Title: Né fredä l (Unafraid)

By: Chloe the elvish, angst-loving, enthusiast, also being the 3^rd of the “Write Sisters” ;)

Rated: PG-13 (for MAJOR angst, violence, and MORE major angst*) This is NOT A SLASH FIC! Nooo no no no! If you’re here to read slash, read SOMETHING ELSE! I can’t stand slash.

*please re-note the ‘angst-loving’ part of my full-name. ;)

Summery: Estel is gone. Left with a confused mind and aching heart, Legolas continues to stumble through his life. But as he lives to miss his dearest friend, the shadow of danger grows darker as Bengwiil eases its way back into Mirkwood. Will Legolas let go in time to save his people? And what of Aragorn? Will he *never* be back? (sequel to Erfiér)

Spoilers: Only for the other two stories in the “Bengwiil Saga”, Istón, I know, and Erfiér, Only Mortal. Other than that, no, don’t think so. :)

Disclaimers: Aragorn, Legolas, Thranduil, Mirkwood, Rivendell and any other recognizable people or places are the sole property of JRR Tolkein, and I do NOT have permission to use them. I’m not making any money, of course, because a. nobody’s dumb enough to pay me to write and b. nobody ELSE is dumb enough to pay me to write. At any rate, please don’t sue me. ;)

NOTE: You will NOT get this story a BIT unless you’ve read the other two stories in this series:

If that doesn’t bug you, then it’s no problem. Just thought you should no, in case you start reading this and immediately think: WHAT is a Bengwiil…? ;)

Marks: // marks are elvish translations. Example:

Nefredal

//Unafraid//

* marks are italics

Dedication: To Sarah, Hannah. Cassia, Siobhan, and ALL my faithful readers who have hung around while I was tardy over finishing this. Thank you ALL for your patience! I hope it’s worth it. :)

Né fredä l

(Unafraid)

You think denying it's no good

I know

But if for a day, an hour, I can pretend

That he's not gone, that our times will

not end

I do not ask for lies, my friend, and yet

If I cannot run tomorrow, tonight I may

forget

Shortly I will miss him, see the holes he left behind

For this evening, just to close my eyes, and rest my

tired mind

It will help and though inside I still will know...

Just for now, if you could say it

isn't so.

Chapter 1

Without Hope

The clouds hung heavily over the Mirkwood trees, for they had been threatening the great forest with rain for almost four days. The trees were uncharacteristically green in the dim light, and they swayed slightly in the humid breeze.

It is well that the trees were so lovely, for many stared at them this day. With nothing but pain to see and feel in the Halls of Thranduil, many of the Woodelves spent their day outside, in the heavy air of Mirkwood.

None could stand the atmosphere of the Halls anymore. Their king, Thranduil, had not left his room for the two days since the night. The fearful night that none discussed in the open, for fear of reliving the nightmare they had experienced that evening.

All of the elves on the lower floors could remember it all-too-vividly. It was deep into the night, and many had gone to pace the stone balconies, or retire to wander in dreams. None had expected what happened next…

Since that night, none had gone to the second floor except by necessity. At first, the only sound from the dark room was Legolas’ soft voice singing the ‘Old Walking Song’ which carried an extra memory from his perspective, but was only a little mournful, for such a song is too innocent to carry much weight.

But now, the soft elvish song that came from that shut door for hour after hour was just too much for any elf to listen to. It may be hard to understand for one who has never heard elfsong, but even a simple melody carries a certain beauty that expresses more than any of the words in it can. The music that Legolas sang for hours from that dark room was just such a melody, and carried all the memories of his dearest friend. Along with the sorrow of these memories being reduced to memories alone.

But no matter how the elves tried to avoided it, the music echoed about the stone halls, and many wished they did not have such keen hearing. It seemed to be a constant reminder that everything had become even darker in the lands of Mirkwood.

**********

“You can try, Edren, but I do not think it will do any good.”

“Well I *must* try, Daurré. He cannot be doing well with nothing to eat, and besides. He needs me.”

“Istón, Edren. You are right.”

Edren smiled slightly, and gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. Turning from him, he began towards the staircase leading to the second floor. A tray of food was balanced on one hand, and he carried a mug of tea in the other.

For the past two days, he’d been trying to bring Legolas’ some food and drink. The prince hadn’t left that dark room, and Edren knew that even though he *was* an elf, no one could live without at least *some* food. Besides, Legolas hadn’t eaten the last day of Aragorn’s life either. He’d neither food nor drink for three days, and so Edren did his best to give him both.

He quietly made his way to the bedroom door, wincing slightly when his ears picked up the high, elven song beginning again.

“Wen uuye giri na gwaew

//friendship does not waver at a wind//

Na wen mav-am ui-brono

//and a friendship like ours lasts forever//

Brono mav-altelu liikuma

//forever like an everlasting candle//

Pant-estel galad thinth-al”

//a hopeful light fading never//

Edren leaned towards the doorway, and setting the tea mug onto the tray for a moment, knocked softly on the wooden door. The song continued as though nothing had happened to interrupt it. Edren knocked a little louder, but still the song went on. Legolas should have heard him…he was ignoring him instead. He sighed. “Legolas, please, let me in.”

The song stopped a moment. Then, “The door is not locked, Edren.”

Edren didn’t know whether to feel relieved or anxious as he pushed the door open, and stepped in. He hated what he saw. Legolas knelt beside Aragorn’s bed, holding both the man’s limp hands, and lying his head on the human’s still chest. When he looked up, there were faint rings under his eyes, half from lack of rest, and half from constant tears. His face was almost as pale as his still friend’s, and his normally bright eyes were dull with confusion and exhaustion.

He soon looked away from Edren, and began to sing again. The elf had never realized how sad the song was before now. Standing next to the singer himself, beside the cause of this desolate melody; Edren felt drained of all cheer, as Legolas made a valiant attempt to strengthen his voice.

“Tama liikuma naur, mellon

//Keep the candle burning, friend//

Tama nar-estel naur

//Keep the flame of hope burning//

Garonach im, mellon nin

//I'm holding onto you, my friend//

Kuin im, kuiv, na naeg im

//I'm alive, awake, and I'm hurting//

Wen uuye-”

//friendship does not-//

“No,” Edren cut him off before the prince could make it through the first line again. “No, Legolas. Please stop.”

Legolas shrugged slightly, cocking his head to the side as a sign of indifference. He then turned his eyes back on Aragorn, and sat in silence. Edren had to speak.

“I brought you some bread, a bit of meat, and cup of tea.” No response. “My dear friend, you haven’t eaten or slept for three days. Come. Have a little? I believe it will make you feel better.” Edren studied his silent friend a long moment. He’d grown up with Legolas, and fortunately knew him well enough to find something to entice the sullen prince. “At least the lembas bread I brought?”

Legolas looked up as if in slow motion, and nodded. Edren fought not to smile in relief. Legolas had enjoyed lembas even more than water growing up, and it had been a rare treat for the Woodelves to receive that way-bread of Ló rien. Edren knew this all too well, and was more than excited when he found they had little stock of the food left. Perhaps it was the only thing that could regain Legolas’ strength for him.

As the prince took the square loaf of way-bread from his friend, he almost smiled himself.

“You look so tired.” Edren sighed, sitting down in a chair near Legolas.

“It is how I feel.” Legolas responded faintly.

“You should rest then. Lie down, free your mind.”

“I have slept some.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. But neither did it rest me, nor free my mind. I only drift away into my memories, and wander in my dreams.”

Edren cocked his head to the side. “Well- at the least, you should leave this room.”

“Hm,” Legolas sighed, shaking his head. “I shall not leave Aragorn. I promised I would not.”

Edren licked his lips nervously, as he searched for tact. “Legolas. Aragorn…he is-”

“Dead.” Legolas looked up at Edren blankly. “You think I do not know this?”

“Yes, I- well no, I know that you know this.” Edren shook his head miserably, and closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

Legolas stared at nothing for awhile, and seemed to drift away to a distant thought. “I see him, you know.” Edren’s head came up slowly. “I see him. I hear him in my dreams. I- I awake in the night, thinking- hoping that he will be before my eyes.” Legolas shook his head and closed his eyes. As he did so, a tear coursed down his smooth cheek, covering the tracks of old tears. “But I know better. I know he is gone. But it’s just too much to accept.”

“It’s hard, I know it is.” Edren sighed, sliding off his chair to sit beside Legolas on the floor. “But take courage. Aragorn’s last words to you were ‘do not despair’. You must heed him, Legolas, for that is what he wanted for you. He wanted you to live on in joy, despite loss.”

Legolas shook his head expressionlessly; as though he’d thought these thoughts so many times, he had them memorized. “His last words to me were ‘don’t forget me’. And I don’t intend to.”

“But you can remember in peace, Legolas. You needn’t, and shouldn’t remember him like this.”

Legolas didn’t respond for awhile. He shook his head over and over, making no sound. Finally he spoke, his throat chocked with tears. “Oh Edren…Edren, I miss him so. Will he *never* be back?”

He lifted a tired face to look Edren in the eye. His whole self explained more than any words could. It was pain, it was confusion, and a desperation to except the unacceptable. It took Edren a moment to realize it, but finally, his mind settled on the right word: His friend looked lost.

Edren’s could only think to respond in one way; in action. He quickly moved forward, gripped his friend around the shoulders, and pulled the prince to him. Legolas relaxed in the embrace, and felt the familiar tickle of tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I would deny his death, if I thought it would do you any good.” Edren whispered kindly.

Legolas nodded against his friend’s chest. “I have often wondered if that would relieve the pain. But I would have to come back to reality, and I know the blow of truth would finish me. For as it is, I am fading.”

Edren pulled Legolas back from him so he could look him in the eye. “Legolas, you mustn’t say such things.”

“I have naught to live for anymore, Edren. I am fading with my broken heart, and I know I shan’t live out the many days I was meant.”

“Legolas, please. I don’t think-”

“Edren, no. Not now. I wish not to speak of it now.”

Edren slowly nodded, and pulled his friend closer to him.

“Lir anem?“ Legolas asked weakly, as though he were a child, begging to be asleep after a nightmare.

//sing for me?//

Edren smiled sympathetically. Quietly, he began to sing in comfort, glad to hear any tune other than the one Legolas had sung continually.

"Tulum an ilman

//Take me to the stars//

Nyarim lindeler

//Tell me of their song//

Enyaarem hanya lir

//That I may learn to sing//

Laitar narquelion”

//Their praise to fading sun//

On and on Edren sang, and slowly, Legolas’ shoulders began to shake with tears. The prince’s friend continued his melody, gently massaging Legolas’ trembling shoulders. Edren would likely never know why the song he chose to sing that night was so perfect, yet so heartbreaking for Legolas to hear. And as the prince listened, he could almost hear Aragorn’s voice rather than Edren’s singing the song from that night. That night so long ago, when Aragorn had sung Legolas into a peaceful sleep.

“Meralam ilqua harma

//I want not all these treasures//

Maralam uuva haran

//I want not to be king//

Eram mere kana ilman

//I only want to see the stars//

Eram mere lir!”

//I only want to sing!//

Chapter 2

A Foolish Endeavor

Edren closed the door silently, and shook the tears from his eyes. Legolas had finally consented to finish the food and tea that had been brought for him, but still refused to leave his friend’s side. Edren found the whole thing unsettling and emotionally exhausting. But despite that, he was determined to help his friend and his prince. Legolas was so alone right now, and he could only begin to understand that, but Edren knew he could help, if only a little, by just standing by, and showing his friend how much he was there for him.

