-Tears Like Rain-

By: Cassia and Siobhan

 

 

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Rating: R
(for violence, child abuse and death)

 

Feedback:
cassia_a@hotmail.com and siobhancl2@aol.com

Spoilers:
Probably some for previous stories in our series, especially “Betrayal” and other LOTR stuff possibly.

 

Disclaimer: 
We own nothing of Middle Earth or any of Tolkien’s worlds or characters. Everything recognizable belongs to JRR Tolkien; anything else belongs to us. We have no permission to use these characters and are receiving no money for this story. This story was written for enjoyment only.  Please do not use our original characters or situations without asking first.  Thank you. 

 

 

Summary:
Mirkwood has suffered tragic losses in the Last Great Alliance, including her King. With the very survival of the kingdom at stake, Thranduil finds himself at deadly odds with his older brother Doriflen. When young Legolas becomes a pawn in his abusive uncle’s ruthless power games, the lies, deception and betrayal risk destroying more than just the young prince’s life.


Series:
Yes, part of the sprawling Mellon Chronicles Universe. :o)

The other stories in the MC series all come after this one chronologically and they are:
Captive of Darkness
Hope
Father’s Love
Never Alone
First Meetings
Change of Heart, Change of Mind
Exile
Return
Mistaken Identity
Vilya
Black Breath
Sickness
The Seventh Stone
Betrayal
Legolas’ No Good, Rotten Day
Priceless Treasure
The Stars of Harad
Dark Visions
Traitor
Escape from Mordor
Curse of Angmar
Only the Beginning
&
And So The End

 

This story can actually stand alone, although it will be far more meaningful to the reader if you have read the others first, especially Betrayal, but if you want to be adventurous and give it a whirl by itself, go right ahead!

 

 

WARNINGS:
Severe character torture ahead.  Seriously, I’m not kidding, you have been warned.  I suppose it’s no worse than some of our others, but Sio and I both decided an R rating was warranted just to be safe because this is a very angsty, very ouchy story that deals heavily with both physical and mental child abuse.  If this subject matter disturbs you, please do not read further. 
Also TISSUE WARNINGS have been given.  Stock up on your favorite brand of Kleenex now.  We are not responsible for any fried keyboards resulting from ignoring this warning. :o)


Timeline & Age:
This story is set very early on in the Third Age when Legolas is roughly the age equivalent of an 11-13 year old human.  A number of human years pass over the course of the story, although they don’t effect young elves the same as they would a mortal because elves age slower.  So Legolas starts this story at roughly 11-12 and ends it at roughly 13 if you want to get highly technical about it, although trying to stick human equivalents on elves is really so hard to do.
In our story we have it that Mirkwood elves are considered coming of age at about 13-14, similar to some of the older feudal cultures. 

 

 

Language Note:
We make frequent use of elvish family names in this story, and do not always translate them, so here they are for your convenience:
ion-nín = my son
Ada = Dad, Daddy
Adar = Father
Nana = Mom, Mamma
Naneth = Mother
Vede = Uncle

meleth-nín = my Love

hervenn-nín = my husband

Mellyn = friends (plural of Mellon)

All are canon elvish except for Vede, which Sio and I created. 
We sometimes use Lasgalen as the name of the wood-elf realm in Mirkwood.

 

Additional Disclaimers:

There is very little history given about Mirkwood/Greenwood or about Thranduil and his father Oropher in LOTR.  Some of the information that *is* given occasionally seems to contradict itself.  Taking this all into account Siobhan and I have chosen which parts we will use and which parts we will ignore.  The Mirkwood of this story is largely of our creation, as are its customs, ways and politics, so if you see things differently, that’s fine, know that it’s just our artistic take on things and we’re not trying to say it’s canon fact, of course it isn’t. 
Also, please note that we have once again opted to use the more familiar Mirkwood name, instead of Greenwood as it would actually have been called at this point in Middle Earth history.  Likewise, we are ignoring the fact that at the time this story takes place the wood-elves would technically have been dwelling far further south in Mirkwood, in the area later occupied by Dol Guldur, nearer to Lórien.  Please forgive us these small liberties and do not flame us for them.

Well, enough of the boring blah, blah, on with the story! :o)

 

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-Tears Like Rain-

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~*PART ONE*~
~An Uncertain Future~

 

 

The bright sun shone down through the leafy green canopy overhead, sprinkling diamonds of light onto the dew-covered grass of the glen.  Light, merry laughter filled the air. 

 

“Pin him Raniean!  Pin him!” 

 

“Come on Legolas!  Throw him off!”

 

Encircled by a ring of encouraging fellow students and under the carefully watchful eye of their instructor, two young elves were grappling on the grass with a considerable amount of skill for their age. 

 

Physically the two boys were very alike. Dressed in the simple green tunics and leggings of their class, with their golden hair was tied back from their faces in knots that were swiftly sliding free in the course of the struggle.  They might have been brothers, but they were not.  The one currently on the bottom with his back pressed hard against the earth was Legolas, son of Thranduil and prince of the woodland realm.  His companion, straddled on top and struggling to find a way to pin his opponent so that the match would be over, was the prince’s friend Raniean, son of Randomir.  Randomir was one of Thranduil’s top chieftains and leader of Mirkwood’s largest contingent of warriors.  At the moment however, that force was not at all as impressive as it sounded. 

 

The wood-elves were by heritage a pastoral people more concerned with singing in the trees, working with their hands and perfecting the skill of the hunt than the with the bearing of arms. 

 

That was changing.  Everything in Mirkwood was changing.  What had always been had been suddenly stripped away, revealing an uncertain future.  Nearly half the merry folk of the wood that had lived here in peace for countless centuries, were now gone.  Killed with their King in one desperate battle on the plains of Dagorlad far to the south.  The slain of that war were too many to even bring home, and the survivors too few.  Buried where they fell, the departed were not spoken of, but their memory lingered on underneath the trees like a raw wound; a painful lesson in marching out to war with a people unprepared. 

 

It would never happen again.  Prince Thranduil, now King Thranduil, returned from burying his father with the firm resolve that his people were never, *ever* going to be caught that unprepared again.  From now on Mirkwood would not ignore the need for a standing army.  From now on all Mirkwood elves would become trained warriors, from childhood up. 

 

The few truly skilled fighters among them were placed as teachers over classes with pupils ranging from older elves whose memories went back nearly as far as the forests themselves, to these classes, filled with the young wood-elves who were approaching the end of childhood and transitioning towards what humans would have called teenage years. 

 

Training the youth took special importance since they had the best chance to learn new things and learn them well.  Therefore, Maethor, or Warrior training as it was called, had become a mandatory part of every young male elfling’s life. 

 

The children took to it readily, accepting the regimes as part of their fun, as well as their schooling.  It was a matter of honor to get the most points on their skills in any given week and they practiced outside class as well as inside. 

 

Legolas and Raniean knew each other’s moves too well for this to be a quick match.  They often sparred together and were evenly matched for strength, so theirs was a contest of skill and ingenuity; the kind they both liked best. 

 

Legolas feinted that he was going to pull right and attempt a roll, a trick they both knew he often used when in danger of being pinned.  Raniean adjusted quickly, throwing his weight to that side and grabbing his friend’s shoulders tightly, his fingers bunching in Legolas’ tunic.  Suddenly, Legolas reversed tactics, grabbing Raniean’s left arm with both hands.  Trapping the other young elf’s leg with his own the prince arched his back and breached upward, using Raniean’s own weight and momentum against him.  Flipping them both over, the prince reversed positions so that Raniean was now on the bottom. 

 

Raniean was surprised by this turn of events for just the fraction of a second that Legolas needed to get inside his guard and put the other young elf into a lock.  The prince pinned his friend with his forearm across Raniean’s throat, straddling the other boy’s chest.  It was a match-ending move and they both knew it, still, Raniean hesitated a moment, testing his opponent’s strength. 

 

From his position Legolas could easily screw down on his arm and cut off the other boy’s air, but he wouldn’t do that in a sparing match, and not with his friend either.  Instead he just waited Raniean out.  “Anno?” he questioned, seeking the words that would end this.  “Yield?”

 

Raniean relaxed, accepting his defeat.  “Anno,” he sighed, disappointed, but not seriously upset. 

 

Legolas quickly removed his hold, rising off his friend and offering Raniean a hand up, which the other boy accepted. 

 

“Good match Legolas,” Raniean clasped his arm at the elbow to which Legolas responded in kind.  “I shall remember that trick of yours from now on.”

 

Legolas smiled and gave his friend’s arm one more squeeze.  “Then I shall have to try to come up with new ones!”

 

There was a momentary buzz of conversation among the two young elves’ classmates and friends as they rejoined the ranks.  Tegi, their teacher, patiently hushed the boys with a glance and summoned the next two partners who moved forward to take the field.  “Garilien, Brenyf, pair off.”

 

A small elf, who looked quite out of place among his fellows, clapped Legolas and Raniean on the back.  “Good match mellyn,” he complimented them both in a whisper, his smile bright.  “Tegi couldn’t even find anything to correct you on, did you notice?”

 

Raniean and Legolas smiled.  It was true; their teacher had not once interrupted the match to correct either boy’s form.  That was rare and it made them both proud, no matter who had won.

 

An hour later class wound up for the day and the young elves gathered their things.  Legolas changed somewhat hurriedly, pushing his class tunic into a bag after pulling on his finer silk shirt and hastily trying to brush the loose hair back from his face.  For most, classes were now over, but as Prince, Legolas had additional studies in law, language, policy and lore with a private tutor for an hour more.  He did not exactly dislike them, but Maethor training was definitely his preferred pastime. 

 

“Are you going to be at the archery ranges tonight?” Trelan asked his friend as Legolas cleaned up.  Trelan was still wearing his practice clothes.  He would change when he got home. 

 

“Maybe, I hope so,” Legolas nodded.  Archery was part of their normal regimen, but only twice a week, so those who favored it more, as the prince did, could attend optional sessions in their free time in the evenings.  “But father might have another meeting and then I’ll have to sit in.”

 

Trelan nodded.  “Raniean can’t go either, so I probably won’t then.”  He did not intend to take on the additional class if neither of his best friends were going to be there.  “Ran’s got his first meeting with his Saelon tonight!” the young elf said with obvious excitement. 

 

Legolas halted for a moment before slipping the strap of his bag over his shoulder.  “Raniean has been assigned a Saelon?  He didn’t tell me.”

 

“I’m sorry Legolas, it happened so fast,” Raniean had heard the last part of the conversation and came over.  He also was still in his class clothes; faint darker-green grass stains on the elbows and knees were a reminder of their earlier match.  A slight hesitancy to meet his friend’s eyes told that that statement wasn’t quite true. 

 

Legolas ignored what he saw and smiled instead.  “Ran, that’s wonderful!  Who did your father choose?  Are you allowed to tell?”

 

Raniean looked a little relieved, excitement taking over him again.  “Yes, it’s all right, I have been given leave to speak of it.  He chose his friend Cirlith, the hunter.”

 

“Garilien’s father?” Legolas asked and received an answering nod to the affirmative.  “That’s wonderful news.  Although I regret that we will not have as much free time together anymore.”

 

Saelon was simply the wood-elves’ term for mentor, and as part of their Maethor training each boy’s father, or mother if the father were no longer living, would eventually choose one for their son.  The Saelon took the boy under their wing like family and saw to additional instruction as necessary.  It was part of the new plan for the younger elves to gain as much diverse experience in their training as possible.  And it was also because with the way things now sat, far too many young elflings had been left entirely without a father to begin with. 

 

One elf might be a Saelon to several different students at a time, but the elflings didn’t usually know it because that part of training was considered a private affair, something special and uniquely tailored for each student.  As such it was not discussed much and although Raniean’s mentor had given him permission to tell, that was not always the case.

 

Trelan laughed a bit at Legolas’ statement.  “You never have any free time anyway Legolas, what with all your duties at home.  Did I ever tell you I was glad I wasn’t a prince?”

 

“Yes, Trelan, regularly,” Legolas rolled his eyes in amusement.  Trelan exaggerated as usual.  The prince may not have had as much spare time as his friends, but he was hardly as encumbered by duty as they sometimes made him out to be. 

 

Raniean was both happy and excited that he was able to move on towards the higher stages of instruction, but he was also still a little hesitant.  “Has your father said anything Legolas?  Have you asked...?”

 

Legolas forced a smile and shook his head, cutting his friend off.  “Ran, please, don’t feel like you can’t talk about it, it doesn’t bother me, really.  I’m happy for you.  My father... is very busy.  I haven’t wanted to trouble him.  If he is going to choose a Saelon for me he will do it when he feels the time is right.”  The prince defended a little too quickly and it betrayed the emotions well hidden underneath. 

 

“I know,” Raniean looked away.  “So many people depend on your father now Legolas, it’s different than when King Oropher was alive.  My Ada says it’s not easy to lead a broken people and try to change a whole way of life overnight.”

 

“No,” Legolas nodded.  “It isn’t, but I know that Adar can make it happen,” he said with a small glow of pride in his voice.  He loved and respected his father very much.  But he worried about him, and wished he could somehow be of more help in these troubled times.  The young prince saw the lines appearing on his father’s smooth brow and the graveness that was stealing the spring from his step.  Legolas had lost a grandfather, but Thranduil had lost his father and his King, leaving on his shoulders the weight of an entire kingdom. 

 

“I don’t mind that it takes a lot of his time, I just wish I could help more,” Legolas sighed slightly. 

 

“What about your Uncle?” Trelan tilted his head to the side questioningly.  “Surely Lord Doriflen could help ease his burden a little, he *is* his brother.”

 

Legolas shrugged.  His family was confusing sometimes, how could he try to explain it?  “He does, but he doesn’t always seem happy about what he’s doing.  And sometimes Adar doesn’t seem to want to let him help either... Naneth says they’re both still trying to deal with losing Grandfather and I should give them time and not worry about it.  So I think picking a Saelon for me is the least of Ada’s worries.”  Legolas shrugged, trying to pretend that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care.  He felt that was the grown-up way to handle his disappointment.  

 

The truth was that they suspected most of their class had been assigned individual Saelons by now.  Although the semi-secrecy surrounding it was intended to keep the boys who had moved on to that stage of training from picking on the ones who had not, some of the less considerate were not above voicing random, general comments meant to let the others know what they thought.  There was a certain personal stigma attached to the idea of not being thought ready enough by ones own parents, whether the world at large knew about it or not. 

 

Trelan gave Legolas a small, sad smile of understanding and squeezed his arm.  “I know,” he said softly.  “My Ada doesn’t think I’m ready yet either.”  He sighed.  “At least you *can* move on when your father gets around to it.  I can’t even get enough points to pass muster.”

 

Legolas let the shadow of disappointment slip away from him and focused his thoughts on helping his friends. 

 

Raniean was shaking his head.  “There’s nothing wrong with your skills Trelan, you haven’t passed only because Tegi won’t give you enough sparing time for you to have a chance to qualify.  He’s afraid some of the others would try to take advantage of you.  You know how vicious a few of them can be when they want to win.”

 

Trelan resisted a momentary flare of temper, balling his fists and looking down.  “I know.  I’m small but I’m not helpless!”

 

“Of course not!” Legolas soothed his friend quickly.  “We’ll just have to keep working amongst the three of us so that you can convince Tegi to give you a shot at the bigger boys.  They will seriously underestimate you and that will give you quite an advantage.”

 

Raniean laughed.  “Just don’t beat them up too bad.”

 

Trelan smiled, his anger forgotten, or at least, put aside for now.  “Well I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything.”

 

Legolas glanced up at the sun, suddenly realizing how much time they had spent talking.  Most of the others had already left and the glen was empty.  “Oh dear, I’m going to be late!  I’ll see you both tomorrow!” he called as he hurried back towards home, his soft leather boots slapping soundlessly against the glistening grass.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

King Thranduil sat with his head bowed studiously over his desk, scribbling swiftly away on a piece of parchment.  He wrote several lines only to pause, strike out half the letters, and begin all over again.  He did not react when a slender set of hands dropped down onto his tense shoulders, rubbing small circles into the stiff muscles.  He knew that his wife had entered the room, even though she had not made a sound.  He could sense her presence and it lent a certain measure of calm to his fraying nerves. 

 

“Trouble?” Elvéwen let her chin rest lightly on the top of her husband’s head as she stood behind his chair, eyeing the marked up parchment on the desk.  Her dark hair slid over her shoulders and brushed lightly against the Elvenking’s cheek, mingling with his own golden locks and carrying with it the soft smell of woodland flowers.

 

“Always,” Thranduil sighed, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to stem a headache.  “Esgaroth is having a bad year, there’s a famine.  They’re sending to us for aid and I have none to give them.  Indeed, we almost need *their* aid as much as they are now saying they need ours.  I can’t break trust with them, but what am I supposed to do?  Our store houses, our treasuries, everything is empty.  I don’t even know how we’re going to get *our* people through the winter.  How do I squeeze anymore blood from this turnip?” 

 

The elven King let his head drop down onto his hands.  He wished he knew how his father would have handled this.  Oropher was a good elf, a good father and a good King, but while publicly outgoing with his subjects, in his personal life he had always been a very private individual.  Thranduil stood by his father’s side for many years, but the King’s councils were always his own and he did not share them with his sons.  Oropher had carried all his wisdom and insight into ruling this land to his grave with him, and Thranduil felt uncomfortably like he was floundering in a job that he knew far too little about. 

 

His brother’s caustic opinion of him and his abilities did not help much.  Since Thranduil had returned from Dagorlad a handful of decades ago, Doriflen had done nothing but fault-find with the way he handled everything.  Thranduil supposed that his brother’s jealousy came as no great surprise; he had not been able to look to his older sibling for friendship or support since they were young and Doriflen had started changing.  Thranduil made Doriflen a vice-regent in an attempt to stem some of the ill will between them that Oropher’s leaving the throne to the younger of the two brothers had caused.  Unfortunately it seemed to be but a small bandage on a festering wound. 

 

Sadly, Doriflen was not the only one voicing rising doubts about Thranduil’s ability to rule.  More and more often the Elvenking was beginning to hear whispers of it from his subjects and he was hard pressed to understand where the dissatisfaction was coming from and what exactly he was doing wrong, besides perhaps *everything* which at the moment seemed entirely possible. 

 

He swore to himself that he was never going to leave his son in a position like this.  He was going to make sure that Legolas was prepared to take the throne should he ever be called upon to do so.  Even immortals it seemed could not afford to take life for granted. 

 

Thinking of Legolas made Thranduil glance towards the angle of the sunlight filtering in through the window.  He sighed again.  “Legolas will be finishing with his tutor soon.  I had wanted to take him to archery tonight, but now it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to do so.”

 

Elvéwen nodded slowly, wishing she could ease all the burdens behind her husband’s tired gaze.  “I will take him, but he is old enough to go alone.”

 

Thranduil snorted softly.  “Of course he is, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him when all the other boys’ fathers are there to watch them,” he murmured with regret.  The King wondered bleakly if everyone promised themselves they were going to be different with their children than their parents were with them, only to end up passing on all the same little heartaches.  Yet he knew his son would understand.  Legolas always did. 

 

Elvéwen sat down in the chair beside Thranduil, seeking his eyes.  “If you appointed Legolas a Saelon...”

 

Thranduil’s gaze clouded.  “I don’t need someone to pay attention to my son because I cannot!” he snapped slightly before he caught himself and let his frustration slip away before speaking again.  “He’s not ready yet.  He’s just a boy.”  After Legolas had a Saelon, the next step forward, when the Saelon deemed it time, was for the young elf to take part in the border patrols with the regular warriors.  Thranduil couldn’t think of letting go of Legolas like that just yet... not when other losses were still far too near his heart.

 

“He’s not ready, or you’re not?” Elvéwen questioned softly.  Her voice held no accusations, only gentle questioning.

 

“Both,” Thranduil turned his attention back to his parchment.  He had to get this finished.  “Besides, who would I trust?  Lately it seems that even those I thought my friends doubt me, how could I expect them to mentor my son?  Who do you entrust with the future of a kingdom...?” 

 

A soft sigh and shake of his head signaled that their conversation was drawing to a close.  Elvéwen knew her husband’s body language well. 

 

“No, Véa, I will not assign Legolas a Saelon yet.  It is a good plan, but I fear some of the others rush their sons forward too fast.  Maethor training is important, but I did not implement it to steal our children’s childhood from them.”

 

Elvéwen nodded.  That she understood.  Even in these difficult times children still needed to be children.  She just wished sometimes that Thranduil would tell Legolas the reasons for which he did things.  She feared that although their son loved his father, he did not understand him or his actions.  Glancing at Thranduil, whose head was now bent over his work again, his attention focused, she feared the same was true of his understanding of his son. 

 

Unheard and unseen outside the closed door, a shadowed figure slipped away.  He had heard enough.  Thranduil was a fool, and was playing right into his hands. 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Elvéwen was not able to take Legolas to archery practice that evening after all.  Several of the elven lords who sat on the council with Thranduil had cornered the Elvenking into an emergency meeting on the situation in Esgaroth.  Most were opposed to trying to lend any aid when they themselves were in such dire straits and a few were hinting not so gently that Mirkwood needed to look to its own concerns.  After all, look what had happened *last* time they put their lot in with outsiders and humans. 

 

Thranduil however, knew that their survival was going to still depend on their friendship and old ties with their neighbors, but trying to make anyone else see that was painfully difficult.

 

Elvéwen could not leave him to face them alone, but neither did she wish to make Legolas sit in on another council meeting which she knew her son silently abhorred.  So she suggested he go with Raniean’s family. 

 

Legolas did not tell her that Raniean was not going tonight because he knew it would only make her feel bad.  He could already see the apology behind her eyes and he didn’t want that.  It was no hardship for him to go alone; he had become used to doing things by himself.  He was simply relieved to not have to sit indoors all evening and listen to the older elves bicker.  He didn’t understand why they couldn’t see his father was right.  In his young mind, his father was always right. 

 

Strapping on his quiver and slinging his bow over his shoulder, Legolas made his way towards the archery ranges where the classes were held.  They were a little over a mile away from the palace and he could cover that quickly. 

 

His brisk trot out through the gates halted slightly when he saw a familiar figure waiting just outside. 

 

“Vede,” he smiled and greeted his father’s brother with the elvish term for uncle.  “You aren’t in the council with Ada?”

 

Doriflen smiled somewhat ruefully and shook his head.  He wore his darker, chestnut-hued golden hair loose around his face, unlike the braided hairstyles favored by his brother and nephew.  “No, they don’t want me around.  I just get in the way.  But then, perhaps that’s not so bad, more interesting things to do out here, right?  Where are you off to?”

 

Legolas chuckled.  “Well I think so.  I’m on my way to archery practice,” he gestured to his bow.

 

“So I see,” the elder elf nodded, looking around.  “All alone?” he acted slightly disturbed.  “When was the last time your father made it with you?”

 

Legolas shrugged.  He knew exactly how many months it had been, but didn’t want to talk about it.  “A while.  You know how hard it is on Ada right now.”

 

“True enough, true enough,” Doriflen agreed.  “Well do you mind if I go with you?  I hear you’ve got some real skill with a bow, I should like to see that.”

 

Legolas flushed somewhat pleasantly.  “Of course you can come if you want to Vede, but I’m not really that good, not yet.”

 

“Ah, but I’m sure you are,” Doriflen shook his head, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they walked off together. 

 

Despite the sham of a title Thranduil had given him, Doriflen was not usually welcome at important meetings of state.  Thranduil said he tended to say things he ought not, but Doriflen knew he was just being spiteful, flaunting the fact that his younger brother had somehow weaseled their father into thinking he would make the better King. 

 

Well, if the state of the kingdom right now was any indication, that was a pretty poor assumption.  Doriflen knew he should be King, it was his right... and soon enough, it would be a reality.  He was going to break his brother for the wrongs done him and take back what was his.  But for the present, the elder elf put to good use the extra time he had on his hands right now to watch and observe. 

 

Tension was high in Mirkwood.  Things were ill and people wanted someone to blame.  It was the perfect climate for him.  It was all too easy to stir the flames of discontent.  The common people could be so easily swayed by the simplest of suggestions... But to truly break Thranduil, Doriflen knew he had to get much closer to home than just the people. 

 

His brother’s family was a tight little unit, but he saw where the cracks lay.  It wasn’t hard to single out Legolas as his way inside.  The boy was young, naïve and trusting.  He was at an age where he silently craved the adult attention he was not receiving.  When he was at home Legolas was almost always alone.  It was perfect really. 

 

Perfect. 

 

Legolas knew none of the dark thoughts going through his uncle’s mind.  He could only see the bright smiles he was given and the appreciative way in which Doriflen watched him at practice.  Neither Raniean or Trelan were there of course, but Legolas loved the sport for itself and did not miss them too much. 

 

After practice on the way home, Doriflen was full of praise and questions, letting the young elf talk on and on about the intricacies of his favorite subject in a way that usually made people’s eyes glaze over pretty quickly.  Doriflen never seemed to lose interest and Legolas ended up talking much more than he usually did until he caught himself and apologized. 

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to chatter at you so Vede.”

 

Doriflen smiled amiably.  “But I enjoy it nephew.  I am glad you feel so free with me.  It is good because...” he stopped walking and turned to face Legolas, who obligingly did the same.  “Because I have something important to tell you.”

 

Legolas raised his eyebrows lightly in question.  “Oh?”

 

Doriflen nodded.  “Your father has asked me to be your Saelon Legolas.”

 

Legolas smile brightened.  His father hadn’t forgotten!  He *had* chosen a mentor for him after all.  The young prince really didn’t know his uncle very well.  Until this point the elder elf hadn’t had much to do with him, but Legolas had no reason to dislike his uncle and after tonight it seemed rather a pleasant arrangement. 

 

“Then I am very honored Vede, I will do my best to make you both proud.”  Legolas bowed slightly in the fashion of the elves. 

 

“I know you will Legolas,” Doriflen smiled.  A flicker of something deep and dark skittered just under the surface of his friendly gaze, but if Legolas even saw it he would not have understood its meaning. 

 

“Am I permitted to speak of it?” Legolas wanted to know if he could tell his friends or not.  Either way was all right with him, he was just glad his father really did think he was ready. 

 

“No, Legolas, I would rather not.  Let’s keep this between us for the present.  Mirkwood is going through some difficult times, and your father is not sure whom to trust.  He doesn’t wish there to be any ill feelings stirred up because he chose his brother for you rather than one of the other elves.  We wouldn’t want to cause him anymore headaches, would we?”  Doriflen’s beguiling smile masked his true motives far too well.

 

Legolas nodded easily, he understood.  He would never want to cause his father more problems.  “Very well then Vede, it shall remain between us.  But... thank you.  For accepting.”  The boy smiled shyly. 

 

Doriflen laughed softly, shaking his head as they started walking again.  “Oh the pleasure is all mine Legolas, believe me.”

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART TWO*~
~Enter Night~

 

 

 

Doriflen quietly insinuated himself into almost all aspects of Legolas’ life after that.  He was careful however, to avoid letting his actions be noticed by the boy’s father or mother.  Thranduil was not so hard to avoid, Elvéwen on the other hand could be quite a nuisance to his plans sometimes simply because she spent far too much time with the child for his likening.  Still, Doriflen had the capability of being supremely patient when it suited his purposes. 

 

Legolas had to trust him first.  Then the true molding could begin. 

 

It was almost two weeks later that Legolas first began to see a possible darker side to his new training. 

 

Legolas’ tutor had left him about an hour before and the young prince was stewing in his rooms.  Today hadn’t gone too well.  His instructor, Lord Dridian, informed him he was not paying enough attention to his studies and said that he was going to talk to his father. 

 

The door opened and Legolas half-expected it to be his father, but it was not, it was his uncle. 

 

Doriflen had met Dridian in the hall when he tried to see the King.  His brother was busy he said, but if it concerned Legolas he would take the message to him later. 

 

Thranduil would never get the message. 

 

The elder elf walked across the room, running his fingers across the pile of scrolls and haphazardly stacked books that Legolas had shoved to one side of his table in frustration. 

 

“Your father is not pleased with Lord Dridian’s report of you Legolas.”

 

Legolas looked down.  He hadn’t suspected he would be.  “I’m sorry Vede, I don’t *mean* to vex him so much.  It’s just all the names and dates and facts... they’re so hard to remember sometimes.  I know that’s no excuse though,” he added quickly. 

 

Doriflen nodded slowly, gesturing for Legolas to come to him.  The prince did. 

 

“I told your father I would help make sure your marks improved and he agreed.  So...” Doriflen picked up one of the scrolls near the top.  “Is this the one Dridian was using today?”

 

Legolas nodded.  “I’ve been going over it again since he left, I will do better next time.”

 

“Well then, we’ll go over it again now.  I will ask you questions, you will answer them.  All right?”

 

Of course Legolas agreed, and so Doriflen worked his way down the page, quizzing the younger elf on every nuance of the text and the information contained therein. 

 

To his credit Legolas really had done a comparable job of memorizing the information but inevitably he eventually fumbled on a question and got the answer wrong.

 

Legolas started and yelped slightly in total surprise when his uncle slapped him firmly across the face with an open hand. 

 

Doriflen liked the startled, pained look in the younger elf’s eyes.  He was sure his brother was far too lax with the child for Legolas to understand physical punishment.  So he reversed his swing, backhanding his nephew the other direction. 

 

Legolas backed up a few paces, utterly shocked and confused.  Both his cheeks were flushed and hot and he pressed the back of his right hand against one, looking to his uncle with wide, questioning eyes. 

 

Doriflen’s face was impassively neutral.  He acted as if nothing unusual had happened.  “That was the wrong answer, try again.”

 

Legolas wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he collected his thoughts and tried to figure out which part he had erred on.  He spotted it without much difficulty and corrected himself, looking hesitantly to his uncle to see if he was right this time. 

 

Doriflen smiled and nodded.  “That’s correct.”  He moved on again, posing another question, and another until the prince missed one again.

 

Legolas didn’t make a sound this time but he still started sharply when his uncle struck him.  He unconsciously pulled away a step, although it did no good because Doriflen just followed him.  He tried to correct himself again, but it was a question he was a little uncertain about and it took him several tries to get it right. 

 

Doriflen struck him for each wrong answer and the prince’s eyes glistened with a dangerous amount of moisture by the time he finally got the right one.  Legolas’ breath came quick and fast, wobbling slightly.

