly in agreement.

                                                    “If that truly is the case, then this enemy is more knowledgeable of our ways than I would like.  Peredhel, how soon can you send the message to Lorien?” The King of Mirkwood turned to Elrond expectantly.

                                                      “As soon as I can get a messenger to Imladris with the information. Erestor will forward the message to Lorien for me. Although, Lorien may already have knowledge of this that we do not.” Elrond allowed himself a slight smile at that thought. Thranduil snorted and made a comment under his breath about rings and their bearers. Elrond arched a brow at him but refrained from comment.

                                                        Feren issued orders to his guard to report any unusual activity to him immediately, and gave directions to prepare for siege conditions. As he did so, Elrond sent the message on its way. After that was done the elves were left to their own devices, having done all they could for the moment. Elrond took a the opportunity to examine his patients again, ushering Thranduil back into the Great Hall.

                                                        Legolas had awakened and was drinking broth assisted by Estel when they entered the Hall. The prince’s hands were still not steady enough to hold the cup without spilling. Seeing his father and Elrond enter, he waved the cup aside. Elrond pressed the cup back against his lips.

                                                        “You need the norishment far more than you need to stand on ceremony, elfling. Drain the cup,” he ordered with a stern look to the prince. Legolas drank obediently, not wishing to bring his father into the dispute. Elrond examined both Legolas and Thranduil, pronouncing Legolas fit enough to be moved to a more private space.  Once that was accomplished, the Imladris lord directed both father and son to rest until the evening meal. He had expected resistance from both, but to his surprise both took to their beds without protest. Feeling drained himself, Elrond too went to his rest.

                                                  
                                      To Be Continued

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                                                             Chapter 13

                                                   Morning found Thranduil once again greeting the sunrise from the deeping wall. The room he and Legolas had been given had no windows and both were sorely missing the sounds and smells of the woods. Legolas had not yet been pronounced well enough to venture from his bed for more than a few minutes and was chafing under the restrictions to his activities. That more than anything else reassured his father that he was truly on the mend. An almost silent footfall behind him alerted him to the presence of another. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his guess as to the newcomer’s identity.

                                                  “Mae Govannen, Peredhel,” Thranduil smiled cordially. “This is becoming a habit for both of us.”

                                                    “Indeed it is. I find that I miss open windows, “Elrond sighed. “ I have just come from your son’s bedside. I believe he will be able to be up for awhile today so long as he does nothing strenuous. He is healing far faster than I would have predicted.” Thranduil chuckled.

                                                     “You know Legolas hates being confined. It makes a good incentive. He misses the woods as much as I do.” Thranduil cast a sideways glance at Elrond. “I suppose it is my turn to subjected to your scrutiny, healer?”

                                                     “Not at all, mellon. You are nowhere near the difficult patient your offspring is. I believe I can trust you to your own good judgment from now on. No, I wanted to speak with you on another subject.” Elrond sobered, looking at his hands. “I received word back from Imladris a little while ago by message bird. The contingent from Lorien arrived safely yesterday evening. While they saw plenty of orc sign, they were not harassed in any way on their journey. I have had no word from Celeborn or Galadriel as yet, and do not wish to speculate on what any of this means until I do hear from them. Erestor also took the liberty of assuring your people that both you and Legolas were safe. I do hope that meets with your approval. I was not aware that he had done so until the bird arrived.”

                                                “It was a kind gesture and I will thank him for it when I see him. Did he mention aught else in the message?” Thranduil asked, dreading the answer.

                                                  “No, he said nothing of the attack or of Legolas’ injuries. He thought it best under the circumstances to leave that to you.” Elrond assured his companion.

                                                   “Good. I would prefer to inform the warriors’ relatives of their deaths in person. No one should hear such news from a message bird. Has Lord Feren’s guard turned up anything?” Thranduil’s face showed faint traces of the strain he had been under the last few days. While he was healing, he was still not fully recovered in either body or soul.

                                                   “A great deal of orc sign, and much closer to the Keep than usual.  Feren is preparing for an attack. The orcs have never dared anything so bold in the past, but with as many as seem to be in the area, it is a possibility that cannot be ignored. I am considering asking Glorfindel to accompany some of the Imladris guards here as a precaution.”  Elrond spoke candidly, knowing that although Thranduil was still healing he would not appreciate being coddled.

                                                   “It is as I feared, then. I think an attack may be inevitable if the enemy knows that his first attempt failed.  Sending for re-enforcements may be wise. While I am, on the whole, favorably impressed with Feren’s guard force, I would feel a bit better with more seasoned elven warriors about. I also sincerely hope they hold off until Legolas is well enough to at least pull his bow, or we will have to truss him up to keep him from participating.” Thranduil grimaced at the thought of having that particular confrontation with his headstrong son.

                                                   “A direct order from you would not be sufficient? “ Elrond asked, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement at the thought of Legolas trussed like a baked fowl. Thranduil loosed a longsuffering sigh.

                                                     “Elrond, the arrow in his shoulder was meant for me. He stepped into it’s path deliberately. Believe me when I say that I believe him capable of disobeying any order if he has it in his mind that he must do so for my sake.“ Thranduil met Elrond’s eyes steadily. “Please say nothing to him of the arrow. He does not know that I know.” Elrond’s eyes widened at this revelation, but he nodded his assent.

                                                  “I will say nothing, but I believe you should.”

                                                   “Rest assured, Peredhel, I shall.” His face was expressionless again, in an attempt to conceal the strong emotions that threatened to overwhelm him when he remembered his horror at seeing the arrow strike Legolas. Elrond wisely refrained from comment, maintaining his silence until he saw the tension in Thranduil’s body ease a bit.

                                                    “Shall we go shock the humans again by drinking wine with our breakfast?” Elrond asked archly, attempting to break the gloom surrounding his companion. Thranduil laughed aloud, the memory of the expression on Feren’s face the day before surfacing.

                                                     “After this, I believe we should do just that. I suppose their grandchildren will believe us all to be sots by the time this tale grows in the telling.” With that, the two elves turned and re-entered the Keep.

                                                     “ My dear King Thranduil, “ Elrond jibed, “ it would take a great deal more than a paltry few glasses of wine to turn you into a sot. You have developed far too great a tolerance for it.” Thranduil grinned wolfishly at him.

                                                      “When this is over, my dear Lord Elrond, you may challenge me at any time and see how much greater my tolerance is than yours.” Thranduil arched a brow at him, the gauntlet down.

                                                        “That will be a contest I would enjoy. I officially challenge you. “Elrond grinned back at him, resembling his mischievous sons to a startling degree. He was rewarded with a hearty laugh from his opponent.

                                                          “I accept. You have but to name the time and place, Peredhel.” Thranduil’s eyes gleamed in anticipation before sobering slightly. “When this is over, of course.”

                                                “Of course. It would not do to hold this challenge anywhere but Imladris or Mirkwood.” Elrond grinned once more, and then sighed. “Shall we see what our wayward offspring have managed to get themselves into in our absence?”

                                                  “If mischief is afoot, it is more likely your offspring’s doing than mine at the moment.”

                                                  “Do not sell Legolas short. Even injured he is as fully capable of creating mayhem as Elladan or Elrohir.”  A chuckle escaped from Thranduil as they entered the Hall.

                                                   “I know that. It was merely wishful thinking on my part.” Elrond’s responding chuckle was met by four inncoent expressions as the two elder elves approached the table where the three younger elves and one human were seated.

                                                      Thranduil gave his mischief-maker a wry look. Legolas blushed, but did not refute his father’s statement. Thranduil merely smiled at Legolas, taking a seat next to him. The food laid out had already been pillaged. Elrond and Thranduil exchanged a look a fatherly exasperation before sorting through what was left for their breakfast.

                                                      “So what were you incorrigible young demons planning for today? “ Elrond asked dryly?

                                                        “More weapons practice, Ada,” Elladan replied promptly. “Estel needs work on his swordsmanship.” That earned him a glare from his foster brother. Elladan grinned unrepentantly.

                                                         “Legolas, you may watch them practice, but under no circumstances are you to participate in any way.  I will not tolerate any disobedience from you on this, ion-nin.” Thranduil’s expression when Legolas made to protest caused his son to drop his gaze and nod obediently.

                                                           “Yes, Ada, you have my word.” Legolas replied softly. Thranduil’s hand cupped his son’s chin, gently raising his son’s face so that their eyes met again.

                                                 “Good. Legolas, you will need your strength far sooner than I would like, I fear. We cannot risk a relapse.” In the Silvan dialect, he added, < I will not lose you from a foolish mistake, little Greenleaf.> Legolas’ eyes misted, and he quickly looked away, nodding his assent. Satisfied, Thranduil turned back to his breakfast, his own eyes slightly damp. The others politely ignored the exchange, the younger members of the group trading friendly insults back and forth until the emotional moment passed. 

                                                   As soon as they had eaten their fill, they parted ways. The younger elves and Estel headed for the salle, Legolas supported between Estel and Elrohir. Thranduil and Elrond went in search of Feren to discuss contingency plans for a possible orc attack on the Keep.

Disclaimer: Don’t own it, never will.

                                                               Chapter 14

                                                  Over the next three days, Legolas’ health continued to improve. He was still not permitted to so much as lift a weapon, but he was present whenever the twins and Estel practiced with theirs, offering advice and good-natured insults to all three with equanimity. The guardsmen had become accustomed to their presence, and in truth had become quite fond of them. The guards had made a rather cozy resting place for the injured member of the group out of rugs used to pad the floor of the salle during unarmed combat training so that Legolas need not return to his room if he felt the need to rest. In return, any guardsmen who wished to do so were invited to participate.

                                                    After their daily council with Lord Feren, Thranduil and Elrond made their way to the salle. The council had only served to unsettle all parties. Indications of large parties of orcs were all over the woods between Greenglade Keep and the mountains as well as between the Keep and Imladris. A messenger bird from Imladris had brought news of orc sign on the very outskirts of the valley as well. Elrond had hoped to bring re-enforcements from Imladris, but could not afford to weaken its defenses. The warriors from Lorien had volunteered to journey to Greenglade Keep to assist in its defense if needed and were expected by evening. Both the Imladris Lord and the King of Mirkwood felt the need to spend some time in the presence of their high spirited offspring to offset the gloom left by the council.  

                                                     They entered the salle to find Elladan and Estel the center of attention as they sparred with their swords. As they approached, Elladan neatly disarmed Estel, spun around behind his opponent and smacked him across the buttocks with the flat of his sword. The look of shocked dismay on Estel’s face elicited chuckles from all watching the bout. Elladan bowed sardonically to his foster brother, offering him the sword that had been wrested from his hand. Estel snatched the sword back, a fierce scowl darkening his features. A hand on his shoulder stopped whatever retort he had on the tip of his tongue before it could be uttered. He turned and was shocked to find Thranduil next to him, an amused smirk on the Elven king’s ageless face.

                                                “Estel, may I have the use of your sword for a moment?” Thranduil permitted himself a slight, decidedly evil smile. Estel nodded, stunned as he handed the sword over without a word. Thranduil hefted it, assessing its weight and balance for a moment before assuming a challenging pose opposite Elladan. “Now, elfling let us see you perform that pattern once more,” he commanded eyes gleaming in anticipation. Elladan rose to the challenge, raising his blade in salute before moving into position. As Elladan began the move that had disarmed Estel, Thranduil dropped to one knee, spinning and came up under Elladan’s guard. Locking Elladan’s sword with his, he wrenched it from the younger elf’s grasp, and in one smooth motion, spun full around rising to his feet to hold the point of his sword at his opponent’s unprotected neck. Elladan’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Silence reigned for a moment, and then applause broke out from the group of observers. Thranduil raised the blade of his weapon in salute, first to Elladan then to the others. Legolas’ grin stretched from ear to ear as he applauded as heartily as any of the others, despite the fact that he had seen this move many times, and no few of them from the perspective that Elladan now had. Elladan gracefully accepted his defeat, bowing to Thranduil. The sound of someone clearing their throat behind him caused Thranduil to turn.

                                                  “I would very much like you to teach that move of yours to my sons, Thranduil, if you would be so kind.” Elrond smiled at the three eager nods that the request prompted. Thranduil replied with a curt nod af assent and motioned for the three to stand back and watch. He ran through the pattern slowly, pausing to give instruction on each motion, then ran them through each motion repeatedly until they had achieved a measure of competency at it.

                                                    “I expect this to be practiced. If I am not here, Legolas knows this move well and can instruct you. Instruct only, ion-nin, “he turned to level a sharp look at his son.

                                                      “As you wish, Ada, “Legolas replied with a slight grin, for once not protesting his restrictions. Thranduil merely arched a brow at his cheeky offspring. Legolas’ grin grew a measure, but he made no further comment. Thranduil frowned, his years of experience in parenting Legolas telling him that the younger elf was definitely up to no good. Legolas gave him what Thranduil had long called his “innocent elfling “look raising his father’s suspicion several levels.

                                                   He is most assuredly on the mend, Thranduil thought.  What in Eru’s name has he got in his mind to do?   A swiftly stifled snicker from the direction of the three younger members of their group made his frown deepen.  Correction: What do THEY have in their minds to do?   He shifted his gaze to Elrond, noting a frown very similar to his own gracing the Imladris lord’s countenence. Elrond had evidently come to the same conclusion as he had.

                                                  “Whatever it is that the four of you are planning had best not come to pass.” Elrond fixed each of the youngsters with a glare. “There are far too many irons in our fire at the moment for any foolishness from wayward elflings. Or from wayward humans, “he amended locking eyes with Estel. All of them had the grace to blush. “Out with it, what were you scheming about?” Four heads hung, and silence was his only reply. “Out with it!” he thundered.

                                                   “Adar, it was truly nothing. We were only going to climb the side of the inner wall and drop acorns on the guards who were sleeping on duty tonite.” Elladan spoke up, blushing fiercely. “Legolas was not going to be doing the climbing; he was just going to distract you by pretending to be planning to disobey. That is the truth, I swear it.” Thranduil whipped around to glare darkly at his son. Legolas cast his eyes down, fingers twisting nervously in his lap.

                                                    “Legolas, we will continue this discussion in our room. Get moving, “Thranduil ground out.

                                                     “Yes, my lord, “Legolas replied in a subdued tone as he slowly levered himself up from his seat on the rug pile and preceeded his father from the room. Elrond belatedly remembered the guardsmen in the room and turned to address them.

                                                      “Good sirs, if you would please excuse us, I wish to speak to my sons in private.” He phrased the command as a request, inclining his head to them. Almost as one, they bowed respectfully and exited the salle. He turned back to the three miscreants. “We are guests in this Keep and I will not tolerate any abuse of Lord Feren’s hospitality.  From now on I expect all of you to behave as the adults you are supposed to be. This is not Imladris and you will not do anything to bring shame upon yourselves or me, is that understood?”

                                                      “Yes, Adar,” the three replied shamefaced.

                                                  “Very well, then, I believe we need to find some occupation for you so that you will not be tempted into mischief by inactivity.” He was rewarded by groans from all three. “I will see you in the Great Hall after you clean yourselves up.” With that, he swept out of the salle, barely passing the door before his amused grin replaced the stern look he had worn during the lecture. They would be the death of him yet, he thought, shaking his head ruefully.

                                                    An hour later all four were dutifully crafting arrows to fill the quivers left empty by the forrest battle and to suppliment the supply at the Keep. Thranduil and Elrond were seated by the hearth sipping wine and ensuring the obedience of their offspring. The corners of Elrond’s mouth twitched suspiciously from time to time, but he remained silent. Thranduil, on the other hand, was still fuming. He had delivered a scathing lecture on responsibility and adult behavoir to his son in the privacy of their room. Legolas had said not a word, simply accepting his father’s words and his punishment. His son’s silence disturbed Thranduil. It was not like Legolas to accept such a speech from him without a word. He was aware that a good measure of his anger at this point stemmed from deep concern at Legolas’ lack of reaction. He resolved to speak to Legolas after dinner when they both had calmed.

                                                      The musical sound of elven voices filtered through the door of the Hall. Thranduil and Elrond looked up from their wine glasses as the door opened to admit the warriors from Lorien.

                                                        “Mae Govannen, King Thranduil, Lord Elrond. I am Haldir, March Warden of Lorien and we are at your service.” He placed his hand over his heart and swept it outward in the traditional gesture of respect, bowing to the Imladris lord and the King of Mirkwood.

                                                           “Mae Govannen, Haldir o Lorien” Thranduil replied gravely. “We are appreciative of your aid.” Haldir bowed in response. “Let us apprise you of the situation here.” Thranduil stepped aside to allow Haldir to move past him to a seat near the hearth. The rest of the Lorien warriors found seats around the room and listened intently as Thranduil and Elrond spoke. The four arrow-makers also followed every word as they worked.

                                                             “That sums up the situation, March Warden. “ Thranduil finished solemnly. Haldir frowned in thought for a few minutes before replying.

                                                  “ My lords, the first thing I suggest is that my warriors and I scout the forest in the morning to see if we can discerne any pattern to the orc’s movements. We will also take up position on the Keep’s walls this night and attempt to catch an orc to interrogate. It is my hope that we will be able to determine some of this enemy’s plans.” Seeing no disagreement, Haldir dispatched his warriors.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                          .

Disclaimer: Don’t own any of it except my OC’s. Wish I did.

                                                A question came up about the reasons behind Elrond and Thranduil’s “punishment” of Legolas, Estel, and the twins. In answer, no they are not teenagers, despite the fact that they are behaving as if they were. Bear in mind that although Thranduil is Legolas’ father, he is also his king and therefore responsible for any diplomatic repercussions his actions may cause. Likewise Elrond is parent to the “terrible trio” but he is also Lord of Imladris and like Thranduil has the after affects of his sons’ and foster son’s actions placed squarely at his feet. Both Elrond and Thranduil acted with that in mind. They are beholden to Lord Feren and abuse of his hospitality could potentially have gotten them booted out of the Keep and left to the mercy of the orcs. The ages of the miscreants had no bearing on the matter. Hope that answers the question. Thanks for reading and asking questions of this quality.

                                                 On the subject of ages, Elladan’s, Elrohir’s, and Estel’s are a matter of record in the Appendices of “The Return of the King”, but Legolas’ age is not given. For that reason, there is much debate on that subject which I will not get into here. I choose, for this story, to make him somewhat younger than Arwen.

                                                            Chapter 15

                                              The four younger members of the group listened intently to the conversation between Elrond, Thranduil, and Haldir as they worked on the arrows. After the March Warden left, the twins and their foster brother discussed what they had overheard in whispers, careful not to speak loudly enough to attract the attention of their Adar. Legolas remained silent, apparently ignoring his companions. Estel shot him a worried look. The prince was normally reserved and quiet around those he did not know, but for him to remain this closemouthed was almost eerie, especially in the company of three of his closest friends. Estel studied him with a healer’s eye. Legolas was still paler than usual, and the effects of his injuries and the poison were still evident, but he looked a great deal better even than he had the day before. As there seemed to be no physical reason for his abnormal demeanor, Estel concluded that the reason must be emotional. He had seen Legolas after a verbal battle with his father before, and the younger elf had not displayed this degree of melancholy then. He laid his hand on his friend’s arm.

                                                  “Legolas, are you feeling unwell again?” Estel asked, concern written plainly across his tanned features. “I am certain your Adar would understand if you needed to go rest for awhile.” Legolas merely shook his head, not meeting Estel’s gaze. The twins ceased their discussion at this, turning their attention to Legolas as well.

                                               “Legolas, you have not been yourself all day. Are you certain you do not wish to rest? You nearly died, mellon-nin, there is certainly no shame in admitting that you are not yet recovered,” Elladan pointed out sagely. He was the eldest of the four of them and felt that it made him responsible for the welfare of the younger ones namely Legolas, who was several decades younger than his sister, and Estel. That it annoyed both of them to no end in no way deterred him.

