See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

Ch. 12 The Journey Home

Aldeon stared at the impassive faces before him, searching in vain for the slightest hint of warmth or acceptance. A stone wall would have made a better audience than these elves. Regardless of their cold apathy, he would have to speak to them, as a representative of the King.

"Many, if not all of you, are aware of the events of the past days and the implications upon this settlement. Your elders have admitted to acts of treason and betrayal against the King and will be brought back to the King to answer to such acts. Ambartur, Manveru, Meldon and Merimon have all been killed by the very Men that the elders were in conspiracy with. The folly of their decision in enlisting the aid of Men to bring down the King is now all too evident. What have you gained, other than death and an uncertain future for this settlement?" Aldeon regarded them coldly. "Let me assure you that the Easterlings had no intention at all to share Mirkwood with anyone. They wanted it for their own and had they gained control of our woodland realm, they would not tolerate the existence of elves, regardless of past promises made."

"They have aided us in the past, long before all this took place," an elf standing at the forefront of the group spoke up. "You cannot paint all Men as evil."

Aldeon regarded him with icy eyes. "No, perhaps not all Men are evil, but this particular group of Easterlings that your elders have been colluding with are evil personified. They have murdered Ambartur, Meldon and Merimon in cold blood. They held my own brother in brutal captivity while they used him as leverage to force the King's acquiescence to their demands. I have no doubt in my mind that had our warriors not stopped them, their annihilation of this settlement would be a certainty. The murder of Ambartur and his sons was meant as a warning to you all."

"And now, you will leave and abandon us to our fate, just as you have done in the past," the same elf spoke, bitterness ringing in his voice.

"Some of our warriors will remain and keep watch over the settlement. As to the fate of the settlement itself, it is the King's decision to make. However, I should warn you that the King does not look kindly upon those who seek to bring his downfall, especially if his own son is harmed in the course of such treachery."

"Yulion and the others had control of the affairs of this settlement," another elf spoke up. "We had no choice but to follow the path that they direct."

"Surely you can distinguish for yourself between right and wrong. Would you so blindly follow what your heart says is wrong? Did you at all protest the decisions made by the elders?" Aldeon swept his eyes about him, meeting coldly all those who stared back. "By your blindness and silence to their deeds, you too must share in their guilt. The King would have provided the reasonable protection you needed had you but asked. Instead, you turned to Men for aid. The King did not abandon you, you have abandoned the King and will therefore suffer the consequences of your action." He paused briefly. "Once the King has made his decision, you will be advised of it. In the meantime, I suggest that you all cooperate with the warriors who remain behind. You do not need to make things more difficult for yourselves than they already are."

With these words, Aldeon turned on his heels and made his way to the cottage where his brothers were preparing for their journey home. He was relieved, though not surprised, at the lack of resistance from the settlement elves to their fate. It was as if the life force had already been drained from these elves, and death was simply a formality that had not yet taken place. Aldeon forced back a shudder at the bleak thought, and was secretly glad that it was his father, and not him, who would have to decide on the fate of these pitiable beings.

Back in the cottage, he found Feren coaxing a cup of tea into their young brother. The younger elf appeared dazed with fever and pain and Aldeon again questioned himself as to the wisdom of embarking on the journey home so soon. Legolas was dressed in a borrowed tunic and leggings, probably ones of Feren's as they fitted him loosely. Earlier, they had lightly bandaged his back so that the clothing would not rub against the still raw welts, though it was obvious that they were still causing sufficient pain to the young elf.

"How are you feeling, Legolas?" Aldeon asked.

"I am fine, but Feren is trying to put me to sleep again," Legolas said weakly, as he grimaced at the taste of the tea. "This is almost as bad as Kala's brew."

Aldeon smiled at him. "It is probably for the best. You will feel less discomfort if you remain asleep." He draped a cloak around his young brother's shoulder. "You will ride with me, little one. And I expect you to let me know when you feel we need to stop for a rest. We are in no hurry."