Edren walked silently down the corridor towards the stone staircase. He was lost in his own thoughts, when a young elf came dashing towards him. “Larhink, Daurré!”

//calm down, Daurré!//

he sighed, gripping his chest, and breathing heavily. “You frightened me. What is it?”

“Edren. After you left to speak with Legolas; to bring him his food, I went to talk to Prestomin. I thought that he may know what to do to help Legolas more than anyone, since he is a Healer, and one of our best at that. But I could not find him. And when I spoke to Tirniel, to find out where he may be, he would not tell me. If he even knew, I do not know, but he *did* seem to conceal something.” Daurré shook his head, and tried to catch his breath.

“What is so wrong with that, Daurré? Perhaps it is cause for concern, but certainly not panic.”

“But that is not all. When Tirniel refused to tell me anything, Nyarin, the poor elf who has been in the Healers so long, he said that his brother, Anwé , was missing as well. And one of Raustal’s friends, Fenan, was the last person seen with him. I asked around about Fenan, and found that none have seen him recently either! I don’t know *what* can be going on…”

“Daurré, calm down,” Edren soothed, placing a hand on the panting elf’s shoulder. “I am sure it will be all right. Perhaps they have only gone out hunting.”

“But Anwé and Fenan were seen but two days ago, when Estel…” Daurré shook his head. “They would not leave their prince at such a time as this.”

“No, they would not,” Edren agreed. “But we do not know for sure that they are missing, nor that if they are, it is anything to be worried about.”

“Yes, Edren, you are right. I am sorry.”

“Do not be,” Edren smiled, and gently steered Daurré to the stone stairs. “Why don’t I try speaking with Tirniel and Nyarin,” he suggested, as the two made their way down the staircase. “Perhaps I can find something you could not.”

“Yes, Perhaps,” Daurré agreed, and smiled gratefully.

The two elves went swiftly to the Healers, and upon reaching it, Edren didn’t hesitate before pushing the door open. “Tirniel?” He called, as he and Daurré approached the closet-sized room that was used as an office. Tirniel was at his writing desk, and looked up quickly when the two entered.

“Quiet down, will you? The sick need their rest,” he sighed, and rose from his seat. “Forgive my anger. I have much on my mind now.”

“Why is that, my friend?” Edren asked gently.

“You would not understand.”

“Let me try.”

“No, Edren, for I do not wish to tell you.” Tirniel pushed past to two elves, and stepped beside one of the many beds in that large room beyond his office. “It is too much for me. I cannot handle all this- this pain. This devastation. And yet…I would never leave.”

Edren and Daurré followed him to the bedside silently. Edren stared down at the occupant of the bed, and shuddered. The normally fair face of an elf was marred by cuts and bruises. A long gash ran from his forehead to his cheek, crossing his eye in the process. Edren looked sorrowfully up at Daurré. The elf nodded. “Nyarin,” he confirmed, and looked away.

Edren looked anxiously up at Tirniel. “Does he live?”

The healer nodded slowly, then shook his head. “Barely. He will not last long, and since his brother left on that foolish journey, he’s become worse.”

“Foolish journey?” Edren demanded in bewilderment. “Where? Where did Anwé go?”

Tirniel shook his head again, and sat down on the edge of Nyarin’s bed with a sigh. “I cannot say.”

“You don’t know?” Tirniel didn’t respond. Edren shook his head, and knelt down in front of the Healer, so he could look him in the eye. “Where is Prestomin, Tirniel? Where is Fenan? Where is Anwé ? Talk to me Tirniel, you *know* where they are!”

“They are gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Away.”

“Tirniel!” Edren groaned, rising to his feet. “You *must* tell me this, at the least. Do you *know* where they are?”

Tirniel looked as though he were not going to answer, and then, he nodded. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Hannon le,” Edren sighed, kneeling in front of the healer again. “Now. Where are they, Tirniel?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Why not? Please, you must tell me.”

Tirniel shot to his feet. “Because I’ve been commanded *not* to. All right, Edren? I am not permitted to say a word on the matter. Leave me be, please! I beg you to leave me.” Tirniel sighed, and sat down on the bed’s edge again.

“What is the matter, Tirniel. Why are you so upset? It was merely a question, you could have simply told me that Thranduil has commanded you not to speak of it.”

“It is not the question, nor the king’s command…that is not what disturbs me.”

“Then what is it, my friend? Please tell me.”

Tirniel rose to his feet slowly, and moved to stand by Nyarin’s side. “It is pain. It is death. I have seen more elves die these past days than I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Edren moved quickly from his kneeling position, to his feet, facing the back of Tirniel’s head with an alarmed face. “What? Who has died? H-how?!”

Tirniel’s head shook slowly. “Maranos, Haithin, Rhinthûr and Meliim. All from that hunting trip to find the Bengwiil. Raustal may have been the first to go as a result of the attack, but he was not the only one. And now five elves, and a mortal man lie dead as a result of Bengwiil. Legolas was right, Edren. He has been the only right one all along, save one other. Bengwiil is altogether evil, and should never have been excepted in Mirkwood a second time. I am so sorry it took five deaths to realize that. And one shall not even have the hope of Mandos awaiting him.” Tirniel shook the memory of Aragorn’s death out of his head, and looked down, and stroked Nyarin’s golden hair gently. “And likely, the number shall soon rise to five that now reside in those halls.”

The healer stood silent awhile longer, and then finally turned to face Edren’s pain-filled eyes with a similar expression. “So now perhaps you can understand why I act so, Edren. I am sorry that I have been so distant, and perhaps even cold to you. I just- the burden of these deaths weigh so heavily on me. I only wish that Prestomin and Harain were here. That way, I may not feel all the blame is my own. But I know it must be, for I am the only Healer left in these halls, save for Áryto, who does not know enough of Healing to be much assistance...though he tries so.”

“But where *are* Prestomin and Harain?” Daurré asked quietly from his position by the office door.

Tirniel appeared as though he weren’t going to answer, so Edren stepped in with a different question. “Why were we not told when these elves died?”

“The king ordered it. He didn’t wish anyone to know, I know not why.”

Edren shook his head sadly. “What of Haithin’s sister Átniir? And Meliim’s father? And Maranos’ brothers, did they not even get to say goodbye? Did you not even tell these elves’ families of their beloved’s death?”

“Of course we did, to those who we believed could handle it.”

“And those who couldn’t?”

Tirniel shrugged sadly. “They shall find out soon enough.”

Edren’s jaw nearly dropped. “You mean to tell me that these elves lie cold in their death, wandering in the Halls of Mandos, and their own families do not know it yet?”

“Only a few of them. Rhinthûr’s father and mother do not know as of yet, and only one of Maranos’ brothers have been told.”

Edren shook his head, and pushed the whole matter aside. He knew there was nothing that Tirniel could do as far as this matter was concerned, as long as Thranduil deemed it permissible.

But he couldn’t help wishing that the Healer had done more, so that at least the families of these poor elves, if not their closest friends, could have said goodbye. It didn’t seem logical to keep it from them, and then suddenly tell them that their beloved ones were gone for good. It made Edren wonder why Thranduil had establish such a rule.

“Tirniel,” he sighed at length. “We need to know where Prestomin, Harain, Anwé , and Fenan are. They could be in danger, if not others we do not *know* are missing. Please, you cannot possibly *not* understand this.”

Tiriniel didn’t respond for awhile. But finally, he sat down on Nyrain’s bed again, and began to speak slowly. “Dyraed, Edärsta, Gwèdelôs and Talaèr.”

Edren shook his head. “What of them?”

“They are with the others you search for.”

“But- where *are* they?”

Tirniel shook his head. “I cannot tell you.”

Edren half-rolled his eyes in frustration. “Have they gone somewhere dangerous? We know at least they are up to something important enough for Thranduil to command it a secret. Tirniel, what if they die? Strange things are about in Mirkwood these days, now that Bengwiil has made its name known again. It is too dangerous for any to be up to secret things in the woods. For that is where they must indeed be. They are certainly not in these Halls any longer.”

Tirniel didn’t move through the whole speech, as though he hadn’t heard a word. “I cannot tell you, the king commands it,” he said flatly, and rose from his seat. “Go, Edren. Trouble me no more, I beg you.”

Edren sighed, and finally nodded. He put a hand to his chest, and drew it away in the elven farewell, bowing his head slightly to the Healer, and then he and Daurré went swiftly out the door, and away from the pain-filled atmosphere of the Healers.

“Now what shall we do?” Daurré asked quietly, turning to Edren. The elf was walked silently beside Daurré , and he looked to be in deep thought.

“Edärsta is Meliim’s father,” he said slowly.

“Yes?” Daurré asked, not understanding what the point was.

“And Dyraed is one of Maranos’s brothers, as is Gwèdelôs.”

“What are you saying, Edren?”

Edren stopped mid-stride, and turned to his friend. “Daurré , don’t you understand? All the elves that are missing, save the two Healers, are friends or relatives of these departed elves.”

Daurré thought a moment. “What of Talaèr? He has no brother nor son among those elves.”

“But was he not a close friend of Haithin’s?”

Daurré slowly nodded. “I believe you are right. But I still do not understand, what does all this matter?”

Edren sighed. “I know not. But perhaps someone else does.”

“Who?”

“The one friend or relative of these elves that is not missing.”

Daurré paused a moment. “Are you sure you wish to bother her, Edren? She’s been upset for a long time, and now we know why, I can understand. She’s been mourning her brother’s loss all this while. I doubt she wishes to be bothered about it all.”

Edren shook his head. “It’s the only plan I can think of, Daurré . Let us go have a talk with Haithin’s sister, Átniir.”

**********

“Are you even sure she is still here?” Daurré asked quietly as the two approached Átniir’s room door.

“Yes, she and my Thernäd have been spending much time together these past days.” Edren knocked softly on the oak door, but nothing happened. Not a sound could be heard within, even by elven ears. After a long moment, Edren called, “Átniir? It is Edren. Will you not let me in, I wish to speak with you.”

Silence ensued for a few more minutes. Daurré was about to suggest they leave, when they heard soft footsteps approach the door. “Edren?” came a quiet voice.

“It is I, Átniir. And Daurré as well.”

“…what do you want?”

“I wish to speak with you about Talaèr.”

Silence a moment. Then, “Why don’t you come in.”

Edren pushed gently on the oak door, and found Átniir standing not far behind it. She was a lovely elf, as all evles were, but there was an uncommon but understandable look in her blue-green eyes. Her very presence was weary, and she looked as though she were fatigued by tears. It was a look Edren knew well now. A look he’d seen on Legolas’ face.

Noticing all this, put a sudden thought into mind. “I am very sorry about Haithin, Átniir. I did not know till this morning, for if I had, I would have spoken with you sooner, and helped if I could.”

“I know you would,” she responded quietly, pushing her long, blonde hair behind her pointed ear gingerly. “Thernäd was here for me, and it did help. You should thank her for being such support for me, now you know that she was.”

“That I shall,” Edren nodded.

“And if I can do anything, Átniir, I shall be glad to,” Daurré put in softly.

“You are very kind,” Átniir smiled, and then paused, and turned to Edren again. “Now what about Talaèr, Edren?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I was wondering- seeing he was a friend of Haithin’s, if you know where he is.”

Átniir stood a moment in thought, and then looked up slowly. “Why?”

