Title: Ranîmär (Within Truth)

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

Rated: PG-13 for angst, violence, angst, torture, and angst. :D

Summery: Aragorn and Legolas are back to the Halls of Thranduil. But upon arriving, they find that Mirkwood’s king is not at all well, and Legolas is pulled into this struggle with a murder charge on his head. Will Thranduil die before Legolas can be cleared? Will Aragorn ever be completely healed? And what is the true story of Legolas’ past that Edren has been hiding for so long? The struggle with Bengwiil continues.

Spoilers: For my other stories, of course, but other than that, I don’t think so.

Disclaimers: Aragorn, Legolas, Thranduil, Mirkwood, Rivendelll 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 making absolutely no money off of this, and sure bet you wouldn’t have guessed THAT . ;)

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

Marks: // marks are elvish translations. Example:

Ranîmär

//Within Truth//

* marks are italics

Dedication: To Sarah and Hannah; for pestering me to finish this. You can thank them for this post! ;)

To Emily; for letting me bounce ideas off of her.

To Stephanie; Edren’s biggest fan! LOL! :)

And finally, to ALL my readers: HANNON LE for sticking with me, and for bombarding me with emails demanding for a date. ;) I probably never would have finished this, if I hadn’t known you guys were still interested. THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Ranî mä r

(Within Truth)

Chapter 1

Welcome Back

Just a little longer… the wind above the Mirkwood trees pleaded of the sky. Don’t rain. Don’t rain yet. But clouds do not often heed the pleadings of trees, and so raindrops fell softly down on their heads, speckling leaves with dark green, and patting the dirt with mud. It was but a light mist, but mist enough that it was made clear how far the storm clouds had been pushed; how long they’d been made to wait. Mist was but the beginning. They were not going to hold back their furry much longer.

Legolas Greenleaf leaned back in his saddle and sighed audibly. “Did I not tell you Edren? That Eärendil leads even when it is covered?”

The elf that rode up beside him smiled slightly. “Did I deny it?”

Legolas laughed, and reined his horse around to call out to the elves behind him. “We are to the Halls once more, my friends!”

Aragorn urged Horthor to stand beside Legolas’ horse, Lint. The Ranger’s eyes scanned the structure that was protruding from the hillside carefully. “I am no elf, Legolas…but I can sense danger.”

Legolas’ eyes shifted to the Halls of his father as well. “As do I, Aragorn. Something is not well within those walls…” He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the index finger and thumb of his right hand. “And I fear it is my father that brings such trouble.”

“Then we should be quick,” Edren interjected, turning to call over his shoulder, “Daurrè! Nyarin! Make haste!” And he rode off towards the gates of the great halls.

Legolas did the same, feeling Aragorn in his wake, and knowing that Daurrè, and Nyarin (along with the wounded Fenan) would not be far behind. The five elves and human made for an interesting party as they finally reined their horses into the stables.

Legolas steered Lint into his stall, patting the horse’s white mane as he dismounted. “Mae pant,” he whispered kindly, and then left the horse to catch his rest. When he closed the stall’s door behind him, he found Aragorn had also stowed his horse, as had Daurrè. Edren was just dismounting, but Nyarin was having trouble getting down with Fenan. With Daurrè’s assistance, however, they managed to get them both down.

“Nyarin and I shall take Fenan to Tirniel,” Daurrè murmured to Edren. “Perhaps you should go and see to the king…I fear- I…” He shook his head and did not finish. Apparently, Legolas and Aragorn were not the only ones who could feel fear in the air.

As Nyarin and Daurrè supported Fenan to the Healer’s, Edren, Legolas and Aragorn quickly went to the stairs leading to the king’s room. Legolas was the first one to the top, panic rising steadily in his chest.

He’d found Edren and Daurrè unhurt. He’d save Aragorn even though he thought he had lost him. He’d conquered his fear of Bengwiil, if only temporarily, and now he was home, not only in one piece, but in one fairly unscathed piece. Except for the bruise in his shoulder where he’d dislocated it, all his injuries from the orcs that had captured him had been healed by his own elven blood.

Even as he’d ridden through Mirkwood, following the unseen light of Eärendil the whole way, though he had found worry in his mind, it had been worry for Aragorn. Worry that the human would not fully heal from the Bengwiil, or the injuries Mornaeg had given him. The cuts that had been reopened by the accursed orcs.