                                                  “Will you please refrain from treating me as if I was made of glass and about to shatter? I am nearly healed, leave me be.” Legolas ground out from between clenched teeth, scowling fiercely at Elladan. The uncharacteristic display of temper took the other three aback. Estel shifted his hand from Legolas’ left forearm to his left shoulder.

                                                 “Legolas, what is it?’ He spoke softly, eyes widening when Legolas shook off his hand angrily and turned his scowl on the young human.

                                                 “Are your ears filled with moss? I said to leave me be!” Legolas’ voice was a fierce hiss for even as angry as he apparently was he had not forgotten the need to keep his voice down. A long fingered hand came down upon his shoulder and he stiffened visibly.

                                                  “I believe we have enough arrows for tonight, do you not agree, Peredhel?” Thranduil lifted an eyebrow in inquiry, glancing at Elrond as he stood with his hand on his son’s shoulder. Elrond nodded impassively, his attention focused on Legolas. Both Thranduil and Elrond had witnessed the exchange between Legolas and Elrond’s sons and both were unsettled by it.

                                                 “Yes, I believe so. Elladan, you and your brothers may go now.” Elrond’s tone made the dismissal clear. The three departed, shooting sympathetic looks at Legolas as they left.

                                                  “Legolas, I think it best that we hold our discussion in our room. I also believe your presence is necessary, Lord Elrond, if you would be so kind as to accompany us.” Thranduil’s tone was not wrathful, causing his son to be both relieved and apprehensive at once. As the prince looked from one to the other, Elrond indicated his agreement. The elder elves exited the Hall, Legolas following reluctantly behind.

                                                    Once the door of their room had closed behind them, Thranduil gestured for Legolas to take a seat on his bed. The Elven king settled at the head of his own bed, and Elrond took a seat at the foot. Thranduil was silent for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts.

                                                     “Legolas, your behavior this last day or so is very disturbing. I can only conclude that the events of the last week are weighing on you. Ion-nin, you can come to either of us to unburden yourself. If you are more comfortable speaking to Lord Elrond, I will understand. Sometimes a father is too close to be an adequate confidante.” He paused, gauging his son’s reaction. Legolas said nothing, but his posture and averted face spoke volumes. It was clear to the elder two that he was trying to mask the grief he was beginning to feel over the demise of his companions and the survivor’s guilt that inevitably accompanied such grief.

                                                      “Legolas look at me. “ Thranduil spoke softly but firmly, rising to move across the small space between the beds to sit next to his son. Reaching out, he cupped Legolas’ chin in his hand and forced his son to meet his eyes.    “Rieon and Ilmrie were good friends and good warriors. It is right that we should mourn their loss, both theirs and all of the warriors who were lost, but they would not wish us to destroy ourselves in the process. That would make their deaths worse than meaningless.”  As he spoke, Thranduil held Legolas’ chin, refusing to let him look away. “You have lost friends before, I know, but never in this manner.  Never so close, and never have you come so close to death yourself. You must allow yourself to feel the grief so that you can move past it. Think you that I have not felt these things, too? I assure you that I have and I do.” He allowed a small, pained smile to grace his face briefly. “What I am asking that you allow either or both of us to assist you in, I have done myself with Lord Elrond’s assistance and will continue to do. It is a slow process, ion-nin, and painful but necessary. I know from whence I speak.” Legolas was visibly shaking and Thranduil could see tears welling in his eyes, but he was too much the warrior to readily release his emotions in such a manner before witnesses. Thranduil slid his hand from beneath his son’s chin to the back of his neck and pulled Legolas against his shoulder. That one act fractured Legolas’ reign on his emotions and he buried his face in his father’s shoulder, all pretense of calm disappearing. His hands came up, clenching handfuls of Thranduil’s tunic as he shook with soundless sobs. Thranduil wrapped his free arm around his son’s slender frame, supporting him.

                                                    Elrond watched silently, his heart bleeding for the younger elf.  He had witnessed loss countless times in his long life, and experienced far more of it than he would have wished.  He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when Legolas finally surrendered to his father’s ministrations. Elrond had no doubt that Legolas still had far to go in his recovery, but he was now on the proper path. He had been injured before, but never to the point where death was likely until now. His confidence was severely shaken, and it would take time and the assistance of those who cared for him to repair it. Add to that the loss of several friends and warriors that he had known from birth and it was a wonder that he had not succumbed sooner. This elfling was strong indeed, Elrond thought.

                                                    On impulse, he rose and moved to sit behind Legolas, placing his hand on the younger elf’s back in a comforting manner. Legolas gave no indication that he noticed, but Thranduil met Elrond’s eyes over his son’s head nodding his thanks. Elrond smiled in return, allowing his healing strength to flow into the younger elf, comforting and relaxing him slowly. After long minutes had passed, Legolas’ shuddering ceased and he sagged in his father’s embrace. Thranduil looked down at his son’s face and was surprised to find him deeply asleep. He glanced at Elrond in askance.

                                                     “He will sleep for some time, “Elrond answered softly. “ Do not fear for him, it is only sleep and he needs it as much as he needed to release his grief.” Thranduil nodded, relieved, and shifted to arrange Legolas comfortably on his bed. Elrond moved to assist him and soon they had the prince settled in bed, his boots removed and covers tucked around him. The two exited the room quietly, not wishing to disturb his slumber. Thranduil closed the door soundlessly and turned, placing his back against the stone wall and slumping in a less than dignified manner.

                                                       “Thank the Valar that he did not fight us more than he did. I feel as if I have been trampled by a pack of orcs and wargs. Were we ever that stubborn?” He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the cool stone of the corridor wall. Elrond chuckled.

                                                 “ ‘Were‘, mellon? Legolas is truly your son in that respect, I fear,” Elrond teased lightly, as relieved and nearly as drained as his companion.             “ Although the evening meal is past, I feel that we should eat something after our ordeal, and I know wine would be welcome refreshment for us both. Come, let us seek out Lord Feren’s housekeeper and request it.” Thranduil shook his head, laughing softly.

                                                   “ By the time this is over, we truly will have a reputation as complete sots. Do you suppose we could start some tales about dwarves? It would only seem fair to share the attention.” Elrond laughed outright at the notion, knowing Thranduil’s less than friendly view of dwarves. He did not wish to know what was in the King of Mirkwood’s mind to say. He made the mistake of catching Thranduil’s eye at that point, and both dissolved helplessly into fits of laughter, as much from the release of tension as anything else. It was at this point that Elrond’s sons and foster son chose to approach.

                                                     All three surveyed the scene before them with astonishment. That their father possessed a fine sense of humor they had long known, but Thranduil seldom displayed any inkling of such. To find the two of them doubled over and laughing like elflings was nothing less than shocking. Predictably, Elladan recovered first.

                                                      “ Since you seem so very merry, are we to assume that Legolas is still in one piece?” Elladan arched a brow in an uncanny imitation of his sire. This sobered the elder elves in short order. Clearing his throat, Thranduil replied.

                                                       “ He is sleeping. Elladan, Estel, do not take his manner with you tonight to heart. The events of the last week are weighing heavily on him.” It was then that they noticed the dampness on Thranduil’s shoulder and the crumpled condition of his tunic.

                                                        “ Is he all right? “ Estel asked, deeply concerned.

                                                         “ He will be, in time, and with our help. I know that we can count on the three of you to do all that you can to assist him.” Elrond smiled at his sons reassuringly. All three nodded in affirmation of his statement. “ Good, I had no doubt of it. Now, Thranduil, let us get you fed and sufficiently supplied with liquid refreshment, shall we?” He was answered with an amused snort from the Elven king, much to the surprise of the younger three.

                                                 “ Estel, would you stay with him, please? I do not want him to wake to an empty room.” Thranduil favored the young human with a slight smile, sensing that he would have offered to do so if he had not been asked. Estel smiled in return and slipped silently into the room as the others headed down the corridor.

Disclaimer: Same as previous, yada, yada, yada.

                                                               Chapter 16

                                                 The room was dark when Legolas awoke. He cast his gaze about, disoriented, not remembering where he was for several moments. Memory flooded back, and he sighed raggedly recalling the events of the last few hours. Belatedly he winced, remembering what a light sleeper his father was. Thranduil woke with a start and moved to Legolas’ side.

                                                  “Legolas? Are you all right?” The Elven king laid one hand on his son’s unwounded shoulder, the other along his cheek.

                                                   “I am sorry I woke you, Ada. I did not mean to.” Legolas did not look him in the eye, embarrassed by his earlier emotional episode. Thranduil frowned, catching Legolas’ chin in his hand and forcing the younger elf’s gaze to meet his.

                                                    “As if I would mind. Do not be ridiculous, ion-nin. You have done nothing wrong and certainly nothing that you need be embarrassed by. Will you share what is burdening your soul with me now?” Thranduil watched his son’s face intently. Legolas as a child had been as quick to share heartache with him as he was to share joy, but as an adult he was reluctant to add to the heartaches he knew his father had in abundance, even if it meant that he bore his own alone.

                                                “Ada, you know what burdens me. You feel as badly as I do, you are simply more adept at hiding it.”  Legolas’ blue-gray eyes now met Thranduil’s steadily.

                                                 “Yes, however, I have unburdened myself to another and am not allowing my feelings to tie me in knots. Shall I ask Lord Elrond to assist you as he did me? I meant what I said to you earlier, I will not be offended if you would rather speak to him.” Thranduil refused to be diverted. “You must speak to someone about this or it will fester and cause you even more harm.”

                                                  “No, Ada. You knew Rieon, Ilmrie, and the others. I think it might be easier to speak of them with you. I only wished to spare you from reliving the attacks again.”

                                                   “Did it occur to you that I might benefit by speaking of them with you? Worry not about me, I have borne far worse and in truth I think that this will be healing for me, too.” Thranduil smiled at him, encouraged when Legolas smiled back tentatively. Father and son spoke until the first hint of dawn touched the sky. When Legolas finally drifted back into dreams, it was with the realization that his father had been right and he was at last beginning to heal.

                                                     Thranduil found himself unable to return to his rest. He made his way up to what had become his accustomed place for greeting the dawn. With a sigh, he leaned on the wall, resting his forearms on the ledge in front of him. He still worried for Legolas, but not as sharply as he had. Stubborn elfling, he thought ruefully, you take after your Naneth in your worry for me, though you know it not. Remembrances of his queen always caused a bittersweet pang and he smiled sadly. She would have been very proud of her son. He schooled his features into a less revealing expression as he heard soft footfalls behind him.

                                                    “This is becoming habit for both of us, mellon. Mae Govannen.” He smiled at Elrond as the half-elven lord approached. Elrond noted with satisfaction the absence of tension in Thranduil’s face.

                                                    “You seem better this morning. Did Legolas wake during the night?” Elrond asked, returning the smile.

                                                 “Yes, we spoke until just a little while ago. He is sleeping now. I think we may cease to fear for him, at least on this matter.” Thranduil confirmed Elrond’s suspicions. Elrond breathed a sigh of relief.

                                                  “As my children are older, let me assure you that you will never cease fearing for him. Especially since he has that endearing and terrifying habit of placing everyone else’s welfare before his own.” Elrond arched a brow at his companion, a devilish grin beginning to form. “Of course, we know from whom he inherited that trait, do we not?”

                                                  “Yes, and believe me when I say I wish at times that he had not. Of course, he also inherited his Naneth’s knack of finding joy wherever he goes, thank the Valar, or he would be far too serious for his age.” Thranduil’s humor vanished as quickly as it had emerged. “It may seem odd, but I find that one of the things I am mourning the most about all of this is the loss of yet another piece of Legolas’ innocence. Intellectually, I know that I should merely be grateful that we are both still alive, but I wish it had not been at such a cost to him. Is that extraordinarily selfish?”

                                                   “I do not believe it selfish at all, but rather a very normal reaction of a loving father. Neither of you could have done anything to change what happened and you both must learn to live with the fact that it did happen and the effect it has had on yourselves and each other. That, I think, is the hardest part for both of you.” Elrond paused, deciding that the subject needed changing before the good that the previous night had accomplished was undone. “Haldir told me that they saw no orcs last night on their patrol.  They plan to widen their patrol area tonight in the hope that they may be able to catch one of the creatures to question.” His face made it plain that he wished to have no part in this although he knew the merit of such actions.

                                                    “Well, I hope they do catch one of the vermin. I know that you find it distasteful, but it is the best plan we have at the moment. I dislike the thought of wringing information from anything, but in this case I believe it necessary.” Thranduil gazed out over the open area surrounding the keep to the trees beyond before returning his gaze to the troubled face of the Imladris lord. “Elrond, I think we need to feed our bellies and give our minds a rest from these weighty issues for a while.” He grinned impishly. “Ha, beat you to it.” Elrond merely shook his head, his mood lightened as Thranduil had intended. Thranduil swept his arm out in an exaggerated gesture for Elrond to precede him into the hall. His companion laughed aloud, and did so.

                                                       Breakfast was already in progress when they entered the Hall. The humans had become accustomed to the presence of the elves and had begun taking meals with them whenever possible. It seemed that Feren encouraged this, believing that the more his folk saw of elves, the more superstitions would be put to rest. Elrond agreed and readily answered questions and conversed with any who were bold enough to make the attempt, but Thranduil was still reticent, his long mistrust of mortals preventing him from doing more than offering the barest amount of civility to anyone who addressed him directly. The twins took their father’s view and were their usual gregarious selves teasing Letha and Weder, who they knew quite well, unmercifully. The elves from Lorien chose a middle course and were neither outgoing nor greatly reserved, answering any question put to them, but not initiating conversations. Haldir was the sole exception, his deeply rooted self confidence enabling him to speak whenever and to whomever he chose.

                                                As Elrond and Thranduil entered the Hall, Haldir and the twins were debating military tactics with Captain Narilt and a young man who resembled the captain so closely that any would recognize him as the guard captain’s offspring. Despite the long journey he had taken from Imladris and the sleepless night spent hunting orcs, Haldir was in fine form, postulating his opinion on the best manner in which to defend the Keep against a siege. Narilt listened intently, asking questions and requesting clarifications at the appropriate places. It was obvious the man was taking mental notes. Thranduil wondered what changes would be made in the Keep’s defenses as a result of this conversation. At least it seemed that the human was not too proud to learn from the centuries of experience Haldir had. It was also entirely possible that this was one of the reasons that Feren was encouraging the close contact between his people and the elves.

                                                 Thranduil skirted the group, nodding greetings to the elves. He made his way to the long table and selected several pieces of fruit and some bread. He still had trouble eating most of the human’s dishes. He had found that the spices sometimes disagreed with his digestive tract and usually chose to take the safe course and stick to fruit, bread, cheese, and the occasional vegetable that looked benign enough not to aggravate him. Finding a quiet section of the Hall, he settled down to break his fast. He had only eaten a few bites when he caught sight of his son entering the Hall. Legolas showed no signs of his trials the day before. In fact, he looked almost hale as he crossed the room to greet Haldir. The Lorien March Warden turned to clasp arms with him, warrior-fashion before continuing his animated lecture. Legolas left his father no doubt of his improved condition as he filled his plate and moved to sit next to him.

                                                  “If I still had worries regarding your health, ion-nin, they would be put to rest by the sight of that overloaded plate,” Thranduil remarked, grinning at his son’s blush. It was ridiculously easy to make Legolas blush, fair as he was, if one knew what tactic to use and his father was a master at it. Legolas returned the grin and applied himself to his meal without comment. Thranduil shook his head. Whatever his father’s issues with human food, Legolas seemed unaffected and avoided only the spiciest of foods from simple dislike.  They ate in companionable silence for several minutes.Thranduil finished first and set his plate aside. Legolas frowned at him.

                                                 “Ada, you are not eating enough. I know most of it is not to your liking, but you can at least take more bread and fruit.” Legolas fixed his father with a pointed stare.

                                                  “I am merely pausing for breath. Unlike you, I do not need to inhale or eat my weight in food at every meal. I vow, you sound exactly like your Naneth, fussing at me to take better care of myself.” Thranduil’s fond smile took any sting out of his words. Legolas grinned back unrepentantly.

                                                   “Did you heed her words better than you heed mine?”

                                                    “Not at all,” Thranduil chuckled ruefully, ruffling Legolas’ hair. “Not at all, much to her annoyance I fear.” Legolas ducked a mock-frown on his face.

                                                     “Ada, not the hair, please!” He made a great pretense of straightening his warrior’s braids while Thranduil chuckled. Legolas laughed as well, the sound music to his father’s ears. Giving in to his son’s wishes, Thranduil rose and returned to the table to take a second plate of food. As he returned, he noticed a small human child approaching Legolas. The little girl stopped a pace from Legolas and studied him intently, much to Legolas’ amusement. Thranduil resumed his seat next to his son, but his presence had no effect on the child. Finally, Legolas could contain his curiosity no longer.

                                                         “What can I do for you, my lady?” he asked, intentionally addressing the child as he would an adult, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

                                                       “Papa said you were hurt. Are you well now?” the child answered his question with her own, her brown eyes searching his face with what looked to be concern. Legolas could not help the grin that spread across his face.

                                                        “Not quite, little one, but I am much improved. I will be well very soon, do not worry for me.” He smiled at her, charming her into smiling in return.

                                                 “Oh, that is good! It would make me very sad if you were not. My Papa said that those nasty orcs hurt you very badly and I was worried that you would die from it like my brother did,” she stated solemnly, slipping her hand into Legolas’. “My name is Lilia, and I think you are very nice.”  Legolas squeezed her hand lightly.

                                                  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lilia. My name is Legolas, and I think you are very nice, too.” He stifled a chuckle at her attempt to repeat his name, thoroughly charmed by this bold little human. He patiently repeated it for her, pronouncing it phonetically until she could say it correctly. “There, you see, you did it. Would you like to know what it means?” She nodded eagerly. “It means ‘Greenleaf’, little one.” He wrinkled his nose at her, making her giggle. Though he would never admit to such aloud, Thranduil found the little human almost as endearing as his son did and had to fight to keep the grin from crossing his face at her antics. A woman crossed the Hall opposite them and catching sight of the girl swiftly made her way over.

                                                    “Lilia, where have you been?” she addressed the child, taking her hand. She turned to the two elves and curtsied deeply. “My lords, I apologize if my daughter has been bothering you.” She started in shock at Legolas’ chuckle.

                                                     “Not at all, my lady,” he answered, smiling. He met Lilia’s eyes and wrinkled his nose at her again, eliciting a fresh outburst of giggles from the child. Thranduil even unbent enough to smile a little, which reassured Lilia’s mother more than Legolas’ words had. She curtsied again, and dragged the child away much to her daughter’s displeasure. Legolas chuckled again, catching his father’s expression. Thranduil merely lifted and eyebrow at him, refraining from comment. A laugh caused both of them to look up.

                                                     “Look out now, Legolas, but I think you have another admirer!” Estel teased lightly, glad to see a smile on his friend’s face. “I think I will enjoy telling my brothers about this one.” He grinned wickedly, anticipating Elladan and Elrohir’s reaction. Legolas grimaced, but decided to fight fire with fire.

                                                     “Do that and I will tell them about that unattractive tavern wench in Bree that found you so fascinating,” he retorted in kind. He then winced, gulping as he remembered who was seated next to him. He muttered a curse beneath his breath at Thranduil’s expression, earning another glare from the elder elf. Thranduil glared for a moment, and then his expression cleared as he decided not to pursue the subject further.

                                               “Peace, Legolas, I am not in a mood to scold you at the moment. Consider yourself reprieved for now,” he grinned at his son’s stunned expression and rose. “Attempt not to cause any chaos today, ion-nin. I will see you later.” He crossed the Hall, deposited his plate in the tub that held the dirty dishes and exited. Estel and Legolas overcame their shock with remarkable speed, and after placing Legolas’ dish in the tub left heading for the salle.