Edren’s heart raced. She knew, he could see it in her eyes. She knew something she did not wish to tell. He didn’t know whether to be excited or worried. “Well, we have reason to believe that he, and perhaps others we’ve not seen recently as well, could be in serious danger.”

“What sort of danger?”

“Well, the woods aren’t a friendly place at this time. Not after the attack on the hunters. There could be orcs, wargs, or worse out there. Not to mention this resurrection of the name of- well, you know of-”

“Bengwiil?” Átniir said softly, sinking into a well-stuffed chair, and offering the couch across from her to the companions. Edren nodded gratefully as he and Daurré took a seat.

“Yes, Bengwiil.”

“I doubt that Talaèr will encounter any of that horrid plant in the woods.”

“So that *is* where he’s gone? Who else is there with him, Átniir? Why are they in the woods?”

“Hunting,” Átniir responded briefly, though she looked as one who’d just told their first lie.

“Átniir,” Edren said sternly, leaning forward to look her in the eye. “You know what they are up to. I *need* to know. It could mean everything. A lot of elves died last they ventured into Mirkwood alone. I don’t want to lose anymore lives over this.”

“Over what?”

“Bengwiil! You can deny if you’d like, Átniir, but this *must* have to do with Bengwiil. There is no other explanation.”

Átniir was silent again, and she stared at nothing a long while. Presently, she raised her gaze to Edren’s, which had not left her since his last comment. “They said they would sooner kill any interferers then turn back.”

“I care not, Átniir. Please, just tell me. Won’t you tell me what you know?”

Átniir finally nodded, and half-smiled. “I suppose I’ve nothing to lose anymore. Very well then, Edren, you are right. They have gone into Mirkwood.”

**********

**********

Átniir shook her head, and focused on Edren once more. “That is all I have to tell. They left the next morning, and I’ve not seen nor heard word of their whereabouts since.”

Edren was silent a long moment, still reflecting on what Átniir had just said. Finally, he spoke. “I am grieved indeed to hear this.” He rose from his seat, and paced slightly across the wood floor. “We must go after them,” he said at length.

Átniir shook her head again and sighed. “It is no use. You cannot dissuade them.”

“I do not intend to,” Edren responded simply. “I intend to help them.”

“Help them?” Daurré ’s face was a picture of confusion. “I do not understand. You are going to *join* them in their search for Bengwiil?”

“No, my friend, of course not. If no one else, I at least should know that retrieving Bengwiil will only hurt Legolas more than he has been.”

“Then what *do* you mean?” Átniir asked quietly.

“I think they are in trouble, and if so, I mean to send them aid.”

“You jump to a fairly hasty conclusion, Edren,” Átniir pointed out. “What, pray, makes you so sure that they are in trouble?”

“Well, anything having to do with Bengwiil is bad news, that’s just one reason. Also, Raustal and his company set out late in the night to retrieve Bengwiil, and returned the following night. Fenan, Anwé , and their company have been gone for two days now.”

Átniir sighed, and sat back in her chair. “I still think that is quite an assumption.”

“And perhaps it is. But it is better to be cautious, and perhaps over-apprehensive, then to lose eight more lives to the Halls of Mandos.”

There was silence awhile, and finally Átniir spoke. “If that is your conclusion, Edren, so be it. But how will you ever get permission to send such a party into the woods *alone*? I have no doubt that Fenan will be in trouble with his majesty, if Thranduil finds out he’s taken seven elves into Mirkwood with him. Whether they went of their own accord or not. They had not permission to do so, and neither do you!”

“I doubt that Thranduil cares much anymore,” Edren sighed, sitting down beside Daurré once more. “Seeing that he has commanded Tirniel to keep it quiet.”

“Edren, he is our *king*,” Átniir said softly, looking fixedly at the elf before her.

“What king? We *have* no king!” Edren shouted, rising to his feet once more, and looking down at Átniir in frustration. “Until Thranduil realizes that he cannot rule Mirkwood from the darkness of his room, we have no king.”

No one spoke. Daurré cleared his throat nervously, but said nothing. Finally, Edren spoke again. “I am sorry, Átniir,” he sighed, sitting down beside Daurré for the final time. “I understand what you mean, and I do owe Thranduil my allegiance, despite his own actions. You were right to correct me.”

“But I know what you feel,” Átniir responded softly. “I cannot deny the same thoughts go through my own head.”

“And mine as well,” Daurré put in regretfully.

Átniir smiled at him and nodded. “But despite all this, Edren, you will need his consent to take even Daurré into Mirkwood, and search for these missing elves.”

“Istón,” he replied quietly, and held back a frustrated sigh.

“Worry not,” Átniir told him kindly, rising to her feet, as Daurré and Edren quickly did the same. “You will get his consent, I believe. Even a distant king has concern for his people.”

Edren and Daurré put their hands to their chests, in a farewell, and walked out the door Átniir opened for them. “May the Valar give our king wisdom to hear you,” she called softly after them, and closed the door.”

Chapter 3

Meduí Nä mariè

The tears I cry, have turned to rain

I feel alone, I feel the pain

The light has gone, many tears I weep

I cannot be strong, the pain is too deep

Darkened clouds, fill the skies,

Leave me be, let me cry

I want to run, far from these fears,

They will never stop

...the silver tears.

“Try one more time.” Daurré suggested quietly.

Shaking with rising frustration, Edren knocked on the wooden door one last time. Still no sound came from within. In desperation, the elf leaned close to the door, and said softly but clearly, “Your majesty, it is Edren. Daurré and I must speak with you, please.”

Silence lasted awhile longer. Then, “What do you want?”

“There are some elves missing from your Halls, my lord. We wish to go into Mirkwood to find them.”

Nothing.

“They have gone after Bengwiil.” Something within the room was suddenly knocked over, and there was an earsplitting crash. “Your majesty?!”

“Should we go in?” Daurré asked, his eyes wide with worry.

Edren nodded, and began to push on the door. “It’s locked!” He shook the door handle, and called once again, “Your majesty?”

Finally a voice came. And though it was Thranduil, it did not sound right. “When they come back? They shall put the Bengwiil in the cellar. And they shall bring some to me.”

“But- your majesty, we are afraid they shall *not* come back! We need to find them, and make sure that they are well. Otherwise they will not live-”

“Don’t say that! Don’t speak it!” Thranduil ranted from just behind the door. “Of course, they shall bring me Bengwiil, of course.” To both elves surprise, their king let loose with a high, airy giggle. “We are bringing Meltha back, my friends! Meltha is to return to us!”

“Meltha?” Edren responded, his voice full of quiet fear. “Meltha, you’re majesty?”

“Back, m-meltha’s coming back!” Thranduil began to chuckle again. Then silence fell.

“Your majesty?” It was Daurré this time who spoke worriedly into the door’s thick wood.

“He shall be no use.” Edren whispered. Daurré turned to look at him, and saw that Edren’s face had grown quite pale.

“Edren, what is it?”

“Meltha,” was all the other said in response. Edren shook his head, closing his eyes with a sigh. Daurré realized he was trembling. “It is worse than I had imagined.”

“Please, mellon nin, will you not tell me what is wrong?”

Edren shook his head. “I cannot now, Daurré . I’m sorry. But I can tell you this, Thranduil shall be absolutely no help to us.”

“But- we cannot go without consent of the king! Especially if he is in this frame of mind! I have no wish to get on his wrong side at this point, Edren.”

“Nor I.” Edren responded quietly.

“Then what shall we do?” Daurré leaned against the door in frustration, and looked up at his superior friend for help.

Edren sighed. “I have an idea. I do not know how successful we can make it, but if it works…if it works, we could solve two problems at once.”

Daurré shook his head. “What is it?”

**********

Daurré followed his friend in silence as they walked down the long stone hall. He’d been silent ever since they’d gotten close enough to Legolas’ door to his mournful elvish. He closed his eyes against the sorrow as the two got closer and closer to Legolas’ room.

“Edren, where-” but the other shook his head for silence, and Daurré unwillingly complied.

The song suddenly ceased as they stopped in front of their prince’s door. Without another word, Edren knocked on the thick wood.

“Come in, Edren,” Legolas’ quiet voice murmured, and the two stepped in.

The tray that had had Legolas’ food on it was in front of the door and empty. Edren stepped past it, and approached the prince himself. Legolas was beside Aragorn as usual, but this time, he was in the process of unwrapping the bandage around the human’s arm.

“It isn’t bleeding anymore.” Legolas answered the unasked question quietly, and proceeded to pull the thick, red-tinged cloth away from Aragorn’s cold forearm. He held the fabric close to him, as though it were a precious memento, and then put it aside, and went for the bandage around the ranger’s knee.

“Legolas?” Edren began timidly, walking towards the prince, and sensing Daurrè closing the door behind them. “I must speak with you.”

“Then speak,” Legolas said indifferently. “And please, sit down.”

Edren sank uneasily into an armchair just behind his friend. “You see- well, we- Daurrè was…” The elf shook his head angrily. “Legolas, listen. There are several elves who have recently passed to Mandos without our knowing. The other hunters that journeyed with Raustal. They are all but a few dead.”

Legolas didn’t respond, but Edren could tell by the way he slowed the unraveling of Aragorn’s bandage that he was listening.

“They have journeyed into Mirkwood for one reason: They are out to find Bengwiil, and bring it *all* back.”

Legolas pulled the blood-spattered cloth away from his friend’s half-healed knee, and set it aside. “Do you come to speak of Bengwiil again, Edren? To bring to surface the thing I most loathe to hear about?”

“No, Legolas. I come for your consent. I come for permission to go into Mirkwood and bring these elves *back* before they either kill themselves, or return with more damage than we ever asked for.”

Legolas turned around slowly, looking blearily at Edren. “Ask my father’s consent.”

“We tried. He has very nearly lost his mind, and would not even let us in. He is *for* the Bengwiil being brought back!”

Legolas sighed. “That does not surprise me. And it is not proof of insanity.”

Daurré rose from the floor, where he had been sitting, and faced Legolas eagerly. “But he said something over and over, didn’t he Edren? Something that he was very glad about.” Edren shook his head quickly, but Daurré didn’t catch the warning in time. “He said ‘meltha is coming back!’.” The elf finished and waited excitedly for Legolas’ response. Edren waited as well, but in silent concern.

At first, Legolas did nothing. Then, he sat down hard on the bed, beside Aragorn. “Oh Valar,” he whispered, closing his eyes tight. “He is indeed senseless then.”

“I am sorry, Legolas.” Edren whispered, rising to his feet, and sitting beside his friend. “I did not want to bring it up.”

The prince shook his head. “I care not. It is a feeling that has long-since died away from me.” Legolas turned to look at Aragorn’s still form. “At least it was never as painful as this. I had not known- I was very young,” he finished, looking down at the floor silently.

Daurré stood awkwardly before the two, looking from Edren to Legolas with wide eyes. “What- did I say something wrong?”

“No, Daurré ,” Legolas told him kindly. “It was not you. It is my father who has said something- something very, very wrong.”

“Meltha?” Daurré sat back down on the floor in confusion. “But what is so wrong with that, your highness?”

“Nothing I care to explain at present.” Legolas half-whispered, looking away from the elf swiftly. Uncomfortable silence filled the air to the brim, until Legolas finally spoke again. “Well, that is that. I can do nothing for him now. Perhaps we could ask Lord Elrond to come and see to him.”

“Yes, perhaps. Though we will need his consent for that as well. Or,” Edren continued, moving closer to Legolas so he could look him in the eye. “The next best thing.”