 

“All right, enough study for today,” Doriflen abruptly ended their session, rolling up the scroll and setting it aside.  “We’ll do more later.  I don’t think you’re prepared enough right now.”  He brushed Legolas’ flushed cheek with one hand, his thumb skimming under the prince’s eye and catching the un-spilt tear.  “Tears are for children Legolas, you’re an adult now.  Please act like one when we’re together.”  The reprimand was not exactly biting, but it was close. 

 

Legolas nodded, blinking his eyes dry quickly. 

 

Doriflen’s fingers tightened on his chin a little.  “Say ‘yes, sir,’ when I give you an order Legolas.”  His voice was deceptively soft. 

 

“Yes, sir,” the younger elf responded dutifully.  “But... Vede?” his confused eyes were questioning.  “Why...?” he couldn’t figure out what exactly he was asking.

 

Doriflen smiled somewhat condescendingly.  “Legolas, Legolas, you have so much growing up to do!  Don’t take it personally.  I am here for a purpose, to help you learn better.  Pain is a teacher, it molds us, shapes us, hardens us to face the future.  When you first took up a bow you hurt afterwards, did you not?”

 

Legolas nodded slowly.  Yes, that was true.  He often ached after practice.  And if they weren’t careful when sparing, the boys could hurt each other or themselves pretty badly.  He understood the concept that if it hurt, you wouldn’t make that mistake again.  He supposed he had better stop being such a big baby about this. 

 

“Never shy from pain, especially the pain I give you,” Doriflen nodded approvingly when he saw the boy rationalizing it all in his mind.  Legolas was so eager to please, and that made him supremely pliable.  “It is for instruction and for your own good.  Do you understand that nephew?”

 

Legolas nodded.  “Yes, Vede, I’m sorry.  I will do better.”

 

~*~

 

Over the days that followed, Doriflen continued to ‘help’ Legolas with his studies, relying heavily on this form of instruction.  Although he quickly deemed that bruises on his face would draw far too much attention.  Therefore he took to quizzing Legolas with a switch instead, applying a single stroke to the boy’s shoulders or backside for each wrong answer.  There, the bruises he left his nephew with did not show.

 

Legolas’ studies did improve, since he now lived in fear of getting a wrong answer.  Lord Dridian complemented him on his progress, but was privately puzzled by the boy’s subtle change of attitude.  Although the tutor had sometimes complained of a lack of attention, Dridian had always found his young charge inquisitive and outgoing; a bright mind full of questions.  But Legolas asked fewer questions now and seemed slightly withdrawn from their discussions.  The boy could almost always cite exactly the right answers from the text, but he no longer elaborated on them, no longer tried to use his own logic and imagination as the source of those answers, preferring instead to stay strictly with whatever he felt were the safe or expected replies. 

 

Dridian couldn’t complain because the boy’s knowledge was exemplary, but still... it was odd. 

 

Legolas knew he shouldn’t fear his training, but he slowly began to dread lessons with his uncle.  The older elf was becoming more and more demanding, which usually meant that Legolas was left hurting. 

 

Yet even so, nothing prepared Legolas for the evening when Doriflen summoned him to his chambers.  He should have felt uneasy when his uncle locked the doors, but he was still far too trusting. 

 

“You avoided me today Legolas.”  Doriflen turned to the younger elf and Legolas backed up a pace.  He didn’t like what he saw in his uncle’s eyes.  There was a strange light in them that wasn’t always there.  It sent a funny shiver down the prince’s spine. 

 

“No, sir, at least, I did not intend to...” Legolas started to shake his head, but was stopped when Doriflen backhanded him.  The boy flinched but had become accustomed to that kind of treatment. 

 

“Do *not* contradict me,” Doriflen warned.  “Now we always have lessons after your tutor leaves.  So why didn’t we today?”

 

Legolas was surprised to realize what this was about.  “I-I thought you were too busy today Vede.  I waited for you, but you did not come.”

 

The prince expected the blow that followed.  He could tell his uncle was angry, and it frightened him. 

 

“And am I always supposed to come running to you?  If you know you are supposed to do something you do it Legolas!  You don’t wait for others to hand it to you.  If I am not there you should have come looking for me!” 

 

“Yes sir, I will remember that,” Legolas promised, trying to keep his heartbeat steady.

 

“I’ll make sure you do,” Doriflen countered darkly and the younger elf felt a zing of fear shot through him, turning his blood cold. 

 

“Come here.  Come *here*!”  Doriflen grabbed the boy’s wrist when he did not obey immediately.  He shook Legolas hard.  “You’re not making this any easier on yourself Legolas, you obey me when I speak and you do it instantly, or you will suffer the consequences, do you understand?”

 

Legolas could do nothing but nod in terror.  His throat had closed off and left him no voice. 

 

Doriflen flung Legolas facedown over the end of his bed and pulled off his belt.  There was no warning, no preamble; he simply started lashing the boy. 

 

Legolas jerked and started, unused to this new kind of unrestrained abuse.  He tried to get up off the bed, tried to get away from the sudden, terrible pain, but Doriflen caught him and flung him back down again. 

 

“You do not run and you never, *EVER* fight me!” Doriflen punctuated that command with a hail of forceful blows, while he pressed Legolas down so hard that the boy’s face was half-smothered in the bedclothes, leaving the young prince dizzy and faint. 

 

“I’ll tie you down if I have to, but believe me Legolas it only gets a hundred times worse for you after that!” he threatened darkly.  Doriflen liked pain.  He liked to see people in pain, and he liked to play twisted games with Legolas’ mind.  But right now he was also angry.  Thranduil had somehow managed to push through the limited measures he had proposed for the aid of Esgaroth.  Not only that, he had actually swayed some of the councilors into believing it was the best thing for them all.  This did *not* fit well into Doriflen’s plans and he was angry with his brother.  Yet there was no way he could vent that anger on Thranduil... so tonight Legolas would pay the price instead. 

 

Realizing he had no choice, Legolas stopped struggling and lay as still as he was able, squirming only when the pain became bad and allowing his uncle to beat him without restraint. 

 

It was not the worst beating Legolas would receive from his uncle’s hands, but it was the first and it left the boy weak and in a world of pain. 

 

When Doriflen finally released him that night he made Legolas thank him for the punishment, which the prince did, through hitching sobs.  Then he sent the boy back to his own rooms with a warning. 

 

“I trust you *will* remember this Legolas.  And that you will not shame your training.  Everything that passes between us falls under the bond of Saelonship.  You understand that Legolas?  This is just between the two of us.  I will never shame you by speaking of what you make me do to you to others, and you will not shame yourself or your family by weighing them down or breaking the trust of your training.”

 

Legolas nodded shakily and promised to remember before fleeing back to his rooms to bury his burning face in his pillows and let them receive the torrent of his confused and hurting tears. 

 

He hadn’t known.  He hadn’t known that going forward with his training would be like this.  No wonder students weren’t allowed to talk to one another about their Saelons!  He wondered if Cirlith was this hard on Raniean.  He hoped not.  The young prince felt incredibly betrayed that his parents would submit him to this, yet at the same time he felt horrible for even feeling that way.  Certainly he knew they loved him, they were wiser than he was, and if his father felt this was what he needed, then the fault must lie in himself. 

 

Slowly, Legolas’ breathing calmed, although the pain remained.  It was a lesson, like his other lessons, he had to think of it that way; he had to be rational and accept correction when he erred.  He sighed into his now damp pillow.  He would simply have to try harder.  If he made fewer mistakes, he would not be punished like this again.  Or so he hoped. 

 

Physically and emotionally exhausted, the prince eventually fell asleep.

 

 

~~~~~~~~
Something’s wrong, shut the light,
Heavy thoughts tonight
and they aren’t of snow white.
Dreams of war, dreams of liars,
Dreams of dragon’s fire
and of things that will bite.

Sleep with one eye open,
Gripping your pillow tight
Exit light
Enter night...

-- Metallica
~~~~~~~~

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

The next morning was bad.  Legolas hurt terribly.  When he bathed he could see that his uncle had left him with multitudes of bruised welts across his shoulders and backside.  The water stung and he didn’t stay in it long.  As he gingerly pulled on his class clothes he took a moment to be glad that he had some time ago convinced his father that he was too old to be having servants bathe and dress him every morning.  These marks he bore today would have been too humiliating to explain should anyone have seen. 

 

He arrived on time for class, which was a kindness at least, but moaned inwardly when he realized they were going to be sparing again today.  He did not feel up to it at all.  To make matters worse, he was paired with Nynd, one of the bigger boys who was often reprimanded for over-aggressive behavior in matches. 

 

Legolas was good, but he wasn’t compensating well for his injuries and after only a few painful minutes, Nynd pinned him hard.  Legolas’ hurting back was ground into the rough dirt below, making the young elf grit his teeth. 

 

“Anno,” the prince gasped out, not caring if he lost at this point, just wanting to be let up.

 

Nynd pretended he hadn’t heard the soft word and pressed down harder.  It was the first time he had beaten Legolas in a match and he was enjoying it.  “What?”

 

“Anno!” Legolas’ voice was jagged and he struggled to be released.  Pain flared, making his breathing short. 

 

“Nynd!” Tegi was beside his two students now.  The dark-haired elf’s green eyes flashed in warning. 

 

Nynd quickly let up when their teacher said his name.  Rocking backward and giving Legolas one more small, triumphant shove as he rose to his feet. 

 

“Are you all right Legolas?” Tegi was puzzled by Legolas’ poor showing today, but the boy was breathing heavily and his voice before had held a strangely desperate edge that made the teacher think Nynd must have been hurting him more than they could see. 

 

Legolas was not all right, but of course he didn’t say so.  Instead he nodded, giving a weak attempt at a smile.  “Yes, sir, I’m sorry.”

 

“What’s the matter *you’re highness* not used to a few bumps?” Nynd chuckled unpleasantly.  He disliked Legolas simply because the boy was the prince. 

 

Tegi was scowling.  He was not impressed.  Several of the boys’ behavior routinely dismayed their instructor.  Nynd son of Melryn and his cousin Amon son of Amilon were two of the worst offenders. 

 

“Nynd, a match is not just about winning, but about *how* we win,” Tegi tried for the fifty-millionth time to get that across.  “I am not going to give you points for victory unless you show you can gain it in a responsible manner.”  He let that sink in for a moment before clapping his hands.  “All right then, clear the field.  Next pair, Raniean and Trelan, let’s go!”

 

After class was done, Legolas did not change his clothes as he usually did.  He did not want to take his shirt off around his classmates right now. 

 

“You don’t have lessons today?” Raniean drifted over almost as soon as class ended. 

 

“No, I do, but I’ll change at home,” Legolas dismissed it easily.  “You and Trelan looked really good today.  Tegi’s got to give you more field time now Trelan, you were good!”

 

Trelan pretended to scowl. “I didn’t *win*,” he glanced at Raniean.  “But at least I know that you didn’t let me win either.”

 

“Never worry about that,” Raniean assured with a teasing smile.  “But Legolas is right, you did really well.  It was almost a fluke that I beat you.”

 

Trelan smiled and shrugged, then turned his attention back to the prince.  “Legolas... are you all right?  Did Nynd hurt you?”

 

Legolas bit his lip, fighting the flush that wanted to creep up his cheeks.  “Not much, really.  He just pinned me kind of hard, I couldn’t breathe too well.”  It wasn’t entirely the truth, but it was all Legolas could give them.  “I feel like such an idiot over the way that ended up.  I’m just having a really bad day I think.”

 

“I’m sorry Legolas,” Raniean said, wishing he could do more than that.  Genuine concern showed in both his friends’ eyes.  “Is there anything we can do?”

 

Legolas smiled and shook his head.  “No, it’ll be all right.  Well... actually, would you walk home with me?”  The prince didn’t want to be alone just at the moment, he wanted someone to smile with, he wanted something to take his mind off his problems at home. 

 

“Of course!” Trelan agreed for them both and all three boys headed back towards the palace. 

 

“So do you want to tell us what’s making today so bad?” Raniean asked presently, once they were away from the training grounds. 

 

Legolas didn’t shrug because that would have hurt, but he imitated one pretty close.  “Not really.  Just... family matters.  You know.  How are things going with your Saelon?” It was a question that had been burning Legolas’ mind for a little while now. 

 

It was Raniean’s turn to shrug.  “All right.  Cirlith’s a good teacher, I like him.  He’s not overly patient though.”  He chuckled.  “I think I drive him crazy sometimes, but so far, so good.”

 

Legolas nodded slowly.  “Ran, does he ever... is he ever... really hard on you?”

 

Raniean wasn’t sure what his friend meant.  “Yes, I suppose so, sometimes.  Why?  Legolas, do you have a Saelon now?”  Raniean’s look turned excited. 

 

“If I did you know I might not be able to tell you Ran,” Legolas shook his head.

 

“I know.  Bother that whole thing, it’s such a weird way this all works,” Raniean sighed. 

 

“Well *I* still don’t have one in case anyone is wondering,” Trelan spoke up. 

 

Legolas wanted to tell his friend that he didn’t want one, that he had no idea what the future was like... but he couldn’t.

 

“Well you’re not missing too much right now, I can tell you,” Raniean chuckled.  “I am becoming convinced that no one can give withering glares quite as well as Cirlith.”

 

Trelan laughed.  “Oh?  Well from what I heard you had that coming.  Honestly Ran, you rigged the trap *backward*?”

 

Raniean flushed and turned to Legolas.  “You know, for being little he sure has big ears!”

 

“I heard that!” Trelan protested.

 

“And an even bigger *mouth*,” Raniean added loudly. 

 

Legolas was chuckling now too.  “Peace!  Peace!  Both of you, now I want to know what happened!”

 

“If it’s up to Trelan the whole FOREST will know before sundown,” Raniean muttered.  “All that happened was Cirlith that was teaching me how to lay a particularly difficult type of snare and I simply reversed a few of the steps by accident.”

 

“Oh yes, which caused the trap to spring backward and catch Cirlith about the ankles.  He was left dangling upside-down from a tree so high Ran couldn’t even reach him!” Trelan broke out in another fit of giggles.  “He had to go get his father to cut him down!”

 

“Ha ha ha, oh yes, it’s sooo funny Trelan,” Raniean’s cheeks were completely flushed now. 

 

Legolas was laughing, he couldn’t help it.  “I’m sorry,” he apologized when Raniean turned his glare on him.  “I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.”  Legolas suddenly realized that this might not be a laughing matter at all.  He shuddered to think what Doriflen would have done to him for something like that. 

 

Fortunately for Raniean, Cirlith was nothing like Doriflen and would never have thought of harming the boy.  Nor would Raniean’s father, or the true bond of a real Saelon, have allowed such a thing. 

 

“No, it’s all right,” Raniean assured, rolling his eyes.  “I’ll live.  Living it *down* however...” he glared at Trelan.  “Seems to be harder.  Oh Trelan, Cirlith taught me something new after that.   Remind me that I want to take you Trellep hunting sometime.”

 

“Trellep hunting, what’s that?” Trelan inquired curiously.

 

“You’ll see when I take you.” Raniean replied with a grin.  “Oh, you’re welcome to come too Legolas.” 

 

From the way his friend was grinning Legolas wasn’t so sure this was a good thing or not, but he laughed anyway.  “I doubt I’ll have time for a while, but someday I will go with you.”

 

“Good.” Raniean smiled again. 

 

The three friends parted ways outside the palace gates since Legolas had more lessons to attend and the other two had family waiting for them. 

 

Legolas felt better after talking to his friends, but also concerned.  Interpreting Raniean’s comments from his unknowingly skewed perspective made him a little uneasy for his friend’s wellbeing.  Raniean *seemed* all right... but then again, so did he.

 

Lessons with his tutor went well, but the session with Doriflen afterwards did not.  His uncle was still in a singularly sour mood and Legolas could have sworn that Doriflen was throwing questions at him that they hadn’t covered merely as an excuse to punish him for not knowing the answers.  Of course, he figured it was his imagination. 

 

Still hurting from yesterday, it was hard to hold still for the ‘lessons’ today, but Legolas managed not to cry this time.  That seemed to please his uncle.  Doriflen did not hold Legolas past their allotted time at least and indeed, the older elf seemed to have other things on his mind.  Legolas was only too glad to be ignored. 

 

Many troubling questions were weighing on the young elf’s mind, and although he was a little frightened, he wanted to do what he had always done and go to his parents with what disturbed him. 

 

Thranduil was in his study, working very hard over something, when Legolas knocked hesitantly on the doorframe.  The Elvenking looked up and graced his son with a small smile before turning his eyes back to his work.  “Come in Legolas.”

 

Legolas did, carefully seating himself gingerly on the edge of one of the chairs near where his father was working. 

 

“What are you working on?” the boy inquired, not sure how to even begin to ask his real questions.

 

Thranduil rubbed his tired eyes.  “I’m going over requisition lists.  These are all the things that people in various parts of the kingdom need that they want us to supply.”

 

“Can we supply them all?” Legolas slid off the chair again and wandered closer. 

 

“No,” Thranduil shook his head with a weary sigh.  “Not even half.  So I have to decide which ones are most urgent, and how to try to care for the rest with resources we don’t have.  To make matters worse, some of these requests have already been filled, but they are not of the most pressing nature, so I have to figure out how to ask for those resources *back* without offending people and creating a small riot...” Thranduil stopped, smiling slightly.  He doubted Legolas really wanted to hear all that, or even understood most of it.  Still, the concerned and interested look on the boy’s face warmed his heart. 

 

Legolas was close now, peering over his shoulder at the lists and confusing arrays stamps and seals decorating the parchments.  He frowned.  “Isn’t Vede supposed to be handling that?”

 

Thranduil’s smile was brittle.  He wouldn’t speak ill of his brother in front of his son, but he could *think* ill all he liked.  “Yes, he was.  That’s how some of these requests became... mistakenly filled.  But I have to do it now.”

 

Legolas nodded, although he didn’t understand a tenth of the sabotage and intrigue that was going on behind the scenes.  Not even Thranduil really knew that.  Not yet. 

 

“Ada...” Legolas studied his fingers as he tried to work up the courage to speak.  Thranduil had gone back to work and Legolas hated to bother him when he was busy like this, but...

 

“I was wondering... I mean, well, I... A-about the Saelons-”

 

Thranduil held his hand up, halting the boy mid-sentence.  “Legolas, that is not something I can talk about right now, all right?”  He had to find the right words to explain to Legolas why he wasn’t choosing a Saelon for him yet, and at the moment his attention regretfully had to be elsewhere.  

 

Legolas hesitated uncertainly.  He knew it wasn’t supposed to be talked about, he had simply hoped...

 

“Is there anything else?” Thranduil looked up after a moment when Legolas said nothing, but did not leave.  He didn’t *mean* to sound impatient, but it was the effect that came across. 

 

“No, Ada,” Legolas said quietly, shaking his head. 

 

Thranduil turned back to his work, but a few moments later he paused, realizing Legolas had probably taken his words as a curt dismissal, which wasn’t exactly how he had intended them. 

 

“Legolas?”  He looked around, but his son had already left, as silent as the wind.  Thranduil sighed.  He would have to talk to Legolas later when he could more fully explain himself.  Unfortunately, such resolves are easily made, and just as easily pushed aside by other pressing matters.  Sometimes, ‘later’ never comes.  Little did the Elvenking realize how much this conversation would haunt him in the years to come. 

 

No one could really tell how Doriflen got all of his information, but the things he seemed to know sometimes made one ready to believe that the walls themselves had eyes and ears to report to him.  When Legolas went back to his rooms, his uncle was there waiting for him, a dark look in his eyes. 

 

Legolas froze in the doorway, almost unable to breathe.  What had he done now?

 

“Legolas, Legolas...” Doriflen was pacing now, his belt already clenched double in his hand as he patted it lightly into his other palm.  “You almost broke the bond today.  Your father is very angry that you tried to speak to him about us.  He told me to teach you a lesson worth remembering.”

 

“Please, no...” Legolas didn’t resist when Doriflen pulled him into the room and shut the door, but his heart recoiled within him.  He knew he shouldn’t have done that, now he had made his father angry with him too. 

 

Doriflen’s look was unrelenting.  “You learn the rules so slowly Legolas, I’m going to have to start being harsher about how I teach them.”  He smiled at the fear in his nephew’s eyes.  “Oh yes, much harsher.”

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART THREE*~
~Spinning Out of Control~

 

 

 

Several months passed and summer faded towards the early stages of fall.  With the approach of winter tensions in Mirkwood began winding ever tighter as it became apparent that the wood-elves were going to have a very hard time of it this year. 

 

Doriflen had slowly gone from being a benign nuisance to a full-blown problem.  By now Thranduil was aware that his brother was one of the chief instigators of unrest in the realm.  Unfortunately there was little he could do about it without fanning those very flames of discontent. 

 

The controversy caused by Oropher and Thranduil’s disastrous decision to go to war for a cause that many felt was not their own had become a moldering gash in the fabric of the kingdom’s unity, exacerbated by Doriflen who was quick to point out that he had remained behind, opposed to the whole affair.  If he had been King, the whispers grew, they would not be where they were now and all the loved ones who had been lost would still be with them. 

 

Open rumors were starting now that Oropher had not even truly willed Thranduil the throne, but that he had taken it from his older brother by treachery and then convinced his father to take on this mad venture that had led the king to his death.  Empty accusations, but they hurt.  Hurt badly. 

 

Thranduil sat by an open window, looking out across the trees that were just beginning to show their first signs of color change.  He felt like he was trying to hold onto a handful of water... it just kept slipping away from him. 

 

“Maybe what they’re saying is right meleth-nín, my love,” he told Elvéwen in a tired, vacant tone.  “Maybe I am simply not made for this.”

 

Elvéwen didn’t speak for a few moments.  Part of her heart wished that her husband had never been called upon to be King.  The tensions in their lives since Thranduil returned from Dagorlad had all but torn their family apart.  Even Legolas seemed to be showing the strain.  He had become much more quiet and reserved over the past few months; withdrawn almost.  A troubling weight seemed to have settled upon him... upon all of them.

 

“If you are not hervenn-nín, my husband, then who is?” she said at length.  “Certainly not your brother.  His supporters do not know him as you do.  He would lead them to ruin.”  She sighed.  “Some choices are not given to us hervenn-nín, we are merely placed on the road and have to walk it as best we can.”

 

Heavy silence flowed between them for a few moments.  “Thranduil, about your brother...”

 

Thranduil closed his eyes.  “I *know* about my brother Elvéwen.  What I do not know is what to *do* about him.  Restrain him?  Try to keep him quiet?  Add ‘bloody tyrant’ to the title of usurper he has already pinned on me in the eyes of our people?!  This kingdom balances on the thinnest of threads.  Place but a little weight in the wrong direction and it will all unravel.  And why should the people not doubt?  What kind of King can’t feed his own people through the winter?  We can only hope that the woods will support us, but with so many of our hunters gone...”

 

Elvéwen hesitated, knowing the reaction her next suggestion would likely garner.  “Then what about seeking aid?”

 

“From where?” Thranduil spread his hands helplessly.  “The Dale men are in as dire of straits as we, if for different reasons.”

 

“Then what about Lórien or Imladris,” Elvéwen said quietly.  “You know Lord Elrond offered...”

 

“Oh yes, take the charity of the Noldor like a beggar at the gates, that would *truly* endear me to the people,” Thranduil spat somewhat bitterly.  “They got us into this.  Perhaps they would help, but at what price?  I will be hanged before I become one of their serfs!  Besides, that is just the show of weakness that Doriflen is waiting for.”

 

Elvéwen sighed.  She thought her husband judged the Noldor elves too harshly, especially since many in Lothlórien were in fact her own people’s distant kin; but he *was* right about Doriflen.  Any sign of weakness in Thranduil now and there would be open revolt.  They were in an almost impossible situation.

 

“Despite what you think meleth-nín, many of the people are still entirely loyal to you.  Don’t give up on them.” Elvéwen said quietly.

 

Thranduil nodded and rose.  “Well, wish me either luck or a speedy death because I must go wrangle with those hungry lions masquerading as my council members again.  At least it is only a normal policy meeting... *if* that can be trusted,” he sighed.  “And if you see Legolas, remind him I told him to be there today.  That boy has been sulking about *something* and ignoring my wishes and requests all week.”

 

Elvéwen frowned disapprovingly at the assessment.  “He’s not sulking Thranduil, he’s withdrawn.  I believe he misses you.  Think how much time you two spent together when he was little.  He had entire days of your time all to himself.  It’s different now.”

 

“I know.  I know it is,” Thranduil looked pained.  “But what am I supposed to do?  If this kingdom falls apart it isn’t going to do him any good either.  Don’t you think I would *like* to be able to spend more time with him?  To make all this turmoil go away so we could go back to the days when life was good?  If only it was that easy!”

 

“I’m not faulting you Thranduil, I’m just saying what I see,” Elvéwen said gently.  “Legolas knows the load you carry.”

 

“I used to think so.  But lately... I don’t know what to do with him!  I tell him I want him somewhere, he’s not there.  I give him tasks to carry out, they remain undone.  It’s not *like* him.  If he thinks this is a good way to get my attention he’s wrong and that is more than a little childish.”

 

Elvéwen looked away.  It was true, Legolas had been acting erratic lately, but she still felt Thranduil was too hard on him sometimes.  “He’s a child my love.  He needs a father, not a King.”

 

“I know...” Thranduil’s voice was soft and sad.  “And I don’t know anymore if I can be both.”  He closed his eyes.  When he opened them again he chuckled mirthlessly, glancing at the angle of the sun.  “Well presently *I* shall be late for my own meeting.  I have to go.  And Legolas had better be there this time.”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

~~~~~~~~
I’ve done everything that you said;
I followed your rules without question.
I thought it would help me see things clearly
but instead of helping me to see,
I look around and it’s like I’m blinded.

I’m spinning out of control, out of control,
spinning out of control...

Where should I go?
What should I do?
I don’t understand what you want from me!
And I don’t know if I can trust you,
I don’t understand what you want from me.

--Hoobastank
~~~~~~~~

 

 

“Vede...” Legolas begged softly, squirming against the silken scarves Doriflen had used to bind his hands.  The silky bonds left no mark upon his soft flesh that anyone else could see, but they held him quite securely.  Doriflen often had to tie him down now, because the beatings routinely became more than Legolas could handle without struggling.  “Vede please...”

 

Another sharp smack of his uncle’s belt across his unprotected rear made the young elf jerk and draw in a sobbing breath.  “Please, not today, I-I have to be at the council meeting!  I’m late, f-father will be angry...”

 

Doriflen sneered slightly.  “And yet I am not invited to be present, as usual.  Your father has the gall to call me a Vice Regent, but keeps me oh so carefully out of the way.  They would rather do things behind my back as if I were a traitor!”

 

Legolas muffled a helpless sob as the strength of his uncle’s blows increased along with his anger.  Doriflen often rambled when he was strapping him, but it didn’t always make much sense.

 

“And what of you Legolas?  Will you tell me what they talk about in there?” the elder elf questioned more softly.  The hand that held his nephew pinned against the tabletop pressed down with crushing force against Legolas’ lower back, keeping the young elf still and submissive despite the prince’s struggles to get away from the abuse.

 

Legolas repressed another shuddering sob.  If he said no, his uncle was going to keep beating him, but he knew he could not say yes.  It was horribly confusing to him.  He wasn’t at all sure that his uncle wasn’t just testing him, to see if he could be forced to break his vows of silence, lest an enemy should ever do the same; that probably made the most sense.  The prince’s young, trusting mind could fathom no other reason.

 

“Please Vede, I-I can’t... you know I can’t...”

 

“Oh you can, you just won’t!” Doriflen started lashing him so hard Legolas had to bite his lip to keep from screaming.  “Because you would seek to betray me just like everyone else in there!”

 

“No, no!” Legolas shook his head, tears of pain tracing down his flushed cheeks.  “I-It’s not that at all!  It’s not just you, father says what happens behind those doors is secret, I can’t even tell Naneth...”  The young elf was almost sobbing too hard to speak now.  Doriflen’s blows across his exposed backside and legs where beginning to draw blood.  “Please Vede!  Please stop!  Stop!!” the young prince pleaded desperately, struggling against his uncle and his bonds, but in vain.  He knew he couldn’t get away until Doriflen was done with him.  He never could.

 

“Your father,” the elder elf’s voice was cold.  “Your father, your father, your father, that’s all I ever hear!”  Doriflen hit the child a few more times before suddenly stopping; loosing the prince’s hands he shoved him roughly off the table. 

 

Legolas fell in a miserable heap, but rose quickly, his hands trembling as he pulled his clothing back into place and tried to deal with the pain that was flaming through his body. 

 

Doriflen laughed at him, tilting the child’s fair, tearstained face up roughly by the chin.  Legolas’ golden hair was disheveled and his face was flushed.  The pain that glazed his large eyes made him look so much younger than his years.  The elder elf half wiped, half slapped the tears off his nephew’s face, holding his moist hand up accusingly.

 

“What?  Tears Legolas?  The young prince of Mirkwood cries like a baby?  Still, after all this time you can never master that?  It’s no wonder your father prefers for me to deal with you; he probably couldn’t stand the shame of seeing what a sniveling weakling his son really is.  I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, although you never listen: you are a prince!  You do not show pain, you do not show fear, and you never, never cry!”  Doriflen slapped his nephew again.  “You shame the family you belong to!”

 

Legolas had to resist the urge for those words to wring more tears out of him, but he blinked hard and gulped in huge lungfuls of air, trying to keep his emotions in check and school himself back to the impassive state that his uncle wanted from him.

 

Doriflen released Legolas’ chin with a disgusted grunt.  “Now kneel and make apology for the errors for which you have been punished.”

 

Legolas was familiar enough with this part of the procedure and slowly dropped submissively to his knees, head bowed, shoulders still trembling with the hitching breath he could not control.  He searched his mind desperately for the words his uncle wanted, but could not find them.  Doriflen wanted him to show that he understood why he had been punished and that he would not repeat the errors that had led to it... but Legolas didn’t know why he had been punished this time.  He must have done something wrong, but he could not for the life of him figure out what, and that scared him, because he knew what that meant.

 

“Well?” Doriflen’s voice was sharp and made the younger elf jerk.  “I’m waiting.”