But had he once worried over his father? Sure, he’d been afraid about what Thranduil would do with the Bengwiil he now had in his possession, but wasn’t that more for Aragorn and his own sake than his father’s?

Guilt rose with the panic, as Legolas realized; he had done nothing to help his father. In fact, he’d barely even tried to. His own flesh and blood, and yet he’d put priority on Aragorn. A friend. Albeit, a very close friend, akin to a brother, even. But not a brother. A friend.

It is not as though my father has made any attempt to help *me* either, something in his head whispered. While I was trying to protect our people from Bengwiil, he was burning it freely. While I attempted to save Aragorn’s life, he was nearly took it. What has he done for me that I should feel guilty for not helping him?

But what had Legolas done? Suffered through his hurt until he could bring Aragorn back to life. And then, he’d ridden off to rescue his other friends from themselves. He had not stayed to help Thranduil, he hadn’t even informed him that he was leaving.

A memory stirred in Legolas’ mind.

Edren’s words echoed in his head as his own response surfaced in memory.

It was no different with Thranduil.

Legolas knelt down, pulling the rectangle-shaped piece out of the wall, and jerking the silver key that hung behind it. He shoved the key into the lock. It didn’t fit. He shook himself slightly, trying to calm down. His hand was shaking so hard, he couldn’t even get the key into the door! Luckily, the door turned out not to be locked, so stowing the key once more, and before Aragorn and Edren could join him, he’d stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

It was dark, and the air was stuffy. The floor was covered in scorch-marks, and there were ashes of burnt Bengwiil as well as what was left of a burlap sack whispering over the floor on still air. The sound of thunder thudded against the window from whence there was coming little light.

“Father?” Legolas heard his voice, but knew before the word left his mouth there would be no response. Even in dim light, it was clear Thranduil was not here. But if he wasn’t here- where *was* he?

“Somewhere safe.” Legolas was surprised by the silent whisper. “Somewhere to get away. To get away from pain. He’s down there, Legolas…he’s down there.”

Legolas nodded, bewildered by what seemed like a memory that he fought to recall. Dropping to hands and knees, he crawled uncertainly beneath the king’s great bed. There was barely two feet between the underside of the bed and the wood floor, but Legolas pulled himself along on his elbows, and went quickly towards what he knew would be there; a door handle.

He realized he was holding his breath. It was probably mostly due to having his stomach pressed against the hard floor, but Legolas knew somewhere deeper and wiser than what he thought on the surface…he was scared. What a foolish idea, it was only his father! And yet…he wrapped shaking fingers around the silver handle and waited.

Don’t go down there…the voice was small…frightened. He’s not himself, Legolas, he really isn’t.

“I have to…” The words slipped between parted lips freely. Legolas felt it was almost- his cue. The words just came naturally. Like in a dream where the words you’re to speak are already written down somewhere, and you can’t help but let them slide from your mouth, whether you meant to say them or not.

Legolas realized he was shaking now, and sweat tickled angrily at his neck. Something was wrong…very wrong…his hand tightened over the handle. His mind was searching for answers, but even more frightening…it was finding a few.

Legolas’ jaw tightened in terror. From where did these voices come to haunt him? A dream? The past? He couldn’t remember, and yet he couldn’t forget. He’d heard these words before. A long…long time ago. His heart raced in fear, but ever did he hold fast to the trapdoor’s handle, waiting for strength to come and let him lift it open.

“I have to.” The same words surfaced to his lips again, but this time, it didn’t mean whatever it had meant in that distant dream. This time, he was thinking clearer. He nodded. He wasn’t talking out of his dream anymore, he was talking about the here and now once more. He had to find his father. He had to find Thranduil.

Nodding again, even more resolute this time, he jerked the door open, and with a loud *creeeeeack* the frustrated hinge relinquished its hidden prize, and allowed Legolas to slip in through its crack. The prince was surprised when he didn’t fall, but rather found himself on his knees in soft earth, so shallow into the hole that he could have smacked his head on the underside of the bed, had the trapdoor not been leaning against his head instead.