Legolas sighed. “Then if it means much, you have my permission to send for Lord Elrond. Though I am still unsure as to whether it will do anything for you or not. My father is still the king, Edren, despite his clear insanity.”

Edren nodded. “I understand that, Legolas. And- about the hunters in Mirkwood?”

Legolas closed his eyes slowly, and shook his head. “I cannot permit something I know so little about. And I will not risk your lives for this, Edren.”

“I should not worry about us, Legolas. It is the ones who are already in the woods that we should be concerned over. There are many creatures in Mirkwood at this time that shall be driven out by the rain, when it chooses to fall. And now there is talk of orcs and wargs in among the trees.”

Legolas sighed deeply. “It is not from these I fear your demise, my friend. It is the Bengwiil itself. Once you see it, smell it, feel it, will you not be tempted by its fabled healing powers? I have already lost one friend to Bengwiil, Edren.”

“You do not trust us to keep an open mind?” Edren began, and then shook his quickly. “No, I am sorry, Legolas, you’re right.”

“I trust you, Edren, and Daurré as well. But you will surely not go alone, and we need not have more elves infected by the Bengwiil’s lies. You have no idea what it can do.”

“But-” Edren tried again. “But, perhaps if *you* came with us. You would hold us back, and as a prince, they would listen to you.”

Legolas shut his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows as though in pain. “I will not- I *cannot* leave Aragorn, Edren. I shall never leave him.”

None spoke. They were afraid that they would say what they were *truly* thinking now. At length, Edren stood up, and faced Legolas. “Legolas, stop. You mustn’t *do* this to yourself! For hours and hours you sit in this dark room, reliving the last moments of his life.”

“It hurts-” Legolas choked desperately, turning to look down at Aragorn’s still body.

“I know it hurts.” Edren said, somewhat gentler. “Ne, lasto beth nin. Please listen.” Legolas only nodded slightly, and made no sound. “There are other things besides this. There are- there are other people. People who are *alive*, and need their prince. For they have no king right now. There is no use giving up life for the dead. But using your life for a life, there is honor and reward in this! You will never be at peace again until you sacrifice tragedy for hope.” Edren sank to his knees before the elf in front of him, and looked at him in desperation. “Please, Legolas. Will you not help?”

Legolas didn’t respond, and all Edren could see of him was the side of his head. He appeared to make no sign emotion at first. As Legolas turned his head towards Edren at last, his friend could see fear and pain shining in the prince’s eyes.

Legolas stared at his life-long-friend for a long moment. His heart felt torn in two. Every word Edren had spoken he knew to be completely correct. But he couldn’t, he simply couldn’t leave Aragorn! But as he turned and looked at the still human again, he could almost hear the ranger’s words in his ears.

Legolas’ breath quickened, and he shut his eyes tight. Reaching out for Aragorn’s hand, he could feel the words flowing through him, and knew the truth in them.

Over and over he heard the words in his head, and held Aragorn’s hand even tighter.

Finally, his eyes opened again, and he could see his friend lying still in front of him. And the memory of his friend’s last words were so vivid, that he half-expected his friend to begin repeating them. But no. Aragorn was as still as he had been every time Legolas looked down at him desperately. The truth, Legolas finally realized, could no longer be avoided. Aragorn wasn’t coming back. And the longer Legolas despaired over it, the harder it would be to finally face reality…and let go.

And Aragorn had asked him not to despair. If nothing else, that should have driven Legolas out of his tears days ago.

Legolas finally turned his face towards Edren again. He could feel silver tears sliding down his cheeks, and the lump in his throat constricted most speech. But the prince did his best to swallow it, and nodded. “I will help you.”

Edren smiled slowly, and laid a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “Hannon le, mellon nin. More than I can say.” The elf stood from his kneeling position, and seemed eager to take Legolas from this dark room.

“But-” Legolas stopped him mid-way. “I would like a few moments with Estel. T-to say goodbye?” Legolas seemed ashamed of his weakness. The very fact that he wished to say last words to a dead man- a dead man whom he had been speaking to for several days -shone through as bright as the sun in the prince’s cheeks.

But the look of desperation, and yet-remaining heartache was so apparent in the young elf’s eyes, that Edren could only smile, and then nod to Daurré for them to leave. Legolas smiled sadly, but appreciatively as the two went swiftly from the room, and he was left alone with Aragorn.

*****

Maybe

I need to see the daylight

Leave behind the half-life

Don’t you see I’m breaking down?

Oh, lately

Something here don’t feel right

This is just a half-life

Is there really no escape?

No escape from time

Of any kind?

*****

Slowly, he slid off the bed, and knelt beside it instead. Reaching out for Aragorn’s hands again, he pressed them tenderly to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Aragorn.” He whispered, through rising tears. “I should not have despaired. But I am going to try again, and live a good life. Find a new light, and ever be searching for hope. But- it means leaving you, and I said I never would.” Legolas stood up slowly, letting go of Aragorn’s hands, and running his fingers through the ranger’s messy hair instead. “And so, I never shall. I will take you, your memory, ever with me. And may Ilúvatar bring dreams of you into my nights again and again. I- I shall never leave you, Aragorn. For you have left too great an impression on my life to forsake it.”

Legolas nodded, half-satisfied, and turned to walk away. But he couldn’t leave. His feet slowed as he reached the doorway, and he turned one last time. “But you cannot ask me to ever find a friend as-” He fought awhile in his mind, searching for a word that could possibly describe Aragorn’s undying friendship. But finding none, he concluded, “A friend as you. You, Aragorn, are unlike any other that shall ever be. And you could never be replaced, nay, even matched.” Legolas nodded slowly, and took one last, long look at his friend. “You are right, mellon nin. Hope remains. But I shall never find Estel again.”

And as the words fell from his lips, he turned unwillingly to the door, and walked out, feeling Estel’s everlasting hope leave with him, as well as the remaining echoes of his last words to his friend of friends.

In the room, the last sound was the door sliding shut, and soft footsteps walking away from the dark room. Aragorn lay peacefully on the bed, and despite the darkness, the hope fostered by his own heart all his life shone bright against the dark walls, or so it seemed. On his face was a look of peace, marred only by a strand of dark hair lying across his eyelid, and down to his cheek. But a breath of wind swept it away, leaving the human’s face virtually flawless.

A breath a wind? But it was impossible. For the window was closed, and there was no breeze in that room.

Chapter 4

Mist of Memory

Walk away

Something’s telling me to leave

Cause I can’t pray

And I’m too tired to sleep or grieve

Moments come now

For reprieve

And I’ll stay right here

Waiting for you

I’ll stay right here

Waiting for you now

Please, please

Bring peace

Edren whirled around at the sound of Legolas’ door closing. The prince stood there, looking pained, but a just a little less pained.

“Ready?” Edren asked kindly, approaching the elf carefully. Legolas only nodded, and looked down at the floor. Edren laid a gentle hand on the elf’s shoulder, and began walking down the hallway. “Daurré has gone to call on Átniir again.” Edren said lightly, fixing his friend with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Legolas returned the look weekly.

“You know, I have always thought that-”

“That he didn’t give up hunting because he’s afraid of wargs,” Edren chimed in, causing Legolas to laugh lightly. “I know, it’s true. Pity that Átniir is so fond of the creatures of the wood. Daurré would have made for a skilled hunter.”

“Aye,” Legolas agreed. “But I must admit, meleth is more important than hunting.”

“Love and hunting,” Edren shrugged. “I’ve managed to balance both, lucky one that I am.”

Legolas smiled again, and then sighed. “Where are we going, Edren?”

“I’m taking you to my room,” Edren told him softly. “My Thernäd and I would be more than happy to make room, for we’ve plenty. And I don’t think you want to return to yours and certainly not Aragorn’s room.”

“No,” Legolas responded quietly. “Hannon le, mellon nin.”

“Don’t mention it,” Edren responded kindly, giving the prince’s shoulder a squeeze. “But seriously, don’t. Thernäd doesn’t much care for guests who aren’t thrilled to the point that they overlook thanks.” And Legolas could only smile.

Finally, they reached a tall, oak door. Edren pushed it open slowly, looking around inside the room, before ushering Legolas in.

“Edren, what-”

“Sh!” Edren hushed, pushing the door quietly shut.

“What are you doing?” Legolas whispered this time.

“Oh,” Edren blushed slightly. “Well, I didn’t think that I’d actually get you out of your room, see, and so- well, Thernäd doesn’t-”

“Edren? Is that you, love? Who are you talking to?”

“…doesn’t know you’re coming,” Edren finished, and his cheeks turned crimson. Legolas had only a chance to raise his eyebrows, before a candle was lit, and revealed a tall, fair elf, standing in the doorway. Her blonde hair reached just beyond her shoulder in length, and was half-tied in a flower stem.

“Suilad, Thernäd.” Edren tried to smile, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Legolas.

“Suilad,” The other responded, half-annoyed, half-amused. But mostly amused, though she tried to hide it. “And what are you doing sneaking around your own home, Edren?” Thernäd finally sighed, the control over her smile beginning to slip.

Edren shuffled nervously back and forth on his heals. “Well, I was- I went to talk to the king…and uh…I found some things out, and- yes. Yes, and then- well, then I went to see Prince Legolas, and I…well, he…was…darling, are you really angry?”

Thernäd’s smile could no longer be concealed, and she even laughed lightly. “Well, meleth nin, if I were to be angered every time you do something strange as this, I should be a *very* unhappy being.”

Edren sighed in relief, and smiled. “Yes, I- I had guessed that…well, I thought…but yes, you- I am glad you’re not angry.”

Thernäd’s smile widened, and she then fixed her eyes on the other companion. “And who, Edren, have you brought with you?”

“Oh!” Edren turned around, and found himself facing the back of Legolas’ head. The prince was shaking all over. “Legolas?” He turned the elf around quickly, so he could see what was wrong. Legolas’ lips were pursed together in an attempt to keep from laughing. But a dimple was appearing in the elf’s left cheek, and his eyes shone with half-hidden merriment.

“Legolas!” Edren cuffed him on the shoulder, hardly able to keep from smiling himself. “Darling, it is Prince Legolas.”

Thernäd put her hand to her chest, moving it away again swiftly, in a greeting. “Welcome to our home, your highness.”

Legolas returned the gesture. “Hannon le-” He cut himself off, remembering what Edren had said about thanks. “Hon le pedo Legolas nin? Mav-le garo mi?”

//will you call me Leoglas? As you have always done?//

Thernäd smiled, and nodded, but not before giving Edren a hard, but amused look. “Very well, Legolas. It is good to see you again. Here, come back this way,” she said gently, and walked across the living room towards a room on the other side.

Legolas followed silently, but not before sending one last grin in Edren’s direction. The look was met with hostility, which only made it widen, and Legolas finally looked away so he wouldn’t laugh. But as he did so, Edren couldn’t help smiling at the back of his retreating head. And as the prince disappeared after Thernäd into the next room, Edren whispered aloud: “He smiled!” and he raised his eyebrows in incomparable surprise.

“Here, you may stay here as long as you need.” Thernäd led Legolas to the simple queen size bed, in the corner. Beside it was a nightstand, and across from that was a small dresser. It wasn’t a big room, true, but Legolas felt instantly at home.

“It’s not big,” Thernäd began to voice Legolas’ first thoughts, so he quickly followed up with the rest of them.

“But it is comfortable, and friendly. And restful.” Smiling, he took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, my friend.”