 

“I-I...” Legolas bit his lip, his eyes glued to the floor.  “I don’t know what I did wrong, please tell me Vede, I won’t do it again, I swear!”

 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Doriflen’s voice was cold.  “If you can’t see your own errors then you will never be able to correct them.  I want you to think about it, and expect you to have an answer for me by this time tomorrow.  If not, you can expect that I will punish you for it again.”

 

A small, choked moan escaped Legolas’ lips without his leave.  He wished his uncle would just tell him what he had done.  He wished he had never entered this hellish bond.  He wished that when his father was angry with him he would deal with him direct instead of going through Doriflen... but then maybe this was better, as his uncle said it was.  Legolas loved his father, and he didn’t think he could take this kind of handling from Thranduil’s normally gentle hands.  His father had only used physical punishment on him once or twice when he was younger... and it was nothing like what Doriflen did to him nowadays. 

 

Doriflen said this was part of growing up... well Legolas hated growing up.

 

Doriflen looked at his nephew sharply.  “I mean it Legolas, you had better come to me tomorrow, either with an answer or ready to accept the consequences of not having one.  You don’t want me to have to tell your father that you’re breaking our agreement would you?”

 

“N-no!” Legolas shook his head quickly.  He would rather die than let his parents down or be proved unworthy of their love and trust.  Father always seemed upset with him lately as it was; he feared what placing one more strain on their unraveling relationship would do.  

 

“I would hope not.  He told me you were strong enough to begin this part of your preparation for the future, I would hate to have to tell him that he was wrong and you were too weak to go through with it all.”  Doriflen lied through his teeth, but Legolas did not know it.  What reason did he have to think his Uncle would lie to him about this?

 

“No, I can go through with it!  I-I will figure out my error, I promise!” the young elf assured somewhat shakily.

 

“All right then, show me how you accept rebuke and move onward,” Doriflen put his belt away, watching the young prince.

 

With skill that was growing quickly, Legolas closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, calming his body and returning his breathing to normal.  Completely drying his face with his hands he straightened his clothing and hair until only his flushed face gave away the fact that anything unusual had happened to him.  This was important, he knew.  Doriflen was quick to punish him further if he was not able to make himself totally calm and impassive at a moment’s notice; completely able to hide whatever pain he was feeling. 

 

Showing pain was weakness.  Letting others know you were hurt and making them worry was not only weakness, but cruelty.  And one thing Legolas never wanted to do was be cruel to those he loved.

 

“You improve Legolas,” Doriflen nodded slowly as he watched the transformation.  Indeed, Legolas was such apt pupil at this that he had been able to abuse the young elf on a regular basis for the past several months and no one in the palace knew what was happening... least of all the boy’s father.  That thought pleased Doriflen greatly.  Anyway he could hurt his brother pleased him.

 

“As a prince you will often have to put feeling aside and act only on duty, no matter how painful it may seem to you, or to someone else.  Now go, I think your father specifically told you not to be late, and now your own errant misbehavior has already made you tardy.  I may have to see you about that later as well.  Go on, they’re waiting, go!”  Doriflen dismissed his nephew. 

 

Legolas nodded quickly and hurried out of his uncle’s chambers, running down the hall as fast as his legs would carry him.  Even watching him move one could barely tell that anything was wrong.  It was no wonder not even those close to the prince knew what was going on behind closed doors.

 

Doriflen smiled as he watched the boy go.  Legolas still refused him today, but eventually he would work his way around the boy’s defenses, wearing him down until the child no longer knew right from wrong.  He would break the prince using Legolas’ own sense of duty and love of his parents against him, until one day Doriflen could use him to destroy those very things.  He would fill his nephew’s head full of whatever ideas he wanted to plant there and if he kept Legolas in enough pain and threat of pain that the boy jumped whenever he said jump, then the day would come when he eventually had complete control over the younger elf.  What better way to hurt his brother and possibly destroy him as well?

 

“You are a fool Thranduil...” Doriflen muttered under his breath.  “And I will turn even your own son against you in the end.”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

~~~~~~~~
I feel like I’m spinning out of control,
I try to focus but everything’s twisted.
And all along I thought you would be there
to let me know I’m not alone...
But in fact, that’s exactly what I am.

--Hoobastank
~~~~~~~~

 

 

“Prince Legolas, where were you?  Your father started the session almost a half an hour ago!”  The servant standing outside the doors to Thranduil’s council chambers shook his head reprovingly when the young prince pelted around the corner and pulled up sharply in front of the large, closed wooden doors.

 

“I-I lost track of the time Elrynd,” Legolas hated lying, but his uncle told him it wasn’t really lying, it was ‘not showing weakness’, and was part of his training. 

 

Elrynd shook his head with a small smile, pressing the back of his hand against the prince’s flushed cheek.  Legolas was still very young and occasional lapses in memory were to be expected.  Yet he was afraid the boy’s father wouldn’t see it that way.  Thranduil had very high expectations for his son and everyone knew that.  “Catch your breath your highness, you must have run quite a distance.” 

 

Legolas nodded distractedly, only wanting to get away from questions and inside before he got into even more trouble.  He pulled his face away.  “Please Elrynd, let me in, I’m already late.”

 

The elder elf opened the door and Legolas slid quietly inside.  He had hoped to go unnoticed, but the moment he entered everyone fell silent and all eyes in the chamber turned on him.  The young elf felt a hot, painful blush darken his already flushed face.  His father’s eyes locked on him with decided disapproval and Legolas wished he could sink into the ground.

 

“I see you *finally* decided to join us Legolas,” Thranduil said coolly.  “Pray take a seat so we may continue without further interruption.”

 

“Yes father,” Legolas barely whispered, looking down and slipping quickly into the chair on his father’s right which had sat empty waiting for him.  The young elf tensed slightly and held his breath when his injuries touched the chair, but he gave no other outward sign, and none of the grown up elves were looking at him anymore, all of them having returned to the deep discussion that he had interrupted.

 

The meeting seemed to crawl by.  It was all about treaties and policies and things that even under the best of circumstances did not remotely interest the young prince.  In his current state, Legolas could keep his mind focused on very little.  He was acutely aware of the displeasure radiating from his father beside him and his mind was still spinning, trying to come up with an answer for Doriflen... by the stars he did not want to have to go through again tomorrow what he had today...

 

Legolas knew he was not supposed to let on that he was hurting, but the pain was intense and he shifted slightly in his chair, trying to ease the discomfort. 

 

Thranduil thought that Legolas was being fidgety and inattentive and shot him a sharp look of warning. 

 

Legolas immediately stopped moving, shrinking back in his chair and trying to hold perfectly still. 

 

If Thranduil saw fear in his son’s eyes he thought it was because the boy rightly perceived that he was in trouble for being late, and could not in his wildest dreams have begun to guess at the true cause.  If he had, someone’s head would have rolled pretty quickly.  Thranduil had his share of faults, but callousness towards his son and his son’s wellbeing was not one of them.  He loved the boy, fiercely, even if sometimes that led him to be rather hard on Legolas.  From those he loved most, the King expected the most.

 

When the meeting was finally over, Legolas remained quietly in his seat while the other officials left.  He knew his father was going to want to talk to him about today.  He dreaded it.

 

After everyone had left, Thranduil sat back down, his gaze fixed on his son.  “All right.  Do you want to tell me what was so important that you missed half the meeting when I specifically told you I wanted you present?”

 

The King’s voice was disappointed, but not necessarily angry.  Legolas flinched all the same.  “I’m sorry father.  Truly I am.  I did not mean to be late, I swear... I-I lost track of the time...”  He couldn’t even tell his father why he was truly late... that was against the rules.  The training was supposed to be invisible to everyone but Legolas, and it would make his father very angry and disappointed indeed if he spoke of it or tried to use it as an excuse, Doriflen had made that very painfully clear.

 

Thranduil sighed.  Legolas looked so abjectly sorry it was hard to be stern with the boy.  “If it were the first time Legolas, I would believe you, or even the second... but Legolas, this is sixth time you have neglected your responsibilities and disregarded my wishes... the sixth time *this week*.  What can I think but that you are deliberately disobeying me?  That you-”

 

Legolas paled, his heart twisting.  “I-I’m not father, truly I’m not!” he protested, accidentally interrupting the older elf.

 

“Don’t interrupt me,” Thranduil said quietly, but with warning.  For all that he could see Legolas had become increasingly rebellious over the past few weeks.  He supposed it was some kind of stage, sometimes children did become difficult when they were making the transition from childhood towards maturity, but he expected Legolas to show more sense than he had been exhibiting.  He would not tolerate disobedience from his subjects, so he most certainly was not going to tolerate it from his own son.

 

Legolas dropped his head in shame, fighting the tears that wanted to come.  He couldn’t cry in front of his father, oh Valar he couldn’t!  But his body wanted to betray him.

 

“Look at me Legolas.”  Thranduil would not speak to the top of the boy’s head. 

 

Legolas’ head popped up quickly and he wiped his eyes, hoping his father wouldn’t notice. 

 

Thranduil’s brows furrowed.  The sight of his son’s glistening eyes tugged painfully at his heart, yet in his mind Legolas was too old to be crying over a simple rebuke and he did not want the boy to get in the habit simply because he knew it pulled at his father’s sympathies. 

 

“Legolas you’re too old for tears.  I expect to be able to talk to you like an adult, not a child.”  He had no way of knowing how deep those words struck into the boy’s hurting heart. 

 

Legolas quickly pulled his walls of impassiveness up around him once more, willing his composure back into place.  *Never show pain, never show fear, never, never cry...* He couldn’t believe he was such a baby and constantly managed to do everything wrong.  It was no wonder Doriflen had to treat him the way he did... he simply couldn’t do anything right lately.  He wondered if he were going to be punished for that later as well.  Probably.  Doriflen usually had an exhaustingly detailed list of things to punish him for by the end of any given day. 

 

“Legolas I don’t drag you to these meetings to make your life miserable, nor do I make rules simply to hurt you.  I love you Legolas, and I want you to grow up to be a prince worthy of your title, which I think you are.  It may be boring when you are young, but these things you learn now are essential for your future.  I want to be able to share my responsibilities with you Legolas, I want to know that it is capable hands I am placing this kingdom in should the day ever come that you are called upon to rule it.  Do you understand my son?”  Thranduil asked earnestly.  He didn’t want Legolas to think he didn’t care, he did, more than he could ever say!  But the boy needed to start showing some responsibility. 

 

“Yes father, I do,” Legolas said quietly.  “And I am sorry. I will not make you disappointed in me.”

 

Thranduil smiled slightly and laid his hand on his son’s shoulder.  “I know you won’t Legolas.”  He sighed.  “But I expect you to report to either Ravir in the Gardens, or Galion in the cellars every evening after supper for the next week.  You’ll help them with whatever needs doing until bedtime, starting right now, understand?”

 

“Yes father,” Legolas nodded without reluctance.  He knew that left him no time for archery or being with his friends, but he did not complain.  It was far easier punishment than what Doriflen would do to him later. 

 

Satisfied that the situation had been dealt with, Thranduil turned to leave.  Legolas’ small voice stopped him in the doorway. 

 

“Father...?”

 

“Yes, Legolas?” He turned.

 

“I really am sorry,” Legolas’ eyes begged forgiveness.

 

“Just don’t let it happen again Legolas, all right?” Thranduil said softly.  “I expect better from you my son.” 

 

Thranduil left.  Legolas folded his arms on the table in front of him and let his face sink down onto them.  If he had ever had a worse day he couldn’t remember it right now. 

 

A soft hand on his shoulder made him jump and jerk upright again a few moments later.  The soft sent of rosemary and wildflowers told him who it was even before he looked up to see his mother’s face. 

 

The Queen smiled gently at her only son, smoothing his long blonde tresses gently back from his face and caressing his hair in a way that only she could.  With anyone else it would have made him feel childish, but not with her. 

 

“You look unhappy Tyndolhen,” Elvéwen said gently, looking down at him with her huge, beautiful blue eyes, so like his own.  Truth be told, she had been outside and heard everything that passed between her husband and son a few moments ago, but she wanted to give Legolas a chance to talk about it, if he desired to do so.

 

Legolas smiled briefly at the fond use of her special nickname for him.  It was an odd mix of Sindarin and Elvéwen’s native Silvan tongue.  The word itself was somewhat untranslatable, but loosely meant ‘golden-haired dreamer child’.  The prince’s face clouded again as the troubles surrounding him pulled his aching heart down. 

 

“I let father down, *again*,” the young elf said miserably, hanging his head and pecking at one sleeve of his tunic with the fingers of his other hand.  “I was late.  He told me not to be.”

 

“I see.”  Gently, Elvéwen pulled Legolas closer to her, letting his head rest against the silky white folds of her dress as she stood next to where he sat.  Soft, dark chocolate tresses framed her smooth, pale face as she looked down at her son. 

 

Legolas turned and buried his face in the welcoming embrace of the warm, glossy fabric.  It didn’t matter that he felt too old to be coddled... right now he desperately needed a soft touch, and somehow it never felt like babying when his mother held him. 

 

Elvéwen let her hand rest on the back of her son’s head gently, still stroking and petting his hair.  It was such a rich, soft gold... like his father.  Yet in so many other ways he was like her, especially his heart.  “Your father is hard on you because he loves you Legolas... it’s his way.  With all those he loves,” her eyes were full of understanding.  “It will be all right, you’ll see.”

 

Legolas nodded mutely into her dress. 

 

The Queen felt the heat coming from her son’s face and pressed her hand to his forehead with concern.  “Legolas, do you feel all right?”

 

Legolas nodded quickly, withdrawing from his mother’s touch no matter how much he wanted to stay within her warm embrace.  “I’m fine... I ran to get here.”  Of everyone, he hated lying to her the most.  “I’d better go, father wants me to help Ravir and Galion.”

 

The Queen looked somewhat concerned and unconvinced as she regarded the younger elf’s flushed, downcast face.  “All right then, but don’t push yourself too hard Legolas... and Legolas?  You would tell me if anything else were wrong, wouldn’t you?”

 

Legolas swallowed the huge lump in his throat and forced a quick nod and a fake smile before turning and making his escape lest she press him further. 

 

Elvéwen watched her son go.  He was more upset than he was letting on, but she didn’t know why.  Perhaps there was more that had passed between Legolas and his father than she had heard... the Queen shook her head. 

 

She knew her husband had a lot on his mind lately.  Doriflen was becoming more and more of a problem and a threat.  They tried to shield Legolas from the truth about his uncle... children were apt to say things that they should not if they knew too much, and the King and Queen felt the prince was too young to understand how a family member could be such a danger.  But things were beginning to go too far.  Her mind drifted back to their earlier conversation.  Doriflen was tying his brother’s hands and it was a difficult and dangerous situation. 

 

Elvéwen knew that that looming threat made Thranduil more short with everyone, especially Legolas; and now was such a delicate time for their son, poised as he was, uncertainly on the brink between the end of childhood and the beginning of growing into an adult.  Elvéwen sighed.  Sometimes being royalty was a hard road to walk, for everyone involved.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART FOUR*~
~True Friends~

 

 

“There you are Legolas, we’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A tiny elf, only a little over half Legolas’ size called out, nimbly vaulting the waist high-fence around the gardens and landing near where the prince knelt on the grass beside a huge flowerbed.  Legolas’ hands were earthy and a small pile of uprooted weeds was quickly growing next to him.

 

“What are you doing?” a second elf, this one a few hairs taller than Legolas, followed after, raising his eyebrows when he saw his friend’s somewhat grubby appearance. 

 

Legolas looked up from his work, rocking back on his heels.  Pushing stray locks of hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand he left a dirty smudge across his forehead.  “What’s it look like Raniean?  I’m weeding the flower bed.”  Legolas looked out at the mammoth patch of brightly colored flora and ugly, nettled creepers.  “The very *large* flowerbed,” he amended slightly, blowing his wayward hair out of his face once more in a rueful sigh.

 

“Why?” Raniean blinked several times.

 

Trelan elbowed Raniean in the ribs.  Although the shorter elf’s unusually diminished stature made him look younger, much to his eternal chagrin, he was in fact the same age as Raniean and Legolas and had twice as much sauce as either of them.

 

“Because he must have got in trouble for something you nift,” the shorter elf hissed at his friend in a not-so-quiet whisper.

 

Legolas rolled his eyes.  “Yes, I did, and if you’re wondering, no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“That’s fine ‘cause we don’t want to hear about it,” Trelan said cheerily, earning him a scowl from both Legolas and Raniean. 

 

“Hey look who’s on garden duty!” another voice interrupted the friends.  Legolas sighed as he looked up and saw four other young elves leaning against the fence and looking over at them.  A ripple of laughter ran lightly through the small group of newcomers.  “What’d you do this time Legolas?  Don’t tell me you smarted off at Lord Dridian again!”

 

“None of your business Sarcayul,” Raniean rolled his eyes.  “I don’t think anyone here was talking to you.  Or wants to.”

 

“Yeah, why don’t you move along?” Trelan added. 

 

“Why?” the older elfling lounged against the fence post, smiling tauntingly.  “I think we’d rather stay here and watch.  Not everyday you get to see how a prince pulls weeds.  Hey I think you missed a few over here!”

 

“Legolas, you’ve um... you’ve got something on your face,” Sarcayul’s younger brother, Legolas’ sometimes-friend Sarcaulien, shot his older sibling a long-suffering look before rubbing his forehead demonstratively.

 

Legolas wiped his forehead quickly. 

 

“Don’t you think you’re a little old to be playing in the dirt?” Sarcayul put in again, ignoring his brother’s glare.  “No, wait, if you plant shrimpy do you think he’ll grow?” the older elf indicated that he meant Trelan.

 

“I think you should leave,” Legolas felt his color rising again, but he spoke quietly, refusing to let the other elven boys get a rise out of him.  “Now.”

 

“Why you-” Trelan spluttered at the insult and Raniean had to quickly wrap an arm around his friend’s waist to hold him back from charging at the bigger boys on the other side of the fence.

 

“Aw, leave the little guy alone,” Amon, another one of Sarcayul’s friends mocked with an unkind smile.  “At least his father doesn’t seem to think he’d make a better gardener than a prince,” he said, shooting a sardonic glance at Legolas.  “Your father’s made a mess of this kingdom anyway, my father says, so you might as well learn another profession while you can.”

 

Legolas jumped to his feet.  They could rag on him, but the instant they started touching his family they had crossed the line.  “You take that back!”

 

“Make me!” Amon scowled.  “Unless you’re as much of a weakling as your father is.”

 

“Amon, shut up!” Sarcaulien hissed at the older elf.  He and his brother may have been bullies at times, but they were loyal to the royal house, and that was treason Amon was talking.

 

Legolas was across the fence faster than it took to blink and tackled Amon, knocking him over.  The two young elves rolled over a couple times, tussling in the dust. 

 

Raniean and Trelan followed him over and the whole situation would have degraded very quickly except that another one of the young elves in Sarcayul’s party gave a quick cry of warning.  Morifwen did not like conflict and had held back from the altercation.  Since he was on the fringes, he heard the approaching footsteps first. 

 

“Somebody’s coming!  Break it up, somebody’s coming!” he called quickly, tugging Sarcayul and Sarcaulien back away from the fight. 

 

Everyone else stopped too at the warning, although Amon used the opportunity of the distraction to strike Legolas in the mouth with the flat of his hand before pulling away and taking flight after his friends.  None of them wanted to get in trouble for fighting, especially with the prince. 

 

Raniean and Trelan helped hurry Legolas back to the side of the fence they were supposed to be on and everything looked nearly normal when Ravir rounded the corner to check on Legolas’ progress. 

 

The prince hastily wiped his bleeding lip with the back of his hand and started pulling weeds fastidiously. 

 

Ravir thought his young charged looked a trifle too fastidious and Raniean and Trelan were acting a little too innocent, but he just raised his eyebrow at the prince’s friends.  “Don’t be bothering his highness now you two, and don’t step on the geraniums on the way out,” was all he said before going on about his duties.

 

Raniean and Trelan looked at each other and burst out laughing after the gardener had left.  “And don’t step on the geraniums on the way out!” Trelan mimicked. 

 

Legolas didn’t laugh.  He was still upset over what Amon had said. 

 

“Well we’d better go I guess,” Raniean said after a moment. “But the reason we were looking for you was to find out what time you wanted to get to the tournament grounds tomorrow.  We should get there early if we want a good spot.”

 

Legolas looked down at his hands, twisting a bent weed between his fingers.  “I can’t go to the tournament tomorrow Ran.”

 

“What?” the other boy was shocked.  “But Legolas we’ve been waiting for this competition forever!  It’s the archery finals of the season!  Cúrorth and Galdil are going to be facing off for the championship!”

 

Legolas did not look up, but the weed in his hands snapped in two.  “I know!  I know.  But I don’t have a choice Ran.  I have to help Galion in the cellars tomorrow.”  The young elf’s disappointment was keen.  He had indeed been waiting for this event all year; he tried not to let his friends see how he felt, but it was a futile attempt. 

 

Raniean and Trelan looked at each other.  They felt badly for Legolas.  They knew that he had wanted to go probably more than either of them did.  Archery was the young prince’s favorite passion. 

 

“I’m sorry... is there anything we can do?” Trelan asked quietly.

 

Legolas attempted to smile and shrug it off.  “No, don’t worry, I’ll be fine.  You two will just have to tell me everything that happens, and then it’ll be like I was there, all right?”

 

The other two elven boys were not convinced, but took their leave shortly thereafter, not wishing to get the prince in anymore trouble by hanging around. 

 

After they were gone, Legolas felt the tears of disappointment welling in his eyes, but refused to let them fall.  It was childish.  What did it matter anyway?  He dug back into his task quickly to keep himself busy so he didn’t feel the ache of the growing loneliness inside him.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Dutifully, Legolas made his way to the cellars after lunch the next day.  Usually he would have had lessons still after lunch, but it was a festival day, so lessons were cut short.  Legolas was half tempted to take the fact that it was not after supper and only after lunch to mean that he did not have to go to work yet and could catch the beginning of the tournament... but he knew that his father had meant that he was not to leave the palace until his punishment was over and the very last thing Legolas wanted to do was get in trouble again and further disappoint his father, or garner more of Doriflen’s wrath.  He still didn’t have an answer for his Uncle about yesterday and the prince knew that sooner or later today he was going to need one.  It made his palms clammy just thinking about it.

 

Galion regarded the downcast young prince with kind-hearted pity.  He knew what the boy was missing.  The butler put a gentle hand on the younger elf’s shoulder as he showed Legolas what needed doing. 

 

Legolas was having a bit of difficulty rolling one of the heavier barrels up the ramp into the upraised storage area on the far wall, when another set of hands joined him; hands that were too small to be Galion’s. 

 

“Let me help you with that.”

 

Legolas started and nearly dropped the barrel. 

 

Raniean caught it and kept it from rolling backward until Legolas got his shoulder back against it again. 

 

“Raniean?  Trelan?” Legolas looked quickly between his two friends.  “What are you doing here?  The tournament grounds must be packed by this time, you’ll never find a spot!”

 

Trelan shrugged with an impish grin, adding another hand to the precariously balanced tub.  “It doesn’t matter, I can never see no matter where we stand.”

 

“Yeah,” Raniean nodded.  “We decided it wasn’t worth contending with the crowds.  Trelan always gets stepped on and then smarts off at whoever did it, and I have to save him...”

 

“HEY!” the small elf elbowed his friend sharply.  “Do not!”

 

“Do too!  Raniean chuckled and shoved his friend away.  “But anyway, we decided to skip all that, what’s one more tournament anyway?  We thought maybe you could use some help down here.”

 

Legolas blinked, totally stunned.  “Y-you can’t do that, I know how much you two have been looking forward to this!  Go on, go, I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

 

“Legolas,” Raniean caught his friend’s eyes and smiled.  “Don’t you understand?  We don’t feel sorry for you.  We’d just rather be with you than at any dumb old festival, all right?”

 

Legolas didn’t know what to say.  He smiled gratefully at his friends, his eyes saying what he couldn’t put into words. 

 

“Now can we get this barrel up the ramp before it rolls us over?” Trelan put in as the tub shifted again. 

 

The friends laughed and rolled the barrel the rest of the way up. 

“Before it rolls *you* over you mean!” Raniean teased. 

 

The three young elves moved the barrels around with quick, light hands and nimble reflexes, making games out of the labor and racing the barrels down the ramp to see who could get theirs through the trapdoor and into the water first. 

 

Galion watched the barrels bump and crash together much more roughly than he would ever have let his normal helpers get away with.  But the three boys were enjoying themselves while they worked and it was all right with him.  He thought well of the prince’s young friends for the sacrifice they had made for friendship. 

 

Evening was drawing near when the butler approached his young charges.  “Well now, with all three of you working, things have gotten finished up much quicker than expected, there’s nothing left to do here.  However, I do have to go check how the wine supply at the tournament is holding out... I don’t suppose I could get you boys to come help me...” his eyes twinkled.

 

“Sure!” Raniean and Trelan agreed quickly, but Legolas hesitated. 

 

“Now,” Galion looked at the young prince, sensing his hesitation.  “Your father said you were supposed to help me, right?  Well I need your help out there.  You’re under my charge and it’s my responsibility your highness, you won’t be doing anything wrong.”

 

Legolas smiled brightly.  “Very well then!”

 

Checking and refilling the large, public wine flagons took less than twenty minutes, after which, Galion took his young charges up to the roof of the stone alcove that housed the festival’s free wine and food.  From the roof, the four of them had perhaps the best view of the entire tournament grounds.  The match had just about reached its climax and the three young elves watched with rapt attention as the two best bowmen in Mirkwood faced off against one another in a series of breathtaking challenges as inventive and clever as they were difficult.

 

Galion brought the boys up some of the huge, sticky pastries that were being given out down below and the young elves shared the goodies amongst themselves as they watched. 

 

“Did you SEE that?!” Trelan gasped animatedly, gesturing excitedly with sticky fingers.

 

Raniean shook his head in awe at the skill they were watching, ripping off another piece of the pastry without ever taking his eyes off the field.  “Never seen anything like it!  How in the world did he get it to go there?!”

 

Legolas watched, entranced.  “It was the way he twisted his wrist, right before he let the arrow go,” he murmured, keen eyes straining to capture every detail, every move. 

 

“You would know,” Raniean nodded, smiling.  Legolas was the resident archery expert in their little group. 

 

“Someday we’re going to see you out there, right Legolas?” Trelan said with full confidence. 

 

Legolas laughed lightly, it was in fact a dream of his.  “Maybe someday.”

 

“Ohh, oh, watch,” Raniean tugged on Legolas’ sleeve and pointed.  “They’re going to do that relay shot we’ve been hearing so much about.  I’ve never seen it done, I was hoping they would do it this year.”

 

It was an incredibly complicated shot, which only the best archers attempted with any success.  Two elves stood side by side, one holding a bow and the other with several long, multi-colored trailing ribbons tied around a ring.  A third stood several stone throws distant with another bow and an arrow. 

 

“Lagor revio, thenid revio! Hado!  Fly true, fly swift!  Fire!” the archer standing next to the elf holding the ribbons called out, signaling his readiness to begin.

 

The lone archer across from the pair shot his arrow at the unprotected heart of the other elf holding the bow. 

 

The crowd held its breath. 

 

Almost quicker than sight the second archer pivoted on his heel and caught the arrow in his hand, stopping it in mid-flight just before it reached his chest.  The third elf slipped the ribbon-ring around the shaft of the arrow even as the elf who had caught the arrow put the projectile to the string of his own bow and sent it back to the original archer. 

 

The whole thing had taken less that a heartbeat to transpire. 

 

With the same display of fluid grace, the second archer caught the arrow and sent it back, keeping the ends of the yellow ribbons trapped in his fingers.  The arrow was sent back and forth in this manner several times in a kind of faster-than-sight dance, with the archers twisting and catching the different colored ribbons as they went.  Less than a minute later, the two archers stopped, stretching tight the colorful strands that now hung between them.  The crowd roared with applause when they showed that they had expertly braided the ribbons into an intricate pattern of delicate knots with the colors arranged to mimic the rainbow. 

 

Legolas, Trelan and Raniean jumped to their feet on the roof, cheering loudly.  They had never seen anything like that and it was incredible. 

 

“We are going to learn to do that!” Legolas said excitedly.  “I know Cúrorth will show us how it’s done if we ask him.”

 

Raniean and Trelan nodded in agreement as they settled back down to watch the rest of the match. 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Night had fallen some time ago as the tournament grounds emptied slowly.  Legolas said goodnight to his friends, but became separated from Galion in the crowds.  So it was that he was alone as he walked towards the darkened palace. 

 

The young prince jerked and started when a hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind.  Spun sharply around, Legolas found himself staring up at his uncle’s angry face.  If he had been startled before that quickly solidified into pure terror now, but he did not fight as Doriflen dragged him off the path. 

 

“I waited for you all day boy.  We need to have a talk,” Doriflen hissed threateningly. 

 

Legolas felt his mouth go dry as he stumbled off after the older elf.  This was going to be bad. 

 

~*~

 

“Uh oh,” Raniean stooped, picking up a small brooch in the shape of a circle of silver leaves from where it was being trodden upon on the ground.  “Legolas must have lost this.  Legolas!  Hey!  Legolas!” but his friend was already lost in the crowd. 

 

Raniean shrugged, tucking the brooch into his breast pocket.  “Trelan, Nana said we’re having dinner at your house tonight, so my parents are probably already there.  When you see them will you please tell them I’ll along in about twenty minutes?  I’m going to return this to Legolas really quick.  You know how his father is about him losing things.”

 

Trelan nodded.  The last thing they wanted was for their friend to get in any more trouble.  “All right, but hurry or I can’t guarantee that my cousins will leave you any supper!”

 

Raniean laughed as he jogged away into the darkness.  “I’ll try.”

 

The young elf slipped into the palace quietly.  It was easy enough for him to do since the gates had not yet been closed for the night and all the guards were used to seeing the young prince’s friends come and go as they pleased.   

 

Legolas was no longer with Galion, so Raniean asked one of the servants, who thought that maybe they had seen the prince with his uncle and the young elf should look there.

