Tears Like Rain

-Tears Like Rain-

By: Cassia and Siobhan

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)

___________________________________________________________

-Tears Like Rain-

___________________________________________________________

~*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 woul