Thernäd smiled back, and nodded in a ‘you’re welcome’. Edren finally appeared in the doorway, and nodded towards the bed. “I’m afraid we have but two spare pillows. You are, I know, accustomed to having much more than that.”

Legolas smiled, and sat down on the bed. “Alas, I am indeed, but it does not follow that I appreciate it, only that I’ve grown accustomed to annoyance.” He reached over for one of the overstuffed pillows, and hugged it to his chest. “One shall be more than a enough for me.”

Edren smiled down at his friend, and put an arm around Thernäd’s shoulders. “Then we shall leave you in peace. Maer fuin, Legolas.”

“Maer fuin,” the other replied, and managed to keep a smile while the two left the room, closing the door softly behind them.

Their voices could be heard in the hallway, as the two went to their bedroom.

“I am sorry that I did not tell you of Átniir, love,” Thernäd whispered. “I found from her today that she told you everything.”

“Worry not, Thernäd,” Edren responded softly. “If you will forgive my inviting Legolas without your knowledge?”

“Forgiven, and quite forgotten. I am glad you asked him to stay with us again. Though…”

“What is it?”

“You gave him the ‘she can’t take thank you’s’ speech, didn’t you?”

And laughter was easily heard, until it was smothered by a loving kiss, and then muffled by a closing bedroom door.

Once they were gone, Legolas’ façade fell away. Gripping the pillow with all his might, he swallowed the growing lump in his throat, hoping it would keep the tears from his eyes. No matter how hurt he felt, no matter how long he cried, and no matter how convincing his smiles were, he couldn’t change a thing. Aragorn was simply not coming back. And as Legolas looked down at the pillow in his arms, and the distant memory it brought surfaced in his aching mind, the thought of losing his best friend completely was almost too much to bare.

He lay down on his one pillow, pulling his feet up on the bed with him, and letting memories echo in his head.

Legolas couldn’t help smiling at the memory. It was so vivid, it could have happened yesterday. It only lacked a few details…

Legolas sat upright, his eyes dancing panicked about the room. The sudden realization had hit him so hard, he voiced the worry aloud. “What did his laugh sound like? How did Estel laugh…” His mind whirled. He couldn’t remember.

He shut his eyes tight, trying to breathe evenly. “Calm down,” he commanded his tense body. “Ea na gwiil…think. What did his laugh sound like?” He fought hard to concentrate, and yet he still couldn’t grasp the Ranger’s familiar laugh. Biting his lip hard, he lay back down, and sighed shakily. “It matters not,” he tried to tell himself. It didn’t work. And tears came reluctantly through his thoughts.

Legolas shut his eyes, and shook his head. “I will *not* cry,” he told himself quietly. But deep down, the never-ending pain of losing a dear friend, the longing to hear Aragorn say ‘maer fuin’ to him tonight, the constant loneliness of knowing no matter the wait, no matter the longing or loneliness, no matter the tears, it wouldn’t change this. Nothing could bring Aragorn back. All this put together brought a tide of tears to the surface.

But though he didn’t sob, he didn’t attempt to stop the salty tide either. Opening his eyes again, he let them slowly become unfocussed, and prayed in his heart that the Ilúvatar would grant him peace in his dreams. “Peace and Estel,” he pleaded of the night, as his mind turned to wandering in mist of dreams. “Just peace and Estel. Please…I want to hear him laugh again…I just want to hear him laugh.”

*****

I really want to see you

I really want to touch you

If only I could hold you

In my arms again!

“Legolas?”

It took Legolas several moments to realize where he was. Finally, in the fog of nothing, he saw walls appear slowly before him. Dark curtains appeared as well, and then he saw a bed. He was kneeling before it, his head lying on the mattress and his hands clutching the blankets. He blinked.

“Legolas!”

He sat up suddenly, and looking at the bed before him, realized that there was no one in it. But- how was it possible? Where *was* he? Standing to his feet, he looked about wildly. “Aragorn!”

“Legolas?” The voice was distant and haunting.

Legolas turned to the bed again, and though saw nothing, felt what was sitting there. But this nothing, this vapor, this air, moved from the bed suddenly, and vanished beyond the doorway.

“Aragorn no!” Legolas ran to the doorway, and felt the feeling stay where it was, and it did not continue to the stairs. “Wait, don’t go,” he pleaded, backing up some so he could try to focus on the nothing.

A sigh echoed off the walls around them, and the vapor turned to fog that swirled and slowly made a shape. The shape became being, and the being colored. Finally, Legolas was looking into familiar blue eyes.

“Aragorn,” Legolas whispered in relief, and reached out his arms.

Aragorn shook his head sadly, and held up a hand to stop the prince. “You know you cannot touch me, Legolas. You know I am gone.”

“But- no.” Legolas shook his head angrily. “I want to *hold* you again!”

“Legolas.” Aragorn’s voice was soft but stern. “Hauta han.”

//stop this.//

“Stop what?” Legolas asked quietly. “Is it wrong to want you back?”

“No,” Aragorn said simply. “Legolas, why do you despair?” he asked at last, his voice soft and sad.

Legolas felt a pang of guilt shake his heart. “I miss you,” he whispered. “I miss you so badly.”

“Oh, Legolas, I know,” Aragorn whispered, and he shook his head sorrowfully. “I never meant to hurt you, and I didn’t want to leave. I wish I could make you feel better.”

“You can do that without touching me,” Legolas told him quietly. “You’re here now, so don’t leave. Just stand here, speak to me, and don’t go. And I shan’t wake up.”

“No, Legolas,” Aragorn told him sternly. “You cannot live this way. It can hardly be said that you live at all. You must go back.”

“I don’t want to,” Legolas admitted, sinking to the floor, and pulling his knees to his chest. “I just want to stay as close to you as I can. That’s all I want anymore.”

Aragorn sighed and sank to the floor as well. “Legolas, I asked you not to despair. Don’t you understand? I don’t wish you to live this way!”

“Istón.” Legolas shook his head. “Oh, Aragorn, I am so, so sorry. I know what you asked of me, I see the truth in it, and I *do* honor your wishes! I do! And I don’t *like* being this way. I don’t *like* realizing that I don’t remember our fondest of memories as clearly as I remember your death! But- I cannot help it. You can’t ask me not to miss you.”

“Oh…Legolas,” Aragorn sighed closing his eyes. “I never asked you not to miss me. I know how strong our bond was. I could *never* have expected you to let go of me. That is why I asked you not to forget me. There is a midway point, my friend. Between despair and hope. You can remember me without despairing for my passing.”

“I know this, I just-”

“No, no.” Aragorn made as if to put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder, but stopped halfway, and held it midair instead. “If you still have doubt in your mind, you do not understand.”

“No, I have no doubt,” Legolas whispered, looking longingly at his friend’s outstretched hand, wishing to clasp it in his own. “I just don’t think I can do it.”

“You are in control of your own emotions, Legolas. You can *make* yourself let go. And I am not only asking you now, I am telling you. Legolas?” Legolas only nodded, and looked up to meet Aragorn’s eyes. “Do not despair.”

Legolas’ throat closed up, and he looked down at the floor to keep the tears away. “Are you staying?”

“No.”

His head jerked up. “But- Aragorn, you must! I need-”

“Legolas, I am no longer with you, but that does not leave *you* lifeless as I. Go. Go and do not forget me.”

Aragorn’s shadowy form began to look more and more like fog. Soon, he was only a glowing mist, and he began to float away.

“No! No, Aragorn, come back! I will not despair, I promise! I will do whatever you say, I will find a new hope! I swear it-” Legolas’ throat constricted further speech, and tears began to run freely down his cheeks.

“Aragorn!” Legolas felt a calm hand clasp his own, and he looked about his room wildly.

“Sh…ea na gwiil, Legolas.” Thernäd’s voice came softly through his consciousness.

“No! No, Aragorn’s leaving. I must find him!” Legolas pried Thernäd’s gentle fingers off his arm, and he began running from the room.

“Edren!” Thernäd cried, trying to hold Legolas back by his shoulder this time. “Edren, help me!”

“Let go,” Legolas whispered in uneasy calm. “Let me go!” He gave Thernäd a push, landing the elf on the bed again, and without a backwards glance, he dashed out to doorway. Looking about frantically for the door, he ran to it, and jerked it open.

A hand landed on his shoulder firmly. “Legolas!”

“No! Leave me! Aragorn’s leaving, I must go find him!”

“Legolas no!” Edren pulled the prince back into the entryway of the room, keeping Legolas from entering the hallway. “Hauta han!”

//stop this!//

Legolas’ eyes grew wider, and Edren realized they were unfocussed. The prince was not fully awake. Without another word, Legolas shoved Edren as well. But his friend was not as light as Thernäd, and he was only thrown back a step. But it was enough.

Like a wild animal, Legolas ran down the hall, and swerved towards Aragorn’s bedroom. “No, Legolas! Don’t go back in there!” Edren cried, running down the hall with a silver pitcher clutched in his hand. But Legolas began wrenching at the door handle anyway, as though he hadn’t heard him.

Just as the door was swinging open, Legolas whispering Aragorn’s name all the while, it was pulled shut again. “Edren no!” Legolas tried to push his friend away again, but Edren gripped him firmly around the waist, and hoisted him away from the door.

Before Legolas could respond, Edren swiftly poured the contents of the silver pitcher over his head, and letting the pitcher fall clattering to the floor, held him firmly by his shoulders. “Legolas, lahrink!” He said shaking him lightly. “I am not your enemy. It is Edren.”

Legolas shivered slightly, blinking ice water out of his eyes. Slowly, he focused on the elf before him. “Edren?” he whispered brokenly. “I- I…” He cut off in a choked sob, and blinked tears from his eyes along with the water. “Aragorn…” he whispered.

“Istón, mellon nin.” Edren pulled his soaking friend into a quick embrace. “Sh…Istón.”

“I’m s-s-so sorry.” Legolas whispered, his teeth beginning to chatter from the cold water combined with the night air rushing through the windows around them.

“Ú -moe edvad, Legolas.” Edren soothed, massaging his friend’s back comfortingly. “You cannot help your pain.”

//there is nothing to forgive, Legolas.//

“N-not just this. Everything. I- I have despaired for s-s-so long, I’ve f-forgotten you, and father, and-and even Estel. I was too busy despairing over Estel, I’ve forgotten everything he told me.” He sighed shakily, and then pulled back from Edren so he could look him in the eye. “I saw him.”

Edren swallowed hard. “You did?”

“He spoke to me. He told me not to despair, and reminded me of my life. He- he had to go…” Legolas’ eyebrows creased into a look of confusion. “H-he left…I wanted him to s-stay…”

Unexpectedly, Legolas’ knees gave out, and Edren only just managed to catch him under the arms. “Easy, my friend,” he whispered, supporting the prince to his feet. “You have not slept or eaten much in days. You’ve now officially exhausted yourself, and it is not good for an elf to feel thus.”

“No,” Legolas admitted. “Thank you, Edren.”

“Ea le govonnen,” his friend responded, smiling, and grabbing the silver pitcher, before leading Legolas down the hallway once more.

It took them a little while to reach the room again, with Legolas only barely staggering on his feet. But finally, Edren pushed the room’s door open again, and they were back. Thernäd rose from where she’d been told by Edren to stay until he returned with Legolas.

“Thernäd,” Legolas whispered through chattering teeth. “I’m s-sorry-”

“Istón,” Thernäd whispered, moving to Legolas’ side, and throwing a blanket over his shoulders. “Come,” she said softly and smiled, leading to two to Legolas’ room once more.