 

Raniean made his way to Doriflen’s wing of the palace.  No one answered his ultra soft knock so instead he pushed open the large doors that let into the Vice Regent’s lavish set of rooms and looked around.  There was no one in the main chamber and Raniean hesitated to search any further.  He did not particularly like Legolas’ uncle and he supposed he could just leave the prince’s brooch in his room for him.  The young elf was about to leave when muffled sounds from the bedchambers down the passage made him freeze and edge closer. 

 

“How many times,” *whack* “do I have to impress this upon you,” *whack* “before you learn?!” *whack* “You avoid me and shirk your duties and I will,” *WHACK* “be more than glad,” *WHACK* “to show you the consequences!”  Doriflen’s low, angry voice was punctuated by a sharp, sickening crack of leather whistling through the air and striking something soft.  But that wasn’t what made the young elf’s blood run cold.  It was the muffled, miserable, choking sobs of pain that accompanied the sound. 

 

“I-I’m s-sorry... it won’t happen again, I swear it won’t!  Stop, please stop, I’m sorry...” Legolas’ voice broke as the pain became too much for him again.  A muffled scream earned him a sharp clout across the back of his skull.  His head was spinning and blackness tinged the young prince’s vision.  His body was strong, but it was slowly wearing out from Doriflen’s repeated and unrestrained abuse.

 

Raniean had never heard his friend beg before and his blood boiled.  Peering around the corner the young elf saw a scene so unreal he would only have believed it possible of a nightmare.  Legolas was on his knees on the floor; his wrists bound tightly to one of the foot posts of the bed in the middle of the room.  The prince’s shirt was on the floor next to him and his slim shoulders were marred darkly with bleeding welts.  Doriflen stood over his nephew, beating the boy without compunction. 

 

Horror rose like bile in Raniean’s throat as Legolas slumped limply against the bedpost, unconsciousness claiming him.  “Legolas!” he gasped his friend’s name. 

 

Doriflen’s head jerked up and his burning gaze landed on the intruder. 

 

Raniean reeled back a pace under that menacing glare, but he was so consumed by the terror of the sight in front of him he did not hear the footsteps behind him until a hand pressed firmly over his mouth and a strong arm wrapped around his chest.  The youth struggled in shock and surprise, but a quick, sharp blow to the base of his skull put a stop to that and Raniean slumped forward, also unconscious. 

 

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART FIVE*~
~Painful Discoveries~

 

 

~~~~~~~~
I have a tale to tell,
Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well.
I was not ready for the fall,
Too blind to see the writing on the wall...

A man can tell a thousand lies;
I’ve learned my lesson well,
Hope I live to tell
the secret I have learned, ‘till then...
It will burn inside of me.

--Madonna
~~~~~~~~

 

 

When Legolas woke he was no longer bound and was lying fully clothed on his Uncle’s bed.  The young elf moaned softly in pain and rolled onto his side.  He had only passed out a handful of times when Doriflen was punishing him, but it was becoming more frequent as Doriflen became more violent.  Legolas stared down at the muted shades of the rust-colored quilt underneath him and realized he was shaking, but it wasn’t just from the pain.  He was scared. 

 

Something was wrong.  Somewhere in his heart he was having trouble believing that his father and mother wanted him hurt this way, this frequently.  He still believed that some of what he endured was normal, but he was beginning to think that his Uncle’s unstable nature was making it worse than it should have been. 

 

It hadn’t started like this... at first lectures and lessons had been all there was, and Legolas was used to that from all his teachers.  Then when the abuse started... it hadn’t been all at once, but introduced gradually and the young prince always believed it was his fault.  Lately though, Doriflen seemed to have no restraint with him and Legolas was truly beginning to fear that his Uncle might go too far and kill him by accident one of these days.  It was a horrible feeling and a sickening fear to carry all alone. 

 

There was something wrong with his uncle.  He could see that now, some unbalanced fire in his eyes and his soul that Legolas had learned to fear.

 

Besides all that though, there were also the disturbing things he’d been hearing about Doriflen of late that made him question just how much trust he should be placing in the elder elf... it had been for a little while now.  Yet... he was afraid.  He was afraid to question, afraid what Doriflen would do to him if he found out, afraid that his parents would be angry.  And he was ashamed; ashamed of the secrets, of the lies, of the hurts and humiliation, of what his uncle did to him and his own reactions. 

 

Voices from the next room caught his attention, so he just lay still on the bed and listened, not feeling ready to do anything else yet.

 

“You have the brat secured?” Doriflen was asking someone who responded to the affirmative and Legolas wondered what they meant since he himself was no longer bound. 

 

“Good.  The last thing we need is more people knowing too much.  Amilon tells me that there are some who are beginning to question my authority and who doubt the truth of what I say.”

 

“It is true, there are indications that some of our following are beginning to doubt your claim to the throne.  The unrest is growing, we must move soon or I fear we will lose too much of our backing.  Words mean nothing without action.”

 

Legolas recognized the voice of the second elf as that of Melryn, Nynd’s father.  The things he heard Doriflen saying startled him.  What could they possible be talking about?  Legolas had heard the rumors that there were traitors amongst them, but surely it couldn’t be his uncle.  Thranduil’s own brother couldn’t want to hurt him that way... could he?

 

The prince’s brows furrowed at the disturbing and confusing words he was hearing.  It seems he was coming into the middle of a conversation.

Slowly he pushed himself off the bed and made his way uncertainly across the carpet towards the door.  He didn’t know what time it was now and had to get back to his rooms before he was missed, but something troubled him about whatever Melryn and his uncle were talking about.  There was a light coming from under the door to Doriflen’s study and Legolas quietly made his way down the hall towards it. 

 

The voices of the elves within the study grew louder as they argued and Legolas carefully cracked the door, barely pushing it past the frame as he listened.

 

“Is that what they are saying?”  Doriflen asked darkly as he paced back and forth.  “Well I think I know just the thing to stop their doubts.”  The elf lord stood perfectly still and smiled darkly at his captain.  “In fact tonight we will have rule from within the palace and no one will question me again.”

 

“My lord, how do you propose to do this?”  Melryn asked, shifting nervously under Doriflen’s piercing gaze.  “Thranduil is still king and his guards are loyal...”

 

Melryn stepped back quickly as Doriflen moved menacingly towards him. 

 

“Thranduil is weak,” Doriflen spat with venom.  “His rule is weak and he is not the lawful king.  He is a sniveling usurper and I will expose him for what he is!  Tell me, Melryn, have you found anyone with access to Thranduil’s chambers yet that we can trust?” 

 

Melryn seemed a trifle disgusted.  “No.  No one goes in or out of the King’s private chambers at night except for his family and his personal attendant.  There’s no moving Elrynd, he would cast himself into the fire before he betrays Thranduil.”

 

“You were not too obvious with him were you?” Doriflen asked sharply.  “I don’t really relish having another case like Umdanuë on my hands right now, they’re still searching for him.  Someone like Elrynd would be too conspicuous of an absence.  Dealing with that nosey child is going to be quite enough.”

 

“No, my Lord, Elrynd suspects nothing.”  There was a pause.  “My Lord, what *was* done with Umdanuë?”

 

“None of your concern,” Doriflen brushed the question off with irritation.   His voice had taken on a quiet, dark tone, his attention distracted by the smallest of unexpected sounds.

 

On the other side of the door, Legolas’ heart froze.  What madness of treason was this that they were speaking?  With a quiet gasp the prince realized that his uncle *was* the traitor he had heard about.  He almost couldn’t comprehend this sudden revelation, yet it was all there, too much to be ignored.  It was true then; the ugly whispers he had been hearing were not rumors only.  Doriflen did intend to try to take the throne from his father.  Legolas still did not understand everything being said, but what he did understand was quite enough to horrify him.

 

Motioning Melryn to silence, Doriflen walked soundlessly back to the far side of the room, out of Legolas’ view where he stood by the door.  The silence within alerted the youth and he quickly turned to flee, but he was not fast enough. He had just reached the hallway when Doriflen flung the door to his study wide open.

 

Legolas darted back into the bedroom, but he was sure his uncle had seen him.  He tensed, listening – he had been discovered.  He spun on his heels, there was no escaping now, he would have to admit he had been eavesdropping.  Under normal circumstances that would have been frightening enough, but now...

 

“Nephew, you are awake.”  Doriflen walked into the bedchambers, his tone conversational, his hands clasped behind his back.  “Feeling better are we?”

 

The question tossed Legolas off guard and he stammered slightly as he replied, “Yes Uncle, but I should be going or I will be missed.  Was there anything else?”  His attempt at innocence did not fool the older elf.

 

With a feral smile that shot fear straight through Legolas’ heart Doriflen walked up to the young elf and placed his arm around the prince’s shoulders, directing him back into the bedroom.  He wondered how much the boy had heard.  Probably more than was healthy.  They might just have to speed things up a little. 

 

“Actually, it’s funny that you ask, there is more to tonight’s lesson.”  The fear that shown in Legolas’ eyes at this pronouncement delighted Doriflen.  “Tell me Legolas how does the King deal with those who eavesdrop on important meetings in his chambers without leave?”

 

Unwillingly, the prince began to shake, he could not handle another beating tonight, he feared he would not survive.

 

“Tell me child, don’t make me wait for the answer.  You know what happens when you aren’t prompt with my questions.”  Doriflen stopped walking and turned the younger elf towards him, lifting the boy’s chin until Legolas was forced to stare into his eyes.  “Now answer me.”

 

“They are flogged.” The elfling whispered.  He was trying hard to control his breathing and contain his fears, but his stoic mask was slipping.

 

“Ah,” Doriflen turned his back on Legolas and walked to the far side of the room as though deep in thought.  “That is what I was afraid of.”  He commented after a few moments.  “Then that is what I shall have to do to you.”  With a slight, sympathetic smile he glanced back at his nephew.  “You were snooping near my door were you not?”

 

Without waiting for Legolas to answer, Doriflen picked up a coiled whip that lay on the chair near his bedside.  Legolas did not want to consider why it was there.  Doriflen slapped the leather handle in the palm of his hand, beating out a steady rhythm as he walked back towards his nephew.

 

“You know how I hate to do this...”

 

Try as he might Legolas could not stay put as he was told.  Doriflen had never used a real whip on him before and he was terrified senseless by the threat.  He backed away from the older elf, his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. 

 

“No, uncle please.  I...I am sorry, it was not intentional it was...” Legolas stopped pleading as he bumped into Melryn, who gently held the child in place.  Legolas squirmed lightly in his grip, petrified.  He didn’t know if his uncle knew how much he had heard or not and did not want to let on that he knew about the treachery for fear that his uncle would never let him leave these rooms alive if he did.  Glancing at the whip in Doriflen’s hands the prince’s heart trembled; maybe his uncle did not intend to let him live through tonight anyway.  

 

Melryn had walked out into the chamber after his lord when heard the prince’s voice and now held the boy’s arms firmly.  He had been afraid that something like this might happen.  He had told Doriflen many times in the past that attempting to turn the king’s son against him was reckless folly, but his liege would never listen to him.

 

“No?” Doriflen repeated Legolas’ request, twisting the word back on the child, mimicking the prince’s voice. “Then perhaps you have a better punishment in mind.”  When the young elf did not answer, Doriflen continued, “I thought not.  You know I cannot let you go unpunished.  You must learn and you are such a slow learner.”  He tapped the handle of the whip against his lower lip as though deep in thought.

 

“There might be a way for you to redeem yourself without forcing me to flog you.”  Doriflen gazed at the elf that held the child securely, a wicked smile spreading across his thin lips.

 

Touching the leather thong of the whip to Legolas’ cheek, Doriflen tormented him with the feel of the instrument of punishment, forcing Legolas to wait on his uncle to continue.  The prince closed his eyes tightly and evened his breathing out as he waited.  Anything that Doriflen could come up with instead of his regular beatings would be bad indeed.

 

Jerking the leather roughly along the line of Legolas’ chin, Doriflen walked back to the chair and dropped the whip back into it, his tone of voice conversational once more.  “Yes, there is another way.”

 

When his uncle turned back to him, Legolas shivered involuntarily at the demented light in the elf’s eyes.

 

“Have you seen the ring that your father wears?  The one with the green stone set in silver leaves?”

 

Legolas nodded slowly.  “The edsiria?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yes, the edsiria of the royal house that should have passed to me when father died, but did not,” Doriflen concurred darkly.  The ring was old and had a very long history, most of which was unknown to Legolas. 

 

Crafted many ages ago by one of the Mírdain of Eregion the mithril and emerald ring had been one of their early essays into making rings that were more than just jewelry.  The edsiria, as the ring was called, was not at all like the later rings of power that had been forged by those elves, but it was special all the same.  The ring had no power in its own right, but it acted as a channel, or a prism that enhanced and focused the natural strengths and abilities of the wearer. 

 

The edsiria had been given as a gift to Oropher before Sauron, calling himself Annatar, had come to Eregion in fair form and befriended the craftsman elves.  The skills that had made the edsiria and other lesser rings like it were then used as building blocks for the creation of the rings of power, although since it had been made before Saruon’s arrival, the edsiria was untouched by the evil that tainted most of the other work done thereafter.

 

Oropher’s ring was the last known instance of one of those early rings that still survived in Middle Earth and Doriflen greatly desired to posses it.  Not only was it the official seal of Mirkwood, but it allowed Thranduil better control over the elf ‘magic’ at work through the woods, including the palace gates and many other measures of protection in their realm.  If Doriflen had it, not only would Thranduil be crippled, but Doriflen’s own power would expand.  Getting it was the only problem, and Doriflen had a plan for that.

 

“So, you’ll be able to redeem more than one wrong tonight Legolas.  You will get the ring from his room and bring it to me.”

 

Before he realized what he was doing, Legolas was shaking his head, “No, no Uncle I cannot.  The ring is special and I am not allowed to touch it.”

 

“Did you just refuse me?” Doriflen’s voice was cold and the tone shot fear through Legolas’ heart.  He knew what it meant for him.

 

“No... I mean yes.  But no, I did not mean to refuse you.” The prince stumbled for the right words to assuage his uncle’s ire.  “I meant that father never removes it from his finger.  I have not seen him without it, it would be impossible.” Legolas swallowed hard.  He could not steal from his father it was unthinkable.

 

Doriflen sighed as though speaking to someone who was very slow, “Your father does not always wear the ring Legolas.  Your *father*,” he bit the word off as though it were a slur, “is bound by tradition.  It rules him, he believes in the codes and the old ways passed down by the ancients and therefore I *know* that your father does not wear the ring at night.  You see the ring used to belong to our father and he would always place it in a wooden box by his beside at night.  A small polished wood box with carvings on the outside.  Have you seen such a box?”

 

Again Legolas simply nodded. 

 

Even though the edsiria had never been touched by evil and indeed did not posses the power-retentive qualities that would have been needed for it to retain such evil even if it had been, Oropher had never felt completely comfortable about it after the revealing of Sauron and the destruction of Eregion.  He got in the habit of not wearing the ring all the time and taking it off when he went to rest at night.  All this was unknown to Legolas however, since Thranduil had not considered the ring a topic for children. 

 

Legolas was not struggling anymore so Melryn released him and moved to the doorway that led to the hall.  He stood guard to see that no one interrupted.  The last thing they needed was to be discovered now.  The captain watched with awed surprise as Doriflen manipulated the young prince to concede to his way of thinking.  It was always a bit of a shock how Doriflen could bend people to his will, even people like the prince who should have had deep reasons to despise or distrust him. 

 

“If you have seen the box, then you have seen where the ring lays at night.  This is your final test Nephew.  Bring the ring to me after your father has fallen asleep.”

 

“How can stealing from my father be one of the tests uncle?  I do not understand.”  The request felt wrong.  Legolas knew that his father had told him to never touch the ring.  He did not know why but had always been told that in time he would learn everything when it was necessary for him to know.

 

Doriflen, knowing the logic that Thranduil used on Legolas, as it was how their own father had treated them, turned the king’s words against his son, “When it is time for you to know the ‘why’ of everything I will tell.  But now is not the time nor is it yours to question me as your Saelon.  All elves must pass a final test similar to yours.  Do it and bring me the ring.”  He watched amused as Legolas warred within himself.

 

His father had rules.  Doriflen had rules.  The rules themselves seemed to contradict each other and the prince was confused.  Moreover, having heard the treachery his uncle was planning made him extremely hesitant to trust anything he said.  The words of his father’s caution rang more clearly in his head and with shame he dropped his gaze, his voice a mere whisper.  “I cannot Uncle.  It is forbidden to me to touch it.  I cannot disobey my father.  Let me tell him of your request and then...”

 

“You will do as I tell you!”  Doriflen’s outburst of anger caused even Melryn to flinch and step back, bumping into the doorframe.  He winced when the elf lord slapped Legolas harshly.

 

For a few moments Doriflen paced the room.  This was getting him nowhere and they were running out of time.  If persuasion wouldn’t work, he would try something a little stronger.  Stopping in front of the prince he reconsidered his options.  “Very well Nephew. I had not wanted to do this, but you give me no choice.”

 

Legolas steeled himself for the worst, but he knew he had chosen right.  He needed so desperately to talk to his father about what was going on, but after refusing his Uncle he wondered if he would even have the chance.

 

“Your friend, the taller one that you play with in the afternoons?  Remember him?”

 

Nodding slowly Legolas glanced from Doriflen to Melryn, fear knotting once more in his stomach.

 

“Well he interrupted your lesson this evening.”  Doriflen smiled as Legolas’ eyes went wide as that information sunk in.   “Very rude of him, walking in without knocking.  He saw things he was not meant to see, and for that he should be punished. I have him hidden away and if you do not do as I say and return to me before sunrise I will give *him* the flogging that you so richly earned.  His blood will be on your head, do you understand me?  Now go get that ring and bring it back here.  And do not think to go for help or try to tell your father what I have done, for if anyone but you passes back through my door this night, Raniean will not just be punished, he will be dead.  If you tell anyone what has passed between us, or what errand I have set you, your friend is dead... and he will not go easy, that I promise you.”

 

When Legolas hesitated Doriflen continued, “Need proof do you?”  The elf lord stalked into his study and returned with a wadded up green cloth.  He threw the bundle at Legolas, causing the young elf to stumble back slightly. 

 

Carefully Legolas shook out the cloth.  It was a cloak, a simple elven cloak that might have belonged to Legolas; but the brooch that was pinned at the nape of the neck was not the royal insignia, it was the symbol that belonged to the house of Randomir.  Legolas thought his heart had stopped beating as his fingers gently brushed over the silver pin.  Ran had been wearing this only today; he remembered it clearly.  There was no way Doriflen could have gotten a hold of this if he hadn’t captured Raniean.

 

“He was brining you this.”  Doriflen tossed Legolas’ own brooch at the elf.  It fell to the floor between the boy’s feet.  “Really Legolas, you must be more careful about leaving your things around.  I do believe you have already had a lesson in that have you not?”

 

Slowly Legolas glanced from the glittering brooch near his boots to his Uncle’s face.

 

“Uncle,” his whisper was broken.  “I will do what you ask, just do not harm Raniean.”

 

“Then you had better hurry, you’ve already wasted precious minutes, dawn is not getting any further away.”  Doriflen taunted.  He looked to Melryn and motioned to the guard who quickly opened the door and stepped aside as Legolas fairly flew out into the hallway and headed for the upper rooms.  He had no idea how he was going to pull this off but Raniean was counting on him.

 

“Do you think this wise?” Melryn asked softly after the child was gone.  He was not convinced that the prince would not simply run crying to his parents about the whole thing.  But then, he did not know Legolas as well as Doriflen did. 

 

The laughter of his liege sent chills skittering up Melryn’s spine.  Doriflen walked back to his guard and closed the distance between them, “You question my intentions and my command constantly Melryn, *that* is not wise.  Legolas will do as he has been told.  Once I have that ring it won’t matter what my brother knows.  I will be in control of all his precious defenses and he will have no choice but to step down.  Now go, hide that brat of Randomir’s where he can never be found but by us, you know where I mean.  Gather the men and be ready for my call, tonight the throne will belong to the proper king.”

 

As Melryn formally bowed at his dismissal, Doriflen was already planning what his next steps would be.  He no longer paid attention to the soldier that left to do his bidding.  Thoughts of the future he had set in motion flooded his heart and mind and he hummed happily to himself as he entered his study to wait.  It wouldn’t be long now.  He would have the ring, he would have the rule and elven blood would run through the house of Oropher once more in payment for the foolishness of an old elf that had not the foresight to see the inevitable – he was the rightful ruler of Mirkwood, he had always been.

 

Legolas stopped running when he reached his own chambers.  He gently set Raniean’s cloak down on his bed.  His knees buckled beneath him and he crumpled to the floor, crying.  He felt trapped.  There was no one he could talk to, no one to whom he could turn.  He wouldn’t have time to reach Trelan’s house and get back before sunrise and even if he did, his friend could not help him, no one could help him now.  Every moment he spent crying was one more that he could not afford to lose.  He wanted nothing more than to run to his father’s room and tell him everything, but he feared for Raniean’s life.  Doriflen would carry through on his threat, of that he had no doubt.

 

Pulling his knees up against his chest he tried to calm himself and formulate a plan.  He needed to get the ring, deliver it to his Uncle and then he would go straight to his father and tell him everything. 

 

Everything!

 

With that resolve in mind he pushed himself up off the floor and crept stealthily out into the hallway.  Of course the sentries guarding the passage that led to his parent’s chambers did not even look twice when the prince padded silently by them.  Legolas could come and go as he pleased as far as they were concerned. 

 

The door to his parent’s rooms was open and as Legolas approached he could see his father at his desk.  Thranduil had been entering the last of the day’s events in his journals and going over the kingdom’s records, trying to make a balance between the need of the people and the supplies they were able to obtain.  It was a tiring business and one he had gotten into the nasty habit of doing right before bedtime.  So it was that he often fell asleep at his desk and the task had been given to Elrynd to wake him and send him off to bed.

 

This was how Legolas found his father tonight as he stole quietly into the main chamber and stealthily approached his father’s desk.  True to what Doriflen had said, there was no ring on Thranduil’s finger.  Legolas simply stared at the sleeping elf for a few moments, wondering what his father really thought of him, what he would think when he explained everything, wondering if things could ever go back to the way they had been between them before.  Tentatively he reached out towards the older elf.

 

Thranduil shifted in his sleep, the pen in his fingers rolling off the edge of the book as he settled himself more comfortably.  Legolas pulled back quickly, standing perfectly still.  He was afraid he had woken his father; but the elder elf slept on.

 

With a small sigh, the prince headed for his parents’ bedchambers, set just off from the small study.  The door was cracked open, wide enough to let Thranduil in and closed enough so that Elvéwen could sleep.  The queen had grown accustomed to her husband’s late night habits, although she hated to see him wearing himself out in this way.

 

Slipping silently into the room, Legolas glanced quickly at his mother to make sure she slept and sidled alongside the bed.  He hadn’t the heart to gaze on her for very long because he knew what he was about to do would hurt her.  He hated to give Doriflen what he wanted, for he began to fear that it was somehow part of his plot to injure his parents, but he did not know what choice he had and he could only pray that they would understand when he explained himself afterward, if he could.

 

The box sat on the small nightstand near his father’s side of the bed just as Doriflen had said.  The young elf’s booted feet made no sound as he approached the table and quietly pressed the ornate fastener aside; it wasn’t locked.  Lifting the wooden lid he revealed the silver ring that lay in a pocket of deep green velour.  It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.  The silver band of the ring was fashioned like overlapping leaves and intertwined branches that held a beautiful green gem.  The stone was like an emerald, but cut so that it reflected all the colors of the rainbow and into its shining surface was etched the royal emblem of Mirkwood, making it one of the most exquisite sealing rings in Middle Earth. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Legolas plucked it up from where it lay.  Looking into the jewel it seemed that it had no end, almost as if it were eternal like the race that had bore it.  It was breathtaking really, but the young prince could enjoy none of its beauty at the moment. 

 

Legolas never even thought of putting the ring on, but grasped it tightly in his fist as he made his way back to the outer chambers and into the hallway.  With a sigh of relief he rounded the corner in the passage, thinking how easy it had been and grateful that he had enough time to reach Doriflen before Raniean’s time ran out.  Once he knew his friend was safe, then he could expose the treachery that was being plotted.  His thoughts were so intense and so wrapped up in formulating his responses to his uncle and the explanation to his parents that he was taken completely off guard when he rounded the corner and ran straight into Elrynd.  The ring flew from his open hand and clanked against the wall, drawing the servant’s attention.

 

The moon was bright and fully overhead this time of the evening hours.  Elrynd smiled softly to himself as he gauged the depth of the night about them.  This was the hour that Thranduil had asked his servant to come and wake him should he have fallen asleep at his desk.  Elrynd stirred the cup of tea one last time before placing it on the tray and heading for Thranduil’s rooms.  He had nearly gained the king’s study when Legolas bolted around the corner and collided into him.

 

The young prince, completely startled, stumbled backwards and lost his balance.  The tray teetered dangerously in Elrynd’s hands and it took all of the servant’s skill to keep from losing the cup of tea all over the ground as he recovered from the collision.

 

The clank of metal against the walls of the passageway drew his attention and Elrynd bent over to retrieve the bit of silver that Legolas had dropped.

 

“Are you all right your highness?  Here...”

 

The prince scrambled for the ring but he was not fast enough. 

 

Elrynd scooped the trinket up and offered it back to Legolas when he suddenly realized what it was he held.  The prince did not reach out for the ring but stood horrified as recognition dawned in the servant’s eyes.

 

“Legolas, this is your father’s is not?”  The fingers of the older elf’s hand closed reverently around the piece of jewelry, “It is very powerful and is only to be worn by the king.  What were you doing with it child?”

 

“I...I was...” With a sigh Legolas stopped talking and hung his head, unable to tell the servant what was going on, not with his friend’s life at stake.  “Please Elrynd.”  He begged with a shake of his head.  He was in too deep and there was no way out now; if Elrynd stopped him Raniean would pay the price.

 

“I think young one, we had better go back and talk to your father.” Elrynd wrapped an arm around the dejected shoulders of the elfling and led him back into the King’s chambers.

 

The soft sounds of Elrynd’s moving about the room woke Thranduil.  He smiled as the servant placed the warm mug of tea near his hand and was about to say something when Elrynd gently set the King’s ring down on the open page of the journal in which he had been writing.  The smile slipped from Thranduil’s face as he saw the jewel and he glanced sharply at his servant.

 

“Elrynd, where did you get this?” His questioning was harsher than he intended, edged with surprise at seeing his family’s heirloom where it should not have been.  He touched his ring finger absently, trying to remember if he really had placed it in the box next to his bed before returning out here.

 

“I am afraid I do not know why it is out of the box my lord, but I do know who may.” Elrynd stepped aside as he spoke and Thranduil noticed for the first time that Legolas stood behind the servant, trying to hide for as long as possible.

 

The prince had no idea how to explain any of this to his father.  He thought to win Raniean’s freedom and then come back with an explanation, but of what manner he hadn’t yet decided.

 

“Legolas?”  Thranduil stood to his feet and rounded the desk to stand before his son.  “Did you take my ring from the bedside?”

 

The sounds of voices in the antechamber had awoken Elvéwen and she entered the study, wrapping her slim frame in a thick robe.

 

“My love, what is it?” She walked up behind the King and smiled at Legolas.  “What troubles you so this late at night?”

 

Instead of answering his wife, Thranduil simply opened the palm of his hand and revealed the edsiria, his gaze never straying from Legolas’.

 

“Legolas?” Elvéwen queried the silent elfling, her eyes clouding with concern.  “What happened son?”

 

“I...I need...it’s just that...” Legolas stopped speaking, he was near tears and angry with himself for the weakness.  He desperately needed to tell them what had happened but knew that it would only end badly for his friend.  The fear of not being able to answer correctly and the anger in his father’s gaze froze him in place and he did not know what to say.

 

“I will ask you again.  Did you take the ring Legolas?”  Thranduil glanced up as Amil-Garil stepped into the chambers, followed by his second in command.  Agitated voices from within his Lord’s chambers had drawn the Captain of the Guard to the scene in concern.  He was in time to hear the prince’s whispered answer.

 

“Yes, Adar, I took the ring.”  Legolas winced as his mother gasped softly in shock.

 

“Why would you do this love?”  The tenderness in her voice choked off Legolas’ answer and he simply shook his head, biting back the tears.

 

Thranduil gripped the ring tightly in his palm, a sinking dread pulling at him.  There were few who knew about the edsiria, or his habit of taking it off at night.  Legolas would have had no reason to take the ring for himself, no reason the King could think of to want it... but Thranduil knew someone else who did. 

 

“Legolas, have I or have I not told you to never touch this ring?” Thranduil demanded, his stomach tight with fear and betrayal. 

 

Legolas nodded miserably, he couldn’t speak.  Of course Thranduil had, even if he didn’t know why.

 

“Then why did you?”

 

No answer.  Thranduil had been trying to gather his calm but Legolas’ guilty silence ground on his frayed nerves.  “Answer me Legolas.  Who put you up to this?  Was it your uncle?  Tell me child!” he had no idea how Doriflen would have gotten Legolas to be his pawn, but it both hurt and angered him that his son would let himself be used in this way. 

 

Legolas desperately wanted to say yes, wanted to explain the whole, sorry mess... but that would seal Raniean’s fate, if indeed, his own failure had not already done so.  If he failed, Raniean would be flogged, but if he told... Raniean would be dead.  The prince buried his face in his hands and did not answer.

 

“My lord is everything all right?  We heard voices.  Do you require our assistance?”  Amil-Garil asked quietly.

 

“The penalty I would pass down for any other subject of this kingdom caught stealing from the royal family is imprisonment.”  Thranduil ignored his guard for the moment.  His tone was harsh; he was finding it increasingly difficult to understand his son.  Legolas’ willful disobedience and refusal to even speak to him made him question the boy’s motives even further.  If Legolas had been tricked that was bad enough, but if he was actively choosing compliance... Thranduil did not want to have to consider that.  It was easier to hide behind the veil of power and duty than reveal the depths of his betrayed heart. 

 

“Can you explain yourself?  Do you have a good reason for the treason you done here?  Have you any idea what could have happened if this were put in the wrong hands?”  Thranduil was almost certain he knew exactly who was behind this attempt to gain power over his house, but he wanted to hear it from his son.  He *needed* to hear it from him before he could take any action in response.