Disclaimer: Don’t own it, never will.

                                                           Chapter 17

                                                   Another day and night passed uneventfully. Haldir and his patrol again found no orcs, but orc sign was plentiful. That the elves found sign but no orcs unsettled them greatly. Orcs had not the capacity to behave with subtlety; this indicated a greater intelligence behind their actions. In the Keep, both the elves and the humans grew weary of waiting for this unknown enemy to show its hand. Of them all Legolas was probably in the best spirits, having been allowed only that day to again take up his bow. Immediately after breakfast, he had gone directly to the courtyard to the archery range to which Lord Feren had given him complete access.

                                                    He had worried that the week of inactivity would greatly affect his aim and stamina, but was pleasantly surprised to find that they had suffered but a little. Even rusty, his skill was enough to inspire awe in those who observed his practicing. Legolas was not a vain elf, the reaction of the humans embarrassed him more than anything but not wishing to be rude, he bore it gracefully. He grinned as he noticed little Lilia peeking around the short wall around the well near the archery range. The girl had become something of a shadow to him, much to the amusement of the twins and Estel who teased him unmercifully over it, and to the dismay of her mother who did all she could to dissuade her wayward youngster from following him about the keep. It seemed Lilia was something of an escape artist, slipping free of whatever and whomever had been designated to confine her. He caught her eye and winked conspiratorily. She grinned and winked back, slipping into a shadowed space to watch him shoot. Legolas continued his exercise until he felt the sore muscles in his shoulder had had enough for the day and wisely halted, unwilling to be banned from the archery range again for overexhertion. He bowed graciously to the group of watchers, gathered his arrows, unstrung his bow, and made his way to Lilia’s hiding place as the crowd dispersed.

                                                 “You may come out now, tithen min, everyone is gone,” he chuckled lightly. To his surprise and delight, she launched herself from her hiding place, flinging her arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug as he knelt in front of her. He laughed, hugging her back. Legolas had little experience with children, even of his own race, being the youngest elf in his father’s palace. He found himself wishing that he had younger siblings, so charmed by this young human was he. “What are you up to out here by yourself?”

                                                 “I am not by myself,” Lilia corrected him gravely. “I am with you. I wanted to see you shoot arrows. Do you ever miss?”

                                                 “Not often, tithen min, because I have practiced a great deal. Will your mother not worry when she finds you gone? I would not want her to worry.”

                                                “She is busy helping to cook luncheon. She will not miss me until the food is done. Does your mother worry about you?” The girl was curiosity incarnate, he had no doubt.

                                                 “She may, I do not know for certain. She died when I was a baby, so I cannot ask her.” He smiled a bit sadly, as he always did when speaking of his Naneth. His response prompted another hug, and a sympathetic kiss upon his cheek from the child, which made him grin again.

                                                  “Oh, are you very sad? I was very sad when my brother, Saril, died. He was mean to me sometimes, but I still miss him. You looked very sad when you talked about her, you must miss her.” She patted his arm. “It is all right to miss people who die, you know. Mamma said so.” His grin widened, he felt deep sympathy for the man who would court this little one someday. Whoever it would be did not stand a chance with this little charmer. She seemed to expect an answer, so he obliged.

                                                   “I really do not remember her at all. What I know of her, my father and others who knew her have told me. I think I miss the idea of a mother more than anything, if that makes sense.” Legolas stood, securing his bow in place on his back then reached down to take the child’s hand. “Come; let us get you back so that your mother will not worry.” She skipped happily along beside him, chattering about any subject that occurred to her child’s mind as they walked. Before they had reached the doors to the Keep, they were met by an older girl who bore a strong resemblance to Lilia.

                                                “Lilia, you cannot keep running away like this! Mamma will be beside herself with worry if she finds you gone; you know how she has been since we lost Saril! Shame on you! You know better!” Lilia bore the scolding with remarkable grace, looking up at her sister from beneath her lashes, hands clasped behind her back. As soon as the tirade ceased, she treated her sister to the same embrace as she had Legolas, hugging and kissing her cheek while making her apology.

                                                 “I am so sorry, Zania! I just wanted to see Legolas shoot his bow. I was coming right back, I promise! Oh, Zania, this is my friend, Legolas. He is the best archer, ever! You should see it, he never misses. And he doesn’t have a mother, is that not so very sad? I hugged him and made him feel better, though, and he smiled.” The torrent of words would likely have gone on at length if Zania had not gently shushed her sister. Zania made a curtsey to Legolas before addressing him.

                                                 “I hope Lilia has not been too trying, my lord. She seems to have taken a liking to you. Thank you for bringing her back,” Zania spoke shyly, not daring to raise her eyes to look at him. Her sister made an exasperated sound.

                                                    “Zania, it is just Legolas. You do not need to be so silly!” Horrified, Zania clamped her hand over her sister’s mouth.

                                                     “Lilia! That is disrespectful! Please, my lord do not take offense, she is just a child and knows no better.” Zania looked up, intending to say more, but was shocked silent at the sight of Legolas shaking helplessly with silent mirth. The look on her face undid him, and he lost his battle, laughing aloud. His laughter was infectious, and soon all three were laughing uproariously. Legolas regained control first.

                                                     “Peace, Lady Zania, I am not offended in the least. I find Lilia to be completely charming.” He grinned at the small escapee who grinned back, totally unrepentant.

                                                       “Please, my lord, it is just Zania. Thank you for being kind to her, everything has been difficult since our brother died and there has been little attention to spare for her, I am afraid.” She clamped her mouth shut suddenly, chagrined that she had said more than she had intended, afraid that she had offended him again. A wealth of sad understanding filled his eyes and she found herself wondering if all elves were this expressive or if it was only him.

                                                 “I understand loss only too well, believe me. Do not feel it necessary to apologize on that score. Did it happen recently?” As he spoke, he shifted to a kneeling position, partly because Lilia was begging for a hug from him and partly because he did not wish to intimidate this grieving child. He lifted the smaller girl onto his knee, nestling her into a comforting embrace, feeling no small amount of consternation at his reaction to these two humans.

                                                  “Two months ago, but it seems not that long. He was only 15, two years older than me. It was on a hunting trip with our father.” She swallowed, unable to continue. He nodded, thinking of the many friends he had lost to orcs over the years.

                                                   “I am sorry, little one. I wish it had not happened.” The child in his arms buried her face in his neck, and he stroked her back, rocking her and murmuring soft words in Sindarin to her. To his amazement, she relaxed and her breathing slowed. The child had gone to sleep. He stood carefully, indicating to her sister that he would carry the child to her resting place. Zania made as if to protest, but the look on his face stopped her and, reluctantly, she led him to their quarters. She led him to the pallet she shared with her sister and he gently laid the child down, careful not to wake her. Bowing to her sister, he took his leave.

                                                      He was lost in thought as he made his way to the Great Hall.  True he had lost a great many friends, but he had not lost a sibling. He found it humbling to consider so great a loss next to his own. Rieon and Ilmrie had been close friends, but they had not been as close as siblings to him. If he were honest, of all his friends, only Estel and the twins could claim so close a bond with him, especially Estel. In addition, his father had survived with hardly a scratch. He had a very great deal to be grateful for, he decided. So deep in thought was he that he did not notice Thranduil’s approach until the elder elf touched his arm. Startled, he met his father’s concerned gaze.

                                                       “What heavy thoughts keep you so preoccupied that you notice nothing else, ion-nin? Do you need my ear again?” Thranduil’s concern was evident even to those who did not know him. Legolas smiled reassuringly at him.

                                                        “Nay, Ada, I am surprisingly well. I believe I understand now, better than I did even after our conversation.  It is surprising that knowledge is found in the most unlikely of places, is it not?” He shook his head in wonder, and then grinned at the look of confusion on his father’s face. He laughed then explained, “Ada, I have been dealt a most humbling lesson by a small, exceptionally bold human and her sister. No matter how keenly we feel the losses we have suffered; there are always others who have suffered as much or more. It is amazing, is it not, that they can endure and carry on despite their short and sometimes bitter lives. For all that we have existed for long before they and will for long after, we could still learn a thing or two from them.” He held his father’s eyes for a moment. “You may disagree with me, Ada, but this is how I see it.” 

                                           “Legolas, I do not necessarily disagree, I merely wish you to exercise caution. We have had this discussion before; you know my thoughts on this. If the little one has brought you some insight that will help in your healing I am grateful. I simply do not wish you to add to your future heartaches by befriending more mortals. You are an adult and I do not wish to treat you as if you were not so I will not attempt to forbid you to associate with whomever you choose. I simply worry for you and would not see you hurt.”

                                            “Adar, there are no guarantees that even my elven friends will not be killed, this week is proof of that! I would not have traded the friendships I had with Rieon and Ilmrie, even had I known how those friendships would end. It is the same with Estel. I know that one day he will die, but I plan to enjoy his friendship and his company as much as I can until that day and I will never regret being his friend, even then.” Thranduil stared at his son in wonder. Legolas was not given to much speech as a rule, and ever rarer still was such a passionate outpouring from him.

                                              “That makes twice this week that I have been fairly rebuked by mere children. When did you become so wise, ion-nin? That is something your Naneth might have said to me. Only do remember that when you do have to face grief at the loss of any mortal you form friendship with that you have my love and it would be the death of me to lose you. I will say no more to you on this subject.”  Thranduil favored him with a slight, pained smile. “ Now, to change the subject, shall we see how much food you can stuff into that thin frame of yours while I attempt to find something edible in all that?” he jibed, indicating the long table that was again laden with food. Legolas laughingly agreed and they moved toward the table to do just that.

                                                After a luncheon spent amiably arguing with each other, Elrond, Estel and the twins, they all made their way to Lord Feren’s study to meet with Feren, Narilt, and Haldir and discuss what action needed to be taken to strengthen the Keep’s defenses before the elves departed. As soon as Elrond deemed Legolas strong enough to travel and fight if need be the elves would be leaving for Imladris and they wished to be able to do so with the knowledge that Greenglade Keep would not fall to orcs when they were gone. For his part, Haldir was still uneasy about the out of character behavior of the orcs, and made that known in no uncertain terms. He argued that not only could the Keep be in peril, but the elves could be playing into the hands of the unknown enemy by leaving without more knowledge of the enemy’s plans or movements. None could refute his logic, so the decision was made to employ both day and night patrols in hopes of gathering some intelligence about the reason behind the orcs’ activity in the area.

                                                 Haldir and the Lorien elves were to take the night patrols, accompanied by Elladan and Elrohir who would never willingly miss an opportunity to exterminate some orcs. Estel volunteered to accompany the day patrol, so that at least one elven trained set of eyes was on that patrol. Legolas, chafing slightly at his restricted level of activity, volunteered to provide the human archers with the benefit of his experience and skill in that area by drilling with them. Thranduil deigned to lower himself to instructing the human swordsmen, while Elrond elected to see to the preparation of the medical supplies and healing staff. That they all felt that something was stirring against them was evident even though none voiced the notion.

Cliffies again!  Evil author grins evil grin and departs laughing to the keyboard to dream up the next chapter.

Disclaimer: Don’t own it, never will.

                                                                     Chapter 18

                                                  As darkness fell, an uneasy silence surrounded the Keep. The tension in the air was almost palpable as the night patrol prepared to leave. Haldir’s mouth was a grim line as he crossed the courtyard to his waiting horse. His composure was seldom shaken, but he had to admit to a sense of unease this night. He could almost taste the evil in the air. In all his experience, he had never felt this sensation so strongly. Orcs were not the source of this feeling he was certain, although he could sense them in the cover of the trees. He turned to see Elladan and Elrohir making their way across the courtyard. From the manner in which they carried themselves, Haldir knew they felt the same evil presence he did. They nodded a greeting to him but did not speak. Haldir was torn. He did not wish to neglect his duty, but he had a nagging impression that the patrol should not leave the Keep. A frown marred his countenance, what he would not give at this moment for Lady Galadriel’s guidance. A volley of arrows from the trees outside the Keep made his decision for him. On the walls, three guardsmen fell, one mortally wounded, as a shout went up from the courtyard.

                                                  “To arms! We are under attack!” Narilt’s shout produced the desired effect and the combined force of elves and humans took to the wall, bows in hand. Armed warriors poured from the keep to aid their comrades on the wall. From the doorway leading to the Great Hall, Legolas and Thranduil emerged at a run, Legolas still buckling his quiver in place. As soon as it was fastened, he retrieved his bow from his father’s hand never slowing his pace, and nimbly scaled the stairs to the upper wall his father less than a pace behind bow in hand and quiver on his back.

                                            Looking out across the grassy verge between the trees and the Keep, Thranduil grimaced at the sight of literally hundreds of orcs. Beside him, Legolas was already loosing arrows faster almost than the eye could follow. Thranduil followed suit. He was accounted a fair archer, but not anywhere near his son’s level. Thranduil’s talent lay with the sword and he hoped fervently that it would not be needed in this battle. He lost all track of time, alternately shooting and dodging arrows. Suddenly, a movement at the foot of the wall caught his attention, and he gripped Legolas’ arm.

                                            “They are attempting to scale the wall.” He directed his son’s gaze toward the foot of the wall.

                                             “We shall see about that,” Legolas stated grimly, taking aim. His arrows halted the action below them, but similar activity continued all along the perimeter of the Keep. A noise behind them caused Thranduil to turn apprehensively. On the wide walkway behind them the humans had built fires at regular intervals and placed large metal cauldrons over each fire. An acrid smell wafted over them. Narilt moved swiftly along the wall, shouting instructions and assisting in removing dead and injured warriors as he went.

                                             “Try to keep them down just a bit longer, my lords. As soon as it is ready, we will be dropping hot oil and pitch on them. Should make them think twice about climbing.” He smiled grimly and moved on. True to his prediction, two men lifted each cauldron carried it to the wall and dumped the contents over the side. Hideous shrieks and cries of pain followed this action and the orcs fell back to the tree line. The cauldrons were replaced and refilled swiftly as the Keep’s defenders took advantage of the brief reprieve to reload their quivers. Water skins were passed to wet mouths long since gone dry, and the defenders stood ready awaiting the foul creature’s next move.

                                              Haldir moved swiftly along the wall, keeping low to avoid becoming a target for an orc’s arrow. He made contact with each of his warriors, having placed them at what he deemed to be strategic points on the Keep’s wall. He was relieved to note that none were seriously wounded. As he moved from one to the next, his mind was moving as swiftly as his feet. Orcs did not fight like this. There was a greater intelligence directing this attack, but to what end? Spotting Legolas and Thranduil ahead, he made his way to them.

                                                 “How fare you, my lords?” Haldir knelt behind Legolas’ shoulder laying a hand on the younger elf’s back. Legolas spared him a slight grin before turning his attention back to the tree line.

                                                 “Well enough for the moment, but I will admit to wishing myself far from here,” Legolas quipped without humor. Haldir grimaced in agreement.

                                                  “As do we all, I think. King Thranduil, what do you make of this attack?” Haldir was nothing if not direct and, true to his nature, got straight to the point. Thranduil frowned, considering for a moment before replying.

                                                    “I have the same impression of this attack that I had of the one that brought us here. This is not random. Orcs simply do not have the intelligence to carry out action like this on their own.” He turned to face his companions, his eyes dark as storm clouds. “I think that there is much more at stake here than we can even guess at, and I fear for the safety of my people if we are overrun.” He locked eyes with his son, not surprised to see that Legolas had already come to the same conclusion.

                                                 “I had the same impression.” Haldir confirmed. “What is more, Glorfindel is of the same mind on this. He and I spoke of it before we left Imladris. Someone wants you out of their way, King Thranduil, and probably Legolas as well.”

                                                  “So I have believed from the start. The question is who.” Thranduil’s expression was grim. “And I believe we may have the answer to that before the night is done, I only pray that we are all alive to see it.”  Haldir’s answer was a nod and he moved away to continue contacting his warriors.

                                                   “Is this a private party, or may a scruffy human and two warriors join?” Elrohir’s voice was light, but his expression belied his tone. Estel was preoccupied enough to let the remark pass as he moved to Legolas’ side, clasping his friend’s forearm in greeting. Elladan followed Elrohir to the wall next to Estel.

                                                   “No, join us and welcome. What kept you?” Legolas shot a look at the twins.

                                                   “We stayed in the Hall long enough to help Ada set up a makeshift hall of healing. Most of the good places on the wall were taken by the time we got outside, but I believe this will do. Trust you to find a prime location, Legolas,” Elladan remarked without rancor. They fell silent, searching the tree line for any sign of another wave of attackers.

                                                Inside the Great Hall, Elrond, Letha, and Weder tended the wounded. Elrond moved from pallet to pallet, assessing the extent of injuries and offering comfort where he could. It had been a very long time since he last had tended so many human patients. Forcing back the unpleasant memories that resurrected, he continued until he reached the last pallet. Grateful for a respite, he hurriedly secured a cup of water and moved to the doorway of the Hall. Several guardsmen stood at the door, a precaution in case the orcs happened to breech the Keep.

                                                “Any news from the wall?” Elrond address the highest ranking of the men.

                                                 “Well, they tried to climb the wall, but the hot oil and pitch we dropped on ‘em made ‘em back off. No word since then, Lord Elrond. No news be good news.” The human searched the elf lord’s face for reaction.

                                                 “One hopes so, at least,” Elrond replied, his face impassive. He was deeply worried, something was very wrong outside the keep. Elrond occasionally had what humans would call hunches, feelings of foreboding that he had learned over his lifetime to heed. He began to regret his decision to remain within the Keep to tend the wounded. He was warrior-trained and no stranger to battle, although he preferred to take the peaceful road when he could. He was also the most skilled healer in the Keep and that had motivated his decision. It had seemed the best course of action at the time, but as the foreboding feeling grew, his doubts did as well. He gave a reassuring smile to the guards, masking his inner turmoil, and merely bade them keep him informed as they were able.

                                                Legolas’ sharp eyes caught movement in the trees and he turned calling out to his fellow defenders, “They come again!” Arrows were notched swiftly and the defenders began firing as soon as they sighted targets. This time, the attack was less organized and no attempt was made to climb the wall. The foul creatures did have a try at battering down the gates, but were repelled by the oil and pitch the defenders dropped upon them. Wave after wave assaulted the keep and the supply of arrows began to run low. A hand to hand battle seemed inevitable, and arrows were consolidated and given to the best of the archers as the rest of the defenders prepared to make use of their other weapons.

                                                Legolas remained on the wall; even though he was somewhat less than hale he was still the best of the archers. Thranduil, the twins, and Estel had joined the rest of the defenders swords in hand. As he watched his father walk away, a strange feeling of dread seized Legolas. Berating himself for allowing the distraction, he refocused his attention on his task. No sooner had he done so than a new wave of orc attackers assaulted the keep. Howling and jeering they ran across the verge, and began once again to climb the walls. Even the methods that had repelled them earlier had little effect this time, for the sheer number of orcs was such that when one fell, three would take its place. A fowl wind began to blow, chilling the defenders to the bone. Out of the night sky, a shadow blacker than midnight swept across the Keep. Laughter, deep and vile poured from the shadow as it swept across the heights. Legolas looked up, eyes widening in sheer terror as he breathed a single word.

                                             “Ulairi!”