Relieving his neck from the strain of the board resting against it, Legolas eased the trapdoor shut over top of him, and began to craw along the shallow tunnel on hands and knees. In the pale glow of his own skin, he could see a drop-off just ahead, and was prepared for it when it came. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just a drop-off.

Legolas pressed his hands down on the incline, pulling himself forward, and fully expecting another stretch of tunnel before him, with a little more space between floor and ceiling. He was, however, surprised to find himself flying head over heals down a dirt staircase. The steps were small and shallow, and the stairs themselves didn’t go far, but Legolas could feel every one of the tiny steps when he landed at the foot of them all, and scrambled warily to his knees.

A sound alerted his attention to a dark shape in the corner, just barely visible by the dying torch beside it as well as the being’s natural glow. It was elf, of that Legolas was certain. His fingers snaked over his shoulder for one of his elven knives, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t need it.

“Father?” he whispered through the gloom, the damp smell of earth beginning to nauseate him. He so hated underground places. “Father?” he repeated, reaching out for the shadowed being’s shoulder, and turning him over slowly.

Large, silver-blue eyes met his own silver gaze as Legolas stared down at the one who’d been hiding in the corner. “Legolas…” the other whispered.

“Father, are you all right?” Legolas asked quietly, as Thranduil made his way into a sitting position. “What are you doing down here? Where *is* here?”

“Legolas, what are *you* doing down here?” Thranduil’s voice was full to the brim with unhidden panic.

“I came to find you,” Legolas responded easily, sheathing his knife. “I came to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine, but you must go.”

“Go?” Legolas shook his head.

“You must leave this place, Legolas! Get out of here, before you-”

“Father, please come with me. I know you are not well, not after the last encounter you and I had…and I know I haven’t helped you much. But I mean to help you now. Will you allow me that?”

“I don’t need help, hannon le,” Thranduil dismissed with a slight cock of his head. “Please go.”

“Father, I know you’ve been burning Bengwiil, I know you’ve been drinking wine. It does not matter- it doesn’t. Just please, let me help you as I did not before?”

“Legolas-”

“Please tell me what is wrong.”

Thranduil gritted his teeth, but seemed to do it more at himself than Legolas. “Very well. You want me to show you what is wrong?” The elfking reached for dying torch beside him. As his fingers wrapped around it, the flames ignited, reacting to the elven power in the hand that held it. And as the torch ignited, the whole room lit up.

Legolas stared wide-eyed at what he saw. Arrowhead-like leaves grew in little spurts all over the floor and ceiling. Vines of the plant stuck out in patches all along the walls as wekk, and the thickest of its clusters were in the corners, where it grew in practically bushels.

Legolas didn’t dare to breath the word “Bengwiil” as he stood up as far as he could beneath the low ceiling, and backed towards the one place in the wall where there was nothing growing.

“I’ve been growing it, Legolas. Keeping it. Storing it. Right here, and for so long.” The elfking’s eyes were wide with an emotion Legolas could not identify, but it was close enough to insanity, that the prince found himself backing as far from the other elf as possible.

“Why?” The word barely left his throat.

“One touch of this torch,” the king explained tipping the fire closer to the cluster of poison-green plants, “and my worry is gone.” His voice was eerily calm until now, but at once, his eyes widened, and he bellowed in a voice Legolas rarely heard, “Was I a madman?!”

He swung the torch in a wide arc, sweeping very close to the Bengwiil. Close enough that several leaves caught on fire, licking away at the flames hungrily, and curling against them in a dark shadowed curl.

Legolas knew his eyes were wide and his breathing shallow. Thranduil watched his son with equal fear, as he took in the prince’s features. Something seemed to snap in him at seeing the frightened look on Legolas’ face, and with a cry of anger, he attacked the green vines with his torch. Swinging it back and for and back and forth, it set patch after patch of Bengwiil ablaze.

“Father, what are you doing?!” It was all Legolas could think to say- nothing was making sense! It was all random speech and unexplainable action.

But Thranduil did not listen, but attacked the pointed leaves ferociously with the torch.

The sight of Bengwiil burning all around him in a closed space made Legolas suddenly claustrophobic. Panic rose in his chest, and he leaned back from the flames against the wall behind him. But at once, he realized why there had been no Bengwiil growing there. It wasn’t a wall at all.