"Yes, Aldeon," Legolas said, his words already beginning to slur. The sleeping draught was taking its effect.

Aldeon scooped him gently into his arms. "Let us go home, Legolas."

*****

The messenger arrived in the dark hours of the night, and gauging the importance of the message, his personal servant decided to risk intruding upon the King in his sleep chamber.

Sleep did not come easily to Thranduil this night, or the nights previous, for that matter, as his mind churned endlessly with thoughts of his youngest child whose fate remained so heartbreakingly unknown. Two days without news, whether from his sons or from the Easterlings. Two days that had been longer than an eternity, during which unbidden fears continuously gnawed at the delicate tendrils of hope that he clung onto so desperately. When the knock sounded on his door, echoing menacingly in the silence of the night, Thranduil felt himself going cold with fear. Here was news then that he had so desperately waited for and yet now that it was here, a part of him wanted nothing more than to ignore the insistent knocks, to hide from the reality of whatever news that was being brought to him.

In the end, it took all his considerable power to give sound to his words, "Come in."

The door swung open quietly and his personal servant stepped inside, followed closely by a travel-stained warrior.

"My lord, he comes with message from Lord Feren. I thought it may be important."

"Thank you, Kale." Thranduil heard himself saying, as distant as if spoken by another person. "What news do you bring from Lord Feren?"

"They have found Prince Legolas and are bringing him home," the weary warrior said quickly.

"Legolas -- he is alive?" Thranduil could not control the tremour in his voice.

"Yes, my lord, he is alive, but he is wounded."

Thranduil closed his eyes, feeling lightheaded and weak with relief that was washing through him in waves. Legolas was alive! His child was alive!

"My lord," Kale said hesitantly, watching his liege's pale countenance with growing concern. "Are you well? Should I send for the healer?"

Thranduil opened his eyes and waved him away. "No, no, I am fine. Send for Lord Tavaro and bid him to come to my chamber immediately. Go!" Turning back to the warrior before him, he gestured to the nearest chair. "You are weary, sit down."

"My lord," the warrior hesitated. One did not sit before the King.

"That is an order," Thranduil said, though the tone of his voice belied his words. Legolas was alive!

"Thank you, my lord," the warrior acquiesced gratefully.

"You said Legolas was wounded. Are the wounds serious?" Thranduil asked, voicing the concern that was at the forefront of his thoughts.

"I believe his injuries are serious. Lord Feren bid me to tell you that Prince Legolas will be safe in their care. When I left, the young prince was unconscious and Lord Aldeon and Lord Feren were tending to him. I am sorry, my Lord. I did not stay long enough to find out the full extent of the prince's injuries."

"And the traitors?"

"They are dead, killed by the Easterlings themselves."

"And the Men who held my son hostage?"

"Most are dead, killed when we rescued the young prince. Lord Feren allowed a few to escape with their lives so that they can return to their own kind with news of their failure. Lord Feren will provide a more detailed report upon his return."

Thranduil stood up and the warrior quickly followed suit, nearly stumbling in his haste. Thranduil smiled and pressed a hand onto the other's shoulder. "You did well. Thank you for bringing me this news. You have ridden long and hard. You may give me the remainder of the news when you have rested. Go, for you have well earned your rest."

The warrior bowed deeply. "My heart is gladdened by the news I bring. There was not one among us who did not pray for the safe return of the young prince."

"Thank you. I am indebted to you all for the life of my son," Thranduil said, his voice unaccustomedly tight.

The warrior bowed again and turned to leave, just as Tavaro hurried into the room, half-dressed in his night robes. Ignoring the other's salute, the prince looked beseechingly at the King, unable to give voice to his fears.

"Legolas is alive, and Aldeon and Feren are bringing him home," Thranduil said quickly and drew his trembling son into a hard embrace.

The warrior slipped out and closed the door silently behind him, leaving the King and his son to their privacy.

His shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs, Tavaro clung tightly to his father. Thranduil himself could no longer blink back his own threatening tears, even as a smile, the first one in days, slowly graced the corners of his mouth. Legolas was alive!

With an effort, Tavaro brought himself under control. He pulled back from his father's arms, wiping his face unabashedly on the sleeves of his robe. At the sight of this, the King's smile grew wider. Then he too, put his robe to the same use in the most unkingly manner.

Father and son both laughed, and the burden that laid so heavily upon their hearts lifted at the joyous sound, a sound that had been so conspicuously absent in the past days within these palace walls.

"He is well and unharmed?" Tavaro asked.

The smile faded from Thranduil's face. "No, he is wounded, though the messenger knew not the full extent of his injuries. I am told that they are serious, though I do not believe they are life threatening or surely Feren would have said so. We will have to await their return to find out." Thranduil frowned thoughtfully. "No, I will wait no longer. I have waited an eternity already. I refuse to remain idle further. Tomorrow I shall ride out to meet them."

"And I with you, Adar," Tavaro said quickly.

"The palace will be left unattended should both of us take leave," Thranduil reminded. "The counselors and advisors will not be pleased with what they perceive to be irresponsible abdication of royal duty."

"On the other hand, they will be so dizzy with delight to have complete run of the place while we are absent that they will soon forget their displeasure," Tavaro said with a grin. "Adar, we will be gone but for two, perhaps three days. Surely chaos cannot set in in so brief a spell."

There was a pause and Thranduil nodded. "You are right. Our absence will be brief. We will both ride out at first light tomorrow."

"With your leave, Adar, I will go and make the necessary arrangements now. You should rest, Adar. You have not slept for days and look it."

"Your lack of rest is showing as well, my son," Thranduil said gently.

Tavaro smiled. "I will be fine, Adar. Besides, I am in the prime of my youth. I do not need rest as the aged do."

Thranduil shook his head, smiling. "Be gone with you, before I am tempted to leave you behind to keep company with the advisors and counselors as punishment."

****

"Legolas, you must take in more water," Aldeon urged as he held the water skin to his brother. The latter drank obediently, but pulled away after a few sips, closing his eyes in exhaustion and pain.

Aldeon frowned and handed the water skin to Feren who knelt by their side.

"He is not doing well," Feren said, more of a statement than question.

"No, he is not. His fever is higher, and his wounds continue to seep blood," Aldeon said as he shifted fractionally so that his young brother could rest more easily in his arms. "I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of travelling before he is ready. We will ride no further today. We need to light a fire for the air is cold and he is in no state to suffer further chills."

"We are but about two days from the palace. Perhaps a rider should be sent ahead to bring back the healer and a litter," Feren said thoughtfully.

Aldeon nodded, his face grim. "Perhaps we should have done that sooner, but I had not thought that the journey would be so difficult for him. Send out your fastest rider now, Feren."

There was a slight stirring in his arms and Aldeon looked down to see his brother's fever bright eyes peering at him.

"How do you feel, Legolas?" Aldeon asked, pulling the edges of his brother's cloak closer around the heated body.

"Are we close to home yet?" Legolas inquired instead.

"Two days' ride away, but a rider is being sent ahead to bring back the healer and a litter. Your wounds are not healing as they should."

"Do not worry so, Aldeon. I will be fine," Legolas said tiredly.

Aldeon smiled half-heartedly at his brother's assurance. With Legolas, there was always cause for worry. Instead of voicing his concerns, Aldeon asked, "Would you take some food, Legolas? You have eaten very little the past days."

"No, I feel no hunger. And please, no more sleeping draughts. I do not need to feel any more disoriented than I already do."

"But you are in pain," Aldeon protested.

"I can deal with the pain," Legolas said stubbornly despite of his weakness. He reached out and grasped his brother's hand. "I need to feel your presence, and the presence of the others." His voice faltered as it dropped to a mere whisper. "When I sleep, I dream that I am back there, held by the Men. I do not want to be alone again."