Another evil cliffie! For those who don’t know what an Ulairi is, I suppose you’ll just have to wait with baited breath for the next chapter.  Those of you who do know, don’t spill the beans, please. Feel free to curse my name if it makes you feel better. < evil grin>

Disclaimer: Tolkien-all, sheraiah-zip      

Thanks again for the lovely reviews, especially since I’m such an evil, cliffie-writing wench.  < Evil grin>

                                                            Chapter 19

                                                   Elrond froze mid-stride, all color draining from his features. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white with strain, nails digging into his own flesh so hard that blood seeped from between his fingers.  He fell to his knees, fighting for control. Letha and Weder were at his side in an instant, lifting and guiding him to a bench. Weder held his shoulders, shaking him, while Letha grabbed a length of a braided herb, setting it afire on the flame of a nearby candle and blowing it out then held the smoking end under Elrond’s nose. The acrid stench penetrated the fog that had settled over his senses and he began coughing, his eyes watering from the smell, but aware of his surroundings again. He began, uncharacteristically,  to curse in Quenya and shook off the concerned humans next to him as he rose and headed for the door at a full run, Letha and Weder following in his wake.

                                                     At the first sound of the foul laughter, Thranduil’s head snapped up and he froze in shock. The foul being swept across the sky above the keep riding a winged nightmare of a creature. Shrouded in black, faceless, it bore down upon the King of Mirkwood as he stood in the courtyard.  The creature drew its sword as it bore down on Thranduil and swung at his unprotected neck. At the last second, Thranduil dropped to the ground, rolling under the creature’s mount and raising his sword as he rose behind the Ulairi. He struck the creature across the small of its back, the blade of his sword biting deeply into the foul beast. The Ulairi screamed and its mount flapped its leathery wings, taking to the sky above the keep once more.

                                                   Changing direction, the creature headed toward the wall. Haldir saw the creature turn and grabbed Legolas, thrusting the prince behind him. He notched an arrow and fired at the Ulairi, striking it in the chest. The creature laughed and turned again diving toward Thranduil. Thranduil faced his attacker, sword raised. The creature laughed, swinging its blade at the elf. Thranduil parried the blow with great effort and returned to blow in kind. The creature easily block the elf’s swing, and feinted, catching Thranduil off guard. The point of its blade slid into the elf’s shoulder, nearly slicing his collarbone in two. The elf went ashen, and eyes rolling up into his head, he dropped like a stone. Legolas’ agonized scream rent the air as the Ulairi laughed. It turned, and hovered, savoring the prince’s grief.

                                                      Elrond burst through the keep door just in time to see Thranduil fall. He raced across the courtyard to the Elven king’s side. Kneeling in the dust, he turned Thranduil on his back and bared his shoulder to assess the extent of his injury. The blackened edges of the wound told him all he needed to know.

                                                       “Sweet Eru!  Quickly, get him inside!” Weder and Elladan lifted Thranduil between them and hustled him into the keep. Elrond looked up in dread, knowing that the Ulairi still had one target left. The Ulairi once again headed for Legolas. The prince was kneeling on the wall, attention fixed on his father. Haldir was no longer beside him, having raced along the wall to one of the cauldrons. Legolas’ head snapped up as the Ulairi neared him and he drew his long knives. His shoulder was not nearly healed enough to withstand strain that wielding his knives would place upon it, but Legolas cared not. He was like a creature possessed, wishing to inflict as much damage on this creature as he was able before it slaughtered him. The Ulairi swung its sword at the elf. Legolas blocked the blow, but the force drove him back nearly over the wall.He slashed at the Ulairi’s mount, ripping a great gash in its side, blood fountaining out over his face and chest. The beast shrieked, but did not lose altitude sweeping over the keep and returning for another pass. The Ulairi’s sword flashed again, and Legolas barely managed to stay on his feet as he parried.

                                                 Haldir shouted for the human guard nearest Legolas to get the prince out of Haldir’s line of fire. The guard tackled the elf, knocking him off balance. Legolas tumbled down the staircase from the top of the wall to the courtyard and lay still. Haldir had grabbed a handful of arrows out of his quiver and dipped them in the cauldron of pitch next to him. Using the fire under the cauldron, he lit the arrows and rapidly fired them into the foul creature. The black robes shrouding the creature burst into flame, the wind rapidly spreading the fire.  Shrieking, the Wraith abandoned its target and disappeared into the night, trailing flames as it went.

                                                        The orcs again rushed the Keep yet again, taking advantage of the distraction to climb the walls. The defenders recovered, hacking at the orcs with their swords and shooting the few arrows they had left. A shout rose from the tree line and the orcs halted as arrows rained down on them from behind the trees. The orcs broke and ran, heading into the trees on the far side of the Keep as the large force of elves emerged from the cover of the forest and made for the Keep. A grin appeared on Haldir’s face as he recognized the elf in command.

                                                          “Open the gates! They are allies!” Haldir’s shout was repeated, and the gates opened admitting Glorfindel and the Imladris guard. Estel had rushed to Legolas’ side and was assessing his friend’s injuries. Legolas lay stunned for a moment, then rose taking no notice of his friend and raced into the Keep in search of his father. Estel followed after him, his concern etched on his face. Haldir fairly flew down the stairs to greet the newcomers. Reaching Glorfindel, Haldir clasped his forearm, warrior-fashion.

                                                “Mae Govannen, mellon! You have excellent timing!” Haldir grinned at Glorfindel, relief and fatigue evident in his face.

                                                 “Well, one must make the best entrance possible.” Glorfindel returned smoothly, and then sobered. “I saw the Ulairi. Did it claim its target?”

                                                  “King Thranduil was injured, gravely from the look of it. Legolas is uninjured, but we still know not which the beast intended to slay. It looked to be after both. “Haldir’s expression was grim.

                                                  “What of Lord Elrond?” Glorfindel’s concern for his friend was evident.

                                                   “He was not targeted. I saw him enter the courtyard as King Thranduil fell. He is likely in the Great Hall tending to the wounded.” The March Warden indicated the large double door in the center of the inner wall. Glorfindel nodded his thanks.

                                                    “My companions as far more rested than your warriors and the human guards, we will keep watch over the Keep the remainder of the night. Allow me enough time to speak with Lord Elrond and I will relieve you out here so you may take your rest.”  His tone forestalled any argument Haldir might have made and the March Warden indicated his assent. “Inspired action, shooting the Ulairi with fire-arrows. I shall have to remember that one. Well done. “Glorfindel clapped Haldir on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner and headed into the Keep, pausing momentarily to give instructions to the Imladris guard force he had arrived with. The guard took position on the wall, relieving the existing force and allowing the battle weary humans and elves to seek their rest.

                                                       Glorfindel entered the Great Hall, his eyes seeking the Lord of Imladris. For as fierce a battle as it had been, there were surprisingly few wounded. Most had already been tended and were either resting on pallets or were making their way to their own beds. Elrond was at the far end of the room, tending to King Thranduil, his face the inscrutable mask of a healer. Legolas stood nearby, far enough away to be out of the healers’ way, but as close to his father as possible. The prince was visibly shaken, his face ashen as he stood still as stone, eyes fixed on his father’s face his arms wrapped around his own torso tightly tremors shaking his slender frame at intervals. As Glorfindel neared, he could see that the young elf’s fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. His face was bruised and a cut over his left eye bled down his face. His clothing was torn and his hair disheveled from his tumble down the staircase and stained with the blood of the Ulairi‘s mount.

                                                  Thranduil lay on a long table. His tunic had been removed and the wound in his shoulder bared. The edges of the wound were black as night as Glorfindel had expected. Nazgul be thrice damned, he thought. Not wishing to disturb Elrond while he worked, Glorfindel moved to Legolas’ side. He touched the prince on his shoulder, speaking his name softly. Legolas made no move or sound, giving no indication that he heard. It was clear to the older elf that he was in a state of shock. Well, seeing a Ring Wraith for the first time was enough to put anyone in shock, Glorfindel thought grimly, much less seeing the creature try to kill your father then come after you. He simply wrapped an arm around the younger elf’s shoulders and held tight, joining the prince in his vigil.

                                                    Elrond worked feverishly, his outward manner giving no hint of the fear he felt for the King of Mirkwood. He cleaned the wound, packing it with athelas before stitching it closed and binding it. Elladan and Elrohir lifted Thranduil as their father wrapped the bandage around the wounded elf’s shoulder. Estel carried a pot of boiling water over to rest by the head of the table near Thranduil’s head. Grabbing a saddle bag, he rummaged though it until he found a small packet. As soon as Elrond finished tying off the bandage, Estel handed him the packet and moved to stand by Legolas’ side opposite Glorfindel. He noted the other’s presence with a start, but made no comment, merely nodding a greeting before wrapping an arm around Legolas’ waist, adding his own support to Glorfindel’s. Legolas noted him no more than he had Glorfindel. Elrond opened the package Estel had handed him and took out several dried leaves. Crumbling them in his hand, he breathed on them before dropping them into the pot of water.

                                                    The fragrance of athelas filled the air, and all in the room sighed as a feeling of relief and comfort washed over them. Legolas seemed to shake himself, some of the tension leaving his body. He looked from Glorfindel to Estel, startled to see both supporting him. They returned his look with reassuring smiles, and then all three turned their attention back to the table and Thranduil. Elrond waited a few moments, and then leaned over the wounded elf.

                                                      “Thranduil, mellon, come back to us.” He spoke softly, laying a hand along the Evlen king’s face. He let his healing energy flow into the wounded elf’s body, using that with the athelas to chase away the shadow left by the Ulairi. A few moments later, Thranduil’s breathing eased and a bit of his color returned but his eyes remained closed. Elrond sighed and turned wearily to face the group surrounding the table the Elven king rested on. His eyes registered shock at seeing Glorfindel, but he made no comment on it.

                                                “The shadow is gone, now we must wait for his healing ability to do the rest. Elladan and Elrohir, please settle him over by the hearth while I see to Legolas.” The twins did as their father bid, lifting Thranduil as gently as possible and carried him to an empty pallet near the hearth. Elrond stepped back motioning Legolas to the table that his father had laid on a moment before. Legolas’ knees gave on the first step and he would have fallen if not for the supporting arms that still held him. Legolas could not be persuaded to lie down, and not willing to make an issue of it, Elrond consented to treat the prince on his terms. A ghost of a smile graced his face as he got a good look at the younger elf. “You are a mess, elfling. Now be still or I shall have Elladan and Elrohir tie you down.”

                                               Elrond worked quickly, knowing that Legolas would only tolerate being separated from Thranduil for a finite period of time. The prince had a nasty gash on his forehead that was still bleeding, numerous cuts, scrapes and bruises, several cracked ribs, and had re-opened his shoulder wound. Elrond treated these, checked for any residual effects of Legolas’ proximity to the Nazgul and instructed the younger elf to allow Estel to help him clean the dirt and blood off himself and then to go lay on the pallet next to his father’s. With Estel supporting him, Legolas left to comply with the Lord of Imladris’ instructions without protest.

                                               Heaving a wearied sigh, Elrond cast his gaze around the Hall. All of the other wounded had been tended and were resting on pallets around the large room. Turning, Elrond caught sight of Glorfindel and made his way over to his friend.

                                                  “Mae Govannen, mellon-nin. I will admit that you are the last elf I thought to see tonight.” He smiled at the blond elf, his fatigue well hidden from any who did not know him as well as Glorfindel did. As perceptive as always, Glorfindel rose, offering Elrond the bench he had occupied until the Imladris Lord’s approach.

                                                  “Sit down before you fall down, mellon, and save the pretense for one who does not know how weary you truly are. I am glad to see you in one piece. When we received Lady Galadriel’s message that you needed the guard’s assistance here, we feared the worst.” Glorfindel smiled, his relief clearly written on his face.

                                                   “It very nearly was the worst and you have answered my question before I could ask it. So it was at Lady Galadriel’s bidding that you came. I had wondered. Have you a message for me from the Lady?” Elrond, exhausted as he was, had his curiosity firmly in place. Glorfindel chuckled.

                                                    “ Only that you had little to fear unless you did something very foolish and revealed yourself and that Legolas was to be protected at all costs. Haldir did a rather handy job of that, I saw. I would not be surprised if he had been instructed to do so.” He looked over at Thranduil’s pallet briefly. “She said nothing about Thranduil, however.”

                                                       “Powerful as she is, mellon, she cannot see everything. That she was specific about Legolas makes me worry what his future holds.” Elrond sighed deeply, rubbing his temples in a vane effort to stave off a headache. Glorfindel studied his friend a moment then replied.

                                                        “I would say that your future had better hold food, drink, and bed and the sooner the better. Will you seek it on your own, or shall I set your sons on you?” he asked archly. Elrond laughed a little, and nodded his assent. Glorfindel took his leave of his friend and made his way back to the wall to relieve Haldir. After getting Legolas settled, Elrond took some food and drink then settled himself in a quiet corner of the Hall to rest. He would not retire to his room as he wished to be close by
should any of the wounded need his talents during the night? He rested as best he could, checking frequently on the worst of the wounded, one of whom was Thranduil.

                                                           The breaking of the dawn found Elrond once again on the wall, surveying the damage caused by the battle the night before. In the light of day, the terror of the night before seemed far away. Elrond sighed, well aware of how very close he had come to losing himself as well as Thranduil and Legolas. Had that happened, all within the Keep would have perished. He wished, as he had frequently over the years, that he had never received the ring he held. Vilya made it possible for him to protect Imladris, but it also imperiled the refuge as well. If the Ulairi ever learned of its location, they would not rest until they had it in their possession as they had the rings given to men and dwarves. Few even among the elves knew the location of the three elven rings, by design, to keep the knowledge safe. Thranduil was one of those few and the thought of the King of Mirkwood being taken by shadow and made to reveal his knowledge made Elrond shudder. Shaking himself out of his dark thoughts, Elrond turned and descended the staircase, heading back to the Hall and his responsibilities.

                                                  As he entered the Hall, his eyes immediately found Thranduil and Legolas. The younger elf was awake, sitting at his father’s side. Elladan had pressed food and drink on the prince and was standing over him to make certain that the stubborn prince consumed it all. Thranduil had not stirred. Elrond’s repeated examinations had revealed no change in his condition. He was certain that no trace of the shadow remained, but Thranduil’s healing had not progressed. Until he himself was stronger and again able to give some of his strength to Thranduil, they had no other option but to wait and hope for the best. Elladan and Elrohir had already attempted to do so, but had not their father’s level of ability. They had, then taken solace in caring for Legolas and the other wounded.

                                                  Elrond approached the wood elves’ pallets, detouring long enough to gather water and bandages. He smiled down at Legolas as the young elf glanced up at him. As concerned as Elrond was over the father, he also harbored worries over the son. Legolas was still badly shaken from the events of the previous night, though he tried to mask it, and he had his share of injuries as well, albeit none serious. Always fair, Legolas looked as if he had been cast of porcellain so deathly pale was he. His silence concerned Elrond and his sons far more than his pallor, however. Legolas had not uttered a single word since the conclusion of the battle, but whether it was from shock or concern for his father they knew not.

                                                   “Elladan, would you be as kind as to change King Thranduil’s bandages? I wish to examine this pen neth in a more private setting.” Elrond’s eyes did not leave Legolas as he spoke. Legolas merely sighed, his shoulders slumping fractionally, but he did not protest. Elladan agreed readily, as worried as his father over the younger elf. Elrond extended a hand to his reluctant patient and aided the younger elf in rising from his seat on the pallet on which he had passed the night. Legolas winced visibly as he rose, his sore muscles and bruises protesting the exhertion. Elrond led him to the room he and Thranduil had been given. True to his word, he did examine the prince’s wounds carefully; allowing the younger elf to maintain his silence through the process, but afterwards Elrond sat on the bed opposite Legolas and favored him with a stern look.

                                              “Pen neth, it concerns all of us that you do not speak. Why do you not allow us to help?” Elrond tried to hold his gaze, but Legolas cast his eyes down, much as he had when his father had broken through his grief days earlier. Sighing, Elrond decided to employ some of Thranduil’s tactics in dealing with the stubborn elfling. He only hoped to have some of the King’s success. Moving too swiftly for Legolas to evade him, Elrond caught the younger elf’s chin in his hand and forced his gaze up. “Legolas, your father will be very upset with you when he wakes if you have managed to relapse into the sullen elf you were several days ago.  I know I am a poor substitute for Thranduil, but I do love you as I do my own children. Will you not let me help ease your heart’s burdens?” Legolas held his gaze, expressionless, holding his silence.

                                                  “So stubborn. Will you continue this foolishness until you fade? Ai Valar, Legolas, the merest sight of an Ulairi is enough to shake anyone, let alone being attacked by one! You and Thranduil are both fortunate to be alive and unshadowed. All of us were frightened, myself included. Even Thranduil froze for a moment.” Growling in frustration, Elrond pulled the prince into his arms and held him as tightly as he dared without aggravating his injuries. “What must I say or do to reach you, pen neth? You need your Adar, and I simply do not have his knack of disarming you.” Elrond released him and rose, moving to the other side of the small room. Turning his back on the stubborn young elf he spoke again, “Very well then, hold your emotions in and do more damage. I have not the strength to fight you anymore if I am to help your father. If I must choose between you I will choose the one who seems to want to recover.”  Elrond turned to face the source of his frustration again.  Legolas rose abruptly, and moved to the other end of the room, the tension in his shoulders visible even at a distance.

                                                       “I failed him. I could have taken a shot and I was too frightened to move.” Legolas’ voice was barely audible.

                                                      “That was the Ulairi’s doing, not yours. We all froze for a few moments. You, Haldir, Thranduil, my sons, all of us froze. I did as well. Place the blame where it belongs, on the Ulairi.  It was not your fault that your father was injured.” The irony of having almost identical conversations with both Thranduil and Legolas was not lost on Elrond. “Legolas look at me, pen neth.” Legolas hesitated for a moment, and then turned. He was not weeping this time, but Elrond would have preferred tears to the look of self-recrimination that the prince wore. Elrond crossed the room swiftly and gripped Legolas’ uninjured shoulder tightly. “Hear me, Legolas Thranduilion; this was no fault of yours. You are not to blame yourself in any fashion and your father will tell you the same when he wakes.” Elrond’s gaze bored into him and Legolas found he could not look away. He swallowed and nodded, willing himself to believe it. Elrond’s expression lightened and he chuckled. “That is a good beginning. I will not lie and say that this will be easy for you, and you are still treading the path of your grief from the first of these battles, but you are making some progress and that is all I can ask. You must learn not to shut yourself away like this, Legolas, it does neither you nor any of us who hold you dear anything but harm.  I wish you to make me a promise, pen neth. I would like you to give me your word of honor to come speak to someone whenever your heart is greatly troubled. Will you make this promise?” Legolas merely nodded, but Elrond knew he would honor the promise. He squeezed the younger elf’ shoulder once more and was rewarded with a faint smile.

                                                  “Lord Elrond, will Adar recover?” The simply phrased question tore at Elrond’s heart. Legolas was far too young to have endured so much, and Galadriel’s words made him fear what the prince would have to face in the future.

                                                   “He is not in as dire a state as you were. As soon as I am a bit stronger, I will be able to strengthen him some more. Right now my concern is that his self-healing is not progressing. He is not worsening, and so long as that is the case, yes I believe he will recover. Your presence will help him. Come, let us get back to him, shall we?” He ushered Legolas through the door and back to the Hall.

Disclaimer:  Don’t own it, never will

Sorry it's been so long since I last updated, but I've been busy with real life issues. A special thanks to my wonderful new beta, Bev!

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                                                The noon meal had come and gone and still Thranduil had not awakened. Legolas had forced himself to eat, knowing that Estel and Elladan were keeping watch over him and would not take kindly to any refusal of food. He maintained his vigil over his father, seated on the pallet he had occupied during the previous night. Elrond had assured him that his father was no worse than he had been the night before, but both Elrond and Legolas grew more concerned with every hour that passed. They had made the decision not to move Thranduil to a more private area, neither being comfortable with the thought of the wounded elf being very far from the healers.

