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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my Lord."

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

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

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

"How goes the battle?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will he survive?" Thranduil asked.

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

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

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

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

"My Lord?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But he might not wake."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Many more hours at the least."

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

"Yes, my Lord."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thirsty. . . "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my Lord."

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

Padathir's body was never found.