 

“I cannot tell you why, please Ada...” Legolas stepped back a pace, flinching as his father cut off his explanation.

 

“Yes you *can*, as your father and as your king I command you to tell me, it’s important, please Legolas,” Thranduil’s appeal was both firm and entreating at the same time. 

 

Legolas couldn’t breathe.  He had never seen his father this angry and yet there was nothing he could say.  No way he could explain his hideous actions without forfeiting Raniean’s life.  It broke Legolas’ heart to refuse, but the child could do nothing but shake his head helplessly.  “I’m sorry Ada.”

 

A stony mask fell over Thranduil’s face.  “Very well then.  If you wish to play the base roll of a common criminal, you shall be treated as such.  Amil-Garil, it seems that I do have need of your assistance.” Thranduil’s voice was firm and his eyes hard.  Legolas had betrayed him and would not even tell him why.  “Take the prince to the prison and put him in one of the cells.  He is not to be released until I say so.”

 

Any remaining color drained out of Legolas face as he dropped his head, unable to stand the contempt in his father’s eyes.

 

Elvéwen tightened by her husband’s side.  She would not openly cross him in front of the guards, but her gentle eyes burned hotly as they followed Legolas’ small form out of the room. 

 

Elrynd waited for his liege’s nod of dismissal before following the sad little party out, a deep, troubled frown on his face.  He did not understand what was happening, but hated seeing the family he loved and served so torn apart.

 

As soon as the door closed behind them, Elvéwen rounded on her husband with an icy glare.  “In all our years together Thranduil I have never questioned you, never contested any order you saw fit to give.  But here I draw the line.  You are *not* putting our son in prison!  He is a *child*, a frightened child.  I don’t pretend to know what is going on in his head that he would do what he has done, but you *know* he is not the one behind it.”

 

Thranduil sighed and dropped down into a chair, clenching the edsiria in his fist and putting his head in his hand as she spoke.  Finally he turned his eyes up towards her.

 

“Véa... I know he is not behind it.  This has Doriflen’s fingerprints all over it.  He *used* Legolas my love, he used him, and somehow Legolas let himself be used.  No, I don’t doubt that the boy’s reasons were good in his own mind, but understand Elvéwen, if Doriflen used him once he will try to use him again.  We have no way of knowing what Doriflen has over Legolas unless the boy tells us, which he seems unable to do, but whatever it is he must not be allowed to use it again.  Legolas is *safe* in prison because my brother cannot get to him.  I do not lock him up only to punish him, I do it to put him out of harms way and that decision I will not recant.”

 

Elvéwen’s heart twisted in her chest.  She understood her husband’s reasons but that did not mean she liked the methods.  “I will not leave him there alone,” she said quietly. 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

The heavy door closed quietly, but Legolas could hear the key turn in the lock with a distinctive click.  The young elf pulled himself into the tightest ball he could manage, hugging his knees and burying his face against them to muffle the sound of his shame-filled tears. 

 

He had lost everything.  His parents love, his father’s trust, maybe even Raniean’s life. 

 

A few minutes after the guards left Legolas heard a sound outside his cell and froze as a familiar voice hissed in through the grate in the door.  “You failed me Legolas.  You failed me.  And tonight Raniean shall pay for your failure since I cannot reach you.”

 

“No!” Legolas scrambled towards the locked door.  “I-I didn’t tell them!  I didn’t tell them anything.  Leave Ran alone!”

 

The dark chuckle that answered chilled the prince’s young heart.  “It’s too late little one.  You’ve failed me for the last time.  I hope you told him goodbye when you parted last.”

 

Legolas fairly flung himself against the locked door between them.  “Don’t hurt him don’t you dare hurt him!” the young elf half-raged, half-pleaded desperately.  “You *used* me uncle!  You are a traitor to Mirkwood and plotting against my father, I heard you!  If you hurt him I will tell them everything I know, I swear it!”

 

Doriflen just laughed softly.  “Then you seal his doom all the more swiftly.  I will destroy him.  I will destroy your father and your mother and anyone else who stands in my way.  Except maybe you nephew... you I may keep to finish your training, or discard you broken if you continue to prove unworthy.  Tell them what you like little princling.  It doesn’t matter anymore.  After tonight, nothing matters.”

 

“Uncle?  Uncle!” Legolas pounded his fists on the door, but Doriflen had already left.  “Hello?  Is anyone out there?  Help me!  Hello?!” he shouted desperately, seeking anyone that could help.  He had to tell someone the truth before it was too late, he had to try!

 

Unfortunately Amil-Garil was far away from there and the two sentries on either side of the prince’s cell did not move as they watched their lord walk away, ignoring the cries of their young prisoner.  After tonight they would no longer have to serve Doriflen in secret. 

 

Horribly, Legolas realized that no one was going to come.  He as alone, despised, forgotten, and utterly helpless.  His shoulders shaking with sobs he could no longer contain, the young elf slid to the floor, leaning against the rough wooden door and burying his face in his arms to hide the shameful flow of unstoppable tears.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART SIX*~
~Shattered Peace, Mended Heart~

 

 

~~~~~~~~
Don’t waste your touch, you won’t feel anything
or were you sent to save me?
I’ve thought too much, you won’t find anything
worthy of redeeming.

Break down, and cease all feeling
Burn now, what once was breathing
Reach out, and you may take my heart away...
Take my heart away....

--AFI
~~~~~~~~

 

After what seemed a very long time, the sound of the key in the cell lock made Legolas flinch.  He pulled back into the corner of the small room.  Afraid of who might be entering, the young elf buried his head in his arms and would not look up.  Was it possible that Doriflen really had killed Raniean and his uncle had come back to taunt him and gloat over his pain?  It would be just one more thing that would help kill his already hurting heart.  He truly was not sure how much more shame and hurt he could handle and he knew he could not show emotions in front of his uncle, it would only make things worse.

 

A shadow fell across him, blocking out the light from a tiny lamp that sat on a shelf high above and he tensed, holding his breath.  The soft sounds of rustling fabric caught his attention and he fearfully chanced a look at his visitor.

 

Elvéwen slowly knelt in front of her son; her eyes shimmering with barely restrained tears as she took in the sight of the forlorn child huddled in the corner.  This was not her Legolas, the prince of the Great Greenwood; this was a frightened, haunted waif that glanced tearfully up at her.  What had happened?  What was going on that had wrought these changes in her son?  Something was greatly amiss and had been for some time the Queen felt, although she had not seen it this clearly before. 

 

“Legolas?” Elvéwen gently reached out her hand, cupping the youth’s chin in her slender fingers, her thumb softly wiping away the tears that spilled unbidden from his blue eyes.

 

The gentleness of his mother’s voice and the sorrow in her gaze broke through Legolas’ feigned impassiveness and the young elf pulled away from the soft touch; he did not deserve to be touched gently.  Everything that had come to pass was his fault and there was nothing left inside him that would ever be worth redeeming.  He had betrayed everything he loved and now he hated himself for showing his abominable weakness in front of his mother.  The prince loathed himself for breaking down like this and allowing his repressed emotions to surface when there was someone there to see.

 

“I’m sorry.”  He rasped quietly, his breathing hitching as he spoke.  He was trying desperately to calm himself, but it wasn’t working.  His mask had shattered and lay scattered in too many pieces around him; he couldn’t pull it back together again. 

 

Elvéwen settled herself on the floor in front of her son and rested her hands in her lap.  More than anything she wanted to hold the boy, but he was resisting her right now and she would not push him. 

 

“Sorry for what my love?”  Hoping to find out what had been going on she spoke gently, but was unprepared for her son’s response.

 

“For... for everything!  For betraying father, for not being strong enough, for showing my weakness in front of you and shaming the family.”  Legolas eyes were large in the semi-darkness of the prison and only added to making him look younger.

 

“How?” The Queen whispered quietly.  “What shame is this you speak of Legolas?”  They would come back to the issue of his father later.  Elvéwen doubted she could get any straight answers on that yet and didn’t want to make Legolas close off again by pushing too fast.

 

Wiping violently at the tears on his face he held his hand out towards his mother, “These!  These tears, they are like me: weak and pathetic.  I am sorry.  I know it’s wrong, I don’t want to hurt you!  I shouldn’t be so weak; I should... I don’t know...”

 

With a small gasp of sympathy Elvéwen leaned forward and pulled the child into her lap.  “Oh Tyndolhen!  No!  Tears do not show our weakness and they are not for shame.  Tears are given us by Ilúvatar that we may know when another is hurting that we may help them with their burdens.  Never hide them from me my child, your tears are precious.”  She kissed his eyelids gently, tasting on her lips the bitter saltiness of the tears trapped by his long eyelashes as she sought to sooth the hot ache of his inner pain with her loving touch. 

 

So much hurt.  She could feel so much burning pain radiating from his young, unguarded heart when she touched him.  It almost took the Queen’s breath away.

 

“That is not what Uncle says.”  Legolas winced slightly, inhaling sharply as Elvéwen gently rubbed his back.  It was meant to be a soothing gesture, but Legolas’ back was still excruciatingly raw from his uncle’s last beating.

 

Pulling away from the young elf the Queen carefully cupped Legolas’ face in her hands and forced the prince to look her in the eyes.  “What of your uncle?”

 

Jerking away from his mother the child simply shook his head, scooting away.  He wanted to tell, but he was still afraid, afraid that Doriflen would make good on his threats.  In his heart Legolas feared his father had already abandoned him and now maybe Raniean was gone too... there was no way to reverse what he had done and Legolas felt miserably helpless.  He didn’t even know what to say. 

 

Something seriously wrong had happened to her child and Elvéwen’s mothers instincts tingled with alarms.  Never in his life had Legolas flinched and shied from her touch or refused to speak to her.  The way he had winced at her gentle ministrations a moment ago sent fear spiking through her heart.

 

“What has your uncle said?” She repeated.

 

Legolas shook his head slowly. How he wanted to tell her, how badly he needed to!  He opened his mouth to speak but the words would not form on his lips.

 

“What has he done to you?”  Elvéwen’s words, although soft, held a hard edge as she began to guess at the fullness of what was going on just as she realized that the mystery was deepening.

 

Without waiting for the young elf to answer, Elvéwen moved next to Legolas and gently, but forcefully pulled his tunic up over his head.  The prince stiffened.

 

At the small gasp that escaped her lips, Legolas began to cry softly once more.  He was bitterly ashamed that his mother had to see the results of his wickedness.  The pain-filled words he had been hiding in his heart tumbled out through the sobs. 

 

“I am sorry that I am so bad, I-I don’t mean to be, honestly Nana.  I am sorry that I must be punished daily.  Please, when father is angry with me, can’t he come himself?  Must he send my uncle to punish me?  Uncle Doriflen does so enough on his own and... Vede is not... not *right*.”  He had wanted to say *sane*, but didn’t.  He suspected that Doriflen probably ‘improved’ upon whatever commands his father gave regarding his punishments.  Certainly, it would have to be at least a *little* better if his father handled it himself.  Doriflen took too much pleasure from causing pain; even Legolas could see that much.  Thranduil could be very hard with him, but he had never seen his father enjoy another’s suffering.  Maybe he was blind and misguided, but Legolas simply could not imagine Thranduil holding him down and beating him until he bled as his uncle did routinely, although in the darkest corner of his heart that was Legolas’ deepest fear.  For that very reason, he had never before dared to ask that his father deal with him in person on these issues; he dreaded that he might find out he was wrong.  At this point however, the young prince had already hit rock bottom.  There was no lower he could go and desperation finally overcame fear. 

 

Legolas flinched again as his mother touched the welts that striped his back; some of them not yet fully sealed over.  They were ugly and swollen and not something that should ever have been seen gracing the body of one so young. 

 

“Why?” the young elf’s whispered question was filled with anguish.  Doriflen was a traitor, Legolas knew that, but was sure his father did not.  Yet even ignorant of the treachery, the question of why Thranduil had submitted him to this kind of treatment to begin with was too much for his aching heart to handle any longer.  He had tried, he had tried so hard to understand... but he could not. 

 

Legolas broke down completely.  All his barriers fell and the walls that held the pain back came crashing down as his mother pulled him against her, her own tears wetting his hair as she rocked them both.

 

Finally Elvéwen spoke, her words soft and calming despite the horror and rage welling up inside her at what had been happening to her baby without her knowledge. 

 

“My dearest, I did not know,” she whispered, her voice rough with emotion.  “I didn’t know!  Please heaven Legolas, you have to believe me I knew nothing of this!  Tyndolhen, neither your father or I knew until this very moment that Doriflen has been beating you.  You have done nothing to be deserving of such treatment my child!  We could not be more pleased with you, there is no reason for you to be punished so and what has been done to you is not even punishment.”  Elvéwen buried tearful kisses into the tousled hair on the crown of his head, wishing she could wipe away every moment, every memory of this pain.  “It is the worst kind of abuse, and it’s abominable!  You father would never agree to this, never, and neither would I.  I promise you that Legolas.”  She held the boy tenderly against her, running one hand repeatedly through his long unkempt hair in a soothing motion. 

 

Elvéwen’s heart shattered into a million pieces as she began to realize the horrible secret Legolas had been hiding from them.  She bled for him inside and yet it was so hard for her to understand... what kind of heartless beings did he think they were that they could allow him to be treated so?

 

“Oh child, how could you think we would want you hurt like this?  How is it he has done this and no one knew?  How long has this been going on?”  She was almost afraid to ask.

 

“He bound me with silk so that it would not show.  H-he said it was part of the secrecy of the Saelons.  It was part of my Maethor training... he said father had told him to do it,” Legolas’ voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper.  “They were lessons.  Tests of my abilities to remain faithful.  I-I figured you knew best.”  Legolas murmured softly against his mother.  The fact that his parents had not known and would never have allowed all this quieted the ache in his heart and yet raised even more confusion inside him.  “But they hurt Nana... they hurt so badly...”

 

Elvéwen took one of Legolas’ hands in her own and turned it palm up, looking for any marks on the child’s wrists.  Doriflen, though cruel, had been thorough, covering all his steps so he would not be found out. Elvéwen’s anger flared and she held Legolas’ tighter.  She didn’t care if he was her husband’s brother, Doriflen deserved to rot in the void with Melkor and at this moment she would gladly put him there. 

 

“I’m so sorry.” The young elf kept repeating.

 

“Shhh... my love it wasn’t your fault.”  Elvéwen closed her eyes against the pain and anger warring in her heart, “You were deceived.  We all were.  Legolas, your father would never have given you Doriflen as a Saelon, he lied to my son; he lied about everything.  It is I who am sorry... I should have seen.  Oh my dear one, my dear one, I should have seen.  Is that why you tried to take the edsiria tonight ion-nín?  Because he threatened to hurt you again?”

 

“I did not know they were lies,” Legolas voice was soft as he finally began to see the tangled world of twisted deceptions in which he had been living.  It was almost too much to absorb.  “But even so, I never would have stolen from father, ever, if I had not known that Uncle...” How could he tell her that Raniean’s life was in danger because of him, “If only I had...”

 

Elvéwen’s hand slipped around the youth’s forehead, holding him still and silencing him.  She kissed the top of his head before easing Legolas’ tunic back over his shoulders and refastening it.

 

“How long has this gone on?”  She questioned further.

 

The young elf dried his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic, closing his eyes and quieting his breathing, just as he had been instructed so many times before.  A calm façade fell across his fair features, schooling his emotions before he answered.

 

The effort to control himself was not lost on his mother and she recognized the cruelty of her brother-in-law behind the strict teaching.  It was something she and her husband would have to try to help Legolas unlearn once this was all over.

 

“Do not hide yourself from me, my son.  Tell me how long.”  She softly chided.

 

With a small nod Legolas dropped his gaze to the floor of the cell and whispered, “Several months now.  It did not begin like this. First it was simply lessons and lectures, but then more.  It has been worse the past few weeks.  I fear he will kill me if they continue.”  He started to say more but stopped as thoughts of Raniean rose once more in his heart.

 

The touch of his mother’s fingers underneath his chin lifted the elf’s face up and redirected his gaze, “Tell me all that is in your heart young one.”

 

“Raniean.”  Legolas choked on the name of his friend, deep-seated fear causing him to fumble for the right words.

 

“What of Raniean?” Elvéwen pressed.

 

“He caught Uncle Doriflen beating me earlier this evening.  Uncle has taken him away and said that he will kill him.  That is why I tried to take father’s ring.  He said that if I did not get it for him then Raniean is dead.  It’s my fault and I do not know where to find him.  He is in danger because of me!” the heavy weight on the prince’s shoulders eased a little as he confessed the secret that had kept him quiet this far. “Uncle Doriflen is a traitor Nana!  He’s plotting to take over the kingdom, I heard him!  He said that after tonight nothing would matter any more.  He said Raniean would be dead.  He said...” Legolas could not finish.

 

“Raniean will not be allowed to be harmed, and neither, my child, will you.  Come with me.”  Elvéwen stood, her face resolute.  She held her hand down towards Legolas and helped the boy to his feet.

 

Calling to the guards she waited while they opened the cell and stood there holding Legolas tightly to her side.  Instead of moving out of the small room she straightened her shoulders and commanded the guard to her left, “You, go and find Amil-Garil.  Bring him here at once. Tell him the Queen awaits him, go now.”

 

Hesitantly the guard rushed off, leaving his counterpart to watch the cell.

 

In moments Amil-Garil rushed down the steps.

 

“My lady?”  The head of the King’s guard took in the scene quickly.

 

“I need to speak with you alone.”  Her eyes begged the captain to trust her and he nodded, sending the two guards away.  His second in command stayed by his side.

 

“Begging your highness’ forgiveness, but protocol demands there is someone else with us and I trust Gáriand with my life.  Anything you say in his presence will be kept between us.”  The guard bowed, begging his Queen to understand.

 

“As you wish.” Elvéwen moved out into the corridor, trailing Legolas.  The young elf walked behind her, her fingers entwined in the sleeve of his tunic.

 

“My lady, the child is to...” Amil-Garil was suddenly highly uncomfortable with the position in which he had been placed.  The King had ordered his son locked in the cell and they had been instructed to keep him there no matter what.

 

“The child is coming with me.” Elvéwen leveled the guard with a stern glare that brokered no argument.  “The prince has been beaten and his life threatened, he is not safe here.  He needs medical attention and he does not need to be locked in this cell like a criminal.  He is not.”

 

“The King gave the orders.”  Amil-Garil countered softly.  He did not like being caught in the crossfire like this.

 

“So he did, and I am revoking them.  Thranduil will as well once he hears everything.  I will take full responsibility should his wrath fall on you.  That is why I am asking you to garrison us in my quarters and request that the King to come to me immediately.  I wish you to stand guard until I release you from that duty.  In the meantime, place a guard on this cell as though the child remained here with strict orders that he is not to be spoken to nor is he to have any visitors whatsoever.  My husband’s brother has violated the King’s trust; he must not learn that we know of his treachery just yet.”

 

“Your highness, what is this you speak of?”  Amil-Garil stepped forward, removing his cloak and draping it about Legolas’ shoulders.  He pulled the hood down far over the elven boy’s face so he could not be recognized.  The captain of the guard did not notice when Legolas’ winced at the touch of the fabric across his back as the soldier clothed him, but his sharp ears easily caught the small gasp of pain.  Amil-Garil’s eyes reflected concern.

 

“Doriflen is not what he seems,” Elvéwen answered curtly, by way of explanation.  “He has hurt the prince and endangered the life of another elven child as well.  Raniean son of Randomir has been kidnapped.  We need to find him before Doriflen discovers that he has been found out.  He will kill the child, for Raniean knows too much.”

 

Amil-Garil’s countenance grew grave.  The Queen’s news was no small matter.  Raniean’s Saelon, Cirlith was a friend of his and he knew Randomir.  As a matter of fact, Randomir had been to the palace only an hour or two before, inquiring after his son whom he seemed to think had come to see Legolas.  Amil-Garil had been able to give him no news and was sorry to send the worried father away. 

 

Turning quickly to Gáriand, Amil-Garil quietly ordered the guard to begin a thorough search of the palace and the outlying grounds.  He warned the soldier to be careful whom he chose to take with him.  Pulling Legolas behind him, Amil-Garil closed the cell door and called the prison guards back.

 

“Watch the cell.  The prisoner is to have no visitors.  No one is to speak to him or see him until I give you word, is that understood?” He leveled the guards with a serious gaze while he gently moved Legolas out of their sight, shielding the boy with his large frame.

 

Elvéwen pushed past the captain, pressing Legolas in front of her as they exited the dungeon.  In moments the three were fleeing quietly through the palace halls until they reached the King’s bedchambers.  Amil-Garil ushered them in unnoticed and called Elrynd, sending the personal servant out to find his master. 

 

Elvéwen passed the guard back his cloak and the captain shut the doors behind him.  He drew his sword and stood in front of them, waiting.

 

Thranduil stormed down the hall to his private rooms, Elrynd close on his heels.  When he saw Amil-Garil guarding the large double doors he stopped up short, his gaze questioning the captain.  Stepping lightly aside, the soldier simply opened the doors and followed the King in, shutting all of them within the bedchambers and locking the doors from the inside.

 

“What is this?! What is the meaning of...” Thranduil stopped speaking as he took in the sight of his wife seated on their bed.  She was resting against the ornate headboard, gently stroking Legolas’ hair.  The boy lay sleeping, sprawled on the bed on his stomach, his head in her lap.  But it was the bandages covering the boy’s back that caught Thranduil’s attention first.  Small stripes of bright red blood oozed through in several places.  His son had been hurt and his wife had been crying.

 

“Elvéwen what happened?  What is going on?”  Thranduil whispered softly this time as he sat gently on the edge of the bed leaning over the still body of his son.  “Who did this?”

 

“Your brother.”  The Queen leveled the King with a stern gaze.

 

Thranduil’s eyes snapped. “I told you to leave him in the cell and he would be safe there!  Amil-Garil, how dare you-”

 

“This happened *before* you had him thrown in the cell,” his wife interrupted quickly and not without a hint of ire.  “Amil-Garil released him upon my word.” Elvéwen’s hand rested on the boy’s head and Legolas moved slightly in his sleep, his left arm tightening about her waist.

 

“We have been horribly blind Thranduil, and Legolas has paid the price.  Doriflen has beaten him everyday for I don’t want to know how long, saying it was punishment handed down from you.  He’s tried to steal not only your kingdom but your child as well.”  She continued as the King gently ran his fingers over his son’s bandaged back.  “Your brother has threatened not only the life of the King’s son but that of the son of your Captain, Randomir.” 

 

The King looked up sharply at the Queen.

 

“Doriflen is as much a traitor as we feared,” Elvéwen continued.  “He has taken Raniean and has promised to kill him because the boy found out what was going on and tried to stop him.  That is why Legolas was stealing from you.  He was trying to save his friend’s life.”

 

“Why would he allow this to be done to him?” Thranduil’s voice caught on the emotions he could not keep out as he gently undid a soiled bandage and carefully replaced it.  “Why did he say nothing...?”

 

“Because he loves you and he wanted to please us so very much.  He thought you wanted it this way.  He thought *we* wanted it this way.”  Elvéwen met the King’s gaze evenly, although her voice caught.  “I don’t know why he didn’t come to us.  Did he try and we missed it?”  The painful question in her eyes was vivid.  “But I know he was afraid Thranduil.  Fear can kill logic, you know that.  Doriflen has made him afraid of loosing his life and his friend’s life not to mention your love.”

 

“But I never...” with a sigh the King leaned over and gently kissed his son’s temple.  He would never suffer his child to abuse like this; it made his heart sick that the boy had kept quiet, thinking to please his father by his acquiescence to the cruel torture.  The trust of children is far too easily taken advantage of and elven children were no exception.

 

Amil-Garil spoke up softly from his place near the door, “My lord it is not my place but...”

 

Standing swiftly from the bed Thranduil stalked back to his guard, “No, it is your place.  That is why you are the captain of the guard.  If I had listened to your reservations in the very beginning about my brother none of this would have happened.”  He whispered fiercely.  Amil-Garil had said for a very long time that Doriflen should be put out of the palace; he was not to be trusted. 

 

“I believe my liege, that he has set his sights on nothing less that your majesty’s throne.  He has tried to overthrow you through your son and through subversion with the people.  His support is mounting.  There are rumors.  If he is not stopped there is no telling how far this will go.”  Amil-Garil continued when the King nodded curtly, encouraging his counsel.  “I know we have held back to prevent creating the conflict we wish to avoid, but I fear the hour grows too late.  Let me take a small contingent and hunt him down.  He may not yet be aware that we are on to him.  He does not know the boy is free.”

 

“I would that you stayed here with my wife and son.  But yes, entrust this to some of your best men.”  Thranduil turned as Elrynd walked quietly up behind the two elves.

 

“My lord, let Amil-Garil go.  Let him do his job.  I will stay with the Queen and your son.  No one will get past me and it will not look suspicious for I am often in your chambers.  A guard outside the door will attract undo attention.”  The seneschal offered.

 

With a smile Thranduil clasped his attendant’s shoulders with his hand, “Yes Elrynd, good thinking.  That is best.”  Turning back to Amil-Garil the King opened the doors and walked out into the lobby with soldier.

 

“Go quickly, find my brother and Randomir’s son. I would that no harm come to the child on our account.”

 

“Yes, my lord, we will not fail you.”  The captain started to go but turned back, “My lord, if you need anything...”

 

The offer hung between the captain of the guard and his liege for a few moments before Thranduil smiled and nodded in understanding. Quickly the King returned to his family, they needed him right now as much as he needed them.

 

Reseating himself on the bed, Thranduil noted that his son was slowly waking.  Elvéwen was quietly talking to Legolas as he groaned softly mid-stretch.  His back ached fiercely from where his mother had cleaned the stripes that marked him and he arched against the stiffness carefully.

 

The bed gave way a little as the King sat down and Legolas sleepily glanced over his shoulder.  However, when his mind registered that it was his father, the prince bolted upright, ignoring the pain that shot through his body.  Schooling his face into a passive mask he stared at the older elf with a wide-eyed gaze before glancing questioningly at his mother.  He was afraid. 

 

A slight frown marred Elvéwen’s features as she noted her son’s reticent timidity around his father.

 

“Legolas...” Thranduil wasn’t sure how to approach his son; he felt responsible for Legolas’ state.  The fact was that his child, his only son, that which his heart treasured more than life itself, had been used against him and he had not seen fit to notice.  Elvéwen was right, Legolas had reached out to him to for help, but he had been too busy.  The King vividly remembered the night the young elf had come to his chambers with questions regarding Saelons.  If he had only taken the time to truly hear what Legolas was saying *then* all of this could have been avoided.

 

A small, gentle touch to his hands brought Thranduil back to the present.  The King looked down to see the slender hand of his son tentatively cover his fingers.

 

“Ada?”  Legolas whispered, ready to draw his hand back quickly if his father disapproved.  Inside, the young elf battled the fear that tried to stifle him; the mind numbing terror that whispered in his ears, saying that some part of the things his uncle had said was still true.  His mother’s insistence that they were not had not been enough.  He had lived a lie too long to be able to see his way free of it so easily.  He needed to hear the truth from his father.  He needed to know that Thranduil did not hate him, nor wish him brutalized as he had been. 

 

When Thranduil glanced up into the large blue eyes, Legolas flinched ever so slightly and moved back quickly.  But his father’s large hands encased his smaller one and pulled Legolas forward. 

 

The elven youth tensed at the touch, his heartbeat speeding up.  He had not experienced tenderness from his father or any adult male elf in some time and the last one besides his mother who had grasped his wrists in this way had been Doriflen during one of his ‘lessons’.

 

Legolas held his breath as Thranduil gently wrapped his arms around the younger elf’s slender shoulders and pulled him forward, holding him against his chest and quieting the tremors he could feel in the slight body he held.

 

The King glanced up as Elrynd silently slipped out of the chambers, giving the family some privacy as he closed the door behind him.  Thranduil knew that his faithful servant would be just outside if they had any need.

 

Legolas’ tense body slowly relaxed a little in his father’s arms; the tremors turning to contained sobs.  Thranduil realized that Legolas was speaking through his tears, barely above a whisper.

 

“What did you say, my son?”  Thranduil questioned, holding Legolas’ head gently against his chest as the younger elf scooted closer, comforted by the embrace of his father and unwilling to lose that touch.

 

“Did you... was it really a lie Ada?”  The pained question was hesitant.  “Did you not appoint Doriflen as my Saelon?  Did-did he truly not have your permission for our lessons?”

 

Thranduil shook his head, pressing his eyes closed against his own surfacing emotions.  “No, Legolas, I did not and he did not.  Whatever he has told you was a lie little one.  I gave him no rights to you at all; I did not even want you around him.  What else did he tell you ion-nín?”

 

“He said... he said he hurt me because you told him to,” Legolas whispered.  “I-I didn’t always believe that, I thought that sometimes he was making it worse.  I just didn’t know...” the prince swallowed.  “He said the pain was part of Maethor training that I wasn’t allowed to speak about.  I know, mother said that is not so.”  Legolas confessed as all the pain and confusion in his broken heart surfaced anew.  “But he also said that he would kill you and Raniean and he would become King and this I know was not a lie.  He will do it if he can Ada.  He’ll kill you all, all... but me.  He said he... wanted to keep me.  I-I would rather die I think Ada.”  Legolas pressed his palms into his eyes.  “I was so blind.  It’s my fault that we are in this trouble now, I’m sorry...”

 

Tears streamed down Thranduil’s face as he glanced up at his wife.  The pain her in own eyes was evident.

 

“The secrecy of the Saelon’s will have to be dealt with my love.  It was never meant to hide something of this nature.  This cannot happen to another family, ever.”  Her voice was soft but her tone brokered no argument.  The training arrangements for the youngsters were going to have to change, and it was a priority. 

 

“I wouldn’t have stolen from you father, not ever, if it hadn’t been that Raniean’s life depended upon it.  Please believe me.  I wanted to tell you, I... I didn’t know how and you were so busy, I didn’t want to bother you...” Legolas’ breath hitched and he stopped talking as his ragged breathing interrupted him.  “I’m so sorry.” 

 

“No, I am the one to blame.”  Thranduil stared down into the huge glistening eyes of his son as Legolas pulled away from his father.  “I was the one who never had the time to listen, and I should have.”  Tears sparkled brightly in the blue eyes of the older elf. 