                                                Legolas was unused to inactivity. In his father’s realm even on the rare occasions the he did not have duties he kept himself busy. Unable to sleep, he had requested several scrap pieces of wood to busy himself carving with the small knife he kept in his right boot. He had spread out a scrap of cloth to catch the wood shavings and was painstakingly creating small figures of animals. Placed before him on the cloth were a completed bear, a bird, and a squirrel.  His current project was a deer, a bit more complicated but served well to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied. Legolas did not consider himself particularly talented at carving, but he was rather pleased at how his busy-work was turning out. At the very least it kept his thoughts from going over the events of the previous night, and for that if no other reason, they were worth the effort. So intent was he on the task, he failed to notice the presence of another standing next to him until the individual squatted down and placed a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up into the amused face of Lorien’s March Warden.

                                                Haldir grinned down at the younger elf. He was relieved to see Legolas awake and in as good a shape as he was. Not many elves had gotten as close to an Ulairi as the prince of Mirkwood had and lived to tell the tale. Of the few who had, many had never recovered from the experience. Haldir noted the strain that still lingered in the face before him, and the pallor of Legolas’ skin, but on the whole he looked to be on the mend. He had known the prince since the younger elf’s infancy and counted him a friend. Indeed, Legolas was one of the few not intimidated by Haldir’s abundance of self-confidence and strong personality. The prince was also one of the few elves who could convince the somber March Warden to drop his serious mien and indulge in behavior more suited to his relative youth. Legolas’ last visit to Lorien had resulted in a late night raid on the kitchens and a booby-trapped study entrance for Lord Celeborn. The Lord had taken the resulting dowsing with flour surprisingly well, only ordering Haldir and Legolas to clear up the mess their prank had caused. He shook his head, still amazed that Legolas had managed to talk him into that one. Smiling wider, he addressed the prince.

                                              “You are looking surprisingly well, mellon-nin. How fares King Thranduil?” Haldir noted the worried frown that appeared on Legolas’ fair face at that question.

                                              “He is no worse, but no better either. Lord Elrond said he is in no immediate danger. I only wish he would open his eyes.” Legolas turned his gaze on his father for a moment, then back to Haldir who grimaced in sympathy.

                                                “Are you making a gift for your tithen gwath?  [little shadow]?”  Haldir grinned, having heard the entire tale from Elladan and Elrohir earlier that morning. Legolas merely smiled a bit sheepishly.

                                                 “She is a very endearing child and a bit of a mischief maker. I am surprised that she has not managed to elude her keepers yet this morning.” He turned the deer in his hands, examining it minutely for a moment. Haldir chuckled.

                                                 “She sounds very much like another young one I once knew,” he jibed, raising his eyebrows significantly at his companion. Legolas blushed slightly, but grinned back.

                                                   “Lord Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir said something similar. Was I truly that much of a handful?” Legolas met the older elf’s amused gaze.

                                                   “Oh, you were worse but not nearly as terrible as the twin hellions Lord Elrond spawned. Even though I am not much older than they, I was shocked at some of the escapades they indulged in. You were also far better than they were at charming your way out of trouble, particularly if the elf to catch you was female.” Haldir’s grin widened at the flush that last statement produced on the prince’s face. The fascination that most females seemed to have with Legolas was an unending source of amusement for his friends. They loved twitting him about it, especially since he was so careful never to injure the feelings of the females involved even though he hated being chased. Haldir, Elladan and Elrohir had a private bet going that the first female who did not chase their friend would be the one to capture his heart. Haldir decided to be kind and leave that topic until Legolas was recovered enough to fight back. “I must go meet with Glorfindel. We are tracking the orcs. I will see you later, mellon-nin.” Squeezing Legolas’ good shoulder, Haldir rose.

                                                “Namarie, mellon. Take care that…. Simply take care. I cannot bear to lose another friend right now.” For a moment, Legolas‘ pain showed in his crystal eyes then he composed himself. Ordinarily, he would have told Haldir not to become a trophy on an orc’s wall. The jibe was a longstanding jest between the two warriors. Haldir merely nodded and exited the Hall.

                                                 Legolas ran a hand through his unbraided hair. Estel had taken the braids out last night while Legolas was cleaning the blood and grime off himself and Legolas had been unable to keep his arms up long enough this morning to braid it again. It was getting in his face and annoying him but short of asking for assistance, which he refused to do for something so trivial, there was no help for it. The fact that it made him look even more like an elfling than he already did just served to annoy him even further. He sighed, realizing that he was working himself into a truly foul mood and sternly steered his thoughts elsewhere.

                                                He looked over at his father for what seemed to him to be the hundredth time that day. Thranduil’s face was peaceful, and his color was better even than it had been that morning but his eyes remained closed. Legolas briefly laid his hand on his father’s arm, and then returned to his carving. The deer was almost finished and Legolas was starting to become a bit weary. He wanted to finish the deer and make a horse before he stopped for the day.

                                                  Activity at the far end of the Hall made him look up from his carving a couple of hours later. The healer and healer’s assistants were making their rounds. He regarded the wooden horse in his hands, turning it slowly. He made a few quick parings with the knife he held, then turning it again decided it was finished. He gathered up the wood shavings in the cloth as they would be good for kindling, and returned his knife to its sheath. The wooden carvings he laid on the corner of his pallet out of the way and settled himself to wait for the healer to get to him. He was not surprised to see Lord Elrond approaching a few minutes later. Elrond smiled briefly at him before turning his attention to Thranduil.

                                                   Elrond knelt beside Thranduil’s pallet and placed a hand on either side of the king of Mirkwood’s face. His eyes closed in concentration as he sought out the cause of Thranduil’s continued unconscious state. He bolstered the wounded elf’s strength and sped the healing of his wound a bit more before settling back on his heels with a sigh. He felt Legolas’ eyes on him and turned to the prince with a weary smile.

                                                 “He will wake, pen neth. He merely needs time to heal at his own pace. The stresses on his body and spirit over all the years of his life have affected his self healing a bit. Even from here he watches over Mirkwood and must split his attention between that and healing. Fear not, he will recover although not as quickly as you would like, I imagine.” Elrond smiled fondly at the younger elf. “Now let us see to you.”

                                                  “I am healing well, Lord Elrond. I am only a bit sore at the moment; do not trouble yourself on my account. I am sure there are others who need your skills more than I do,” Legolas protested quickly. Elrond arched a brow at him, his expression plainly stating that the lord of Imladris had not been born yesterday and was not fooled in the least.

                                                  “Had I any doubt that you were mending, elfling, that would have assured me. I will use my skills where I deem them necessary, do I make myself understood?” Elrond’s tone forestalled any further protest his reluctant patient might have made. Prince though he was, Legolas knew better to argue when Elrond took that tone. He nodded his acquiescence and Elrond moved to his side. Elrond did a more mundane examination of Legolas than he had of his father, asking what hurt and replacing bandages. He briefly laid a hand on the younger elf’s face, but pronounced him healing well scant minutes later. He ruffled the prince’s hair affectionately and admonished him to rest before moving on. Legolas could not help but return the older elf’s grin; his worries eased a small measure. He raised his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs, laying his head on his knees. It was a resting position he frequently used when he was on patrol and needed rest but dared not sleep deeply. He would drift into reverie, but would rouse if his father moved even the slightest bit or if anyone passed close to them.

                                                    Lilia peeked around the corner into the bustling kitchen. She had slipped away from her grandmother while the elderly woman napped.  She quickly scanned the room, paying particular attention to the window sill where the kitchen staff placed the pies and breads to cool.  She smiled, today it was berry tarts. The cook had a soft spot for Lilia and always made a couple extra treats for her. She quietly slipped into the kitchen, avoiding the workers who were less than friendly to wayward little girls and sidled up to the cook, tugging at the woman’s apron. The cook smiled indulgently at her.

                                                    “Well, little one, what adventure are you on today?” Lilia giggled at her.

                                                 “I am going to see my friend. May I have a tart for him, please?” The cook raised an eyebrow at her, unsure that this was not a ploy to get a second tart and further spoil her dinner.

                                                  “And who is this friend that needs one of my berry tarts? I do not hand them out to just anyone, you know, “the cook returned, fishing for information. Lilia giggled again.

                                                 “Oh, Marta! He is an elf and his name is Legolas. It means Green Leaf. He is very nice and he got hurt by the orcs and I think a berry tart will make him feel much better.” She smiled winningly up at the woman, whose eyebrows rose even higher at this revelation. Marta was not so immersed in her domain that she failed to keep tabs on the happenings at the Keep. She had heard that Lilia had taking a liking to one of their guests. Sighing, she handed the tarts to the child.

                                                  “Now mind that he gets one of those then, I do not want to hear that you ate no dinner this evening.” She shooed the child out and returned to her work.

                                                   Lilia made her was stealthily to the Great Hall. She slipped past the healer’s assistants and made her way over to the two wood elves. A frown crossed her face as she saw her friend’s father lying on one of the pallets. Poor Legolas! She had not known that his father had been hurt. He must be very worried, she thought.  Legolas was sitting next to his father, head resting on his upraised knees, arms around his legs. His hair was covering his face so she could not tell if he was sleeping. As she neared, he shifted slightly and swept his hair out of his eyes with one hand. Seeing Lilia, he smiled and beckoned her nearer. She grinned and trotted over, plopping herself down on his bed.

                                                    “Hello there, tithen gwath. I wondered if I would see you today.” Legolas raked his hair back and sat up, wincing as his sore muscles protested.

                                                    “Hello, Legolas. I brought you something to make you feel better,” she said handing him the tart. He laughed lightly, remembering his own childhood habit of raiding the kitchen in his father’s stronghold. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the tart was made of his favorite berries.

                                                     “Thank you, Lilia. Did you know that these are my favorite?” She beamed and proceeded to devour her own dessert. He followed suit, with more appetite than he would have given himself credit for. Dusting the crumbs off, he reached for the animals he had carved for her.

                                              “I also have a gift for you, tithen gwath,” he said bringing the carvings from behind his back. She squealed with delight and clapped her hands.

                                               “Oh, I love them! There is a bear and a little bird and a squirrel and a deer, and oh look, a horse! Oh thank you, Legolas!” She stood and flung her arms around his neck. He could not help the gasp of pain that escaped him and she jumped back immediately contrite. “Oh, I am so sorry! I did not mean to hurt you!” Her lower lip quivered. Legolas took a shaky breath, and then smiled at her.

                                                “I am fine, tithen min, do not fret. Just please remember not to hug me for awhile. I fell down the stairs from the top of the wall and I am very sore. See, I am better, do not cry.” He smoothed her chestnut curls out of her face and tweaked her nose playfully. She giggled a bit, and then sat down close to him to play with her new toys. He chuckled at her play, took up the carved bear and made growling sounds chasing the bear after the other animals much to her delight. The other humans in the room shot amused glances in their direction, but made no effort to interfere. The general opinion was that if the little one could take the elf’s mind off his troubles then she was welcome. Weder, who was quietly speaking with Elrond at the other end of the Hall, caught sight of the two and began to chortle. Elrond turned to see what had amused the human healer so and began to chuckle as well.

                                                A harried looking guardsman entered the Hall near Elrond and Weder, sweeping his eyes over the room. His gaze lighted on the little girl and he breathed a sigh of relief. He made to approach them and Elrond caught his arm, startling him.

                                                 “Peace, good sir, I mean you no harm. I wonder, would you happen to be young Lilia’s father?” Elrond’s quiet voice and serene expression put the man at ease.

                                                 “Yes, my lord, I am. Has she been a nuisance?” The guardsman’s expression was one of concern. Elrond quickly indicated the contrary, again trying to put the man at ease.

                                                 “On the contrary, we are all quite charmed by her. I believe her presence has aided some of the wounded by lightening their spirits. I would ask that you allow her to stay for awhile, if that is possible. She has Prince Legolas thinking of something other than his worries and that will do him much good.” To Elrond’s surprise, the man winced and his expression became one of guilt.

                                                  “Aye, it is fitting. Tis my fault that he fell, you see.” The man did not raise his eyes. Elrond sighed. What was it with warriors that they felt responsible for every little event?

                                                   “As I heard the tale, Legolas would surely have been killed had you not risked yourself to push him out of harm’s way. I have that from Haldir, the elf that requested your assistance in the matter. Now, I know Haldir and I know that he does not lie, so this is what I believe to be truth.” He bent a gaze on the guardsman that brooked no argument. The man nodded his expression lightening. 

                                                    “With respect, my lord, I would like to speak to Lilia for a bit. She may stay awhile if you think she is helping the prince, but I need to tell her to come straight home after.” Elrond smiled and escorted the guardsman over to Legolas’ pallet. Lilia looked up to see her father approaching and groaned.

                                                      “Uh oh.” The little girl stood quickly, but stopped in her tracks when she saw her father smile. Legolas hid a grin, not wishing to cause the little one more trouble than she was already in. Elrond also was struggling to maintain a straight face. The guardsman bowed respectfully and addressed Legolas.

                                                       “Prince Legolas, I appreciate your kindness to my daughter. I hope she has not been bothering you.” Legolas grinned at Lilia before replying.

                                                        “Not at all, good sir. Lilia has been good company.” Legolas tugged at one of the child’s curls, elicting a giggle. The child’s father turned to address his daughter.

                                                         “Lilia, you may stay for awhile, but I expect you home for dinner.” He could not keep the fond smile from his face. She launched herself into his arms, hugging him enthusiastically.

                                                 “Thank you, Papa! Oh, Papa, look at the animals Legolas made for me! See, a scary bear and a bird and a deer and a squirrel and a horse! Legolas said the bird is named “aew” and the horse is named “roch.” He was pretending to be the bear and made very scary bear noises!” She rattled on for a few minutes, giving her father the full account of her afternoon. Legolas merely grinned, watching her with no small amount of amusement. She wound down eventually, and returned to playing with her toys. Her father bowed to Legolas and Elrond again and went about his duties. Elrond met Legolas’ eyes over the child’s head and favored him with a slight smile.

                                                  “I think, pen neth, that you will make a fine Ada one day.” With that, Elrond turned and made his way back to Weder. Lilia kept Legolas company until the kitchen workers began distributing dinner to the wounded and their caretakers. After he ate, Legolas settled down on his pallet. He was weary, but strangely, his mood was considerably lighter than it had been. He mused over the effect that one small human had on his psyche as he drifted off to sleep.

Disclaimer: Y’all know the drill. Not mine, never will be.

Real life has been intruding with a vengeance lately. I’m trying to get back on my writing schedule so please bear with me.

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                                                    The group of elves moved warily through the trees, eyes and ears trained for any sign of orcs. They had tracked the foul creatures to this part of the forest, near the river. Haldir led the left side, Glorfindel the right as they crept along stealthily in a skirmish line. The orcs had to have gone to ground somewhere close.  They never would have willingly braved daylight if they could help it and the elves knew they were close. They could sense the creatures, but could not yet smell them. The need to find the orcs’ lair was great as they had only about three hours of daylight left. Abruptly, Haldir signaled the troop to halt. He silently made his way down the line to Glorfindel.

                                                      “There is a cave about one hundred paces ahead to our left. I think this is the place we search for,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper.

                                                      “Good. You and I will scout, and the others can position themselves for an attack. If the creatures are in this hole, it might be best simply to bring the hill down on top of them.” Glorfindel’s mind was moving quickly. “Let us see what we have here, shall we?” Haldir smiled grimly and followed the Balrog-slayer forward.

                                                       As they approached the mouth of the cave, their stealth increased. Barely stirring the grass beneath their feet, they inched forward all senses trained on the cave and its occupants. The smell that assailed their sensitive elven noses confirmed their suspicion that the orcs had chosen this as their den. A quick peek inside revealed that the cave was quite large and the orcs were not near the entrance. The two elves crept back to their companions to plan their assault on the cave.

                                                 Elrohir fidgeted, impatient to begin the extermination of the orcs, but knowing that no action should be taken until the scouting was completed. He stilled himself, taking care not to reveal his restlessness to Estel, who crouched by his side. The human was somewhat reckless already and Elrohir had no wish to encourage the trait. His father and Elladan would never forgive him if he caused Estel to get hurt. His sharp eyes caught sight of Haldir and Glorfindel returning and he moved forward to meet them.

                                               “The orcs are there,” Haldir intoned softly, “and far back into the cave. From the look of the hillside it should be no difficult matter to pull it down on them, but we need to make certain that this cave has no other openings first.” Elrohir nodded in agreement.

                                                “I volunteer for that. I have had much experience finding orc dens.” Elrohir’s face was grim. No one spoke for a moment. The twins’ mother had suffered so badly at the hands of orcs that she had been unable to stay with her family and had sailed to Valinor many years ago. It was a sore subject with the family she had left behind and since then Elladan and Elrohir had made it a personal quest to rid their world of as many orcs as possible. Estel cleared his throat.

                                                 “I will go with you.” Estel locked eyes with his foster brother, as if daring him to object. Glorfindel chimed in before Elrohir could reply.

                                                  “I think it best to send two pairs of scouts for this. I will take Keltir and scout the right side while you and Estel take the left. We will meet back here an hour before sunset if we find nothing.” He nodded to the others and went to collect his scouting partner. Haldir shot a warning glance at Elrohir but said nothing, moving to deploy the rest of the elves in their troop. Estel wisely held his tongue and followed his foster brother around the left side of the hill.

                                                   Haldir positioned several elves on each side of the crest of the hill. There were large stones in abundance; it would be relatively simple to seal the cave from this side. He sincerely hoped that if there were other entrances that they would not prove problematic. They had just begun the ground work necessary to bring the stones down when Elrohir and Estel returned. Haldir met them out of earshot of the others.

                                                “This hill is as riddled with openings as a wheel of cheese,” Estel reported with disgust. “We found three and smelled orcs in two of those. The only good piece of news we have is that all of the openings have rocks such as these above them” Haldir digested this for a moment before replying.

                                                 “If Glorfindel and Keltir report the same we will either have to split our forces to collapse the entrances simultaneously, or abandon the idea altogether and make haste for the Keep. Let us hope he returns soon.” Grim looks were exchanged by all three. They had not long to wait, as Glorfindel and Keltir appeared over the crest of the hill at that moment. From the somber look of them, the news they bore was no better than Elrohir and Estel’s.

                                                 “How many did you find?” Elrohir queried with a sigh.

                                                  “Five,” Glorfindel answered succinctly. “Three that we were certain held orcs, and two that had not been disturbed in some time. With as many rocks as we saw around each, it should not be difficult to create a cave-in at each. Our problem is that we have not sufficient numbers to do all at once.” Haldir thought furiously.

                                                   “Well then, let us collapse as many as we can. Even if we do not kill all of the orcs we should be able to reduce their numbers sufficiently to eliminate the immediate threat to the Keep and Imladris, especially if we hurl burning branches into the caves before we collapse them.” Haldir had had much time to consider their options as he waited for the others to return. Glorfindel’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline.

                                                   “Rather ruthless, but I believe it may be our best option. The creatures certainly do not deserve mercy at this juncture. Very well, Haldir, we shall follow your lead on this.”  Glorfindel motioned for the others to follow him as he made his way to the rest of the troop.

                                                   They decided to split the group into five units, one for each of the tunnels they knew to contain orcs. Each group consisted of seven warriors, five to topple rocks and two to light and throw branches. The collapsing of the tunnels was to occur one quarter hour before sundown, the last possible moment before the orcs would emerge from the cave. Haldir and his group had the originally discovered tunnel, and set to work as soon as the others were out of sight. At the appointed time, Haldir and an elf named Toldur began hurling burning branches into the mouth of the cave as swiftly as possible. At Haldir’s signal, the other elves began the rockslide. The entire side of the hill came down with a crash, almost burying Haldir and Toldur. Toldur escaped with a few minor scratches, Haldir with a bad gash on his arm, and a badly bruised left leg. There were no sounds from the buried cave. While they waited for the rest of their party, Haldir’s injuries were tended.