Legolas lay down on the bed, and pulled the covers over him. “Hannon le,” he whispered drowsily. He hated to lie down and just sleep after such an escapade, but he knew his body was tired, and after being emotionally drained for so long, sleep was nothing short of blissful release.

And as Edren and Thernäd whispered encouragements he was too tired to catch, he allowed his eyes to become unfocused once more, and begged Ilúvatar silently. “I don’t want to see Estel this night. Please. Not until I have done as I’ve promised, and finally forsaken despair…”

Chapter 5

A Final Fall

Every night in my dreams

I see you, I feel you

That is how I know you

Go on

Far across the distance

And spaces between us

You have come to show you

Go on

Near, far

Wherever you are

I believe that the heart does go on

Once more

You open the door

And you’re here in my heart and

My heart will go on and on…

Edren crept silently into Legolas’ room, trying hard not to wake him. But upon opening the door, he found him already awake. Legolas sat on the edge of his bed, the blankets and pillows put neatly in their place behind him. When he looked up at the elf before him, his eyes shone ever so slightly in the morning sun, and Edren knew that he was feeling better.

“Are you well?” Edren asked quietly, sitting down beside the prince.

“Better, now,” came the soft reply.

“Did you see Estel again last night?” the friend pressed anxiously.

“No,” Legolas answered, and to his companion’s surprise, smiled. He sighed and shook his head. “I am quite disappointed with myself, Edren.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“What’s *right*?” Legolas countered, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees, and resting his chin on his hands. “Aragorn put everything in black and white for me, moments before he died. He set us apart by race, and reunited us by friendship. He acknowledged that I would miss him, and told me not to despair, but to remember him with hope. And look what I’ve done.” He shook his head, and rubbed his eyes in frustration. “I’ve done just the opposite of his wishes. I’ve pushed my aching heart beyond the brink of despair, and have forgotten all that was good and hopeful about him. And this is where it’s led me.”

Silence fell. Edren didn’t know what to say. Mostly everything Legolas had just told him were things he knew, and had wished to tell the prince himself, at one time or another. But he didn’t have to think of a comment, for Legolas sat back, and kept going.

“I’ll admit, I’ve tried to let go. When I left Aragorn’s room, I thought I *was* letting go. But I still hung onto the pain of loss, and I carried it here, and I took it deep into my dreams to where I was made to meet Estel again. Face-to-face with my dearest friend, I felt the weight of my despair so heavily.”

Finally, Edren thought of a hopefully distracting question. “Did you not dream at all last night?”

“Of course I did,” Legolas responded, a look of fear and guilt crossing his face as he looked down at the floor. Edren wasn’t going to push him, but the prince spoke up of his own accord. “I wandered to where I’d last seen Estel. But he was not there. So, I wandered farther, and for some reason, found myself beside a small stream that does not exist in Mirkwood. I looked into it, and knew it had been set there for one purpose alone. Me. I saw my reflection, and yet…it wasn’t me.”

Legolas paused, and looked guiltily around the room, trying to keep the tears down. “I suppose you *know* what I saw, Edren,” he said softly, looking anywhere but at the one he was addressing. “I suppose it’s what you’ve seen on my face for a long time, these past days.”

He closed his eyes, trying to recreate the dream in his head. “I was dark. Not in lighting, but just- dark. My eyes, they were so full of tears, but when the tears fell, they hit the water, and the ripples created more tears in my reflection. And on my face- it was a look of deepest despair. Despair that ran *so* deep, I could feel the look in my chest. And- and then, I leaned forward to get a better look…” Legolas’ hand moved unconsciously to his chest, and he slowly massaged the place where his heart was beating. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and shook his head as he faced Edren. “I am so utterly ashamed of myself, Edren. It never should have gotten this far, no matter how broken I felt. Can you ever forgive me?”

Edren blinked, too stunned to respond. He had not expected to hear any such revelation this soon. Legolas had only just let go. How could Edren have expected him to see truth and hope through it all? Suddenly, he realized what his blank expression must look like, and he quickly got his mouth moving. “Of course, my friend. Of course. I- I had not expected such words from you. Not now.”

“I am sorry,” Legolas repeated, but his eyes were bright with relief at the elf’s quick forgiveness. “I’m going to try and make this whole situation better. Granted, I still miss Estel deeply. But- I cannot let that be the cause of my life. I need a higher goal, than to suffer over his death.” He tried to speak with conviction, but Edren could see the struggle remained.

“I understand,” was all he said.

“And I wish I did not go deeper than this.”

Edren shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“All this despair. All this shadow. It didn’t start with Estel’s death.” Legolas took a long sigh and tears were once again forming in his eyes, as true disappointment struck him. “I gave up on him, Edren. I should have tried so, *so* much harder. If he didn’t want to go to Rivendell, I should have put him on the horse, and forced him there.”

“Legolas, no one could have made Aragorn’s decisions for him. You did what you felt needed to be done, as far as his wishes went.”

“But they weren’t his wishes!” Legolas shouted, tear-chocked, as he rose from the bed, and stalked a foot away. “I, who have experienced the full horror of Bengwiil should have realized that he was not speaking through his own lips. He was speaking through his Bengwiil-infected mind. He would have known better, and gone to Rivendell, had he been in his right mind.”

“But had you forced him, Legolas, you would have scarred him. You know this. It would have remained a true memory, even once the poison was gone. A nightmare, where his best friend turned against him.”

Legolas nodded slowly, and returned to the bed, sitting down, and drawing his knees up to his chin. “But that is not all…I…I feel the blame for it all. I never should have let it happen. Despite what you say, Edren, I still feel I could have stopped it. And I should have fought harder for Estel’s life.”

“Why do you feel it must be your fault alone?” Edren whispered softly, desperate to understand the prince’s reasoning. Legolas pressed his forehead against his knees, and exhaled gently. The gesture made him look like a lost one, and it hurt Edren to see his friend so vulnerable.

“Because Aragorn was right. Because he’s a human, and I’m of elven kind. And for that, I was responsible for him. He was younger. He was weaker. To me, he was a friend, but really, he was but a boy.” Legolas shook his head. “A human, Edren…just a little boy.”

“I know that, Legolas, I know. But he was strong, even for a human.”

“Not strong enough,” Legolas whispered.

“It is in the past,” Edren promised, laying an arm around the prince’s shoulders. “You cannot help it now. You begin to despair again, Legolas.”

At this, Legolas’ head shot up, and he wiped his tears away hastily on his sleeve. “Istón, my friend, forgive me. This will be harder than I thought.”

“It is all right, Legolas. I will help you, if you would like.” Edren smiled encouragingly, and brought his right hand around to his face. Placing the knuckle of his thumb between his eyes, and holding the rest of his fingers in a fist, he brought his thumb down his nose, in a long, sweeping arc, and held it out to the prince.

Legolas couldn’t help smiling, and returned the gesture, wrapping his thumb around Edren’s when it reached that point. The ‘handshake’ or sorts had been concocted by Legolas when he and Edren were boys. He’d found out from his father that to slide one’s thumb down their nose just that way was the sign for oliphaunt among the Haradrim. He and Edren had thought it just the funniest thing, so Edren had helpfully suggested connecting their thumbs at the end of it, and it became their ‘secret handshake‘. Though secret it was not, for upon creating it, they just *had* to tell all in the Halls!

Legolas pulled his thumb back, and shook his head in laugher. “I cannot believe you remember that, mellon nin.”

“Well,” Edren shrugged. “It became an old habit.”

“Of course.” Legolas tried to hide his smile, but it didn’t work.

Edren only smiled in return. “So…what are you going to do?”

“That is a good question.” Legolas sighed, smiling even broader. He was suddenly so relieved to realize, he had his life now. What *was* he going to do? “Well, I think I shall start by moving back to my bedroom. If that is all right with you and Thernäd.”

“Of course!” Edren smiled. “I don’t mind in the least. But remember, you are always welcome in our home.”

“Istón, mellon nin,” Legolas smiled in return, and rose from his bed. “I think I shall go now, so I can get my bearings again. Perhaps, on the way, you can fill me in, with greater detail, as to what Átniir told you and Daurrè.”

“Very well, Legolas.”

**********

“Oh my.” Legolas sighed, rubbing his forehead. He and Edren had stopped in the hallway awhile ago, so Legolas could better take it all in, rather than continue walking to his room. When he heard about Fenan throwing the door open, to hear Legolas’ song, the prince stopped dead in his tracks and closed his eyes.

Now, as the tale was complete the two stood in silence awhile longer. “Oh. My.” Legolas repeated, this time firmer, and with less surprise, and more horrified understanding. “All this,” he whispered. “Is my fault.”

“No.” Legolas was surprised by the stern and sudden response, and realized his friend had been expecting such a comment. “No, Legolas, don’t you *even* try to blame this on yourself. Bengwiil, defiantly. Mornaeg, yes. Fenan and Anwé, probably. Your father…maybe. But you are *not* the one that this falls upon.”

“But the tears- the song…I wasn’t there for my people, when my father was gone. That is what a prince is *there* for!” Legolas gritted in an irritated voice. “I can’t believe I was so blind! I can’t believe I let it go so far!”

“Legolas.” The prince was pulled back from his outburst by the quiet word. Yes, his anger was understandable enough, and fostered by pent-up frustration and pain. But Legolas knew as well as his considerably calmer friend that it would do no good.

He couldn’t help smiling. “Forgive me.” And the smile widened.

Edren shook his head. “What is so funny?”

“Something I once told Aragorn.” Legolas whispered softly, the memory flooding back into his mind like a breath of cold air.

He shook his head silently, and looked at the floor. “I miss him.”

“I know,” was all Edren could respond.

“But- it is better now.” Legolas looked up, a new light in his eye. “Did you know this is the first time I’ve recalled and welcomed a pleasant memory of us since he left? For so, *so* long, all I could remember was his death.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and let the smile that had begun to fade become apparent once more. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to remember that.”

Edren smiled in his own relief. “Come, let’s keep going.”

“Ah, yes!” Legolas nodded, and pushing his elbows against the wall he’d been leaning on, came to standing position in the middle of the hall once again. “Come.”

They continued down the hallway, both feeling just a bit better. Legolas believed that if only he could still picture Aragorn’s smiling eyes, the memory of the apology conversation would be perfect. As they reached his door, he was pretty sure he had a good picture. He just wished he knew it was the right one.

“Legolas!” Legolas jerked out of his silent revelry to find Edren looking at him intently. But somewhere, Legolas had sensed something was wrong already. He wished he’d acted.

Catching himself on the handle of his room’s door, Legolas steadied his feet on the slippery substance he’d landed on. “Sorry,” he muttered, annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner. Slipping was certainly not a very elven mistake.

Shrugging it off for the sake of a more pressing matter, he looked down at his feet, to figure out what it had been. He shuddered. Blood.

“Whose?” Edren asked quietly.

“I don’t know…” Legolas murmured, looking at the door, where a bloody handprint lay. “But I’m going to find out.” Silently, he pushed the door open to a grim sight.

Blood. It lay everywhere. All over the floor, desk, chair, bedposts, blankets, pillows…Legolas shook his head in disgust as he took in the gruesome sight.

“Who would *do* this?!” Edren demanded, looking around at the mess hotly.

Legolas didn’t need to guess. He knew. “Mornaeg.” Glancing around the room, he moved in to get a closer look. It appeared the loathsome elf had dragged his bloodied leg all over the floor, walls and furniture. He seemed to make a special point of kneeling over each blanket and pillow.