A cry of surprise slipped unnoticed to his ears through the dirt room as Legolas fell back into the underground opening, and he found himself sliding backwards down a dirt slide. His hands flew for something to hold on to, but he only caught loose dirt in the attempt.

With a *thud* he felt his head strike grass. Pulling his feet out of the hole he was lying halfway into, he got to his hands and knees, and turned to look at his exit, still shaking dizziness out of his head. It was a hole in the side of the hill. The hill that most of the Halls of Thranduil were built into. The hole wasn’t big, only large enough for a normal-sized elf to slip through. In front of the hole was a net of brambles and branches. Though these cover-ups were now lying scattered where Legolas knelt, he could see that before they had covered the escape hole quite effectively.

Legolas was considering getting to his feet, when someone else came slipping through the hole and onto the mossy grass. Thranduil pushed himself to his hands and knees as well, crawling to where Legolas knelt. When he reached the prince, he sat back on his heals, and gripped Legolas by his shoulders, looking steadily into the young elf’s silver eyes. His entire air was of panic. He didn’t want Legolas to go until he heard whatever it was the king had to say. But it seemed as though Thranduil was afraid of scaring his son.

“Legolas,” he panted. He was clearly out of breath. “I didn’t mean to burn it. I didn’t mean to. I was only- I hate it, Legolas. I hate Bengwiil, you were right, it *is* evil and I- never should have allowed it back.”

Legolas must have looked ridiculous with his jaw hanging half open, but he didn’t exactly care at this juncture. Everything was happening too fast. He’d reached home, just barely away from an already unbelievably draining experience in Mirkwood, and gone straight to his father. Just as he was sure things had reached an ultimate worse, when he saw Bengwiil growing in Thranduil’s room, now his father was telling him he hated it! The words he wanted to hear out of the king for days, and now he didn’t know how to hear it or handle it.

Thranduil seemed to take the look as simple disbelief. “I do not deceive you, Legolas. I do not. You must believe me, I hate all that Bengwiil has brought into Mirkwood; a shadow I allowed and indulged. You cannot know my grief as far as this matter, but you must believe my words now.”

Legolas shook his head, feeling dizzy with the turn of events. But after a moment, he could have sworn he was smiling. “If I am silent, Father, it is not disbelief. Only that what my heart screams my mouth will not whisper.” He closed his eyes with a sigh, and felt the king’s hand loosen in relief on his shoulder. “I have waited long- and wondered often…”

“Istón.” Thranduil let go of the other’s shoulder entirely, slumping onto the ground in a sitting position, letting his legs sprawl out where they would. He seemed utterly exhausted, and yet had the air of one who felt they had finally done their duty. Like a soldier winning a war at a cost.

Legolas watched his father carefully, trying to comprehend what he’d just heard and spoken. But at once, what had been on Legolas’ own heart came running back to his awareness, and his words were suddenly a flurry of thought. “Father, I am sorry I was not there for you. I am sorry I have not tried to help you, truly I am.”

“Sh…” the king shook his head, still breathing heavily with unexplainable exhaustion. “Do not be sorry, for I have given you no cause to wish to help me. I have- that is, I *was*…i-it was folly to think I could keep Bengwiil peacefully…folly.” Thranduil was now only propped up on his elbows, keeping his shoulders just barely off the ground, as he sprawled backwards.

“Father? Are you- are you well?” It was a silly question, and Legolas knew it, but somehow he could think of nothing else to ask, and it was blatantly clear that the king was *not* in fact well.

“No,” the king answered truthfully. “No, I’m not well…Bengwiil burns, Legolas. It burns…it kills. It- it k-kills…where the roots do not reach down, and brooks flow the other way.”

Legolas nodded automatically, and then shook his head. “What?”

“And…” Thrauduil’s voice faltered slightly, as his eyes fixed on the sky, and his head titled back. “And valleys much greener than green can be followed. From that hill, and that hill, and on and on until they meet…the place…the place…the…” Thranduil’s body seemed to convulse for a moment.

Legolas stumbled forward on his knees in a moment of bewildered panic, but the king froze just before he reached him, and he began to murmur again, this time a little louder. “The place where flowers grow and children run, and you are not their king. For ruler of them are skies and trees, and- oh, and…and the…th-the...”

“The leaves,” came the empty reply. “H-hear them whisper.”