 

“I never appointed you a Saelon Legolas because I dared not trust you to just anyone.  You are more precious to me than the whole realm and I did not want to lose you so fast to adulthood.  I wanted you to enjoy this time of your life, but because I did not tell you what was in my heart, you have lost it instead.  I never would have given my brother leave to do to you what he has done.  No one would ever be allowed to treat you thusly.  Legolas... you will never be a bother to me.  I know I am busy, and I’m sorry, but please my son, promise me that if anything like this ever happens again, you will come to me, no matter what?  I will listen, and if I do not... *make* me listen Legolas.  Never suffer thus in silence again.”

 

Small, trembling fingers brushed the high elven cheeks of the elf lord, gently clearing away the tears that spilt down them.

 

“I promise, but Ada, it wasn’t your fault. I trusted Vede and I should not have.” Legolas gaze did not waver as he spoke, “You have the weight of the whole realm upon you I did not wish to burden you further.  I thought all Saelon’s were as Vede was with me.  I feared for my friends, thinking they lived under the same harshness.”  The young elf rested his head back against his father, listening to the steady elven heartbeat.  “I will never let another cause me to doubt you again.” He whispered softly.  “But... can... can you promise me you will talk to me next time?  Please Ada?  I may not be old enough to help with the kingdom but I have never been too young for you to talk to.”

 

The simple request broke the King’s heart and he gently rocked his son.  The child was now sitting fully in his embrace with no trace of fear or trembling. “I promise you Legolas.” Thranduil glanced up at Elvéwen.  She had been silent throughout the whole exchange.  In her heart she felt a heaviness lift.  The throne may be in jeopardy and the kingdom close to ruin, but her family was reconciled and for now it felt right.

 

“I promise.” Thranduil whispered as he held his wife’s gaze.  “And tomorrow I will effect changes in the Saelonship.  I see now that it cannot continue as it is.”  He grasped Elvéwen’s hand as she reached for him, gently kissing her palm.

 

Elrynd stepped hesitantly back into the private chambers.  He had not wanted to disturb his liege but events were moving quickly and the King was needed.

 

Glancing up Thranduil questioned the elf with his gaze.

 

“My lord, your pardon please.”  Elrynd bowed slightly, “Randomir has been brought to the palace.”

 

Legolas twisted around in his father’s embrace and eyeing the servant hopefully.  “Raniean?”  He questioned softly.

 

“I have not heard my prince.  Rest easy, I am sure Amil-Garil will find him.”  Elrynd ducked his head and motioned ever so slightly to the outer chambers, “My liege...” He left the request open and stepped out, leaving the door ajar.

 

Gently kissing the top of Legolas’ head the King shifted off the bed, releasing his son to Elvéwen.  Leaning back down he took the child’s face in his hands and tipped it up so that the blue eyes were staring straight into his own.  “I love you Legolas and I wish now I could recant my harsh words to you earlier.  We were both working under a false perception of reality.  Will you forgive me?”

 

“Always, Ada.”  The answer was quick and the smile that stretched beneath the older elf’s hands lightened the King’s heart.

 

With another kiss to Legolas’ forehead Thranduil moved to the outer chamber.  The soft questioning of his son stopped him on the threshold.

 

“Ada?”

 

Thranduil turned back.  Whatever his family needed was more important.

 

“Please, if they find Raniean, please let me know.”

 

“I will my son.”  Thranduil’s fist tightened on the door latch as he pulled it open, “I will have them bring him here first thing.”  With that he stepped outside and closed the door behind him, leaving it cracked open a small space so he could hear his family if they should need him.

 

“My lord, Amil-Garil sends word that Doriflen is nowhere to be found.  He is not in his chambers.  They are proceeding with their search for the child,” Elrynd reported quietly. 

 

Thranduil’s face was set as he turned towards the servant.  His brother had utterly betrayed him.  He was mildly surprised that even as well as he knew the threat that lurked there, some corner of his heart still managed to be shocked at the extent to which his older brother had gone to ruin him and destroy his family.  There was a deep ache waiting to be felt, but Thranduil could not get too near it right now.  Damage control first; then, later he would allow himself to feel the implications of what had happened. 

 

“Randomir has arrived,” the seneschal continued.  “Should he be told of these events?”

 

Thranduil hesitated.  Randomir deserved to know, but know what?  That his son was the captive of a cruel tyrant who had dared to abuse even the King’s son?  They had to find the boy.

 

“Yes, but... not yet,” Thranduil shook his head.  “Let us try to find some good word to give him first.”

 

Where could Raniean be?  Where would his brother hide something like that?  The King’s eyes narrowed.  “Elrynd, stay here with my wife and son, guard them with your life.  I must speak to Amil-Garil again... if Doriflen wants to hide something, there is another option we have not considered.”

 

~*~

 

“Do you swear to me that neither your nor your men will ever speak again of that which I am about to show you?  On pain of death?”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” Amil-Garil responded to Thranduil’s question without hesitation.  The Elvenking had found them searching the lower tunnels and led them without explanation into a little-used storage room that lay far off the main thoroughfares. 

 

“All right then,” Thranduil turned towards a large closet that was apparently built into the wall.  “Move that.”

 

Amil-Garil looked slightly surprised at the request, but ordered his men to comply without question. 

 

To their surprise the closet slid aside with a little effort, revealing a yawning passageway beyond.  The captain of the guard’s eyes widened slightly. 

 

“My lord?” He turned questioning eyes upon his King.

 

“Secret passageways built by my father and now known only to myself, my brother and now you.  I expect you all to take this knowledge to Valinor with you having never spoken of it again.  But if we are to search everywhere, then these tunnels must be part of that.  Yet take a care, there is much about them that is unknown.”

 

Thranduil did not come down here often.  Actually, he did not come down here at all.  These tunnels were an emergency measure and nothing more.  Only once had Doriflen talked his younger brother into exploring the forbidden labyrinth without their father’s knowledge. 

 

There had been an accident, or at least he had always thought it was an accident.  Thranduil ended up falling into one of the waste-disposal channels and nearly burning to death except that their father had discovered his sons’ little unapproved venture and arrived in time to save his youngest.  Doriflen seemed moody and remorseful and avoided his brother for some time after that. 

 

Even though they were both already fully adult elves in their own right by that point, their father had been very hard on them for the deliberate transgression that had nearly cost one of their lives.  Thranduil never went into the tunnels again after that day.  He hadn’t thought that Doriflen had either.  After all, there was nothing there of any interest... but now nothing was sure and nothing could be assumed.  Every possibility, even the most remote, had to be checked.  His men had been watching Doriflen’s every move outside the palace for months now.  No one had seen Raniean leave.  It was possible that some unsuspected servant could have smuggled an unconscious child out easily enough, but it was also possible that Raniean was still here somewhere. 

 

Amil-Garil nodded his compliance with his liege’s orders.

 

“Good,” Thranduil accepted his soldier’s obedience to his wishes with a nod.  “Report to me if anything is found.  I must see if there is any word yet on my brother’s whereabouts.”

 

The soldiers split up as they entered the unknown labyrinth.  Amil-Garil led one contingent while Gáriand led the other.

 

The passages here were dim and foreign.  The company of soldiers walked cautiously through them, carefully checking each and every doorway that greeted them.  Everything seemed empty, deserted and almost eerily quiet. 

 

Dark, uneven stone walls stretched out in all directions, creating a confusing and twisting array of tunnels.  Designed to bewilder any attackers who might invade the secret catacombs, they were doing their job well.  Yet there seemed to be no one here.  There were few rooms in the labyrinth of passages, and the ones that were there stood cold, silent and barren.  When they finally encountered one chamber that was apparently locked, the soldiers broke down the door.

 

“What is this place?” One of the guards called softly to the others.  Unlike the other chambers they had passed through, this room was far from empty.  Massive stacks of boxes lined the walls and created islands of crates in the middle of the room.

 

“Break them open,” Gáriand ordered.  “Find out what is in them.”

 

The first few crates held arrows, sheaves and sheaves of them. 

 

“Break them all open.” The second-in-command ordered as dread filled his heart.  He feared what evil this discovery boded.  If these tunnels were unused and secret, then there should have been nothing in them.  However, these crates were all fresh.  Footprints not very many days old stood out against the thick layer of dust on the floor.  The supplies looked ready to outfit an army.

 

“There are more back here!”  A soldier called out from the far side of the room, near the back wall.

 

Gáriand examined a bow that had been freed from a crate containing twenty such finely crafted weapons.  Knives and swords were stacked in piles on the ground at his feet as well as chain mail garments.  That type of clothing was not common amongst the elven peoples.  Indeed, it was particularly rare in Greenwood, since the wood-elves shunned armor of any type.  Doriflen must have been trading outside their realm.

 

“By the Valar!  Gáriand come quickly!”  The urgent cry from across the room caused Gáriand’s head to snap up abruptly.

 

The soldiers near the back of the room began tearing apart a rather large box, murmurs and exclamations following as they revealed the strange and tragic contents.

 

A young elf lay folded into the box.  Though large, the crate was far too small to comfortably contain his youthful body.  The young one’s hands and feet were bound and blood covered the front of his tunic.  He had obviously been knocked around quite badly. 

 

Even for those who did not know the elfling personally, it was not hard to know his identity at a glance.  Very few wood-elves had golden hair like the King and his son.  The prince’s two best friends were some of those rarities. 

 

“Find Amil-Garil, bring him at once!” Gáriand pushed the soldier nearest him towards the door before kneeling on the ground near the unconscious child. “Go with haste!”

 

~*~

 

Amil-Garil stood in the dim hallway of the palace’s under-passageways.  These tunnels seemed to wind forever and they had found nothing noteworthy besides empty rooms and dusty hallways.  He hoped they were not wasting their time down here.  They had scoured the surrounding gardens before the King had found him, and the guard had sent several more soldiers into the forests to search as well.  They had to find Raniean before it was too late.  Their hope was that Doriflen would have been keeping his leverage close at hand, but they could not risk counting on it as fact.  The sad truth was, Raniean could be anywhere.  In his heart the Captain of the Guard feared that the child might not even be alive anymore.  Doriflen was an excellent liar.  They had no guarantees. 

 

The palace had been built upon a labyrinth of halls and storage rooms that ran the length of the building stretching as far down as to meet the Forest River that ran through Mirkwood.  He could find his way around most of them in the dark.  But these strange walkways and tunnels that the King had shown them were completely new to him.  They were also completely different in design and layout than the others.  Searching them was slow work. 

 

“There are more Captain.” Gáriand approached his superior.  “They extend for leagues in all directions.  Some look to have been scarcely traveled, but others show recent use.  Something has been going on down here.  Captain, we’ve found young Raniean.”

 

“Does he live?”  Amil-Garil asked the question to which he most feared the answer.

 

Their discussion was interrupted as a soldier pelted up the hallway behind Gáriand.  “Captains, we have found another bank of rooms and tunnels hidden behind these.  There are things there you should see.”

 

“In a moment.”  Amil-Garil nodded.  Raniean was his first priority.  He followed Gáriand around countless turns as the passage twisted off into others before they came to the hidden storage room where several soldiers were busy breaking into large wooden boxes and spilling the contents about the floor. 

 

Weapons littered the area.  Sheaths of arrows and reams of bows were stockpiled in the small room.  It took the elvish captain a few moments to realize that these were not supplies that the King had stored here.  Once he did the dreadful realization came to him that they were obviously standing ready for an internal invasion of the palace itself.  No doubt Doriflen had not been making idle threats when he told Legolas that tonight nothing would matter anymore.  This was one viper’s nest they were discovering only just in time... or at least, Amil-Garil *hoped* it was in time.

 

His attention was redirected by Gáriand, who pulled the Captain forward, stepping over the open boxes and caches of weapons.  Near the back of the storage room two elves knelt on the floor in front of a narrow box that had been wrenched apart.  Lying on the ground was the small form of an elven child.  The boy’s eyes were closed and bruises decorated his face and arms.  He had not been beaten as severely, or in the same manner as the prince, but it was obvious that someone had hurt this child, and done it intentionally.  The elfling’s hands were bound tightly behind him and one of the guards was busy cutting the thick bonds as another gently pulled the child into his lap.

 

Fear stabbed through Amil-Garil’s heart.  The closed eyes and ashen look on the youth’s face frightened him and he was afraid they were too late.  “Does he...?  Is he...?”  The captain of the guard could not finish his questions, unsure if he truly wanted an answer.

 

“No.  He lives.”  One of the soldiers on the ground glanced up as the child’s bonds were cut.  “But his wounds are serious.”  The guard stood up, holding the young elf in his arms.  Amil-Garil saw for the first time the blood that caked the side of the boy’s face as well as staining his tunic.  There was a nasty gash across the base of the Raniean’s skull where he had obviously been violently struck with something hard.  The slight, ragged rise and fall of his chest was the only sign that the young elf lived.

 

“He wasn’t meant to survive this.”  The soldier holding the boy said quietly as his Captain gently turned the youth’s head, examining the head wound. 

 

“He was left here to die.  From the looks of it, we were intended to find him only after it was too late.”  The elf turned pained and angry eyes upon his captain.  What kind of monster condemned a child to this kind of slow, terrible death?

 

Amil-Garil shook his head.  No one who had a heart could have done such a thing.  But then, the same was true of the little he had seen of Prince Legolas’ injuries.  “Quickly, take him to Lord Thranduil’s chambers.  Gáriand, go ahead of him, tell them we will have need of the King’s healer.  Be quick!”  He commanded as the elf raced out of the room, followed more slowly by the two soldiers that had discovered the hidden elf child.

 

“Tell me, how did you find him?” Amil-Garil stepped carefully back through the room, following the two warriors.  His men were busy sorting through the weapons cache and removing it from the hidden alcove.

 

“It was an accident my lord.”  The guard on his right answered, “The men found the crates stashed in here and we opened them.  That there was a room down here for storage struck us as odd.”  The elf carrying Raniean shrugged slightly, stepping over the pieces of a broken crate that lay on the floor.

 

“Tarilan found him after we broke the last crate open.”  The soldier nodded with his head towards his companion.

 

“Off with you then.  Let no one stop you and speak with no one on your way.”  Amil-Garil removed his cloak and draped it over the unconscious child to help hide their task.  The situation was becoming more grave and sinister by the moment.  It was impossible to know now who was on their side and who was not.  It was best to keep all this quiet for as long as possible. 

 

He stood in the passageway watching the soldiers as they hastily rounded the bend.  A deep sigh escaped his lips and he glanced back into the small room.  This was worse than he had expected.  The treachery of the King’s brother had gone farther than they were prepared to handle.

 

“What should we do with all this my lord?”  An elf carrying a bundle of newly crafted arrows asked.

 

“Take it all to the King’s supply rooms and lock it up there.  Station a guard and see that no one is allowed in until I tell you otherwise.”

 

“Amil-Garil!”  A shout behind him caused the elven warrior to start and he spun around quickly.

 

“There is unfortunate soul held captive down here!  We found in him in one of the hidden chambers my lord.  Come quickly for I fear that Mandos will have this one before the hour is past.”  The soldier walked quickly up the hall with the captain of the guard right on his heels.

 

Behind them, unseen by the elves in the storage room, a hidden doorway slowly slid shut, clicking silently into place.  Even within these tunnels there were many more secret ways and passages that would have taken days to discover.  These passages extended all over the palace.  It was not for naught that Doriflen seemed to have eyes and ears in the very walls themselves.  The truth of the matter was that he *did* and he used them to great, and sometimes deadly, effect. 

 

Brooding eyes glinted grimly.  He had meant them to find the boy of course, but not so soon, and not here.  He had intended for it to be a little present for his brother and nephew if things did not go well for him, but he had not meant for them to find any of this so soon.  He should have known Thranduil would think of the tunnels; it was an oversight on his part to not move quicker... but they hadn’t been prepared to move quicker, not just yet.  Now, his secret had been uncovered. 

 

A dark scowl crossed Doriflen’s face, deepening the hatred that shone in his eyes.  They might have been found out a trifle ahead of schedule, but this coup was far from over.  They would simply have to move their operations elsewhere.  The secret tunnels had worked well to this point, but they would no longer be safe now.  Thranduil knew about them and even if he did not know all their ways as well as his brother, their secrets would soon enough be discovered.  

 

He and his followers would need to move swiftly.  They would have to make their move tonight.  Fortunately, he had already been prepared for such a necessity.  The time for hiding was over; the time for action had come.  Truth to be told, Doriflen was not sorry. 

 

Stalking through the darkened passageways that he often haunted, Doriflen re-entered the normal palace somewhere in the lower dungeon area.  He headed straight for Legolas’ cell.  He had a suspicion that he knew how his well-laid plans had come to ruin. 

 

He should have done away with that brat long ago, but that was his one folly, his weakness.  He grimaced to himself over his own self-perceived flaws – he enjoyed toying with his victims, he thrived on their pain.  Oh how his initial deceit had almost worked save for this error!  Never mind.  It mattered little that his treachery had been discovered.  Even if he could not now hope to take over the palace from within, it was too late for anyone to stop what had been put into motion.

 

Finding Legolas’ cell empty he killed the guards in a fit of rage.  They had been loyal to him, but he saw no need for fools.  If those two had obviously not been smart enough to know when they were guarding an empty room, his ranks would be better off without them.  Leaving their bodies where they had fallen in a spreading pool of blood, he exited the palace by a secret entrance.  It was time to seek out Melryn, Amilon and his other followers.  They already had their orders to move.  All was in preparation.  He would have liked to be able to strike a swift and decisive blow inside the palace itself... but that part of the plan would have to be discarded.  Legolas had failed him and Thranduil’s guards had discovered the tunnels too soon for him to bring any of that to fruition, but it was a minor set back only.

 

Doriflen and his followers would regroup in the woods to the east at their preset rendezvous and plan the next step from there.  War was at hand, and there was nothing now that could stop it.

 

This game was far from over.  Thranduil may have gained his son back, but as far as Doriflen was concerned, he had lost his kingdom. 

 

Stalking into the darkened forest the elf lord headed for Melryn’s house.  It was time to rise up, it was time to relocate.

 

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART SEVEN*~
~A Kingdom Torn Apart~

 

 

 

Amil-Garil entered the room that he was led to and stopped on the threshold.  Evil tainted the air here.  These passages were different from the others.  They were old, but seemed to have seen much use over the years.  Here was harbored a vague sense of horror that seemed to have seeped into the very rock itself.  The guardsman shuddered as he stepped into the room indicated by his men.

 

As he entered, he could see that a deep pit had been dug in the middle of the cavern.  Cautiously approaching the edge of the dark hole, Amil-Garil leaned out over the ledge, trying to peer into the recess below.

 

“What lies here?” He asked quietly.  A soldier came up on his left, having heard his captain’s question.  Without answer the guard dropped his torch into the yawning mouth of the pit.  The fire glinted off rows of spearheads set into the edge of the hole and illuminated the razor sharp edges of dozens more arranged on end at the bottom.  Their razor edges glinted like teeth in the firelight.  Old, ominous dark stains covered what could be seen of the floor around the spikes. 

 

Amil-Garil sucked his breath in, startled by the knowledge of the true function of this room.  He glanced at the soldier in horror.  The silver-blues eyes that watched him gazed above their heads and the captain of the guard looked up to see a restraint device swinging freely over their heads, above the pit.

 

This room was used for torture.  There was no other reason for such devices.

 

At the back of the enclave a door led into a smaller antechamber.  It was here that Amil-Garil found the rest of the soldiers. 

 

An adult elf lay on the floor of the cavern, talking softly to the warriors.  His breathing was ragged and from time to time he stopped speaking altogether as spasms of pain wracked his thin frame.

 

Kneeling quietly next to elf, Amil-Garil silenced him as another fit of coughing of took over.  There was blood on his lips when the elf turned to gaze dully at the captain of Thranduil’s guard.

 

“The King is in danger.” The elf rasped softly, his hand reaching out towards Amil-Garil.  What was left of the prisoner’s clothing was torn and filthy, simply rags.  In several places it was stained dark with blood.  It was apparent from his wounds that he had been beaten repeatedly over a period of time.  Imprisoned and poorly cared for he was on the brink of death.  Shut up in the dark, in these conditions, it was surprising that he had not given up his spirit already.  Amil-Garil’s men had been right, this one seemed bound for Mandos’ halls and he was not sure that anything could keep the elf with them short of a miracle.

 

“How long have you been here?” Amil-Garil questioned softly, his hand gently grasping the one that reached for him.  His heart wrenched inside of him, no elf should ever be treated in such a manner.  No immortal should be forced to find their end this way. 

 

The one that stared up at him shook his slowly.  He had no idea.

 

“Please, please tell me that my wife and children live.  He said that he killed them because I would not join him; tell me it is not true.  Tell me has not killed the King as well?”  Huge silver eyes implored the captain.

 

Leaning down closer, Amil-Garil frowned at the wounded elf.  He shifted slightly as his men worked around him trying to stabilize the imprisoned elf and ready him to move from the wretched room in which they had found him.

 

“No one has been killed.  Of this I can assure you.  Who told you all this?”  Though he was sure he knew the answer, the Captain had to ask.

 

“Doriflen, the King’s brother.” The elf’s eyes flashed anger momentarily before he grimaced in pain as he was eased onto a makeshift stretcher.  “I would not aid him in his plan to overthrow the throne.  Beware of him!  He has built a large base of supporters that are sympathetic to his lies that he was cheated of kingship.  They will stop at nothing.  Nothing!  They wanted me to join them, but I wouldn’t.  I was going t-to go to the King, and uncover the whole thing but somehow Doriflen found out before I could.  He had me seized and brought down here.  He...he...” the elf broke down in quiet sobs.

 

Amil-Garil squeezed the injured elf’s hand and rose as the stretcher was picked up.  This was confirmation of their worst fears.  Doriflen planned a rebellion and he was not alone.  Gently Amil-Garil laid the injured elf’s hand across his chest, resting it on what was left of the torn tunic and tenderly touched the elf’s shoulder. 

 

“Shh, it is all right.  The King knows of this treachery and has not been harmed as you were told.  Give me the name of your household and I will seek out your family and tell them you live.  You will see them with your own eyes for there have been no deaths in the kingdom that I am aware of and I do not think that that spawn of Melkor has followed through on his plans as of yet.  I will bring them to you myself.  They will be under our guard no one will touch them.”

 

“I am Umdanuë and my wife’s name is Velthwen.”  The elf replied softly.  His eyes glazed over and he sighed softly, his body relaxing. 

 

Reacting quickly Amil-Garil halted the soldiers that carried the stretcher and gently placed his fingers against the injured elf’s throat.  With a sigh he nodded and urged them to hasten, “He lives but barely.  Take him up to one of the guest rooms in the palace and be quick about it, I will send others to find his family.”  He pushed the soldiers out of the room and directed the rest of his company to search the surrounding tunnels to see if they held anymore prisoners.

 

The men returned shortly, answering to the negative.  The passages and rooms were clear, although some retained marks that elves and other beings had been kept in them lately.  The carcasses of several animals were found also, their mutilated bodies left where they had died.  Truly this was an evil place and Amil-Garil ushered his men quickly out of the area.  He would see to it that no one entered this realm again.  Once Thranduil heard this news, he was sure the Elvenking would order these passages sealed off, and it was an action that Amil-Garil approved of whole-heartedly.  He had never been in a place that made his flesh crawl this badly.

 

In the upper areas of the palace the staff was in chaos.  The healer had been summoned out of his sleep and brought to Thranduil’s chambers.  Raniean lay, still unconscious, on one of the thick couches that formed part of the seating arrangement in the outer rooms.  Word had been brought that another injured elf had been discovered and his life hung in the balance.  Nesteriu, the King’s chief healer had left two of his progeny behind to work over Raniean while he accompanied Amil-Garil to an adjacent guestroom to see what he could do for Umdanuë.

 

Below in the foyer, the wounded elf’s family had come to the palace, having been roused in the early watches of the night by soldiers from the King’s court.  They paced the marbled floor, questioning anyone who passed by.  Randomir was seated downstairs as well.  He had been summoned some time ago, but no one had come back for him as of yet.  A mix of palace guards and other warriors bustled about.  He recognized some of the men from his contingent present, but they could tell him nothing other than that they had been summoned to aid the palace guard. 

 

“Randomir!  What has happened, have they found Raniean?”

 

Randomir looked up to see Cirlith walking quickly towards him, his young son Garilien in tow. 

 

Randomir shook his head.  “I don’t know, there has been no word.  Everything seems in chaos here.”

 

Cirlith scowled.  “There’s bad business going on this night, I was looking for you and found out they’d brought you here.  Dom, The whole village is in an uproar, not just ours either.  There’s been a lot of talk of course, but I never thought it would come to this.  There’s outright treason being spoken out there and many are taking off somewhere and they won’t tell where they’re going.  Melryn and his brothers took over five hundred souls away with them, including youngsters like his son Nynd and his nephew Amon.  I don’t know what’s whipped them up but it’s as if the whole kingdom is suddenly trying to split down the middle with those loyal to the King on one side and those who support his brother on the other.  It’s almost come to blows in the street.  The warriors don’t know what to do to keep the peace.  Even worse, I think some of them aren’t all together on our side.  It’s acting like the end of the world out there Dom.”

 

Garilien, roughly the same age as Raniean, shifted uneasily at his father’s side.  This was obviously not where he wanted to be.  “Father, we should go...”

 

Cirlith motioned the boy to be quiet. 

 

Randomir rose to his feet at Cirlith’s news.  This was a disaster.  He needed to be with his contingent, they needed to do something about what was happening... but he could not leave with his son’s fate still a mystery. 

 

“Cir, please, talk to my warriors, or better yet find Telrayn, they’ll listen to him.  We’ve trained for an eventuality like this; they just need someone to lead them.  Tell them to go on alert status until further notice.  Send word that anyone who doesn’t absolutely *have* to be on the street is to stay in their homes.  Telrayn knows those whose trust is without question, tell him I need him to set up the patrols like we discussed, keeping anyone with questionable loyalty away from the most strategic points.  Make sure Traycaul has been alerted and his people are also ready.  Be wary of anyone who was under Melryn’s command that did not depart with him.  I cannot leave until I know about Raniean, but you have to keep the peace,” Randomir said urgently.  “Please, do this for me my friend!”

 

The older elf nodded quickly, clasping Randomir’s arm.  “I will Dom.  And I pray that whatever the news about Raniean, it will be good.”

 

“Thank you Cir,” Randomir said gratefully as Cirlith hurried away.  The elf sank down into his chair, rattled by the news.  Maybe the world really was coming to an end, it certainly felt that way.  His worry climbed a notch higher when more healers entered the palace and hurried by without a word, swiftly mounting the stairs to the upper chambers. 

 

Trying to still the fears in his heart, Randomir rested his head in hands, blocking everything from sight.  Even if the world was tearing itself apart outside of these walls, his heart could fix on only one thing.  His son.  

 

Raniean had not come home tonight... no, last night, Randomir corrected himself as he realized that morning could be no more than a few hours distant now.  Trelan had told them he went to return Legolas’ brooch, but no one at the palace remembered seeing him and Randomir’s fear had grown steadily as time crept by and Raniean did not return.  Something was wrong, he had already been able to read that in Amil-Garil’s face when he asked about Raniean and whether Prince Legolas might have seen him or know where he was.  Amil-Garil would not speak to him about the prince and he seemed troubled.  Now, some very anxious hours later, he had been summoned to the palace again.  They said it was about his son, but hours had crawled by and no one could give him any more information.  He had begun to fear the worst. 

 

Amil-Garil stalked into the round waiting room, glancing over the elves that were seated or standing within.  He did not have to hear Cirlith’s report to know what was going on.  His own warriors had already brought news of the massive unrest that was shattering the formerly peaceful night even as it shattered the formerly peaceful kingdom.  Already security measures were being taken.  The palace was being fortified, with only the most trusted guards set around the royal family.  Beyond the confines of the palace was out of Amil-Garil’s control, but so far the warrior contingents were responding to the situation well, if slowly.  Grimly, the Captain of the Guard wondered what the scars of this night were going to look like when the sun rose. 

 

His eyes lighted on Randomir and he approached the warrior, his soft leather boots sounding quietly on the smooth polished floor.  At least this night, as tumultuous as it was turning out, was not quite as tragic as it might have been.

 

“Randomir?”  The Amil-Garil called softly.

 

Instantly drawn from his worrying, the warrior glanced up at the captain in front of him.  He leapt to his feet quickly when he realized who was there, saluting the other officer.  Randomir was chieftain of the largest contingent of regular soldiers, but as head of the King’s personal guard, Amil-Garil’s position commanded unique respect. 

 

“There is no need for that here.” Amil-Garil responded.  He smiled softly when the other glanced back up at him.  The Captain of the Guard was tired, very tired and it showed in his eyes.  Amil-Garil had missing people, chaos in the palace and a coup that they had yet to quash, let alone find its leader who had conveniently disappeared without a trace.  The smile he laid on Randomir was compassionate, but did not reach his eyes.

 

“Has anyone brought you word of your son?”  When the warrior before him shook his head, Amil-Garil simply took the other by the arm and led him up the steps towards the King’s chambers.  He knew the child was already with the healers there was no reason to keep the father away.  If everything were not already in a state of barely controlled chaos he would doubtless already have been taken thither.

 

“Sir!”  A woman’s voice called out from the room below as the elves ascended the steps.  She was blocked by several of the King’s own guard and pressed back into the common area.

 

Amil-Garil stopped at the sound of the voice and glanced back down into the foyer.  A female elf stood at the foot of the staircase, one child in her arms and trailing an older son.  She looked as though she had hurriedly dressed and the children were still in their bedclothes without even shoes on their feet.  He sighed heavily; his men should not have rushed the family out of their house quite so fast.  He would have to speak with them about being considerate over those kinds of small details.  It mattered when one dealt with the populace.

 

“I am Velthwen.” The lady continued awkwardly, sweeping strands of long dark hair out of her eyes, “Some guards roused us from our sleep saying they had news for us, but would tell us nothing, simply leaving us here.  Please sir, what is it?  Is it my Umdanuë?  He has been missing. I have tried to tell others and get help but no one would listen.  They said he was hunting but I knew he would never have been gone so long without telling me.  Is he...?”  She stopped speaking and swallowed hard her eyes searching the ones that stared down at her.