Aldeon's heart clenched with pain for his young brother. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over the hot brows. "You are safe with us now, Legolas. Feren and the warriors have killed those who have harmed you. They will not touch you again."

"I know, Aldeon, but the fear haunts me so," the younger elf said, a trace of shame edging the weakened voice.

Aldeon cupped his brother's face gently. "Legolas, there is no shame in feeling fear as you do. I too would have been consumed by fear had I been in your predicament, as would many of our warriors."

Before he could say further words to comfort his young brother, Aldeon's attention was drawn by a sudden commotion. Before he could react, several warriors had taken a protective stance around him, weapons drawn. Among them was Feren himself.

"What is happening?" Aldeon asked, his body tense and his hold on Legolas tightened fractionally.

"Someone approaches," Feren said, his eyes scanning the trees methodically. "In fact, more than one. Take care of Legolas."

Before any of them could move, a shrill whistle cut through the air and the warriors relaxed, marginally. It was a signal used by the Mirkwood warriors. In the next instant, several elves dropped from the trees, and more filtered out into the clearing. Feren immediately recognized them as members of Thranduil's own personal guards, an elite group that accompanied the King each time he left the confines of the palace walls. The newly arrived elves saluted the princes.

"My lords, the King and Lord Tavaro are here," one of the elves announced.

Feren lowered his weapon, and the other warriors followed suit. "The King is here?"

Even as he spoke, he saw his father and Tavaro broke through the trees, both dismounting even before their horses had come to a complete stop. Other mounted warriors followed closely.

Ignoring the surprised salutes of Feren and the other warriors, Thranduil made his way quickly to where Aldeon crouched still with Legolas in his arms.

"How is he?" Thranduil had no eyes for anyone else at the moment as he drank in the sight of his youngest. Mindless of the less than regal carriage that he was exhibiting, the King dropped to his knees and enfolded Legolas into his gentle arms.

"Legolas, my child, my heart," the King whispered as he kissed first the brows, then his son's fevered cheeks.

"Ada," Legolas said brokenly as he clutched at his father's tunic. The tears came unbidden and spilled freely. "Ada."

"Shh, hush, I am here, my son. I am here," Thranduil soothed as he kissed his child again, brushing away the other's tears, even as his own threatened to brim over. "Thank the Valar, you are safe." He buried his face into the fine golden hair, breathing in the scent of his son like one drowning and desperate for his next breath.

The elves looked on as their liege continued to cradle his son, whispering soft words of comfort that could only be heard by the one in his arms. More than one warrior had to blink back the unfamiliar warmth that stung their normally stoic eyes as they witnessed the tenderness so unabashedly displayed by their King for all to see.

****
Legolas was at last asleep in his father's arms, worn out by tears and his own body's weakness. The King had yet to relinquish his protective hold on his youngest from the moment of his arrival, and clearly had no intention of doing so in the foreseeable future. Tavaro hovered close by, contending himself with holding onto his brother's now unresponsive hand.

"Tell me what happened," Thranduil commanded of his two oldest sons as he continued to stroke the golden hair of the one in his arms.

And so Aldeon and Feren recounted the events of the past days as their father and other brother listened on intently, interrupting now and then with questions of their own. When they at last finished, they watched the King expectantly.

"You both did well," Thranduil said at last. "Your brother owes his life to both of you." He looked over to where Yulion and others were held under guard and his brows darkened ominously. Because of their foolishness and arrogance, he had nearly lost his child. It was not something that he could easily forgive and he had no intentions of doing so. It was regrettable that others who had so harmed his son were now dead and beyond the reach of the wrath of his vengeance.

He looked down once more at his sleeping son, whose face was marred still by fading bruises and lines of pain. He brushed his lips against the hot skin. Legolas was safe in his arms and he felt again the wave of gratitude and relief that swept through him like an intoxicating drug. Legolas was safe, and for the moment, it was all that mattered.

TBC