“The leaves, you hear them whisper…Greenleaf,” the king finished, and smiled as though he’d written the whole thing himself.

Legolas did not stir, but fixed pain-filled eyes on Thranduil. That was the song his mother had written him years and years ago…she used to sing it to him when Thranduil was away. Legoals wasn’t even sure how his father knew the song…but it made his heart ache, and as childish as it was, it seemed almost like betrayal that he should know that song that Legolas’ mother had written just for her son…but all sorts of emotions cloud a heart’s eye, when it is weary.

And then, cry ripped from Thranduil’s throat. A harsh, agonized cry. “Meltha! Legolas please- please, LEGOLAS!”

“What? What is it, what?” Legolas crouched beside his father, holding the king’s shoulders firmly, and trying to force him to make eye contact.

But the prince had no need to force such contact, because Thranduil soon gripped him by the front of the tunic, pulling him down to his hands and knees, and bringing Legolas’ face not inches from his own. “I don’t want to see Meltha die again. Please- I don’t want to see that again…please.”

Ice seemed to cover Legolas’ senses for a moment. Right here, right now, his greatest fear. It hurt Legolas somewhere deep to know that his father’s greatest fear was something he could barely take part in. He remembered his mother’s death, but just vaguely. He wished he could understand his father’s hurt better, but he could not, so instead, he tried to comfort him with what he *did* know.

“Father, Bengwiil shows you what you fear the most. Do not fear, and it cannot harm you!”

“Take it away- Legolas, I don’t want to see it again…I don’t want to see.”

“I cannot take it away,” Legolas admitted softly. “Only you can. Ea néfredäl, father. It is the only way.”

“Please…I cannot stop thinking about her- seeing her eyes close…s-she scares me so. I don’t want to see her, Legolas, please.” Legolas didn’t move, his mind working furiously within him, doing its best to find an answer or a plan of action. Thranduil seemed to take this lack of response as refusal. “Please!” He cried, shaking his son’s tunic front, causing Legolas’ head to vibrate. “Please take it away, Legolas, please!”

“I can’t!” Legolas responded frantically, trying to claw the king’s hands off his shirt. His heart was beating faster in his ears, as memories of being thrown about and hurt by Thranduil in the king’s own bedroom came as clear as day to his thoughts. He didn’t fear physical pain, not in the least. But not at the hands of his father.

The king was panting as he pressed himself to the ground, allowing his head to smack the earth, and pulling Legolas down with him. The trouble was, he was sitting on the train of his cloak, and as he fell back onto the dirt, the cloak fell flat beneath him, but with his weight still on it, pulled tight across his throat. Thranuil started to gag and tear at the strings tied across the neck of his cloak.

“Be still!” Legolas cried. He was now lying on his father’s chest, still held tight to the king’s panting body. In this position, he couldn’t get his father to sit up again, and therefore releasing the pressure on his neck. Leaning forward, his nimble fingers began to flip at the cloak strings. They were knotted. Quite tightly.

“Legolas! It is the Bengwiil! It burns, it freezes…it kills! Get it off, please!” Thranduil choked, clinging even tighter to his son’s shirt.

“Be still!” Frustrated, Legolas tried to pull the king’s grip off once more. “Father, let me go!” he cried frantically, still fighting against the unthinking elf’s strength.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Thranduil’s voice was getting groggy with fading oxygen as the strings bit into his windpipe.

“Release me!” Legolas pleaded, shaking madly at the king’s strong hands. But Thranduil was in a different world. The world haunted by the side effects of Bengwiil. And as long as his mind stayed there, body would continue to hold as tightly to whatever was in the real world as if in a death grip.

There was nothing for it.

Legolas’ hand snaked over his shoulder instead, unsheathing an elven knife. It was dangerous, but Thranduil was beginning to writhe on the ground, and Legolas feared what might happen if he did not cut the strings away. “Stay still!” he begged as calmly as he could, bringing the knife as close to the struggling king as he dared. Deciding there was no good getting so close to the throat, he moved instead to the base of the strings; closer to the cloak’s fabric itself than the king wearing it. Carefully, expertly, his twisted the knife in towards the base of the cape strings.