                                                 Estel and his group were the first to return, with much the same result to report as Haldir had. They had, in fact, collapsed two entrances because the tunnels were so close in proximity. Elrohir returned next, and had met with a measure of resistance from the orcs. He had taken an arrow in the shoulder, but was fairing well due to the absence of poison and the quick tending of the wound. They had successfully collapsed their tunnel and had killed all the orcs who had escaped the rockslide. The group lead by Keltir had also been successful, but at the cost of one warrior’s life to the arrow of an orc. Glorfindel returned last, with the least favorable news. His group had collapsed their tunnel, but had been attacked from the surrounding trees as night fell and had been forced to retreat. They had lost no warriors, but almost all were injured to some degree, including Glorfindel himself, who had taken three glancing blows from arrows. They decided to make for the Keep before the orcs got close enough to give them problems and made good time in spite of the injuries. They reached the keep two hours after midnight without further event.

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                                                   Legolas paced along the inner wall of the Keep restlessly. He had healed enough for Lord Elrond to allow him a measure of physical activity. As much as he hated leaving his father’s side, he badly needed to be outside and active once more. He took no more than an hour at a time away from Thranduil. He had done a bit of target practice, but his shoulder was still sore enough to prohibit more than a few shots, so he mostly walked the wall, pacing, his nervous energy apparent to all who watched. Finally, he climbed the nearest rooftop and perched himself at its highest point. He sat, gazing into the starry sky for a long moment, lost in his own thoughts. A commotion below him at the gate caught his attention and he swiftly climbed down and made his way to the courtyard. Haldir was just limping through the gate as Legolas arrived.

                                                   “Mae Govannen, tithen ernil [little prince or princeling], did you miss us?” Haldir was in fairly good humor despite all that had occurred that evening. He sobered as his companions bore the body of the fallen warrior past.

                                                “What happened?” Legolas chose to ignore the hated nickname and was focused on his friend’s wounds.

                                                “We tracked the orcs to a hill riddled with caves and did our best to drop it on them and not ourselves with mixed results.” Haldir gave him the condensed version of events. “I am fine, just got hit by a few rocks. Estel has not a scratch, Elrohir took an arrow to the shoulder, but will be well and Glorfindel has several minor wounds. We lost Meneler, and Lothdil and Urlim look bad. I estimate that we took out better than three quarters of the orcs.” By this point, Legolas had draped Haldir’s arm across his shoulders and was supporting most of the older elf’s weight as they moved across the courtyard to the entrance of the Hall. “Legolas, you need not. I can walk.”

                                                 “Aye, I can see how well you do so. You are limping so badly you were about to fall when I reached you. And Lord Elrond calls ME stubborn! Mellon-nin, either you accept my aid or I shall knock you out and carry you.” Legolas scowled at his obdurate friend. Haldir sighed and acquiesced. Legolas was fully as immoveable as his father when he wished to be and this looked to be one of those times. Haldir favored the younger elf with a searching gaze.

                                                “How fares your Adar?” Haldir saw a shadow flit over Legolas’ features.

                                                “There has been no change. Lord Elrond assures me that he will wake, but that does not make the waiting easier.”  Legolas kept his attention on the hallway ahead of them, careful not to jostle his friend as they walked. They entered the Hall and Legolas guided Haldir to a chair near the center of the room.  Elrond arrived scant seconds later, having been roused from his bed. He touched Elrohir’s face briefly before turning his attention to Lothdil and Urlim, the two seriously wounded elves. Elladan arrived on his father’s heels and took up the task of treating his brother’s wounds.

                                                Legolas favored Haldir with a wry look and stated, “Well, I suppose you will have to settle for my assistance, mellon-nin.” He gathered the materials necessary to cleanse and bandage Haldir’s wounds. Haldir made no protest; he knew that Legolas like Haldir himself had been trained in the tending of wounds as part of his warrior’s education. Indeed Legolas was better at it than most of the warriors he had had wounds tended by in the past. He had a light touch and a steady hand. He was certainly better at wound tending than Haldir’s brothers, the injured elf thought with a slight grin at his siblings’ expense. Legolas had Haldir’s arm wound washed and bandaged and his bruised leg salved a short while later. After shrugging off the older elf’s thanks, he made his way to Thranduil’s side to wait.

Disclaimer: Same as before.

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A/N: Thanks to all reviewers! Someone asked a question that I’d like to address. The individual wanted to know why a Nazgul was involved when Dol Goldur had been dealt with 20 years before. In answer, I never said where the Ulairi had come from. Yet. < evil grin >  In all seriousness, I am trying to stay as close to canon as I can while satisfying the rabid little plot bunnies that are plaguing me, but I am human and do make mistakes so please bear with me. I’m researching this and learning as I go. As far as ages for the younger elves and Estel, I have mentioned this before, but it bears mentioning again. Estel at this point is somewhere between 18 and 20. I have revised this a bit. I know I told one reviewer that he was in his early 20’s, but I decided to make him a bit younger. The twins’ ages are a matter of record in the appendices of ROTK as is Aragorn’s so it’s relatively easy to figure their ages at this point. Tolkien never gives us an age for Legolas, so most fan fic writers draw their own conclusions. I personally see him as being considerably younger than the twins and younger than their sister by several decades at the very least and perhaps more. For the purposes of this story it‘s several decades. Oh and to let you know, I have written and posted two companion pieces to this story on FF.net. ‘The Conversation’ and its sequel ‘The Aftermath’. ‘The Conversation’ is complete and part two of ‘The Aftermath’ will be posted after I post the current chapter of this story. Enough chatter, on to the story!

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                                                Elrond and Elladan tended the wounded elves and made them as comfortable as possible. Both would survive their injuries, but would require care throughout the night. It would be at least a week before they were on their feet once more. Elrond resigned himself to yet another night spent in a chair in the Hall. He had shooed Elladan out an hour before charging him with keeping his twin company while Elrohir rested. In truth he had chosen that tactic because he knew that if Elladan realized how weary his father was he would have insisted on staying while Elrond sought his bed. Elrond was weary, but even weary his skills were greater than his sons’ and he had an inkling that they might yet be needed this night. He sighed and attempted to settle himself more comfortably.

                                                  The two elves he had treated earlier were resting well, he had few worries on their behalf, but Thranduil was another matter. His gaze found the prone figure of the king of Mirkwood. Thranduil should have awakened long since. Elrond had gone over every aspect of the king’s injuries and could find no reason that his unconscious state should have continued. He knew that Thranduil’s watch over his realm took enough of the elf’s strength to delay his healing to a degree, but even taking that into consideration he should have at least stirred by now. He had decided to attempt another healing in the morning, before the wounded had been brought in. Elrond knew that he would not regain the strength necessary to make the attempt until sometime the next day and this added to his concern. If Thranduil did not wake soon, he would begin to fade. Elrond racked his brain for a solution. A hand came down on his shoulder startling him from his reverie. He looked up into Legolas’ blue-gray gaze and knew that the time for reassurances was over. Legolas’ jaw was set in a manner that spoke of worry and determination combined.

                                                  “Tell me,” he said bluntly. Elrond sighed, noting once again the father’s mannerisms in the son.

                                                  “He should have awakened by now, and I know not why he does not. I was planning to do another deep healing on him in the morning, but now I have not the strength to do so. I am attempting to find another solution.” Elrond studied the younger elf’s face as he spoke. He had told Legolas that he held him as dear as one of his own children and he had not exaggerated. He was fully as concerned for Legolas as he was for his father in this as he knew how close the two were. If anything, the determination in the prince’s face increased at Elrond’s admission.

                                                    “Lord Elrond I trust you completely, you know that. Is it possible for two or more of us to combine our strength to accomplish the same thing?” Elrond stared hard at Legolas for a moment.

                                                   “That, my dear young prince, is an excellent idea. Why this did not occur to me I do not know, but I am very glad that at least one of us is thinking properly. If the two of us and Elladan attempt this together we may have some measure of success.” Elrond noted the ripple of uncertainty in the prince’s face.

                                                   “Lord Elrond, I am no healer. I do not know if I am the proper choice for this.” Legolas’ self doubt made him appear far younger than he was. Elrond smiled reassuringly at the prince.

                                                 “Legolas, have you ever aided another elf in healing?” Legolas nodded. “Well it is no more than that. The advantage here, I believe, is in the fact that this is your father. I think perhaps that he may respond more readily to you than anyone else. We can but try. If it does not work, we will try something else. Go and rest now, pen neth. You will need your strength in the morning.”  Legolas squeezed Elrond’s shoulder once and did as the lord of Imladris bade him. Elrond settled back into his chair once more and drifted into a light doze.

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                                                     Elrond betrayed none of the nervousness that plagued him. He, Elladan, and Legolas stood ready to begin the healing on Thranduil. Elrond was in fairly good shape at the moment, better than he had expected after performing healings on both of the injured elves in the wee hours of the morning. Elladan was almost at full strength, and Legolas was at full strength as his wounds were almost completely healed. Elrohir and Estel stood by to render whatever mundane assistance that was needed. Estel did not have the ability to assist in healing as he was too many generations removed from the elven ancestors in his lineage, and Elrohir’s wound required too much of his healing ability for him to participate. Estel was able to perform the same action that Elrond had with the athelas and he did so now, crushing the leaves and breathing on them before dropping them into the boiling water. As the healing vapors filled the air, the three elves began the procedure. Elrond stood at Thranduil’s head as he lay on the table. Legolas and Elladan each placed one hand on Elrond’s shoulders and one on Thranduil’s chest. Elrond placed both hands on Thranduil and began to channel his strength into the king of Mirkwood.

                                                     Legolas, as he had been instructed, began to speak to his father, calling him back as he channelled strength into him. Elladan joined in, doing exactly as Legolas was. For several long minutes nothing happened, and then Thranduil began to move, feebly at first, then with growing strength until he was thrashing wildly. Elrohir and Estel quickly moved to restrain him. Thranduil began to gag and Estel and Elrohir rolled him on his side scant seconds before he expelled the little bit of water he had been forced to swallow that morning.  Elrond, Elladan, and Legolas did not cease even then, but continued with the procedure. The king seemed to calm then and curled in on himself. Elrond felt faint stirrings of power beneath his hands and increased the flow of strength into the elf. He sensed Thranduil gathering the different feeders of energy together and channelling it into his wound along with what remained of his own strength. Seconds later it was over and Thranduil abruptly shut them all out.

                                                    Legolas came back to himself blinking and swayed with fatigue. He would have fallen if not for Estel’s swift placement of an arm around his friend’s back. Elladan gripped the edge of the table for support and Elrohir wrapped his uninjured arm around his father’s waist, supporting him.

                                                 Thranduil lay with his back to his son. His chest heaved several times and he opened his eyes, struggling to focus them. As his vision cleared, he saw Elladan’s pale, fatigue-lined face before him. From the corner of his eye he noted Elrond in a similar state as Elladan and he weakly attempted to push himself into a sitting position, frantic to find his son. “Legolas? Where is my son?” he croaked, his throat dry from vomiting and disuse. His last thought as he had collapsed from his wound was that the Ulairi would go after Legolas next and he was terrified that he had lost his child. Two arms encircled him from behind, and he was pulled into a tight embrace.

                                                  “Ada, I am here. All is well.” Legolas spoke softly, enfolding his father in as tight a hug as he could manage in his exhausted state. Thranduil relaxed at the sound of his voice and gripped his son’s arms tightly. Legolas rested his forehead on his father’s temple breathing a long sigh of relief. Estel had helped him to sit on the table top and he cradled his father in his lap. In the Silvan dialect he continued, “* Father, I was so very afraid that I would lose you. I could not have borne it.*” Thranduil tightened his grip a bit, comforting Legolas as best he could at the moment. He reached up with a shaky hand and stroked his son’s hair briefly before dropping into and exhausted, but genuine sleep. Legolas held onto his wakeful state by sheer obstinance alone as Estel and Elrohir changed the bedding on his and his father’s pallets and settled Thranduil comfortably. Estel assisted Legolas to his pallet and he drifted into dreams, one hand resting on his father’s chest in a rather touching echo of the position Thranduil had taken while waiting for Legolas to wake from his bout with the orc poison.

                                                  Estel and Elrohir then moved to their father and brother to get them settled into their rooms to rest. “Ada first,” Elladan declared firmly, albeit wearily. His siblings acquiesced to his wishes assisting Elrond first and then returning for Elladan. The two then took up the task of caring for the remaining wounded in the Hall.

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Ok, I know it’s short but I wanted to get Thranduil back among the living, so to speak, before real life got in the way again. I have lots going on right now as my son turns a year old this week and my manager at work has been transferred to another store and I’m trying to get the store manager position that is now up for grabs. Yes, money talks, sorry to say but I do have two kids to feed and clothe. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter and at least I didn’t leave y’all with a cliffie!

 Disclaimer: Just borrowing for a bit, I’ll return them unharmed.

Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and sticking with this fic. It was originally intended to be perhaps 4 or 5 chapters and a one-shot deal. 23 chapters and four sequels later here we are and I’ve loved every minute of it. Thank you very much and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

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                                               It was well past noon when Elrond roused from his rest. Although he was still weary, he made his way to the Hall to check on Thranduil and Legolas. Estel greeted him with a smile and pressed food and drink on him before he could reach the wood elves’ pallets.

                                                “Eat, Ada before you do anything else. Legolas woke an hour ago and King Thranduil is well, but still asleep.” Estel had been around elves far too long not to be able to read the signs of fatigue in his foster father. Elrond accepted the meal with good grace.

                                                “I presume Legolas is outside?” He arched a brow at Estel and the human grinned.

                                                “You know he hates being cooped up. He did not even pause long enough to tie his hair out of his face. He will either be up a tree or on the highest rooftop of the Keep by now.” Estel chuckled, shaking his head at his friend’s idiosyncrasies. “I did manage to get him to eat something on his way out.”

                                                “He will return shortly, I imagine, as Thranduil has not yet awakened. Has Elladan emerged from his room yet?”

                                                “Not yet,” Estel replied. “Elrohir went to check on him a little while ago and has not returned, so he may well be awake.” He looked up as the twins entered the Hall. “Speaking of orcs, here they are.” He gave his foster brothers a cheeky grin.

                                                “Orcs, are we? Estel, you are certainly brave today.” Elladan glanced at Elrohir. “Brother what say you, shall we wipe the grin from his face before or after we rub it in the dirt?” Estel was out the door of the Hall like a shot with the twins in close pursuit. Elrond massaged his temples, his sons had a veritable knack for choosing the days he least felt up to dealing with their high spirits to indulge in them. He only hoped that Elrohir remembered that he was injured before they caught Estel.

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                                                Legolas sat cross-legged atop the armory roof. It was not the highest roof, but it had the best exposure to the afternoon sun. He raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes, simply happy to be alive. The elf’s keen hearing picked up birdsong, the thunk of arrows hitting targets on the archery range below his perch, and dozens of conversations from the ground below him. A moment later, he picked up the sound of running human feet and the much softer footfalls of elves and he grinned shaking his head. Peering over the edge of the roof, he spied Estel running for all he was worth and the twins rapidly gaining on him. He whistled sharply, catching the human’s attention and Estel made a beeline for him.  Estel reached the wall under his friend’s seat scant seconds later and Legolas caught his outstretched hand and hauled him up onto the roof. Estel paused just long enough to clasp his friend’s shoulder briefly before scrambling across the roof and down the other side. Legolas sat back and watched as Elladan and Elrohir scaled the wall and leapt up to the roof.

                                               “Which way did he go, Legolas?” Elladan fixed him with a glare. Legolas merely smiled sweetly.

                  
                                                “Elladan, do you not think that you can catch one skinny adan [man] without my assistance? Your reputation may be in jeopardy if this is so.” He wore the ‘innocent elfling’ look that his father most dreaded. Elladan growled in mock-annoyance and scrambled down the other side of the armory. Elrohir made his way with much more care, favoring his injury. Legolas chuckled, raking his hair out of his eyes and jumped down to the courtyard. He made his way past the archers, intent on returning to the Hall before his father awoke. The raised voices of children drew his attention and he changed direction as he recognized Lilia’s voice. The little girl sounded very upset.

                                                 “Adran, you big bully! Give me back my doll!” Lilia stamped her foot in the dust, her brown eyes narrowed in annoyance. The afore named bully grinned and tossed the doll up into the lone tree that grew in the courtyard. Lilia howled and launched herself at the older boy, her fists striking every part of his anatomy she could reach. Adran grabbed her hair and yanked, causing the child to scream. Legolas started toward them to intervene. Suddenly a voice came from behind them.

                                                  “What is this?” The voice’s owner, a boy perhaps two or three years Adran’s senior stood, hands on hips glaring at Adran. Adran immediately released Lilia and cast his eyes down scuffing his toe in the dirt.

                                                  “Nothing, my lord,” was his reply.

                                                   “Nothing? Would you like to explain to me why you were pulling the hair of a child half your size?” The boy waited, eyebrow raised. There was no response. He turned to Lilia. “Lilia, would you like to tell me what happened?”

                                                    “He t-t-t-took m-m-m-my d-d-d-doll and t-t-t-threw h-h-her int-t-t-t-to the t-t-t-tree!” The child was sobbing almost too hard to be understood, but the boy got the gist of her statement. He drew her to him and smoothed her hair, calming her. His attention then returned to the bully.

                                                     “Adran, you may report to the stables and assist the stable hands in mucking out the stalls until dinner. At that point you are your father’s problem and be assured that he shall hear of this. Go.” His tone and stance brooked no argument and the bully left without a word. The boy then turned his attention back to the little girl. “There now, little one. He is gone and will spend the rest of the day shoveling out nasty horse stalls in the barn for what he has done.”

                                                    “Daeren, can you reach my doll?” He looked up into the tree and judged the distance, frowning.

                                                    “No, I do not believe I can reach it. Perhaps if I lift you up you could. Shall we try it?” At her nod, he hefted her into his arms and lifted her above his head. Daeren was tall for his fifteen years, but not nearly enough for this task. The doll was well out of reach lodged in the crook of a branch several feet from the trunk. The sight brought a grin to Legolas’ face as he revealed his presence.

                                                “Perhaps I could be of assistance here.” He grinned at Lilia and bowed slightly to Daeren, placing his hand on his chest and sweeping it outward. Lilia launched herself from Daeren’s arms into Legolas’. He caught her easily and his grin widened as she hugged him tightly and kissed both his cheeks. He set her on her feet and addressed the boy.

                                                “Mae Govannen, Daeren is it?” The boy nodded and bowed, making the same gesture that Legolas had.

                                                “Mae Govannen, Legolas Thranduilion. Ernil Legolas [prince], I am honored to meet you. I am Daeren son of Feren.” He stated formally, switching to Westron mid speech as his knowledge of Sindarin failed him. Legolas, pleasantly surprised at the youngster’s formal greeting offered his arm in the fashion of warriors when greeting an equal. The boy returned the gesture gravely, the honor of being offered it not lost on him. A tug on the hem of Legolas’ tunic drew his attention back to Lilia.

                                                “Legolas, can you reach my dolly?” He grinned at her and tweaked her nose playfully.

                                                “Well, I shall try at least.” With that he leapt up into the branches, catching one several feet above their heads easily and he swung himself up with the grace only a wood elf could have managed. Seconds later he had the doll and dropped back down lightly to land next to the children. With a smile, he handed the doll back to its owner and received his reward of another kiss. A laugh from the direction of the archery range caught the attention of all three. Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel approached, grins gracing their faces.

                                              “Legolas, the mighty rescuer of toys!” Elrohir jibed at his friend.