 

If it were his family Amil-Garil knew he would be just as persistent, he would want to know.  He turned so that the small family had his full attention.  Laying his hand on the other soldier’s forearm he quietly begged the elf’s indulgence. 

 

“Yes, we have found your husband.”  Amil-Garil spoke softly his deep voice easily carrying back to those that waited below.  “He has asked for you, but he is with the healers now.  Let me check on him and if all is well I will send for you shortly.  Be patient with me please my lady, the night has been long.”

 

The news surprised and frightened the little family and the mother quickly hushed her children.  She bowed as much as she was able while holding her youngest.  “Thank you, my lord.  We will await word from you.”

 

With a nod, Amil-Garil started to ascend once more but was stopped as Randomir spoke up at his side. 

 

“Talrith,” Randomir called down to one of his warriors who stood near the palace doors.  “See that the family is given blankets and warm drinks.  Let them have a room to rest in so the younger one can sleep.  Give them whatever they need.”  He directed the soldier who nodded once and moved to carry out his orders ushering the family into a room just below the stairwell.

 

“Thank you.” Amil-Garil smiled gratefully as the two warriors began the climb once more.  Had he not just been chiding himself over forgetting such seemingly little details?  “Your thoughtfulness is well noted Randomir. It is to my shame that I did not think of it first.”

 

“It is no shame.” Randomir countered quietly. “The night has been long as you yourself noted and the cares of the kingdom now weigh on those of us ill prepared to shoulder them. I fear that sleep will be something of rarity in the days to come.”  They reached the top landing and Amil-Garil led the way down the hall.

 

“Please tell me of Raniean. I have been waiting for some time with no word.  Tell me, what has happened?  Does he live?”  The raw uncertainty of the question written in the elf’s eyes was heart-wrenching.  He had already prepared himself for the worst, taking the lack of news as an indication that his deepest fears were realized.  He was ready to take the news like a warrior, but something in the aching depths of his gaze told that if he had to bear the death of his young son he would forever lose a part of himself that there was no recalling. 

 

Startled by the question, Amil-Garil turned to the soldier and answered him quickly, “Yes!  Yes your son lives.  Elbereth!  Word should have been brought to you sooner, forgive me.”  The guard slowly pressed the ornately carved wooden doors of the King’s outer chamber open and allowed the other entrance after he had made certain that it was allowed.

 

A visible weight seemed to ease from Randomir’s shoulders.  Raniean had not left them for the Halls of Waiting; anything beyond that could be dealt with.

 

The King stood on the far side of the room, quietly discussing matters with those of his cabinet that he could be sure were loyal to him.  The fact that only four elves were present, out of a cabinet of twelve, spoke volumes for the kingdom’s suddenly uncertain and dire situation.  Thranduil stopped and looked up as Amil-Garil walked in, followed more slowly by Randomir.  Both warriors bowed deeply, sweeping their hands out to the side from their hearts in the formal gesture of greeting.

 

Randomir’s gaze searched the room quickly and fell on the still form that lay on one of the couches.  A healer was just finishing binding the child’s head with clean strips of linen.  Raniean was very pale and unnaturally still. 

 

Amil-Garil started when he heard Randomir gasp softly.

 

“Easy, your son lives,” he cautioned the other.  It was obvious that the warrior had just slipped from one roll to the other and the father in him was pushing the soldier aside.  Amil-Garil’s light touch kept Randomir from hurrying to his son’s side as the King walked over towards his two captains. 

 

The doorway into the inner chambers slid silently open.  Legolas and the Queen stepped through into the antechamber.  With all the talking and commotion they slipped quietly into the room, unnoticed.  The prince desperately wanted to see for himself that his friend lived and when one of the attendant healers informed them that it would be all right to come now, Elvéwen let them both out.

 

“Ran?”  The knot of adults that were talking in hushed tones in the other corner of the room easily heard Legolas’ soft voice.  Amil-Garil leaned over and whispered in Randomir’s ear, giving him a brief outline of the events that had led his son to this condition.  Randomir’s eyes filled with grief and compassion as he watched the two boys together.  He had always liked Legolas; the prince was a very bright child and a good influence on his son.  Legolas was often in and out of his house, and the fact that they could have been so close to the child, and yet entirely missed the world of silent pain he had been hiding hurt the older elf. 

 

The prince dropped quietly to his knees beside the couch that held his friend, oblivious of the attention being paid to them by the adults.  The fact that Raniean’s eyes were closed troubled Legolas and he hesitantly questioned the healer that sat on the edge of the davenport.

 

Gently touching the wounded child’s chest, the healer rested his hand over Raniean’s heart.  With his other hand he took Legolas’ left wrist and placed the prince’s hand over his own.  “Yes, he will be fine.  See?  You can feel his heartbeat and his breathing.”  The healer removed his hand, pressing Legolas’ palm against his friend’s chest.

 

The sight of the two children together had stilled the room, but the prince remained focused on his friend.  It startled him when an adult elf knelt beside him near Raniean’s head.  Randomir smiled at the young prince and Legolas could see the tears in the older elf’s eyes.  He quickly scooted away to make more room, but Raniean’s father held him in place, gently wrapping his arm around the slender shoulders.

 

Legolas dropped his gaze guiltily.  He felt responsible for what had happened to his friend and more than expected Randomir to feel the same.

 

“I’m so sorry...” the prince murmured regretfully. He knew and respected Raniean’s father and feared what he must think of him at this moment.  Randomir had always treated him like a second son when he was in their home and the prince hated the thought of having lost that along with so many other things tonight. 

 

“No, your highness, thank you.”  Randomir addressed the prince, “Thank you for telling them what you knew about Raniean.  Your knowledge saved him.”

 

“But it also almost killed him,” the prince whispered hoarsely.  “I wanted to tell sooner, honestly I did,” Legolas swallowed hard.  “I-I just didn’t want to lose him.  I’m sorry that he was hurt,” the young prince whispered.  He relaxed slightly when he felt his father’s hands come to rest on his shoulders as Randomir moved aside.  “He’s my best friend, he and Trelan, I promise I never wanted him to be hurt like this.”

 

“It’s not your fault my son.” Thranduil cautioned the boy against claiming guilt that was not his to own.

 

Randomir gently tipped Raniean’s bandaged head towards him, tenderly holding the child’s face in his large hands.

 

“And speaking of the one who has done this my lord,” Amil-Garil interrupted.  They had little time to catch the traitor, little time to stop what had already been put into motion and if it were not handled properly who knew what would happen to the kingdom, “We have not yet found your brother although if the unrest outside the palace is any indication he is a bird that has already flown the cage.  I would take my leave of you if you permit it and join my men.  It is important that this be stopped tonight if at all possible.”

 

Randomir rose quickly.  At least now he knew that Raniean was safe.  His heart revolted at leaving his son unconscious and injured, but he knew he must put duty first, no matter how painful.  

 

The King nodded his approval and started to answer when Amil-Garil interrupted once more. 

 

“No,” he was shaking his head and stepped forward, quickly pushing Randomir back down, “you will stay here with your son.”

 

“My warriors need me.  I would help you stop the man who has done this to him.”  The warrior’s eyes flashed angrily.

 

“Dom, you are needed here.  Stay tonight.”  Amil-Garil’s tone softened as he gazed at the wounded child.  “Telrayn is capable of leading the contingent for one night.  Your son needs you.  Tomorrow will come quickly enough.  Besides... I have an ulterior motive,” the Captain of the Guard smiled wearily.  “I would ask you to remain here with the Queen and the Prince.  They should have a guard in here with them whose loyalty is unquestionable, and I have none to spare.”

 

With torn reluctance Randomir seated himself back down on the couch.  His anger with the one who had done such things to his son was unabated but when he glanced at the still unconscious elfling he was loath to leave. 

 

“As you wish my lord, but if you have need, you know where to find me.  In the meantime it would be my honor to guard your Majesty’s family.” The warrior bowed low to the King before smiling down at Legolas who now sat on the ground at his feet.  “I will protect them to the death if it is needed.”

 

A small smile spread across Legolas’ face as Randomir patted his shoulder gently.

 

“Off to sleep with you now my prince,” Randomir said fondly.  “You are wounded and I am sure your body needs it.”

 

Thranduil watched the elven warrior with his son for a few moments before heading out with his cabinet members.  The soldier was good with children and Legolas seemed at ease around him.  He filed the information away for later.  He did not have the time to think on such things just now, but when the moment was opportune he would definitely speak to the chieftain about what was on his mind.

 

The door clicked softly shut behind Legolas and Elvéwen, cutting off the voices coming from the other room and muting them into a more comfortable murmur as they settled down for the night.  Legolas remained in his parent’s room with his mother for safety while Randomir stretched out fully on the couch next to Raniean, pulling the young elf into his arms and resting the boy’s bandaged head on his chest.  Raniean couldn’t hear him, but he spoke quietly to his son anyway, talking long into the night as he silently stood watch over all those who slumbered within these chambers.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

All Raniean knew when consciousness began flitting at the edges of his mind was that he hurt and that he desperately wanted his Ada.

 

The quiet stirrings of his son alerted Randomir that the younger elf was waking.

 

“Ada?”  Raniean whispered softly.  He wasn’t fully conscious and the fact that he could not move frightened him.  His sluggish mind remembered waking inside of a dark cramped space and being unable to get out.  Remembered the stuffy air, and barely being able to breathe.  Remembered screaming for help and getting no answer.  Remembered banging himself against the unrelenting walls of his tiny prison until his already aching body hurt so bad he wanted to cry.  Remembered the blind, suffocating panic that had overtaken him before he had passed out.

 

“ADA!” the young elf nearly shouted, his eyes flying open and trying jerk away from what held him still.  The frightened state he was in completely blocked out all else and he couldn’t hear his father’s quiet assurances.

 

“Raniean!”  Randomir held the boy tighter against him, “Ran, I’m right here son.  You are free, you are all right.  Wake up child, wake up.”

 

Huge blue eyes stared into those of the older elf, locking onto the gaze as if it were a life-line.

 

“Ada?”  The croaking voice was unsure.

 

“Yes Raniean. It is I.”  Randomir kissed the top of his son’s head gently, careful of the bandage.

 

“Where am I?” 

 

Early morning light filtered into the room from somewhere that Raniean couldn’t quite see at the moment.  He was relieved that it was no longer dark and he was no longer alone, but he was groggy and confused. 

 

“In the King’s chambers...” Randomir started to say, but at the mention of the King the young elf started and pulled away, looking wildly around the room.

 

Memories slammed into Raniean’s senses and he held his head gingerly as he remembered the events prior to his captivity.

 

“Legolas is in danger Ada!  His uncle, he was beating him, I saw them.  It was horrible!  He beat him till he passed out.  That must be why he’s been acting so strangely lately.  Ada, please, you must tell his father, and if he won’t do anything...” Raniean was at a loss in his desperation.  “...Then, then can we take him home?  Away from here?  Hide him?  Please?  You mustn’t let Doriflen touch him again Ada!  I know he’s the King’s brother, but he is not what he appears to be.  He will kill the prince if we don’t stop him!”  The words tumbled out with frantic quickness.  Raniean’s most over-riding horror when he was trapped alone and suffocating in the dark was that he was going to die and never be able to tell anyone what was happening to his friend.  Now that he was free he babbled all his worries out in one long, anguished string of jumbled words. 

 

“Easy.  Easy my son.  We know, and Legolas is fine.”  Randomir sat, up swinging his legs off of the couch and wrapping his arm around the young elf’s shoulders.  “I promise we won’t let anyone hurt him again.”

 

It took Raniean several moments to try to digest all this new information and he trembled slightly as he started to relax a little.  “Truly?” his eyes begged assurance from his father.  “I-I was so useless when he needed me.  But, you’ll protect him, won’t you?”

 

“Truly,” Randomir nodded.  “*We* will protect him, all right?” he said very seriously.  At the moment all he wanted to do was cuddle the boy close and keep him from harm, but he could see Raniean was feeling that he had failed his training and his father.  Now was not the time to seem like he was coddling the boy, it would only reinforce Raniean’s slipping self-confidence. 

 

“You were hardly useless Ran.  Give yourself time.  Our family has always protected the royal house.”  Randomir stroked his child’s hair gently.  “And we always will.  Dark days are ahead my son; days when I fear that even our youths are going to taste the bitterness of battle far before their time.  Someday perhaps you will take my place as a leader of our people, but until then, I share this trust with you: as I stand by Thranduil, you must stand by Legolas; I feel he will need someone as loyal and resourceful as you young one.” 

 

Raniean nodded, taking the commission very seriously.  “I will Ada.  I will make you and Cirlith proud.”

 

Randomir smiled.  “Ran we already are.  Legolas will be blessed to have someone like you on his side.”

 

Raniean blushed and shook his head quickly, trying to get his father to stop.  “Ada!” he pushed the elder elf away slightly in reproof.  

 

Randomir chuckled, but then looked concerned again when dark, sorrowful pain washed over his child’s face once more.  “What?  What is it Ran?”

 

Raniean sighed.  “I’ve never seen anything like it before.  Doriflen’s eyes when he looked at me... they were so dead.  I was so scared for Legolas; he was crying and begging Ada.  I’ve never seen him like that.  It was horrible.”

 

“I know, I know,” Randomir soothed, trying to keep his anger at such a despicable act out of his voice.  “But it is past now.  Legolas is all right Ran.”

 

“I know, but...  I... Legolas, he... it was...” the child couldn’t even find words deep enough to describe the horror he felt about what he had witnessed or the uncertainty of how he was going to face his friend again after this shocking revelation. 

 

“Your father is right.”  Legolas stepped hesitantly into the room.  His sleeping tunic hung open, and the bandages that swathed his back and midsection could be seen.  “I am fine.  I am so sorry Vede hurt you.  I never wanted you to get pulled into my problems.”  The prince walked into the antechamber and seated himself gingerly on one of the large overstuffed chairs that faced the couch.  He had heard Raniean’s out cry and slipped away from his still slumbering mother.

 

“Why did he do those things to you?” Raniean asked softly, relieved to see his friend looking himself and moving about.  He eased back onto the cushion when his father forced him to remain seated.  The child reached out a hesitant hand towards the bandages on his friend’s body, but pulled back again quickly.  He was confused. 

 

Legolas dropped his gaze to the carpet under his feet, shifting uncertainly.  He really didn’t know himself, he had thought he did, but now nothing seemed certain anymore.  It was hard to process having lived with a lie for so long and difficult to know what parts had been lie and what had been truth.  When he answered, his words a mere whisper.  “He said he was my Saelon and that it was part of our Maethor training.  I did not know, I thought all Saelon’s were that way.”

 

“Cirlith has never hit me, ever.”  Raniean answered, horrified that his friend had endured such abuse in accepting silence.  “I wish you had talked to me.”

 

“I tried, but Vede said it was against the rules.”  Tears brimmed in the prince’s eyes when he glanced back up at his friend.  He felt so stupid, and knowing that it could have all stopped a long time ago if he had only told someone what was happening did not make him feel any better.  “I didn’t know how to ask you.  I-I thought I could fix it if I just stopped making so many mistakes.”

 

Randomir stood slowly and walked towards the prince, kneeling down in front of the younger elf’s chair so that they were eye-level.  “Of course you didn’t know how Legolas, no one should have been faced with a situation like that.  I’m sorry that none of us noticed anything amiss much sooner.  Doriflen did not hurt you because of anything wrong with you young one, but because of something very wrong with him, you must remember that.  He was no true Saelon, nor does he have the right to ever be.  A Saelon is a mentor, and a mentor is supposed to be like an older friend who helps you learn things that your father and mother may not know how to teach you.  But no one, no matter what mistakes they may make or how slow of a learner he may be, deserves to be treated like you have been.  If it ever happens again you are to tell an adult you can trust, like your parents or Captain Amil-Garil.”  He touched the young bruised face with his large weathered hand. “Do you understand?” He asked softly.

 

A simple nod was enough for the warrior who tussled the elfling’s hair before standing back up. 

 

Legolas smiled.  “My father said the same thing.”

 

“Well he’s right,” Randomir concurred.  “Listen to him.”

 

“My Ada would make a great Saelon for you Legolas!”  Raniean spoke up.  He tried to stand but wobbled unsteadily on weakened legs and his father caught, him lowering him back down onto the couch.

 

“Ran, rest.  You must give your body time to recover.” The warrior silenced the elflings protests with a glare.  “Such things are only for the King to decide.”

 

Raniean settled back with a mock pout.  “Well you would make a good Saelon, Ada. I just know you would.”

 

“He is right.” Elvéwen exited the private chambers and walked to the front door.  The talking in the antechamber had awoken her.  “I think it is something you should consider Randomir.” She commented with a smile as she opened the large wooden doors and quietly summoned Elrynd.  “In fact we should talk about the Saelonship and the changes that need to be made to it while we break fast.”

 

She inclined her head to the King’s servant who immediately left to fulfill her wishes.

 

“I fear that it is only going to become more necessary as we stand on the brink of possible civil war...” the Queen sighed, her gaze traveling over the two injured elflings.  They did not need more gloom or shadow over their lives just at this moment.  “But come, plenty of time to talk over food.  Something sweet I think if the kitchens can scrape anything together.  I believe I heard Trelan’s voice from somewhere down the hall, shall we invite him as well?”

 

Legolas and Raniean concurred quickly, eager to complete their usual trio and Elvéwen dispatched another servant to bring the small elfling to them.  The Queen’s sensitive elven hearing could now pick up the sound of many more children’s voices talking quietly down below.  When the servant returned she made a mental note to make sure and see to it that the other children were also being taken care of, along with any other guests that they had acquired over the course of the long night.

 

Quietly, Elvéwen and Randomir exchanged glances.  In times of war or invasion, it had always been the plan to pull the children back into the most easily defensible location until the nature of the threat was known... but this was the first time it had ever been put into practice.  It was good that their sons could be with their other dear friend this morning, but if Trelan and the other children had been brought to the palace in the middle of the night; it could only mean that things went ill in the outside world.

 

The tiger was out of the cage, and there was apparently no putting him back inside.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART EIGHT*~
~A Young Runaway~

 

 

~~~~~~~~
So when I feel like running I have to look inside,
I want to find the answer
I want to break my line.

Take me as I am,
I’m not broken.
Pieces of my life are not tokens.
I want to let you know that I’m still learning,
How to love again and stop hurting.

-- Tonic
~~~~~~~~

 

 

-||-Twelve years later-||-

 

 

Late summer sunshine beamed down through the thick branches overhead.  A troop of young elves scoured the grassy clearing and bracken-choked pathways intently. 

 

Legolas pushed his loose hair back behind one ear and dipped his free hand down into a hollow hidden among some tangled roots.  The prince’s searching fingers found what they were looking for as the smooth round surfaces of a cache of Aewlaer eggs made themselves known under his touch.  Aewlaers were rare, summer-nesting birds indigenous to northern Mirkwood and it was a lucky find.  The young elf froze however when he felt the warm, feathery brush of the bird sitting on the nest. 

 

The creature did not retreat from the elf, but shifted questioningly.  Legolas touched her downy feathers, the contact carrying his request.  She had three eggs, would she share one with him?  For his people?  He wouldn’t ask except that so many were going hungry.  Would she help them?  The young elf’s entreaty was earnest. 

 

He would not take them from her if she refused, the prince’s kind heart couldn’t do that, but he hoped she would understand that he would not ask if the situation were not serious.

 

The bird ruffled its feathers and trilled softly.  Legolas felt one smooth egg roll into his hand. 

 

“Hannon le, thank you,” the prince whispered, pulling the egg out and putting it carefully into the soft leather bag he was carrying. 

 

“Find something your highness?” one of the adult hunters looked over. 

 

Legolas held up the egg before putting it back in his satchel. 

 

“Are there any more?” the hunter moved closer.  Their findings were slim at best today. 

 

Legolas shook his head.  “I got what there was to be had Umdanuë.”  He was careful not to tell a direct untruth, but he knew that the elder hunters would take all the eggs and probably the bird too.  Under normal circumstances that would not be the case.  The wood-elves were a hunting people and Legolas himself had already felled one or two deer in his time.  Yet even so, they had always had an unspoken law about leaving a mother and her offspring in peace.  They never set their sites on a doe with a fawn or a fowl in her nest.  Now however...

 

Legolas sighed.  He did not hold against the older hunters what necessity laid in their path.  He understood that starving elven children took priority over even the elves’ respectful relationship with nature, but sometimes his tender heart wanted to leave a few things untouched and unchanged. 

 

The prince watched Umdanuë move off again to oversee some of the other youngsters.  Against all odds the hunter had recovered from his horrible stay in Doriflen’s clutches and seemed to be slowly returning to normal. 

 

In some ways, the same could be said of himself, Legolas supposed.  He was trying his hardest to put the past behind him, but it was difficult to do when every day brought another reminder of how much everything in their lives had changed. 

 

Twelve winters had passed now since the fateful night that the Mirkwood that had been, was ripped asunder and replaced with the Mirkwood that was now.  Usually a short time for elves, the days had seemed to stretch into eternity and it was difficult sometimes for the younger elflings to remember a time before the terrible strife. 

 

Civil war was misnamed the prince thought sadly.  There was nothing civil about it, especially this cold war that they were locked in now.  There was no honor in a war when the casualties were the young and the weak, but they were Doriflen’s favorite victims.

 

Doriflen had drawn away all his followers and their families, locating farther to the south.  The unstable elf kept the location of his military headquarters a carefully guarded secret, making it all but impossible for Thranduil’s soldiers to score a decisive military blow against him. 

 

Thranduil would not stoop to striking against the women and children whom Doriflen had drawn to him, but Doriflen was not nearly so scrupulous in return.  Oh he did not turn a sword against them, no, not even his most hardened followers would have abided that for long, but Doriflen was cleverer than that.  He struck at the innocents in the most devastating of ways: burning crops, stealing stores, harassing and capturing hunting parties.

 

Already in uneasy straits, Thranduil found himself in a veritable state of siege; unable to feed his people or even his soldiers as Doriflen worked ceaselessly to keep their supply lines and resources cut. 

 

The winters had been hard and cruel lately, leaving less and less hope each spring.  What hope there was in the budding fields this year had been burned to ash when Doriflen’s men brutally razed their opponents’ gardens and fields in a devastating midnight raid only two weeks ago.  Food almost ready for the harvest was destroyed and Legolas thought he had never seen his father quite so pale as when that news was brought.  The entire kingdom of Lasgalen was teetering on the brink of oblivion, brought to its knees by the long and bitter struggle. 

 

Because Thranduil would not return innocent suffering for innocent suffering, things were easier for the rebels in Doriflen’s camp and Doriflen never missed an opportunity to flaunt their relative prosperity before Thranduil’s weary and disheartened followers.  The situation was grim.

 

Lost in his dark thoughts, Legolas did not hear the other elf come up behind him as he quietly bid a parting to the bird whose life he had saved. 

 

“Legolas?”

 

“Randomir!” Legolas jumped slightly when his teacher’s hand fell upon his shoulder.  Randomir had been his Saelon for several seasons now, and he had come to learn how a true mentor’s relationship was supposed to work.  “You startled me.”

 

“So I noticed,” the older elf smiled slightly and raised a questioning eyebrow, glancing at the thicket behind Legolas that the young elf was unconsciously trying to hide behind him.  “Is the bird safe?”

 

Legolas flushed and dropped his gaze, realizing his teacher knew him far too well.  “I-I’m sorry, I know how tight things are, I just...”

 

Randomir raised his hand for silence.  “It’s all right your highness, I understand.  Sometimes one has to remember that there is mercy still somewhere in this world.  I won’t tell anyone.”

 

Legolas smiled his gratefulness.  “Thank you.”

 

Randomir squeezed his charge’s shoulder.  Legolas had a good heart.  He was young, but there was an oldness creeping into his large eyes these past seasons.  In elven time, the passing of years had little effect on Legolas’ slowly maturing body, but in his soul he seemed to have aged very quickly. 

 

Trelan scrambled over the hummock next to them and dropped exhaustedly to the ground near the prince.  “Find anything useful Legolas?” he asked with tired disgust.

 

Legolas lifted his partially full catch bag.  “Some.  You?”

 

Trelan scowled and dropped his bag between his folded legs, opening the top and showing Legolas the contents.  “Look: berries, berries, berries and... ohhh here’s a nut!  ONE nut Legolas.”  Trelan dropped his head dejectedly into his palm.  “These woods are stripped clean, there’s nothing to be had here.  They should let us go further out to forage.”

 

“Further out from the villages wouldn’t be safe Trelan,” Randomir shook his head.  “The warriors are spread too thin as it is.”

 

“Yes, and they are needed to keep the *real* hunters safe,” Raniean’s discouraged voice joined them as he stalked over, his own bag only marginally full.  “Not wasted on children like us.”

 

Raniean’s father cast a stern look his direction.  “Ran, just because you are young does not mean that you are not important.  All of you are very important.  You are our future, that is why we seek to not place you in unnecessary danger.  You will be going out into the world soon enough ion-nín.”

 

Raniean’s head came up quickly at the vague reference.  “Have they set a time?  Do you know yet father?  When are we to go?” the boy’s voice was excited.

 

Trelan’s attention was captured just as quickly, as was Legolas’.  The three young elves came of age this season and completed the first level of their training.  Another class above them had already passed that landmark the previous summer and everyone below them was now anxious for their own turn to undertake the grueling rite of passage. 

 

It must not be supposed that a wood-elf coming of age happened at the same stage of maturity as it did in other cultures.  Indeed, in many regions beings of the same relative age would have been considered children for many more seasons yet, but not here.  As in any culture however, the elvish children were eager to attain ‘adult’ status. 

 

The final rite of passage was marked by a fortnight-long survival trial deep in the forest, wherein the young elves went out together in groups of twelve to put all they had learned to practice on their own.  They went out children and came back adults in the thinking of the wood-elves. 

 

Due to the current times, the practice had been modified since no one was willing to suffer the young ones to be alone in the dangerous woods.  Now, a small contingent of their teachers went with them, although they still left everything up to the students. 

 

Legolas, Raniean, Trelan and the others were supposed to have gone out earlier in the summer, but the trip was delayed repeatedly as the political and social clime steadily worsened.  The young elves began to fear that they would not be allowed to graduate to the next level this season at all. 

 

Randomir tried to silence the suddenly clamoring elflings without much effect.  “Yes, yes, a decision has finally been reached, although I did not have it in mind to tell you until I could tell everyone this evening.  So kindly keep it to yourselves until the announcement can be made, all right?”

 

All three young elves promised solemnly and then immediately pressed him for the exact timing. 

 

“When?  When Randomir?” Legolas asked eagerly.  “I promise we won’t tell.”

 

“All right, peace all of you,” the elder elf shook his head.  “Is tomorrow soon enough for you?”

 

From their cheers, it was.  They could not believe that it was so soon.  Randomir had known it was coming for some time, but for safety sake it was best to let the community at large know about it as late as possible.  That way there was a lower chance of word leaking out to cause trouble.  He hated to think what Doriflen would do if he thought he could capture a whole troop of elflings at one time.  The unstable elf had a penchant for adding the very young to his fanatical following that did not sit well with Randomir.

 

Suddenly the sound of a horn made them all look up.  A column of wood-elf warriors was winding its way across the far edge of the field. 

 

Legolas watched them disappear into the forest with a proud, but sad feeling in his stomach.  He had seen many such parties departing in his young life... and too many never came back. 

 

Trelan saw Morifwen and Sarcayul near the rear of the procession.  They had been in the group that came of age last year.  Everyone knew that as soon as the young elves had come of age, they were eligible to join the war parties.  The young elves looked forward eagerly to the honor... their elders looked forward with sorrowful trepidation to the loss of innocence that would follow. 

 

Trelan waved a greeting as the procession passed away.  Sarcayul did not notice, but Morifwen waved back ever so slightly, not wanting to break formation.  Then they were gone. 

 

Randomir watched them go with the ghost of a shadow flittering across his face.  They were not part of his command.  That troop was part of the contingent under Traycaul, Sarcayul and Sarcaulien’s father.  Randomir believed that just because the young elves who came of age *were* eligible for patrol duty, it did not necessarily follow that they *should* be placed in that position so soon.  Traycaul saw things differently and that was out of Randomir’s control.  The different chieftains worked together, but they did not attempt to overstep their bounds into each other’s realm of authority.  That position of final authority was for the King alone, and right now, Thranduil had far too much on his plate already.  Regulating a dispute between the leaders of his two major contingents was not something he needed to have to worry about at the moment.  So Randomir kept his peace.  However, you were certainly not going to see Raniean out there with his patrols until his son had been seasoned more gradually for what he might be expected to face.  That went for Legolas and Trelan as well if he had any say.

 

Another horn sounded, farther away but more urgent this time.  This was a warning horn and all the elves had learned what that meant.

 

“Come children,” Randomir said quickly, glancing about to see that Umdanuë and Tegi were gathering up the other youngsters.  “We should get back to Lasgalen immediately.”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Randomir walked Legolas back to the palace and left only once he saw he was safely in the protection of Amil-Garil. 

 

Legolas hated the way they fussed over him like that but he had grown used to it and paid little mind to the guards who dutifully dogged his footsteps as he slowly ascended the stairs leading into his home.  Quietly however, he resolved that when he was older and had the choice, he was *not* going to spend every waking moment with a living chain of guards and servants trailing him around all the time.  He would go where he wanted and do what he wanted, and he would be a skilled enough warrior that no one could worry about him.  His mind was made up on that.

 

Elvéwen gave her son a hug when she saw him in the hall and asked how his outing had fared, as she always did.  Legolas had already turned over his catch, such as it was, to the kitchens.  He told her about it briefly.  There wasn’t much to say really, but he appreciated that she always asked.  If there ever was anything he wanted to talk about, but was too shy to bring up himself, it afforded him the opportunity to do so. 

 

Through the half-closed door behind her, Legolas could see his father deep in conversation with Lord Celemir.  He would not interrupt them now.  He knew he would see his father later.  These past few seasons, Thranduil made it a point that no matter how busy he had been during the day, he spent at least a few minutes with Legolas each night before the child went to bed.  It was a pitiful concision of his time sometimes and the King knew it, but it often truly was all he had to give, and Legolas accepted the gift of his father’s time, such as it was, with the love with which it was meant. 