Legolas reached for a bloodstained pillow, and shook it angrily. “My friend is *dead* Morneag,” he whispered, and in a burst of anger and frustration, threw it at the wall. “And even now you torment me in what is left of him!” he shouted furiously, and threw another pillow. “Why must you do this?! What did I do?! Why did I deserve to lose my dearest frie-” Choked, he sank to the bloodied floor boards, and covered his face with red-tinged fingers.

“He can’t take Aragorn’s memory away,” Edren told his friend softly, moving beside him on the reddened floor. “Nobody can.” Edren didn’t understand the significance of the pillows, but he *did* know that it clearly struck Legolas deep.

The prince shook his head, and rose to his feet. “I’m not going to cry…again.” He was surprised to hear the words he’d thought so long coming from his own lips. He wasn’t ashamed. He was too busy thinking about something else right now.

“Come,” he told his friend, pulling an arrow from his quiver.

“What are you doing.” Edren’s voice was uneasy. He didn’t like the look in the elf’s eye.

“I’m going to the tower room,” Legolas responded flatly, and turned out the door, and began following the blood trail outside his door.

*****

You're kissing the dark
You're courting your pride
You wonder is it greener on the other side
But they have nothing to offer you!

All you're missing is a heartache
A disillusion for a keepsake
A life of living with your own mistake
All you're missing is a heartache!

****

“Legolas, wait!” Edren called for the umpteenth time. He’d been a little slow on full realization. Once it struck, Legolas was already halfway up the stairs. The elf had hastened to follow his friend, but it wasn’t quite quick enough.

Frantically, Edren chased his friend’s footsteps up the staircase, doing his best to avoid the slippery blood on the dark steps, and trying to call him back the whole while. “Legolas!” he called again. “Legolas, hauta! Hauta na nin!” he tried, but to no avail.

//wait for me!//

Finally, he caught a glimpse of the prince’s golden hair disappearing around a bend. By the time he caught the elf, he was standing in front of the door, preparing to push it open. Edren quickly snatched his hand away from the door handle. “No! Legolas, wait. Talk to me, what are you going to do in there?”

“You know, Edren.”

Yes, Edren did know, or at least, he was afraid he did. But perhaps, if he could make Legolas *admit* it…would the prince realize how crazy it was? “Legolas, listen. If you kill Mornaeg, you will only make this worse.”

“It is the only way to avenge Estel,” Legolas responded quietly, thumbing his arrow carefully. He seemed to be completely gone, and yet, as he lifted his gaze to Edren’s again, his friend could see confusion and uncertainty behind the look. He was still trying to figure it out. There was hope yet to change his mind.

“You don’t really want to avenge Estel, do you? You miss him, you want him back. But this won’t make it happen.”

“But it *will* recreate what happened to him. Maybe…if I could see it. Maybe I wouldn’t miss him so much. If I could better understand what happened; I’ll see it happen with Mornaeg. It’s the only way.”

“Legolas, you can‘t-”

“Aragorn suggested if I knew more about Bengwiil, I could defeat it. He’s right. And if I knew more about Aragorn’s death…” He nodded, a frightening amount of crazed certainty seeping into his face. “I’ll recreate it. Every scratch, cut and scar will be exactly as they were on Aragorn.”

“What madness is this?!” Edren demanded angrily, shaking his friend by the arm. “Why do you wish to *see* that misery all over!”

“You’ll see. Mornaeg will regret his hate.” Legolas pushed the door open.

“So will you!” Edren pulled his friend back a step. “Legolas, don’t you know what you’re *saying*? Think! Are these not the words of Mornaeg? What makes you different from him, if you kill him as he has killed Aragorn? What would Aragorn say if he knew what you are *doing* to yourself?”

Legolas locked his jaw, trying not to listen. But then…cruel, evil words seeped into his mind…

They were the words of Mornaeg…he was speaking *just* as Mornaeg. And then…his own words reverberated in his head…

His gaze rose to Edren’s and he realized: Hadn’t his friend said those very words not two minutes ago? It was frighteningly familiar.

“Edren,” he whispered, so quietly, he could barely hear it. “I can’t- I don’t believe I’ve already fallen into my despair so soon.” He shook his head slowly, and looked up at the rafters above them. “I am glad Aragorn can’t see me now.”

He soon felt a finger press lightly against his chin, and slide his sight back to the elf standing in front of him. Edren’s eyes were bright and full of promise as he whispered: “He would be proud of how you have tried. You cannot be asked or expected to hold on for so long, only to let go so quickly. It’s going to take time. But you have time, Legolas. Don’t rush yourself. Please.”

Legolas held the other’s gaze steadily a long moment. “Aragorn was right,” he murmured at last. Edren cocked his head to the side in question. “Estel remains. I’m watching it. Right now. I see it in your eyes, Edren.” Legolas’ silver gaze jumped from Edren’s right eye to his left and back in rapid secession over and over. He finally smiled. “I never thought I’d see that glint again. I only wish I could have shown it myself.” He shook his head, and looked down at his bloody hands. “I disgrace Aragorn’s memory by all I’ve done since he passed.”

“Not all,” Edren corrected kindly. “Not just now. Not when you acknowledged the parting words of your friend. ‘Estel remains’. Don’t you think he’d be proud to hear that?”

“You’re right,” Legolas sighed. “But if it’s all right with you…I think I’d prefer to not think about him right now.”

Edren nodded. “I understand completely.”

“I knew you would.” Legolas gave a half smile, and stepped through the doorway.

“Legolas-” Edren jumped at the sudden movement, and was surprised to see Legolas doing what he’d just resolved not to. “What are you doing?”

Legolas turned back around, and shook his head. “True. I would be more than wrong to take Mornaeg’s blood. But that does *not* mean I’m leaving him unpunished. He will find judgment with my father, and all that abide in Mirkwood.” Legolas shook his head, and looked down at the floor. “He will surely be banished from this realm,” he added, trying hard to look as though he did *not* relish the thought.

Edren looked upon his friend with a worried eye. He didn’t like the way the prince was discussing the evil elf. But he didn’t have time to mention it, for Legolas walked into the room, and Edren had to quicken his pace to make his entrance simultaneous with the prince’s.

As they walked in, they realized that there had been an accident, or something. Paper swirled all over the floor, ink spread to the four corners of the room, blankets were ripped, pillows slashed, and the bedposts missing junks. Everything appeared to have been shredded by a knife at least once. Even the floor and walls held signs of a blade.

The writing desk was the only thing still standing, and even it was missing chunks of wood. The chair, however, had been reduced to sticks and splinters that lay in a growing pond of green ink.

Protruding from the writing desk’s surface was an arrow. Legolas ran to the desk, and jerked the arrow free. Briefly inspecting the fletching, he realized it was his own. The one he’d shot Mornaeg in the knee with, no doubt.

Dropping the arrow, he quickly grabbed the note it had been pinning to the desk. The letters on it were written in an all-too-familiar shade of red. The bloodlike ink Mornaeg had poured over his tunic to cover Aragorn’s blood, that night he attacked the helpless Ranger.

Shaking with rage at the very sight of the ink-ink that still sparkled from recent use-Legolas read the ominous letters carefully.

Uuvam rim ad, Lindo, ea datha mi Mandossea im.

Legolas’ fingers closed slowly, the paper crumpling beneath the pressure. Edren studied the elf carefully. Did he know? He couldn’t. Not after all this. Mornaeg had gone too far this time. He was going to undo everything at this rate…everything he’d done, he’d sacrificed.

“Legolas?”

The prince shook his head. “It’s terrifying.”

“What is?”

“It’s seems so…familiar to me. But I don’t remember it. That’s what is so terrifying. It’s like…like when you wake up in a…”

“…in a dream,” Edren finished unconsciously. Realizing how obvious he’d been, his head shot up. Had he noticed?

“Yes,” Legolas nodded, and didn’t notice Edren sigh in silent relief. “When you wake up from a daydream, and fight so hard to remember it. And yet- yet you don’t quite want to, because why should you? It wasn’t real. It didn’t happen.”

Edren closed his eyes against the words. Right now, Legolas had now way of knowing his friend was feeling the same familiarity pain. Please stop. He thought quietly. Please, Legolas, before you remember too much…

Legolas shook his head, and looked around the room once more, trying to push those thoughts away for now. His eyes caught the window, where slashed curtains hung, like a collection of dirty rags. Mornaeg’s demented knife strokes hadn’t spared a thing. Not even the rich curtains.

Legolas ran to the windowsill, and found a bloodied knife-perhaps the one that has caused so much damage-lying on the floor. He didn’t stoop to pick it up, he knew whose it was. Leaning reluctantly over the sill, he saw what he was afraid he would.

An elf caught in a tree. He lay, pale and limp, and covered in blood. Legolas closed his eyes. “Oh Mornaeg…” he whispered. The elf had indeed thrown himself over the windowsill, and Legolas knew he was probably staring down from Mandos as the friends stood by his death place.

“Namä rié , Tiro Lim.”

Edren’s head shot around, until he was looking intently at Legolas. “Why do you call him that?”

“I don’t know…he said it in the note, and…it felt right.” Legolas’ eyebrows creased with confusion. “I’m sorry, my friend, I just- I don’t understand any of it.”

Edren sighed. “I know.”

“You-”

“Don’t get me wrong, mellon nin, I don’t pretend to understand what is going on any better than you. But- I know that…that it must be hard.”

Legolas shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

Edren sighed. “It’s hard to- to have Mornaeg in your past for so long, and not know…I’m just sorry he went this way.” Edren cocked his head to the window, and tried to smile. “But, at least he will never hurt another as he has you.”

Legolas tried to feel encouraged by this, but somehow…now that Mornaeg was gone, he felt a great hole somewhere inside of him. Why did he care? He was all set to kill the elf himself not long ago. He glanced down at the note once more, reading the last line.

Uuvam rim ad, Lindo, ea datha mi Mandossea im.

“I will *not* join you in Mandos, Mornaeg. You are wrong. I am not like you.” Legolas grabbed the arrow that he’d shot Mornaeg with, shoving the note back onto the pointed end. Stringing his bow with it, he aimed out the window, and sent the arrow flying over Mirkwood. It soared over the treetops, and then, with a birdlike dive, disappeared amongst their shadowed leaves.

“Goodbye.” He said flatly, and turned from the window.

Chapter 6

Meltha

“We should inform my father of Mornaeg’s death,” Legolas murmured quietly as he and Edren journeyed back down the dark staircase. Legolas didn’t even stop at his door, but moved quickly down the hall, and up a familiar flight of stairs. Turning abruptly, he marched to his father’s door. Not even pausing, or waiting for Edren, he lifted his fist to the oak door, and rapt it quickly.

Nothing.

Legolas didn’t bother knocking again. “Father? Father, it is Legolas!”

Nothing. Of course.

Legolas sighed, and as if in frustration, kicked at the doorpost beside the locked door. Edren thought at first that the prince had broken it, but then he realized the piece of wood that fell away from the doorpost was a perfect rectangle.

Legolas automatically stooped down, and pulled from the hole the broken piece had left, a small, silver key. Standing up again, he shoved it into the lock, turned it easily, and then put it back into the hollow post. As he was placing the wooden piece into it’s place again, he glanced up at his friend. “Oh…” he murmured, as though he’d only just noticed Edren standing there. “Uh…you…didn’t see that.”

Edren nodded. “Understood,” he grinned.