                                              “I would rather be that than the chaser of skinny edain [men] like yourself,” Legolas retorted, eyes dancing with humor. Elrohir growled in mock-anger and made to swing at Legolas, who ducked and laughing, pulled the other’s feet out from under him. Elrohir landed hard on his posterior. He lunged at Legolas and the prince dodged, but Elrohir caught his ankle and Legolas fell hard on his face in the dust. Elrohir was on him before he could recover, and grabbed a handful of the loose blond hair, his good hand grabbing the wood elf’s wrist and hauling his arm up behind his back. He pressed Legolas’ face into the dirt then leapt away before the prince could break his hold and turn the tables on him. Legolas rolled onto his back and jumped to his feet. He was a mess, his hair and face coated with dust, his tunic torn and likewise dusty. He fixed Elrohir with a glare that boded ill for the dark haired elf.

                                               “Orc-spit, you are truly fortunate that you are wounded or you would now be head down in the midden heap.” He held the glare for only a few seconds before breaking up with laughter. “I shall pay you back for that, mellon, when you least expect it so beware.” Elrohir stuck his tongue out at his friend, eliciting giggles from Lilia whose presence the elves had quite forgotten. Daeren cleared his throat, obviously unsure of what to make of the elves’ behavior. Estel took pity on him.

                                               “Peace, Daeren they are just joking. They have been friends all Legolas’ life.” Estel’s explanation had little effect on the puzzled expression on the boy’s face.

                                               “But are they not grown, then? I do not know everything about elves it is true, but I had thought they were.” Daeren queried, meeting Estel’s eyes. Estel grinned slyly as he replied.

                                               “In years yes, but elves mature much slower than humans do.” He winked at the boy as his statement registered with his brothers and then it was time for Estel to have his face in the dirt for the second time that morning.

                                                Legolas watched the brothers grappling, a slight smile playing about his lips. He caught Daeren’s eye and winked, a devilish grin crossing his features briefly. As suddenly as it had begun, the wrestling match was over and all three stood. Legolas’ foot swept out almost too quickly to be seen and Elrohir fell backwards into the watering trough that sat under the tree. He sat back up, his wet hair plastered to his face and the dust on his hair, face, and clothing turning to watery mud and glared at his brothers, friend, and Lilia who were howling with laughter. Daeren bit his lip, trying not to laugh. It was very funny, but he knew his father would not approve. A shout of laughter from behind them startled all six into silence. Feren and Elrond approached, Feren laughing openly and Elrond wearing an expression of annoyance. Feren tousled his son’s hair.

                                                 “Go ahead and laugh, son. I gave up trying to keep a straight face around the sons of Elrond long ago.” He cast a sideways glance at Elrond who fixed the three elves and Estel with a stern glare. The corners of his mouth were twitching, however and he was unable to maintain the glare for more than a minute before dissolving into helpless chuckles at the sight of his younger son sitting in the horse trough.

                                                 “Should I even ask who started this debacle?” He finally managed. Two sets of elven eyes and one set of human eyes turned to look at Elrohir. Elrond stifled another laugh. “I might have known. I despair of any of you ever behaving like adults.”

                                                 “Ada, refresh my memory please. Who was it that placed the purging draught in Glorfindel’s dinner last month?” Elladan asked wearing his most innocent expression. His brothers and Legolas snickered at that and Feren stared at Elrond in utter shock. The lord of Imladris sighed heavily.

                                                “And what would you have done to the individual who replaced your bathing oil with oil from stinging nettles? I itched for a week. He would have fared far worse at your hands I am certain.”

                                                 “I am not so certain of that, Ada. Elves do not usually vomit, much less as copiously as he did that night.” Elladan grinned unrepentantly at his father who arched a brow at him.

                                                  “Nonsense, he only did it twice. I am a better judge of my dosages than that; I will thank you to remember. He was being overly dramatic to gain sympathy from the ellyth [maidens].” Elrond wore a rather smug expression. Feren shook his head.

                                                   “Lord Elrond, remind me never to anger you, “he chuckled. “ I am curious, do all elves indulge in such pursuits when left to themselves, of is it particular to Rivendell?” Feren’s slight grin made it impossible to ascertain whether or not the human was joking or asking a genuine question.

                                                    “ It is generally only the very young,” Elrond emphasized fixing his sons and Legolas with a pointed stare, “ that indulge, however Glorfindel decided long ago that I was far too serious and plagues me at times with this type of nonsense. I have had to become proficient at giving better than I get to ward off even more of it. As for these four, youth and high spirits are the reason. Legolas, your father will wake soon. I suggest you go and tidy yourself.”  He gave a brief chuckle at the speed with which Legolas complied. The other three also beat a retreat to the Keep to bathe. With Legolas gone, Lilia drifted off as well and Daeren politely bade Elrond and his father farewell and made his way to the archery range.

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                                                       Legolas had thought to quickly make his way through the Hall en route to bathing rooms but as he entered, he saw his father sitting in one of the chairs facing the door very much awake. Thranduil looked up from the mug of broth that Weder had handed him and frowned, taking in his son’s state of disarray. Legolas winced then straightened his shoulders and moved to his father’s side.

                                                       “I am very happy to see you awake, Ada. How are you feeling?” He caught the hand that Thranduil held out to him and gave it a squeeze. He sat down on the floor at his father’s feet. Thranduil’s frown had been replaced by an expression of amusement.

                                                     “I am considerably better than I was, but I have been informed that I am to do very little besides rest for several days.  Do I even wish to know why you look like you have been rolling on the ground?” He wore a droll half smile. Legolas grinned, knowing from Thranduil’s expression that he did not need to worry about lectures for today at least.

                                                     “I had a slight difference of opinion with Elrohir.” The innocent elfling look made reappearance, causing Thranduil to shake his head and sigh.

                                                       “By the look of it, you lost.” Legolas’ grin widened and he turned his head to look toward the door that the twins and Estel had just entered. Elrohir’s bedraggled state drew stares from all sides.

                                                 “No, Ada I think perhaps I may have won this one.” His chuckles were joined by his father’s and Weder’s.

                                                 “I see what you mean, ion-nin. Go to your bath, Legolas. I will still be awake when you get back.” He smiled fondly down at the dusty blond head at his knee. Legolas gave his hand a final squeeze and left for the bathing rooms.

Disclaimer: It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing without permission! I’m making no money from this; more’s the pity, so suing me is pointless. All recognizable characters belong to Tolkien, the OC’s are all mine.

Thranduil chafed at his enforced inactivity, but sternly reminded himself to count his blessings. He had only been allowed to walk outside the Keep unaccompanied today and was seated in a shady spot at the back of the archery range watching his son, Estel, the twins, and Lord Feren’s son Daeren compete. He shook his head in amusement. Elladan and Elrohir would never learn. In the countless times they had challenged Legolas, they had yet to win a single contest. Estel was much more realistic and was accepting advice from his friend, as was young Daeren. Legolas, for his part, was ribbing the twins mercilessly. He took a much kinder approach with the young humans, but they had not challenged him in the arrogant fashion that the sons of Elrond had. A soft elven footfall turned his attention to his right. Haldir bowed politely and at Thranduil’s invitation took a seat near the king.

“Need I ask who is winning, my lord?” Haldir was grinning wryly.

“Who do you think? Elladan and Elrohir have been challenging him since he was an elfling and the result is always the same.” Thranduil’s expression held naught but pride for his son. Haldir chuckled.

“It is a bit of a blow to their pride that one so much younger can outshoot them. I, for one, am glad he is so skilled,” Haldir remarked, smiling as another of Legolas’ arrows hit the center of a target.

“So you should be, since you had a hand in it.” Thranduil wore an amused expression. “All I heard about after his first visit to Lorien was how you took charge of him for archery lessons every day. I am certain Nimendis appreciated your help. Legolas was rather, shall we say ‘energetic’, at that age.” Haldir gave an amused snort.

“He still is. I happened upon him while he and Estel were placing some strange herbs in the twins’ food last evening. I shudder to think what reaction they were meant to cause.” Thranduil’s swiftly stifled laughter caught the March Warden off guard. His puzzled expression elicited an explanation from the king.

“Most likely the unexpected expulsion of their food from their stomachs and we have Elrond to thank for that idea, I fear. He did something similar to Glorfindel in retaliation for the replacement of some bathing oil with nettle oil.” Thranduil was grinning rather maliciously at the thought. “I believe I might have parted with a couple of bottles of my finest wine to have been privy to that incident.” Haldir’s eyebrows had reached his hairline.

“I had not heard that tale. It seems that the fruit falls much closer to the tree than I had thought.” Suddenly Haldir felt considerably less self-conscious about his own flour dowsing incident. Thranduil’s chuckle brought him back to the present.

“It does indeed. Legolas told me about it after his last visit to Imladris. I had forgotten it until now.” There was a mirthful gleam in his eyes that boded no good for Lord Elrond. Both elves became aware of the presence of another behind them.

“Should I even ask?” Elrond took in the amusement evident in both their faces. Thranduil shot him a wry look.

“How are your herb supplies, Peredhel? Missing anything recently?” Elrond’s expression turned to one of pained exasperation.

“Which two and what this time?” He was not entirely surprised to see Thranduil’s grin widen. The king had been strangely light-hearted since his awakening.

“Legolas and Estel and something about tampering with the twins’ food. I wonder where they could possibly have gotten that idea.” The grin was now bordering on evil.

“Well, what would you have done had it been your bath oil that was switched? You would have done him bodily harm, Oropherion and do not pretend otherwise. At least there have been no longterm effects from my retaliation save that I have been spared further pranks from him. I can hardly blame him anyway; he only does it because he promised Celebrian that he would not let me become too serious.” Elrond’s face took on a far away expression for a moment, and then he seemed to shake himself back into the present. Thranduil appeared to consider for a bit, then a sly grin grew across his face.

“Given a choice, Celebrian’s method of lightening your moods would be preferable I am certain. Much less damaging as well, even if it did frequently mean keeping your guests waiting.” Elrond laughed briefly.

“Just so, and I intend to take that up with her when I see her again.” He turned his attention back to the archers. “I need not ask who is winning. Hmm, Estel is improving, do you not think so?”

“Yes, he is but he will always favor the sword, I think.” Thranduil studied the young human with the eye of one who has had long practice in training and deploying warriors. “He will surpass most men in swordplay, Elrond. “ Elrond nodded his own many years of experience in the arts and practice of war causing him to draw the same conclusion. Stil it was gratifying to hear it from Thranduil who was better than a fair hand with a sword himself. The contest had drawn to a close by that point and the five contestants made thair way to the three observers. Daeren excused himself politely and the elves made their way to the Hall for the mid day meal.

Thranduil had taken advantage of his increased mobility and made his way to the top of the wall immediately after breakfast. It was his favorite place at the Keep as it afforded an unobstructed view of the forest. He was unsurprised when Elrond joined him a few minutes later. Both elves disliked being confined inside the human structure. Thranduil lived in caverns, but they were very cleverly designed to mimic trees and foliage and he never felt as claustrophobic in his home as he did in human-made walls. Of course he frequently made forays into the trees outside his home as well. He and Elrond stood in companionable silence for several minutes before the sound of elven laughter floated up the stairs to them. Legolas and Haldir topped the stairs followed by Estel. All three had their quivers strapped to their backs and their bows in their hands.

“Mae Govannen Ada, Lord Elrond.” Legolas grinned at his father, mischief written all over his face. Thranduil arched a brow at him.

“Do I even want to know, ion-nin?” He wore an amused expression. Legolas laughed outright.

“Elladan and Elrohir declined to participate in target shooting today after they lost so thoroughly yesterday.” Thranduil and Elrond both laughed. Elrond shook his head.

“I believe that a conversation on sportsmanship is in order for my sons.” That prompted more laughter from Legolas and from Estel. Haldir permitted himself a grin.

“My lords, I did not get a chance to tell you earlier. There has been no orc sign for several leagues around the Keep since the day after the battle.” Haldir paused to allow the information to sink in, and then continued. “It is almost as if they had orders to retreat.”

“Now that is an unsettling thought,” Thranduil commented. “One we, unfortunately, have no way as yet of confirming. It is also unexpected. Ulairi do not give up their targets easily. We can only wonder what they mean to do next.” His expression was grim. He noticed that Legolas shuddered involuntarily at the mention of the Ulaire and he surreptitiously squeezed his son’s arm. Legolas’ eyes darted to him and he smiled slightly.

“Well, we shall journey to Imladris as soon as I decide that you are fit enough to make the trip.” Elrond stated, ignoring the scowl Thranduil aimed in his direction. “That will provide a greater measure of protection and hopefully we can use Imladris’ protections to cover your departure for Mirkwood when the time comes.”

Thranduil nodded absently, his mind only half on Elrond’s words. He was beginning to feel uneasy. He concentrated, trying to home in on the source of the uneasiness, but he did not have the connection to the lands here that he did to his home and the source remained hidden. He was more than a bit relieved when Estel suggested that the younger members of the group depart for the archery range. Elrond stated that he wished to speak with Lord Feren. Thranduil expressed an interest in being party to that conversation and they all began to move toward the staircase.

Legolas stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs as the unmistakable sound of an arrow cutting through the air reached his ears. He had strung his bow earlier, and he reached quickly for an arrow, notching it as he spun. A grunt of pain confirmed his fear that the arrow had found its mark.

Disclaimer: It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing without permission! No profit is being made.

A/N: Last chapter folks! After this there’s just the epilogue and the sequels. It’s been a blast and I want to thank everyone who has been so very kind as to post a review of this story. As a lot of you know, this is my very first LOTR fanfic. Thanks for making it a wonderful experience.

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Legolas shut out everything but his target. His sharp eyes could make out a figure holding a bow just inside the tree line. Taking aim, he loosed his first arrow, following it in quick succession with two more. Haldir loosed his arrow at the same target a beat after Legolas. Estel held his fire, unable to see far enough to pick out a target. The figure fell, but staggered upright again and disappeared into the thick foliage. Only then did Legolas allow his concern for his father come to the fore. Turning swiftly, his eyes sought Thranduil.

“Ada?”

Thranduil glanced briefly in his son’s direction. His attention was focused on staunching the flow of blood from Elrond’s arm. The dark haired Imladris lord grimaced slightly, but made no sound of protest. His eyes met Thranduil’s for a moment and the king of Mirkwood shook his head, a slight grin forming on his lips.

“And you were saying that I do not know how to duck sharp objects. Elrond, mellon-nin, you no longer have room to talk. No, stay still. The bleeding has not stopped yet.” He glanced up again at his son, “I am unharmed, ion-nin, and Elrond’s wound is not serious. Go find the one who did this.”

“He is correct, my wound is not serious. Go.” Elrond seconded Thranduil’s words.

At their assurances, Legolas and Haldir took off down the stairs at a full run. Estel lingered only long enough to grasp his foster father’s uninjured arm briefly before following them. At the foot of the stairs, Estel spied his brothers. Shouting a brief synopsis of what had transpired to them, he sped out the gate after the two wood elves.

Elladan and Elrohir took the steps three at a time up to the top. Upon their arrival, Thranduil moved aside and allowed them to take over care of their father. He moved to the wall, catching sight of Haldir and Legolas as they entered the tree line.

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Legolas moved swiftly and silently through the dense undergrowth, his eyes scanning each leaf and twig for any sign of the assassin’s passing. Haldir was two paces behind him, his attention on the bushes around them. By unspoken agreement, Legolas had taken up the task of tracking the assassin while Haldir kept watch for an ambush. Estel caught up to them a moment later and took position to Haldir’s left, also watching for ambush.

Legolas stopped suddenly, his hand lightly brushing the leaf litter on the ground. He lifted red-stained fingers to show his companions. Using hand gestures, he indicated that the trail led to the south. Haldir and Estel both nodded their understanding and Legolas began to pick his way along the blood trail left by the wounded archer.

Legolas continued following the blood trail left by the assassin, the small part of his mind not focused on his task marveling that the wounded one had managed to get so far so quickly. Had the blood not smelled human, he would have thought the attacker to be elven, as unlikely as that might have been, from the remarkable amount of stamina he was displaying.

Soon, his ears picked up the quiet sounds of the attacker’s flight. He glanced at Haldir, who nodded to indicate that he also had heard. Turning to Estel, Legolas used a series of hand signals to communicate the location of their quarry and what he needed Estel to do. Estel indicated his understanding and the three hunters separated, each approaching the wounded assassin from a different direction.

Estel moved in on the wounded one from the right, making as much noise as possible and driving him toward Haldir. Legolas waited in the branches above the spot where Haldir was to confront the assassin, arrow notched and ready. He was mildly surprised that the assassin made almost no noise. Had he and Haldir not been elves, they likely would have heard nothing. Estel was far louder in the undergrowth, even though he was farther away.

The assassin came into view then, and Legolas studied him, arrow trained on him all the while. He was tall for a human, and dark, but not so dark that he appeared to be of Easterling origin. He carried the standard weapons of a traveler, sword, bow and arrows, and a couple of knives. Nothing about him stood out in any way, but that was to be expected of one whose trade was killing for pay.

Haldir let the assassin get to the midpoint between himself, Legolas, and Estel before stepping from cover, arrow notched, and confronting him.

“Halt or you will be dead where you stand!” Haldir smirked a bit at the look of shock on the assassin’s face. “Remove your weapons and place them on the ground.” The assassin hesitated a moment and Haldir drew his bow string back a bit. The dark man’s gaze darted to the side, and Estel stepped from cover, sword in hand.

“A lone elf and a whelp not yet old enough to shave? I think the tales I have heard of your folk were great exaggerations.” The assassin sneered, making no move to comply with Haldir’s orders. Legolas dropped from his perch to land lightly on the ground, arrow ready and bow drawn before the assassin even fully realized that he was there.

“Drop your weapons, or you will see how true the tales are.” Legolas’ demeanor bore no resemblance to his usual cheeriness. At the moment, he looked as fell and dangerous as Mirkwood elves were rumored to be. The assassin’s bravado disappeared completely and his weapons hit the ground with startling speed. Estel darted in and gathered them up, moving quickly so as not to become a bargaining tool for the stranger. The assassin never moved and never took his eyes from Legolas.

Only a faint rustling of the undergrowth announced the arrival of Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, and a few of the Lorien warriors. They soon had the assassin trussed up except for his feet and were escorting him back to the keep. Glorfindel had made a point to search him thoroughly and had found several more weapons, as well as a hidden cache of a deadly poison, no doubt designed as a last resort in the event of his capture. The assassin had deflated visibly when it was found.

The twins said little, shooting the same dark looks that they normally reserved for orcs at the stranger frequently. Glorfindel and Haldir maintained the poise of seasoned warriors, little of what may have been going through their minds evident on their faces. Estel, once he had spoken to the twins, dropped easily into his usual state when out tracking with his foster brothers and Legolas.

The prince, however, still wore the fierceness he had displayed when confronting the assassin like a cloak. His bow was in one hand, still strung and ready, and he clasped an arrow in the other. He spoke little as they crossed the distance back to the Keep, his expression darkening when he heard Haldir tell Glorfindel that the man’s accent suggested that he hailed from Gondor.

Upon entering the Keep, they were met by Lord Feren and his guard, as well as Thranduil and Elrond. Thranduil, as was his wont, spoke first.

“So this is the would be assassin.” He looked the man over, deliberately disdainful. “I would say that either the one who hired you overestimated your skills greatly, or failed to properly instruct you about your target. That is somewhat beside the point now, however. You have quite a bit to answer for, assassin. It would make your existence much more pleasant if you cooperate and answer the questions asked of you.” The gaze that could reduce a seasoned warrior to the level of an elfling was trained in full measure on the dark man. The man’s attempt to hold onto what was left of his composure failed, and he trembled visibly.

“Elves do not torture their captives,” the dark one stated, more hopeful than certain. Thranduil smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

“No, you are correct, we do not. You are not our captive.” With that, Thranduil stepped aside, inclining his head to Lord Feren. Feren eyed the man, disgust plain on his features. The assassin’s trembling increased.