 

“Is there trouble?” He asked his mother quietly. 

 

Elvéwen shook her head.  “Not this time at least.  They are discussing what is to be done about the Yén festival.  It is approaching rapidly and is a very important event.  It will be your first Tyndolhen,” she ran her hand fondly through his hair.  “I would that you could see it the way it should be and has been in the past.  Unfortunately it cannot be celebrated properly as things stand, but neither can it be ignored.  They will figure out what needs to be kept for tradition and what can be parted with because of necessity.”

 

Legolas nodded.  “It will be good for the people to have something to celebrate about.”

 

This war was draining everyone.  It was not a terribly bloody conflict by most standards.  It was suspected, or at least hoped, that most of their warriors who disappeared had been taken prisoner rather than killed.  That was certainly the objective of Thranduil’s war parties, although little by little Doriflen had been showing himself willing to up the ante from capture to slaughter if it achieved his ends.  Because the killing of elf by elf was considered despicable by most of the warriors the actual deaths were thankfully not nearly as bad as they might have been, but it was a cold conflict that drained the spirits of everyone involved.  Hope was the worst casualty. 

 

“You look tired Legolas,” Elvéwen said quietly, seeing the dark thoughts flitter across her son’s face.  “Have you eaten yet?  They are keeping your soup warm for you in the kitchen.  You are too drawn my little leaf.”  She and Thranduil had agreed long ago that the royal family should not be shown any favors in the strict food-rationing that was in place throughout the torn kingdom, but for her growing son’s sake she wished she could provide better than a small mug of soup for supper. 

 

Legolas shook his head, putting on a smile just for her and banishing the gloom.  “I know, I’m fine Nana, I was just thinking.”  He didn’t want to tell her that he had already given his dinner to Galion’s wife Febridë who was in the final stages of her first pregnancy.  Childbearing took a lot out of elven women and Legolas judged she needed it much more than he did.  Ever since he found the serving lady passed out on the cellar floor two weeks ago, he had been giving up his own supper regularly without anyone knowing what he was doing, including Febridë and his mother. 

 

Legolas gave Elvéwen a hug and retired to his chambers.  He was tired and hungry, but he pushed those unwelcome feelings away.  Instead he focused on the excitement of finally knowing when their rite of passage would take place. 

 

The prince opened the large windows near his bed and slid out onto the ledge, sitting on the windowsill and dangling his feet over the outside edge, as he was fond of doing.  The sun was sinking for the western horizon, painting the verdant forest in shades of gold and crimson. 

 

He kicked his heels lightly against the smooth stones as his legs dangled.  Once he was no longer considered a child there was so much more he could do.  He would be able to take on more responsibility and better share the load with his father and mother.  Thranduil had already told him that once he was of age the King would start delegating Legolas some of the base level administrative functions that he could trust to no one else.  While keeping records and managing stores was not something Legolas looked forward to, or wished to spend his time engaged in, the fact that in so doing he would be able to free up some of his father’s badly cluttered time made the thought worthwhile.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Elvéwen was out in the darkening gardens, overseeing the efforts to coax the vegetable gardens that had taken over the sculptured lawns to produce more at a quicker rate.  The plants responded well to the elves’ gentle ministrations, but there was still only so much they could do.

 

The Queen halted by one of the female workers.  “Stop, Febridë I told you not to work out here.  We can manage.  You need to save your strength for the child,” Elvéwen remonstrated, glancing with concern at the other woman’s huge belly. 

 

Febridë was nearly full term and having a difficult time with the pregnancy.  However when she looked up at the Queen the woman’s eyes appeared less shadowed than they had been in some time. 

 

“Oh no, your Majesty, I will be all right, thank you.  I am feeling much better.”

 

Elvéwen smiled, gratified at the change.  “Very well, but be careful, all right?”

 

“Yes, your Highness,” Febridë nodded with a small smile.  “And... your Highness?  Please tell Prince Legolas thank you again.  I don’t know how he managed to arrange the extra rations for me, but I truly appreciate it, and I thank you for your kindness in allowing it.”

 

Elvéwen was taken aback for only a moment, before she quickly nodded and accepted the thanks graciously before moving on.  It would do no good to let Febridë know that she had no idea what the other woman was talking about.  Besides... as soon as Elvéwen stopped to consider it, she knew exactly what had been taking place.  No wonder Legolas seemed to be growing thinner before her eyes.  He was not eating.  That sweet, foolish child was giving his food away.  Silently, Elvéwen determined to make sure she *watched* Legolas eat next time.  She appreciated what he was doing, and could see the good it had done for Febridë, but she would find a way to arrange extra allowance for Febridë that would allow Legolas to keep his own meals.  The young elf was growing and could not afford to deny himself so stringently.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Darkness had fallen, but Legolas remained on the windowsill, looking up at the stars.  He felt a little too tired to do anything else.  If he had been older he might have realized his fatigue had to do with his small and infrequent meals, but all the child knew was that he felt a little weary.

 

The moon was already high in the sky when Legolas heard the quiet sound of the door to his room being pushed open. 

 

Candles and lamp oil were rationed just like food these days, and Legolas had not bothered to waste any lighting his rooms, so when Thranduil first entered, he thought his son was already asleep. 

 

Upon seeing the empty bed however, his gaze went immediately to the dark shape in the window, framed by the pale starlight streaming into the darkened room.

 

“Legolas?  Come down from there child, you could fall,” Thranduil chided gently, lifting Legolas down from the high sill.

 

Legolas laughed and shook his head at being treated like such a child.  “Ada!  I’m not a baby.”

 

“I know Legolas, I know.  But it is still time for bed, even for big, grown-up elves...” the King’s voice held a softly teasing tone. 

 

Legolas rolled his eyes but obligingly changed into his sleep tunic.  As he was fastening up the row of ties that held the soft fabric closed at the neck, the young elf’s knees buckled without warning and he slid to the floor. 

 

Thranduil thought Legolas was playing at some kind of a game until the boy didn’t rise. 

 

Legolas did not remember falling.  All he remembered was his father’s worried face bending over him, bathed in moonlight.  Thranduil was shaking him and calling his name.

 

“Ada?” Legolas blinked in confusion as he sat up.  “What happened?”

 

Thranduil looked extremely consternated and scooped the young elf up in his arms, carrying him to the bed despite the other’s protests. 

 

“What happened Legolas, is that you are not taking care of yourself.  Your mother told me what’s been going on with Febridë and while I appreciate your heart my son, it has got to stop.  We’ll find another way to take care of her, all right?  You need your strength too,” Thranduil said seriously, feeling how light Legolas was in his arms.

 

The fact that his son was practically starving in his own palace made Thranduil’s heart ache with sorrow and shame.

 

“Yes, Adar,” Legolas nodded compliantly.  He was too tired to wonder how he had been found out and didn’t bother arguing with his father because he knew he always lost. 

 

“You were discussing the Yén festival with Lord Celemir?” Legolas hesitantly broke the silence after a few minutes, wishing to lighten the oppressive mood that had descended upon them.  “Will it have to be canceled?”

 

“No,” Thranduil shook his head, absently letting his fingers toy with the fringes on Legolas’ quilt as he sat next to the boy on his bed.  “There is little enough to celebrate with, but I believe we have a workable plan now.  We cannot simply ‘cancel’ the Yén.  It is our most revered holiday here in Mirkwood ion-nín.  To shun it now would be to admit that we have fallen so far we never hope to rise again.”

 

Legolas nodded as if he understood, although he didn’t completely.

 

“I will have to teach you what must be done, for we will both have an important role to play in blessing the forest for the coming Yén.  ‘tis rather short notice, but I’m sure we will have it all worked out by then.  We can begin tomorrow...”

 

“Tomorrow?” Legolas sat up, his brows furrowing.  “I thought that the Yén was not for a fortnight yet.  Ada, I have to leave tomorrow.”

 

“Leave?” Thranduil mirrored his son’s confused expression for a moment. 

 

“The rite of passage, for our maethor training.  Randomir said he and the others have finally set a date.  We are to leave tomorrow,” Legolas explained, but as he did so he suddenly had the creeping suspicion that his father already knew. 

 

Thranduil sighed deeply and Legolas did not like the way his father was acting.  It did not bode well. 

 

“Legolas... I don’t want you to go with them.  You’re not ready yet my son and I need you here.”

 

Legolas took the words like a blow to the chest.  He shook his head, trying to refuse tears.  “I am ready Ada!  I am!  I can do this, I know I can!”

 

Thranduil was unmovable on the subject.  “No, you are not Legolas.  You’re fainting in your own chambers, and I am supposed to allow you to go out there into the wilds with little or no protection?  No, Legolas.  I’m sorry.  Perhaps next year will be better.”

 

Legolas felt stricken, he couldn’t believe his father thought so little of his abilities.  “Next year...” he echoed hollowly.  Raniean, Trelan, Sarcaulien, Brenyf... all his friends would move on and he would remain left behind with next year’s candidates, cut out of his age-mate’s lives and their continuing training.  The shame was overwhelming.

 

Thranduil ached for the sorrow he saw in his child’s eyes, but he truly felt this was for the best.  The Yén festival was not the only thing he and Celemir had discussed.  Spies had brought word.  There was unrest in Doriflen’s camp.  Despite the fact that their fields were not being burned or their crops trampled, mismanagement was driving them to nearly as desperate straits as Thranduil’s kingdom.  Doriflen ruled them with a heavy hand and some of his followers were beginning to chafe under the treatment. 

 

Doriflen was getting more desperate than he wanted to let on.  He would be looking for an advantage, ready to take drastic measures.  Under such circumstances, Thranduil was not willing to let Legolas out of the protective watchfulness of his home.  The Elvenking hesitated to tell Legolas his concerns for fear of re-awaking those old scars that he knew were still far too near the surface for Legolas.

 

“Legolas, I understand how you must feel, but...”

 

“No, you *don’t* understand!” Legolas flared uncharacteristically.  His weakened state made him more vulnerable to the emotional impact of what was happening. 

 

“Legolas!” Thranduil was taken aback by the interruption.  “Do not take that tone with me.  I know what is best for you whether it seems like it now or not.  You are just going to have to accept that.  I need you here.  If you go you may not be back in time for the Yén festival and that is not acceptable.”

 

Legolas dropped his head into his hands.  “I don’t want to be part of any stupid...”

 

“Legolas,” Thranduil’s voice was warning.  The prince was pushing the line here.  He understood his son’s disappointment, but he expected him to deal with it and move on, not wallow in self-pity.  “There *will* be other chances, when you are ready.”

 

“And when will that be?” Legolas murmured bitterly.  “How can I ever be ready if you do not allow me to be!”  //What more must I do to prove myself to you?// the elfling’s heart cried. 

 

Thranduil’s lips pressed into a tight line.  This was not going well and he was in no better mood than the prince was right now.  “The childish way you are acting now only proves the point that you are *not* ready Legolas.  I will not let you go out there and endanger yourself or those with you.  Don’t you realize what kind of a target you would be Legolas?  Doriflen used you once, he’ll use you again if he can.”  He opted to be truthful with his son. 

 

Legolas sucked his breath in sharply at the mention of his uncle’s name.  Unfortunately in his disturbed state, he took Thranduil’s words in a way they were not intended. 

 

“U-Use me?” he stammered around the swelling lump in his throat.  Oh Valar, did his father really still think that he had had any kind of conscious roll in his uncle’s treachery?  Did Thranduil think he could be so easily swayed that his Uncle could ever fool him into compliance again?  Did his father *truly* think *that* little of him?

 

“Yes, Legolas, use you,” Thranduil said shortly.  He did not realize what was going on in his son’s head or the undesired impact his words were having.  “You know he would do it too.”  Thranduil had come to the sad realization that his brother was nothing if not ultimately ruthless. 

 

Legolas was trying hard not to let his hurt, angry tears spill over, but he was not succeeding. 

 

“You don’t trust me,” Legolas whispered, balling his fists in the bedclothes at his side.  “That’s it, isn’t it?  You still don’t trust me!”  That hurt worse than simply not being allowed to go.  His father thought he would betray him again.  If he thought that... then had he ever really forgiven him for before?  Was Thranduil keeping him close to protect him, or because he feared the boy would turn against him?  The terrible thoughts made Legolas’ head swim. 

 

Thranduil had no idea where Legolas’ accusations were coming from.  “Don’t be ridiculous Legolas.  My trust of you has nothing to do with this.  I said you’re not going and you’re not going.  I’m sorry, but my decision is final, do you understand me?” the King said firmly.

 

Legolas turned his face into his pillow.  His father’s words fell on deaf ears.  Empty verbal assurances meant nothing when faced with actions that seemed to the contrary.  His father thought he would betray him... 

 

“I understand,” Legolas murmured into his pillow, refusing to look up. 

 

Thranduil sighed in frustration.  This was not at all how he had wished for things to end tonight.  “Do you want to talk Legolas?” he inquired softly, letting his hand rest lightly on the boy’s tense shoulder. 

 

Legolas swallowed and shook his head.  “No.  I-I’m sorry Ada.  I’m-I’m just very tired.  I’ll be all right.”

 

Thranduil nodded.  He didn’t doubt that the child was tired.  “All right then Legolas.  Good night my son.”  The king brushed his hand over Legolas’ forehead in a bedtime blessing before rising and moving away. 

 

“Goodnight Ada,” Legolas whispered quietly, trying to keep the tight, choking feeling in his throat out of his voice. 

 

The door clicked shut.

 

Legolas settled himself on his back, but he couldn’t sleep.  His thoughts were in turmoil and his emotions swirled even more violently.  Thranduil loved him, but he didn’t trust him, that much was clear.  He thought Legolas wasn’t ready to be an adult, to help him share the load of the kingdom. 

 

Legolas balled his hand so hard that his fingernails hurt his palms as hot indignation and betrayal burned in his chest, choking him.  He *was* ready, he *was*!  But if Thranduil didn’t think so now, when would he?  Legolas was at the top of his class in every skill the young elves had been trained in, he had the highest marks of any of them and he knew it.  If that was not enough, what would be?  Would Thranduil even let Legolas go next year, or would he continue to doubt him?  What more could the prince possibly do that he hadn’t already done to make his father see him as a person and not a baby to be protected and coddled?

 

The first time the thought entered his head Legolas dismissed it offhand.  Thranduil would kill him for such outright disobedience.  Yet the longer he lay there, the more plausible the idea seemed to become.  He could go anyway.  Not with the others, if he did that his father would simply send the guards to bring him back.  No, Legolas could go by himself.  That way he would not be endangering anyone else either.  He knew what the rite consisted of and it was nothing he could not survive on his own.  He heard stories that in the old days the young ones had always gone alone anyway... and if he succeeded, then Thranduil would have to accept that he was not a child anymore.  More importantly, his father would see once and for all that he was not and had never been a traitor by choice.  He *could* be trusted to be alone. 

 

It took Legolas over an hour, but he finally talked himself into the idea. 

 

Silently, he pushed aside the covers and slid out of bed.  Changing into his woodland garments, the young prince strapped his quiver on his back and pushed his knife into his belt.  His fingers fumbled slightly with the quiver clasp on his chest.  He was nervous.  He had never gone so contrary to his parents’ wishes before and he knew his father would be furious.  Yet he hoped that he could be worthy enough through his trials that he would not shame them, and they could be proud of him upon his return. 

 

Pulling a quill and parchment from his desk, Legolas scribbled a quick note so they would not worry... he gripped the quill tightly.  Who was he trying to fool?  They would worry anyway, but at least they would know what he had done.  The prince signed the note with an apprehensive, but resolute stroke.

 

Besides a blanket, his arrows, extra arrowheads and fletching to make more, Legolas really had nothing to pack that was not already strapped to his belt in readiness.  Food and drink were things he was going to have to find for himself in the woods.  Slipping to his window, Legolas pushed the curtains open and pulled himself up onto the moonlit sill once more.  With one foot in and one foot out of the window, Legolas paused one last time. 

 

This was his last chance to turn back and give up the whole idea.  The prince struggled with himself.  Part of him wanted to jump back into bed and cling to the safety of doing what was expected, but another part of him rebelled sharply at always giving in and never standing up.  If he had stood up to Doriflen in the beginning so much pain may have been averted. 

 

Making his final decision and knowing that, good or ill, he was going to have to live with it; Legolas swung his other leg over the sill and dropped lightly down to a thin ledge directly below.  The prince ran easily along the narrow edge until he was within reach of one of the tall, garden trees.  Jumping like a squirrel into its branches, the prince traversed easily from tree to tree.  He knew the gates would already be sealed, but he also knew that the gardeners had not been able to keep the palace grounds as neatly kept since the start of the war as they had been previously.  An entire section in the neglected northwest corner of the grounds had become overgrown, allowing the tree branches to begin overhanging the palace walls.  That was all that Legolas needed. 

 

In a matter of minutes the prince had dropped down on the other side of the wall and was running swiftly and silently into the woods in the moonlight.  He left the palace and all of Lasgalen behind him as fast as he could.  He was apprehensive about what he was going to face, but the adrenaline that had carried him thus far was still pumping powerfully through his veins and he pushed aside his cares, preferring to feel the invigorating zing of knowing he was finally doing something by *his* choice. 

 

He knew he would be in incredible trouble when he went back, but Legolas was determined to make it worthwhile.  He would not fail.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Thranduil looked ready to put his fist through the wall as he crumpled the prince’s note.  Elvéwen was silent and shaken.  Neither of them could believe that Legolas had been so incredibly rash. 

 

“Find him!” Thranduil ordered Amil-Garil tersely.  “Find him immediately!  Have Randomir and the others left yet?  Check and see if he is with them.  If not, begin searching the woods at once!”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Legolas ran all night, pushing aside his weariness and fatigue.  He did not stop when pale dawn lightened the sky in the east, but kept going for as long as he could.  He knew his father would send searchers, but he could not allow himself to be taken back in disgrace.  He would return under his own terms, *after* completing what he had set out to do.  He would lay the tokens of the completed rite out before his father’s feet and Thranduil would have to see that he was not a child, and not a traitor. 

 

Legolas hoped that somehow his parents could forgive him. 

 

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART NINE*~
~Rites of Passage~

 

 

~~~~~~~~
I ran to the treetops, I ran to the sky,
Out to the lake, into the rain that matted my hair
and soaked my shoes and skin...
Hid my tears, hid my fears.

I ran to the forest, I ran to the trees,
I ran and I ran, I was looking for me.

--Madonna
~~~~~~~~

 

 

Grey rain drizzled through the canopy of leaves overhead and pattered softly onto Legolas’ makeshift flet.  The young elf prince sat curled up in a ball with his knees pulled up to his chest, conserving his body warmth. 

 

It had been more than a fortnight since he left home.  He was not exactly homesick, for he rather liked being on his own to some extent, but he was worried about how things faired for his family and his friends. 

 

The young elf pulled his sodden cloak a little closer around his shoulders and wondered if Raniean and Trelan had completed their rites already and gathered all the necessary tokens. 

 

Near the base of the tree, a bower of leaves kept a curing wolf pelt safe from the rain. 

 

Legolas flexed his aching arm.  He had panicked more than he wanted to admit when the wolves attacked him.  His fright made his muscles tense and he had strained something in his arm working his bowstring.  Still, he was alive and the wolves were not.  It was not an encounter he would have wished for, and yet it did fulfill the need for one of his tokens. 

 

There were three tokens a young wood-elf needed to bring back from his rite of passage.  Twelve of the rare, healing herbs that grew wild in the woods, an animal hide, and a mark of courage.  Legolas had everything now but the last.  However the more he thought about it, the more troublesome what he didn’t have became.  What in Arda was a mark of courage anyway?  Their teachers had never explained that to the young elves, telling them that when they were out there, they would just know.  Well blast it all Legolas didn’t know and time was draining away from him. 

 

The prince rested his face on his knees.  He had hoped to be back by now.  He really had wanted to return before the Yén celebration, but by now it had already come and gone. 

 

He wondered if his father was still searching for him.  The young prince’s woodsman’s skills were advanced for his age and he had thus far managed to stay well away from anyone but the trees and the woodland creatures.  There were not many of those right now.  The fighting between the elves seemed to have driven them all away, which contributed to the problems that the hunting parties were constantly encountering. 

 

Legolas knew he shouldn’t have been thinking about food.  His stomach growled.  He had not started this trip with any reserves to spare and had been able to hunt and scavenge a marginal living at best since then.  Still, he had not done too poorly for himself and was stronger than the night he ran away more than two weeks ago. 

 

The wolf meat was not to his tastes, but he was hungry enough that he ate it anyway.  It was the first meat he had seen in a long time, even before leaving home. 

 

The young elf was tired.  He was always tired lately.  Legolas did not mean to fall asleep, but presently his head was nodding and the soothing patter of the rain drifted him off to rest.

 

When Legolas awoke the rain had stopped and the sun was setting.  The young elf jerked upright quickly, looking around.  He usually did not stay in one place for so long, finding a new resting place each night for safety sake.  Now however, he had no choice for he was not so foolish as to risk this wild part of the forest at night. 

 

Climbing down the tree he bundled up the cured wolf hide and carried it back up the tree with him, rolling it into his pack with the carefully dried herbs. 

 

Sighing, the prince settled himself down for a watchful night.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

In the late watches of the night, the peace of the forest was shattered by the urgent blowing of a horn.  The panic-laden blasts were cut short almost as abruptly as they had started. 

 

Sharp cries and angry snarls carried through the trees. 

 

Legolas’ head popped up, his senses fully alert and looking for the source of the threat.  That was soon to become apparent. 

 

The prince saw six or seven wolves rush by under his tree, heading towards the sounds of the conflict.  From the great clamor of snaps and snarls away to the south it sounded like there were already quite a few of the beasts out there. 

 

Legolas had had a feeling that the three wolves he had encountered yesterday were merely part of a larger pack that must be somewhere nearby.  The lack of game hurt the wolves as it did the elves, and drove them to greater ferocity.  Instead of following the game in its migration out of Mirkwood, the packs had banded together and begun to attack the parties of elves that scoured the countryside for food.  In such large groups, the creatures were fearless.

 

Legolas quickly hitched his pack over his shoulder and took off across the tree boughs towards the sounds of the altercation.  He thought he had heard elven voices somewhere in the clamor.  Jumping from branch to branch, the prince stayed in the treetops to avoid getting stuck in a melee on the ground.  Wolves couldn’t climb trees, that was one small mercy. 

 

Once he reached the place where the wolves were congregating, the sheer number of them gathered there took his breath away.  Twenty at least, maybe more.  He saw that a small number of the creatures lay dead already; their bodies a black splotch against the forest floor.  However, they were not what held Legolas’ attention.  What held his attention was the remaining wolves’ intended prey. 

 

Two raven heads and one golden, obviously elves because they were glowing dimly, obviously young elves because their stature was far too small for an adult.  It was difficult to see faces from above, but Legolas did not need to see.  He knew them at a glance and his heart chilled in his breast. 

 

Trelan, Brenyf and Sarcaulien were surrounded by scores of angry, snarling wolves.  They were alone and badly out-numbered. 

 

Brenyf seemed to be injured because he was favoring one leg as the three young elves stood shoulder to shoulder in a loose circle, trying desperately to hold their own against the ravenous hordes.  The wolves had them trapped in the center of a large clearing, unable to reach the safety of the trees.  The surrounded elves seemed to be gathered around something on the ground that the prince could not see in the dark chaos, almost as if they were protecting something or someone. 

 

Legolas didn’t have to be a full-fledged warrior to see that his friends were not going to walk out of this alive. 

 

Trelan had the disadvantage of being almost eye-level with the wolves, but he fought them with the energy of two elves.  One fell with his knife in its throat while a second that had rushed him was abruptly checked by a swift, deadly slash from Sarcaulien’s flashing blade.  Brenyf held a barbed spear taller than himself with which he was keeping the creatures in front of him at bay.  His signal horn had been broken after the first call and there was no further chance of their trying to summon help.

 

The dark form of a wolf struck Sarcaulien in the chest, knocking him backward.  Trelan, nearest at hand, leapt forward, practically jumping on the creatures back as he stabbed at it furiously, trying to pull it away from the other downed elfling.  Unfortunately this left his own back uncovered and vulnerable. 

 

A wolf leapt at the short elf, fangs snapping... only to fall with a surprised yelp, an arrow through its throat. 

 

Standing on a low hanging branch that gave him the best view of the glade below, Legolas already had his bow bent and strung with another arrow.  In rapid succession he loosed a fierce, deadly volley on the attacking creatures below, trying to give the others stuck on the ground a little breathing room. 

 

Legolas’ constant practicing stood him in good stead now.  He was lethal with a bow.  He did not yet possess the full capabilities and prowess that later years would bring him, but for a child of his age, he was more than formidable. 

 

Sarcaulien snatched the momentary reprieve to heave the wolf carcass off him and scramble back to his feet while Brenyf made sure that Trelan, also regaining his feet, was all right. 

 

Looking up in the direction the arrows were coming from, they saw Legolas in the tree. 

 

“Legolas!” Trelan shouted his friend’s name in surprise even as a new wave of wolves rushed them and they were forced on the defensive once more. 

 

Legolas was shooting as fast as he could, but although every arrow found a wolf body, he was not yet accurate enough for every shot to be fatal.  There were simply too many wolves; they could not win this fight.  It would be better to run if they could. 

 

“Trelan!  Sar!  Bren!  Break for the trees!  I’ll try to cover you, you’ve got to get off the ground!” the prince shouted. 

 

Trelan shook his head, panting hard and out of breath.  “We can’t Legolas!  Ada’s hurt bad, he’s unconscious.  We can’t leave him!”

 

Legolas could now see that the dark shape the three young elves were placing themselves around was the body of an older elf.  Telrayn was shimmering only very faintly in the darkness and Legolas didn’t know what that meant, but he hoped it wasn’t bad.  His mind raced as he strung off another round of arrows.  No, they couldn’t leave the older elf to be devoured by the wolves... but neither could the three smaller elves hope to fight their way free of the clearing carrying him.  Their only option seemed to be trying to defeat the wolves, no matter how hopeless a venture it appeared. 

 

The prince’s groping fingers found only air behind him.  A hasty glance over his shoulder showed him that his quiver was empty, his arrows spent.  He could do no more good from up here in the safety of the trees.  Taking a deep breath and pulling the long knife from his belt, Legolas leapt down into the fray.  He could not hope to land directly near his friends because he was too far away, but he tried to angle his jump to get as close as possible. 

 

One of the wolves caught his boot in its teeth before he touched down.  Legolas was unprepared for the sudden jolt as his center of balance shifted wildly.  He slammed into the ground hard on his back and felt hot pain lance through him as his right shoulder absorbed the full brunt of his impact with the hard-packed earth.  A twisted tree root caught him between the shoulder blades, making him stifle a cry before he rolled to his feet, scrambling away from the wolves that were trying to pounce on him. 

 

Immediately the prince was surrounded by snapping teeth and slashing claws.  Fighting his way to the other elves’ side, he stood with his friends in the protective ring around Telrayn’s body.  Legolas did not wonder what death would feel like, but he did have the odd, detached thought that if he died here, he was glad he would be dead when the news reached his father.  Thranduil would kill him. 

 

Death however, was not in the immediate future for this particular set of elves.  Just when the four youngsters thought they could hold their ground no longer they heard the welcome sound of swift feet running through the trees nearby.  A sudden rain of arrows filled the dark air, felling the ravening wolves in droves.  After only a few moments, the beasts quickly realized that they were outmatched and turned tail, fleeing into the night. 

 

Several elves baring torches rushed into the clearing, stepping over the heaps of wolf carcasses.  Most of the new arrivals were other young elves but there were a few adult teachers among them. 

 

Raniean and Randomir reached the small group in the clearing first. 

 

“Trey, Bren, Sar!” Raniean was sobbing for breath, having run faster than he ever had before to get here after hearing the distress signal.  “Are you all right?  What happened to Telrayn?  What...” he stopped abruptly when he realized there were one too many people present.  He blinked.  “Legolas?”

 

Randomir was absolutely shocked.  “Your highness?  What in the name of Elbereth are you doing here?!”  He knew Legolas had been missing the morning they left, but had not been given any details and assumed the boy was hiding somewhere in the palace to show his displeasure at his father’s decision to hold him back.  As per the conditions of the trials, they had had no further contact with civilization after that.  None of them knew that the prince had been missing this whole time. 

 

Legolas shifted uncomfortably under his mentor’s scrutiny.  Any chance he had had was over now; he was certain Randomir and the others would make him go back.  He would be forced to return a failure and that thought sent despair shooting through the young elf. 

 

He was momentarily saved from answering by Trelan.  “He saved us that’s what he did!” the small elf said proudly, shooting his friend a grateful look.  Sarcaulien and Brenyf nodded.  They would not have been able to hold out long enough for help to arrive by themselves.

 

Legolas flushed.  “You were doing fine by yourselves Trelan, I just helped a little,” he tried to downplay his role. 

 

“Right,” Trelan said sarcastically, hugging his sides, which ached from exertion and lack of breath.  The small elf dropped down next to his father’s side on his knees, worriedly hovering over the older elf.  “Is Ada going to be all right?” he turned huge, hurting eyes upon Randomir.

 

“He hit his head hard on a rock when one of the wolves jumped him during the battle,” Brenyf said quietly.  “We couldn’t get him to wake up.”

 

Randomir was already kneeling by his friend’s side, checking Telrayn’s vitals.  His face was more relaxed when he looked up again.  He touched Trelan’s dirty and worried cheek gently with the back of his hand.  “He’s going to be fine Trelan, he’s just unconscious.  He’ll have a nasty headache when he awakes, but nothing more, thanks to the four of you.”

 

Trelan beamed happily.  “Ran, he’s going to be all right!” he felt compelled to inform, although his friend was standing right beside him and had already heard. 

 

Raniean smiled in relief.  “Good.  You should know better than to go getting in trouble without me!” he chided his friend good-naturedly.  “What happened?”

 

“We were on our way back to camp from night watch and the wolves jumped us,” Trelan related excitedly, able to feel very proud of the whole adventure now that it was safely over.  “Ada got hurt and we had to fight, and then when things were looking desperate, Legolas showed up firing arrows from the trees.  He jumped down into the middle of them to join us and we all fought together, and then you showed up and you