Legolas smiled briefly, and then turned the unlocked doorknob, and swiftly walked inside. “Stay here, Edren, please.”

“Of course.” Edren nodded, knowing how conversations between Legolas and his father could get.

**********

“Father?” Legolas closed the door quietly behind him, and widened his eyes in the darkness, trying hard to see through the gloom. A loud crash startled him, and it took him a few moments to realize that he had been the one to cause it. Righting the side table he’d walked into, he kept walking through the dark room.

Finally, he realized his father’s great bed was before him, at knee level. “Father?” Legolas repeated, squinting down at the blankets, trying to see if his father lay there. But looking up, he finally saw that Thranduil was standing at the window, looking through the heavy curtains.

“Father, I must speak with you.”

“What is it,” came a soft reply, that sounded quite unlike Thranduil.

“I need to tell you about-”

“What *is* it?!”

“Edren and I were-”

“What is it, and where has it gone?!”

“Where is- what is *what*?!” Legolas knelt on the bed, looking intently at his father, fear piercing his heart. These strange comments that so often fell from the elfking’s lips were beginning to frighten him.

“The feeling. I don’t understand it, I don’t know where it is! I want it back, find it Legolas, bring it back!”

“I- Father, I do not know of what you speak! I cannot help you, unless you talk sense.”

Thranduil didn’t answer, he only turned back to the window. “Then you are no use to me. Leave.”

Legolas sighed. “Listen, Father. Mornaeg is dead.”

“What? How?!” The elfking demanded, whirling about.

Legolas paused only a moment. “He jumped out of the window in his tower room. Soon after he came in Aragorn’s bedroom before…Aragorn went.”

Tranduil looked out the window again, shaking. The room had been silent before, but now, the silence was so deafening and purposeful, it hurt Legolas’ ears. Thanduil was shaking, but not with tears. As he turned, Legolas could see anger etched on his face.

“So…you weren’t satisfied with killing Minaeg, you had to kill his brother as well!”

Replies like: “That’s not true!” or “You’re wrong!” or “What are you talking about?!” came like a flood through Legolas’ mind, but none seemed to express the utter confusion and rage he felt boiling in him, so he kept silent, as his face vaguely portrayed what he was feeling.

Thranduil seemed to take his silence as assent, as he crossed away from the window, and approached his bed, where Legolas knelt. “Why must you destroy everything I love?! What will you leave me with?!”

Legolas still couldn’t speak. His mouth had gone dry in fear. Slowly, he began to crawl backwards off the bed, but Thranduil lurched forward, grabbing his son by the forearm, jerking it angrily. “I am speaking to you!” Legolas’ arm flew out from under him, and he fell sideways out of his crawling position.

His head contacted hard with something glass. Looking around as best he could, with his father still holding his arm and whispering incoherently, he found himself face-to-face with a glass tankard. Turning his head to the other side, he realized that there was an empty and broken casket sitting beside the bed.

Cold fear took hold of him as he looked up at his father once more. As the king muttered on, Legolas caught a trace of wine on his father’s breath. “Father?” he asked quietly, trying to ignore the growing pain in his captive arm. “Father, why have you been drinking? It is still spring…you save the wine you have opened till fall, to celebrate the Hunting that begins then.”

The king just looked blankly down at him. “What are you saying. That a king cannot drink his own *wine* now?!”

“No,” Legolas murmured gently. Fond as he knew Thranduil was of wine, he also knew that the elfking seldom got drunk on the special drink, especially wine as strong as this, unless for celebration…or just the opposite, which was the reason Legolas suspected his father was drinking it now. To forget.

“Father…why are you drinking?”

Thranduil finally seemed to focus on his son, and his grip on the prince’s arm relaxed a bit. “Because…because…I hate myself. Because it’s all wrong. Because I cannot find Meltha!”

Legolas shuddered a the words. “You do not hate yourself. And we can make this right again. Please, let me talk to you.” Legolas’ silver eyes searched the matching ones above him. “Let me be your son. Please.”

Thranduil was silent a long moment. Finally, “I d-don’t want a son. I want Meltha! I want Meltha back, Legolas.”

Legolas swallowed hard at the rejection as well as the latter comment. “Naneth isn’t coming back, Father. You know that. Please…don’t dwell on it.”

The king’s face was still resistant, but he seemed to relax just a bit more, and Legolas finally pulled his arm back, rubbing it ruefully.

“But you don’t understand, Legolas. I have *seen* Meltha again.”

Legolas shook his head in despair. “It is the wine, Father.”

“You don’t know what I know,” Thranduil excused easily, and smiled a smile that was strange and eerie on his fair face. Sighing, as if in forgiveness of his son, he added, “What have you come to tell me, fion nin, I cannot remember.”

Legolas bit his lip. “Mornaeg is dead.”

Thranduil looked up at the prince suddenly, and something in him seemed to snap. Legolas caught it, and quickly made a duck off the bed, but wasn’t quite quick enough. He had almost made it away from the mattress, when he felt sudden pain in his head, and was pulled backwards by his hair.

Landing on his back, sprawled on the bed once more, he found himself looking up at Thranduil again. “You’ve ruined everything!” the king shouted. “You’ve killed him!”

“I have not-”

“Ea diinen!” his father shouted furiously, lashing out with the hand that wasn’t clutching his son’s hair.

//be silent!//

Legolas’ hand flew to his stinging cheek, and memories of that night when Aragorn had first been poisoned by Bengwiil came flooding into his mind…

There was no sign of this guilt anymore. Something in Thranduil had gone just too far. The king’s breath shuddered. “You do not know what you have done.”

Legolas felt a cold shiver run down his body. No, he couldn’t listen to this again! The same words from his dream, long ago, it seemed, echoed in his head. Had that been a vision? Had his dream been a look into the future? But it was impossible…his father had known what words had been spoken in the dream…

It could *not* have been a vision. But- why was it in his dream? It all seemed…familiar…

Legolas stared up at the elfking, wondering, fearing what he may do. For a moment, he did nothing. Then, as if in a spasm, he hurled the prince forward, letting go of his hair midway, and allowing him land flat on the floor. Legolas pushed himself up, and tasted blood.

He stumbled to his feet, and whirled around in time to duck the tankard that was hurled at his head. “Father, stop!” he cried desperately, as he tried to get behind the king to catch his flailing arms, so he couldn’t throw anything else.

Thranduil caught the maneuver too quickly, and swiveled around, hitting his son hard in the face with his elbow. Legolas was sent sprawling once more, this time, into another barrel. The scent of wine fill the empty air to the brim, and Legolas found himself thrashing in the sticky liquid, trying to pull out of it’s overbearing odor.

Finally free of the crimson puddle, he dived over the bed, and grabbed his father’s robes. The king tried to shove his son away again, but Legolas heaved backwards, dragging his father across the bed with him, and landing him hard on the huge mattress.

Legolas scrambled for his father’s hands until he gripped both wrists tightly. “Father!” He shouted down at the elfking. “Lasto beth nin! It is I, it is Legolas! It is your son! Hauta han!”

//listen to me!…stop this!//

Thranduil stared blankly up at the fair being above him, as if he stared down a stranger. “Why do you care…I have killed Aragorn with my Bengwiil, right? I have hurt you, right? I have been drunk and foolish. I have not been the father you wish me to be. I have not been Elrond to you, have I, Legolas? Have I!?”

Legolas swallowed back his tears. Had he not thought these very words before? He knew that he had been less than satisfied with his father. But no. No, he refused to let himself believe that. “I don’t care what you’ve done.”

“Yes you do,” Thranduil whispered, seeing unconscious agreement in the prince’s eyes. “Then be it so, I do not care. I will not be your father, then. And I have no son.”

Legolas couldn’t believe his ears. “Father, you do not know what you speak.”

“I do know! I know that if you despise me as your father, I cannot be so! Nay, I *will* not be so. I want Meltha! I want Meltha to be back! I hate you, leave me!” With a sudden burst of energy, the king threw Legolas off him, and sent the prince soaring backwards away from the bed.

Legolas had a few second to think, before he felt his body slam against the wall, and slump to the floor. Everything was vague and forgotten for several moments. He suddenly felt himself being jerked upright. His father held him around the waist, just barely keeping him on his feet. As Legolas’ throbbing head reeled back, Thranduil looked into his eyes, and demanded: “Where is Meltha?”

“I don’t-” Legolas forced out.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know! Where is she, Legolas, what have we done to her?!”

“We haven’t done a thing to her!” Legolas snapped back, feeling ire rise in his chest, giving him the strength he needed to respond. “She is gone, Father. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s not our doing. She’s just gone.”

Thranduil was shaking his head already. “No, no, I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her, Legolas. She’s coming back, she told me…we need her.”

“Istón,” Legolas whispered, pulling his feet back under him, and standing straight in his father’s grip. “But she’s go-”

“She is not gone! She is not gone! She is my Meltha! Beloved! I *need* her back!”

“Mother’s not coming back!” Legolas shouted, pushing away from his father at last, anger burning silver in his eyes. “She’s not coming back! Stop tormenting me, Father, I do *not* need someone else to miss! I’ve all ready lost Aragorn, I don’t need to lose Naneth *again*.” At last, his tone softened, and he saw the anger dissolve into all it was underneath. Hurt. “Hauta han,” he sighed. “Ea us er nin.”

//stop this. Just leave me alone.//

Thranduil sank to his bed, silent, as Legolas inched away from him. Neither knew what to do. Legolas wondered if he should turn and run, but he couldn’t make his feet go any faster. He seemed mesmerized by his father’s pain.

Slowly, Thranduil raised his head again, and fixed Legolas with a weary stare. “Don’t you even miss her?” he begged, longing for sympathy.

“Of *course* I miss her,” Legolas sighed, looking with bewilderment into his father’s eyes. “But I’m not willing to let go of everything else, so I can miss her some more.”

Silence touched the air once more, and Legolas finally finished what he’d come to start. “Mornaeg is in a tree outside his tower window. I suggest we cut him down, and burry him as soon as we can. But- you cannot ask *me* to, Father. I am sorry. I can’t.”

Thranduil said nothing. Silently, he leaned over his knees, covered his face with his shaking hands, and wept softly. Legolas could not bring himself to say anything. He could no longer understand his father. All he could hope to do is be there when the king became himself again.

Legolas, giving his father’s shaking back a last glance, turned and left the dark room without a sound. When Thranduil looked up, there was no one there. “Fion- fion nin,” he whispered, but there was no response. The tears rushed in afresh, when he realized what he’d done. “Legolas!” he cried. “Legolas, what did I say? What happened?! What did I s-” His throat seemed to seal itself, leaving only enough room to gasp through his tears.

He sat there a long time, trying to answer his question. But hard as he tried, the king couldn’t recall the conversation he must have had. All he remembered was: “Mornaeg is dead.” and Legolas’ frightened face.

No… he thought miserably not again…did it happen again…?

Chapter 7

Voice in the Night

Edren paced nervously, his hands shaking with barely controlled restlessness. After he’d heard the crashes in Thranduil’s room, he almost ran into the dark bedroom anyway, despite what Legolas had said. But he’d controlled himself, and now waited anxiously for his friend’s return.

Finally, the door swung back, and Edren went to it quickly to see his friend. Legolas walked wearily out from behind the door, and fixed Edren with tired eyes.

“Legolas!” Edren jerked his cloak from off his shoulder, and threw it around the prince. Legolas half smiled.

“I am well, Edren. Do not worry.”

Edren’s eyes flashed over the young elf’s bruised ch