“Take him to the lower levels. I will be along shortly.” Feren gestured dismissively to Narilt who moved forward with two of his guardsmen. The assassin made no outcry as he was led to the lower levels of the Keep. No one spoke until he had disappeared from view. Feren turned to Thranduil, admiration plain on his face, “King Thranduil, that was brilliantly done. I have no doubt that you have saved my men and myself the unpleasant task of ‘persuading’ him to speak. From the look of him, he will begin spouting information as soon as I step into the room.”

“One would hope, at least. The tactic works with errant warriors, as well.” Thranduil cocked an eyebrow at his son. Legolas, who was at last beginning to relax a bit, merely returned the gesture in a perfect imitation of his sire. Thranduil chuckled and grasped his shoulder briefly before walking back inside the Keep.

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It was after the evening meal that Feren asked Elrond, Thranduil, and their sons, as well as Haldir and Glorfindel to join him in his study. As soon as everyone was seated and supplied with wine, Feren began his tale.

“Well, he said that he was hired in Minas Tirith and told to meet a contact in Dunharrow. No one he spoke to was more than a hireling, but he said that there was someone watching him while he spoke to his contact. The watcher was tall, and he caught a glimpse of something white or silver. He was then sent to Esgaroth, where he met with yet another contact and was given his final instructions. He skirted around Mirkwood, it seems he was unwilling to risk running afoul of any of your folk, King Thranduil, and then headed here. He was told that you would pass this way, but how his employer knew to find you here I do not know, nor does he. He was told to kill you, but promised a bonus to kill Prince Legolas as well. That is all he said that he knows.” Feren settled back, frowning into his wine goblet.

“That tells us little; save that my enemy had some way of knowing where I was headed and very likely used the orcs to make certain I stayed here.” He smiled briefly at Feren. “It does seem that whoever he is, he underestimated you, Lord Feren.”

“He likely did not know where I hail from. Ever would I assist you where I could. What truly troubles me is that he is in league with that flying nightmare that attacked you.” Feren’s frown had deepened and was echoed on the faces of his companions.

“Aye, the Ulaire. I do not like where my thoughts are heading on that matter,” Elrond steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. Thranduil nodded his agreement.

“No that is indeed not a pleasant train of thought. We must all be especially watchful now, in all our lands. If the worst is coming, we must be prepared.” Thranduil fell silent for a moment, and then regarded Haldir. “You will bear word of this back to your lord and lady, of course. Lorien is the closest of all our realms to any potential threat. I think we should increase our communications, as well.” Haldir merely nodded respectfully. “Elrond, I think we should proceed to Imladris as soon as possible. I would not endanger Lord Feren’s people unnecessarily.”

“I would agree. The valley will also provide cover when you begin your journey home. Enemies will not be able to follow you in, and thus will loose your trail. I can be ready to leave on the morrow. Sooner is better than later, I believe.” Elrond met Thranduil’s gaze steadily. The king of Mirkwood nodded.

“Yes, sooner is better for all involved. We will leave in the morning, as openly as possible. I want no watchers to have any doubt that we are no longer here.” Feren cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him.

“I thank you for your concern for the people of this Keep. That will make things even more dangerous for you.” Feren looked at each of them in turn. “Whatever assistance I can render is yours.”

“We will be traveling in daylight and will reach the valley by nightfall, so we need not be overly concerned with orcs. All of us will leave together, there is safety in numbers. The only worry I have is for assassins. I would doubt that the one in the cell below was the only one hired.” Elrond rose and straightened his robes. “I would have a word with Weder and Letha before we depart. Lord Feren, Thranduil, Haldir, I bid you a good evening.”

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It was much later that night when Thranduil and Legolas retired to the room they had been quartered in. As soon as the door shut behind them, Thranduil caught his son’s arm.

“Legolas, I did not have a chance earlier to tell you how proud I am of you. You have borne a great deal these last couple of weeks and you have done so in a manner that elves many centuries your senior would not have been able to match. The small matter of mischief making with Elrond‘s sons aside.” He gave Legolas a wry grin and pulled him into a brief embrace before holding him out at arms’ length. “Your Naneth would be so very proud of you.” Legolas gripped his father’s arms in return.

“Thank you, Ada,” he said softly, and touched his forehead to Thranduil’s. “I would have preferred that the cost was not so high, to us or to Mirkwood. I fear that we have dark times ahead.” Thranduil sighed.

“I share that fear, ion-nin, but whatever comes we will face it.” Father and son regarded each other solemnly for a moment, and then embraced once more before readying themselves for what rest they might find that night.

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Morning found the courtyard of the Keep full of elves, humans, and horses. After an elaborate breakfast, the people of the Keep were bidding farewell to their guests. Lord Feren, his son Daeren by his side, made a very public speech to his guests. Elrond and Thranduil replied in kind.

Lilia scurried through the crowd, past humans and elves and under horses’ bellies, searching for Legolas. She had escaped from her sister’s custody while Zania was preoccupied flirting with a young guardsman. She was frantic to find Legolas before he left and let out a sob of relief when she finally caught sight of the elf. Racing across the distance between them, she launched herself at him, striking him in the midsection. He caught her by reflex alone and swung her up into his arms.

“Tithen gwath, I wondered if I would see you before I left. I shall miss you, little one.” He touched his forehead to hers. Lilia started to sniffle and buried her face in his neck.

“I do not want you to leave,” she cried, her voice muffled by the collar of his tunic. He rubbed her back, a sad smile gracing his face as he met the eyes of Lilia’s father, who had spotted his errant offspring moving through the crowd.

“I know that, Lilia, but I must leave whether or not either of us wishes it. I will miss you as much as you will miss me. If you like, I will come back and visit you as soon as I can. Would you like that?” She nodded without raising her head. He smiled again. “Then we are agreed. I will come back and visit. Now, can you dry your eyes and give me a smile to remember until I see you again?” She nodded again and raised up to look him in the face. He brushed the tears from her face gently and she gave him a wobbly smile. He kissed her forehead and hugged her before handing her to her waiting father.

The mixed group of elves from Lorien, Imladris, and Mirkwood began to ride out of the keep. Legolas turned to wave one last time to Lilia, who waved frantically back at him. Lilia and her father stood and watched until the last rider was out of sight.

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The trip to Imladris had indeed broken the trail and there was no further trouble. The Festival went without a hitch and Legolas and Thranduil returned home safely. Legolas kept his word to Lilia, returning many times over the years to visit her, even after her marriage at the age of fifteen to Daeren, son of Feren.

Attacks on Mirkwood increased over the years. Lorien and Imladris were not subjected to open attacks, but orcs and unsavory humans drew closer and closer to their borders. It became increasingly perilous to travel between the realms and they resorted to using message birds for almost all dispatches. Few besides Legolas dared travel over the Misty Mountains. Despite the tireless efforts of Elladan and Elrohir, orcs had made the passes perilous to all travelers.

Despite their continued investigations, Thranduil and Elrond had no success in discovering the identity of Thranduil’s unknown enemy until the War of the Ring.

To Be Continued in the Epilogue…………..

A/N: All right, who can guess the identity of the enemy? Now you know I had to do just one more cliffie, didn’t you? I’m interested to see who guesses correctly.

This is it, folks! The not so long awaited epilogue is here. I want to thank again everyone who has read and everyone who not only read, but reviewed as well. You all made this a very positive experience and I sincerely thank each and every one of you for doing so.

Two more very special thanks: one to my awesome beta, Bev, thank you so very much, and two to Marianne, my sounding board, movie buddy, and co-worker, thanks for putting up with my artistic baloney and letting me run plot bunnies by you for second opinions.

And now, the epilogue!

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Minas Tirith was a beautiful city, as cities went, even with the depredations of the recent war. Legolas had been impressed, despite himself, when he had first gotten a good look at the city. It still impressed him, he who alternately longed for the sea and for the forests of his home, as he perched on the rail of the balcony high above the courtyard. From here he had an unobstructed view of the plains and would see anyone approaching long before they reached the city gates. There was no need for this, he knew. The citadel guards had everything well in hand, but wartime habits died hard, and he found himself unwilling to relax the vigilance to which he had become so accustomed.

He had been forever changed by the Quest. He would never again be the elf that had ridden into Rivendell to report Gollum’s escape. He feared that he would never again feel at home in his father’s halls. He feared most of all that the change in him would bring great pain to his father. Thranduil had lost his wife to an orc’s arrow when Legolas was but a babe, and now he would lose his only child to the call of the sea.

He would resist it as long as he could. He had already resolved to stay until Aragorn and Gimli had passed. They would be the longest lived of the Fellowship, save Mithrandir and himself. Unbreakable bonds had been forged between all the members of the Fellowship, but the strongest of these for Legolas were the existing bond with Aragorn that had only been strengthened by the trials they had endured and the new-found and equally strong bond that had formed between himself and Gimli. These two were as brothers to him and he would not be the one to sever those bonds. Only death would do that. He would stay until then.

He had also had a mystery solved for him. Mithrandir had pulled him aside while Aragorn was seeing to Frodo and Sam after their return from Mordor. He had discovered, during his sojourn at Isengard, that Saruman had been behind the attacks on Legolas and his father at Greenglade keep. He had sought to weaken the elves’ strength on Arda, and had seen eliminating the elven presence in Mirkwood as the means by which to accomplish that. He had mistakenly assumed that Thranduil would be an easier target than Elrond or Galadriel. Knowing Legolas as he did, Mithrandir had chosen to wait until everything was over to tell him, so as not to cause him alarm or distract him. Legolas had to admit, reluctantly, that he had been correct in this. Mithrandir had also assured him that he would send word to Thranduil detailing his discoveries.

Legolas forced himself to relax, willed himself not to wallow in his melancholy. Behind him, he heard the light-hearted chatter of the youngest of the hobbits and the rumbling response of the dwarf. A slight smile graced his fair face. Leave it to Pippin to ease his mood. He turned his attention back to the tower room and his brothers- in -arms.

“Well, now I suppose she might come at that, Gimli. After all, Lady Arwen is her granddaughter.” Pippin looked up as Legolas stepped back into the room. “Legolas, do you think that Lady Galadriel might come for the wedding?”

“I would think so, Pippin, unless she was somehow prevented.” The corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. He refused to tease Gimli about the dwarf’s infatuation with the lady of the Golden Wood, but he could not help being amused. Pippin nodded, encouraged.

“There, Gimli, you see? I bet that she’ll be here.” The dwarf looked very uncomfortable and Legolas took pity on him.

“Pippin, has there been any word on when Arwen and her family might be expected?” Legolas’ question set Pippin to relating rumors and gossip and Gimli shot Legolas a grateful look. Legolas gave him a slight smile in return. Very shortly after that, Pippin’s stomach reminded him that it was time for tea and he departed, leaving the elf and the dwarf alone.

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“All right, lad, something’s been bothering you all day. Will you talk to me or will I have to take my axe to you?” Gimli’s concern was couched in humor. He knew from experience that this was the best way to get Legolas to unburden himself without raising the elf’s considerable defenses. The elf frowned, and then sighed and sank down onto one of the tattered, but comfortable chairs that he and Gimli had appropriated and dragged into the room.

“Gimli, it is nothing that can be remedied. It must simply be endured.” Legolas stared down at his own hands, unwilling to meet the dwarf’s gaze. Gimli nodded abruptly.

“Aye, I thought as much. You’ve had that ‘lost’ look about you. You only do that when the sea longing is troubling you.” He moved to Legolas’ side and gripped the elf‘s shoulder. “Well, we can’t cure it, but we can drown it out a bit. Let’s join the hobbits for their tea. If they can’t make you laugh, nothing will. No arguments, now, come on with you.” Gimli hauled him to his feet and propelled him to the door. Chuckling in spite of himself, Legolas acquiesced.

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The remaining members of the Fellowship saw to it that Legolas had little time to brood over the next few days. Aragorn needed his counsel on this matter or that, the hobbits waylaid him for various reasons, and Gimli made certain he ate and insisted on teaching him a complicated game involving colored stones and an equally brightly colored slab of wood. Legolas was unsure as to whether he should strangle the lot of them, or be profoundly grateful that they cared so deeply. He tended toward the latter, but refused to admit it to the dwarf.

He had managed to slip away from everyone and had ascended to the roof of one of the higher towers. He lay on his back, watching the clouds and thinking of nothing in particular. The sea longing was still there, an ever-present whisper in the back of his mind, but it was quieter this day.

He needed solitude, needed to clear his mind, to prepare to be among elves again. He was so used to being in the presence of men and hobbits, not to mention Mithrandir and Gimli, that he felt disoriented at the thought of being in the company of elves once more. While he was looking forward to seeing Arwen and her brothers again, he was nervous about seeing Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Their sharp eyes would surely see his affliction, as he called it, and he had no desire to answer questions or be counseled. He wished only to enjoy what he could and endure what he must. It would be difficult enough to face his father, knowing that Thranduil would also see what troubled him with the first glance. He did not wish to go through it with anyone else.

It was at times like this that he missed his father the most. As much as he dreaded giving Thranduil yet another reason for sadness, he wished for nothing more than just to be in his father’s presence, that somehow everything would just be made right if Thranduil were there. Intellectually, he knew it for folly, that what had been done could not be undone, but still he wished it.

Firmly restraining himself from wallowing in fruitless wishes and self-pity, he cleared his mind and forced himself to relax. He watched the clouds drift by, eventually drifting into reverie and losing all track of time.

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Aragorn Elessar stood on the dais in the Citadel’s throne room, flanked by Faramir and Pippin. He was unaccountably nervous. He had faced orcs, wraiths, and the army of the dead without flinching, but found his hands shaking at the thought of seeing his beloved and her father, his foster father. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing himself to be calm. Pippin gave him a puzzled look, but for once said nothing. Faramir merely smiled and clasped his shoulder briefly before turning his attention back towards the doors that were now opening.

The elves filed in, dignified as always and formalities and pleasantries were exchanged, but Aragorn was only dimly aware of them. His mouth moved of its own accord, greeting his guests and replying to gracious comments from them. From the moment she had come into view, Arwen had occupied all his attention. After a few hazy minutes, he shook himself back to the matter at hand. His eyes swept the delegation, pausing for a moment before coming back to Arwen.

The formalities dispensed with, the delegation was invited to adjourn to a more private area where wine and food were waiting. Aragorn caught Faramir’s eye and indicated that he should accompany the delegation. Faramir nodded and smoothly did as his king desired. Aragorn quickly pulled Pippin aside.

“Pippin, do you know where Legolas is today?” he asked the hobbit in a soft voice.

“No, but I bet Gimli will. Shall I fetch him?” The hobbit was fairly vibrating with excitement.

“Yes, please tell him I need him here.” Aragorn wore a wide grin. Pippin’s curiosity was obviously piqued, but he had learned better than to ask questions when action was required. He bowed to Aragorn and left to carry out his mission. Aragorn hurried after his guests, the smile still on his face.

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Legolas came back to awareness with a start. Voices drifted up from the balcony below him.

“Legolas! Legolas, are you up there?”

“Blasted elf, haul your skinny arse down here! You’re needed, although Aule only knows why.”

Legolas stretched, climbed nimbly down to the edge of the roof and dropped lightly onto the balcony in front of Gimli. The dwarf jumped back, startled and glared at Legolas when the elf laughed merrily.

“Peace, mellon-nin! What do you need of me?” Legolas could not help the grin that still graced his fair face. Gimli snorted, eliciting another laugh from his elven friend.

“I need nothing, you beardless tree-hugger.” Legolas laughed again, and Gimli permitted himself a slight smile. “’Tis Aragorn who needs you.”

“Lady Arwen is here, and there’s a whole lot of elves with her, not just her kin. I expect he needs you for that, though he didn’t say exactly,” Pippin chimed in. Legolas sighed and rolled his eyes. He hated playing politics and the formality involved with diplomacy and well Aragorn knew it.

“He will owe me for this. He knows I hate this sort of thing.” His expression lightened then and he turned to Gimli, bowing in the most facetious manner possible. “I bid you farewell, oh mighty cleaver of rocks! I go to the aid of the king.” It was Gimli’s turn to laugh. They delighted in insulting one another, each deriving great amusement at the other’s wit. He clapped Gimli on the shoulder affectionately and then turned to Pippin. “Lead the way, Master Took.”

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Pippin led him to one of the antechambers of the throne room. The guards stationed there redirected them to Elessar’s private study. Pippin seemed to take this in stride, but it puzzled Legolas. The matter must be a serious one if Aragorn wished to speak with him in private first.

When they reached the door, Pippin knocked and Elessar’s voice bade them enter. Pippin bowed to Elessar and the king thanked him with a smile and then met Legolas’ eyes for a moment. Legolas’ puzzlement increased. Elessar certainly did not look troubled. If anything, his expression was reminiscent of the one he had worn as a child when he was up to his ears in mischief. The elf opened his mouth to say as much when a whisper of movement to his right caught his attention. He turned and froze, his words dying on his lips.

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Pippin blinked in surprise. He had not noticed the presence of the strange elf until Legolas turned and stared at him, his shock plain for any to see. The stranger stared back at Legolas, as if cataloging the archer’s features down to the last strand of his hair. Suddenly, the stranger’s mouth curved in a smile and the expression in his flint-hued eyes softened. An identical smile formed on Legolas’ face and he spoke a single word.

“Ada.”

The stranger’s smile widened and he opened his arms. Legolas fairly flew across the space separating them, throwing himself into his father’s arms.

Elessar laid a hand on Pippin’s shoulder and the hobbit jumped. The king chuckled softly and guided Pippin through the door ahead of him, shutting it quietly behind them.

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Thranduil held his son tightly, the dread he had felt for months fading quickly now that his beloved child was in his arms. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, releasing the last of his dark fears with it. Legolas shifted, tightening his grip on Thranduil for a moment, and then stepped back. Thranduil held him at arm’s length, wanting to take a good look at him, but not willing to release his hold just yet. He met his son’s eyes, and was shocked to see Legolas flinch and look away quickly. He raised a hand to his son’s cheek, drawing Legolas’ eyes back to his again.

“The sea calls you.” It was not a question. Legolas winced and nodded, biting his lower lip.

“Yes. Ada, I …..,” he faltered, unsure of himself. Thranduil’s hand cupped his cheek.

“It is all right, ion-nin. I was warned of this, as you were. It is not unexpected.” He drew Legolas into his arms again. Legolas rested his forehead on his father’s shoulder, drawing strength from him.

“I will not sail until the last of the Fellowship passes into Mandos’ Halls. I will not break the bonds that have formed between us.” His voice was slightly muffled by Thranduil’s shoulder. His father stroked his hair lightly.

“This, too, I expected. I knew that you would not leave Estel.” He paused a moment, and then continued,” Know this, then. I have decided to sail at such time as I am no longer needed in Eryn Lasgalen.” Legolas lifted his head up to look at him, shocked. Thranduil chuckled. “This surprises you? It should not. More and more of our people leave for the Havens every month. Some will stay, but soon they will be so few in number that they will no longer have need of a king. I have friends in Valinor already, and more will go there soon. Elrond will sail very soon now, as will Galadriel. What Celeborn will do, I cannot say, nor do I know what Elrond’s sons will do. Your Naneth’s parents sailed long ago, and her sister will leave soon, probably when Galadriel does. Had you decided to stay here, I would have as well, but that is no longer at issue.” He smiled and touched his forehead to Legolas’. “I am so very proud of you, Legolas.”

Legolas gripped Thranduil’s shoulders tightly for a moment, and then stepped back, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Come, Ada. I would introduce you to the remaining Fellowship.” He drew his father to the door of the study. “Oh, and Ada, please be polite to the dwarf. He is my friend.”