It was instantaneous. *SHWOO-* the cut of an arrow echoed through the thick air, laboring towards its target. Legolas whirled about, gasping with the effort, for he dragged his clinging father with him, and snatched the arrow from the side before it found its mark in his shoulder.

He was about to look up towards the one who’d shot the arrow, when his father cried out, thrashing beneath his weight. Legolas looked back down to find his knife tipped in blood, and a slit running the length of Thranduil’s left collarbone. His own fingers were already tinged in blood.

“Ai-mênu!” Legolas swore, sheathing his knife without wiping it off, and hurriedly tearing a piece of cloth from the king’s cloak, pressuring the wound bitterly. “Forgive me, it was an accident,” he whispered, feeling the excuse was slightly out of place, all things considered.

“Here! Over here, Garaer, quickly!”

Legolas’ head snapped to the side, his eyes fixing on the elf who had fired at him. A younger elf, probably not much younger than Legolas, in fact. The prince was sure he recognized him, but couldn’t think why. If he wasn’t mistaken, the elf was one of Thranduil’s many protectors.

Garaer ran headlong into the clearing, about a dozen elves in his wake. His eyes shifted over the scene before him without comment. For some reason, Legolas felt a cold chill go up his spine. Garaer; the elf that had assisted in the banishment Harain for standing up to Thranduil. The elf that had attempted to take Aragorn from him for good. He was every bit as cold as Legolas could recall, though not evil. Just too duty-oriented, it seemed.

At that moment, Legolas was painfully aware of how bad this looked. He had apposed his father several notable times within the last week or so, and twice come out of the king’s bedroom bleeding. The sight of him poised over Thranduil’s trembling body, trying to calm the blood flow at the king’s neck; a wound made by his own knife…whatever Garaer was thinking at this moment, it could not be good.

Sure enough, it did not take the elven guard long to make a decision. “Ruim, go and find Tiriniel, bring him at once. The king is injured.” A blonde-headed elf to his right nodded curtly, and took off towards the forest behind them. “Your highness,” he began quietly. To Legolas’ surprise, there was no maliciousness, no spite, but anger. Deep fury and astonishment. His voice was quite even and grave as he spoke next. “Rise off of our king slowly.” The contingent of elves over his shoulder raised their strung bows as he spoke. “Very slowly.”

Legolas rose carefully to his knees, still keeping his hand pressed firmly against the cloth which was preventing Thranduil’s wound from further bleeding. The king’s hands fell limply from his tunic front, too distracted by sudden pain to care about holding onto the prince. “Garaer, I know what you are thinking, and that it seems as wisdom to you. But there is much I must explain before you pass any judgment.”

“Oh you shall explain, to be sure.” The other nodded bluntly, and stepped forward, motioning to another elf over his shoulder. At the gesture, the elf moved quickly forward, and took over for Legolas holding down the cloth on the king’s wound.

As Legolas pulled his hand from the bloodied cloth, the sound of quickly tightening bowstrings echoed in the air. He slid red-tinged hand defensively into the air where his other one already waited, proving he didn’t have any intention of trying to get away.

Garaer stalked easily up to him, wandering around behind the prince’s back, and planting a hand heavily on his shoulder. Reaching for the elf’s quiver, he pulled from it one of the elven daggers that were sheathed there. Legolas soon saw the blood-tipped dagger sliding into view as Garaer shook the weapon under his nose wordlessly.

“It was an accident,” Legolas promised quietly, knowing the words sounded lame. “I was startled when one of your number attempting to shoot me. I was trying to cut the strings of his cloak.”

Silence.

“He thought he was choking…it was Bengwiil, he is ill with Bengwiil.” he added quickly, but it was no use, and he knew it. “I did not mean to hurt him.”

“Assault on the king is a great crime followed by great consequences, your highness, even when at the hands of Mirkwood’s own prince.” Garaer’s tone was short a he shoved the bloodied knife back into the prince’s quiver.

“And I shall not dispute that, Garaer,” Legolas responded as evenly as he could, “but you do not have the authority to pass judgment on a member of the royal family, unless the king has passed his own.”

“And so he shall, I assure you, as soon as we may heal him from the wounds you have inflicted. Until that time,” Garaer, to Legolas’ surprise, looked almost afraid as he spoke next. But as he stood there a moment, his eyes flickering from Legolas kneeling in front of him, to the king, moaning and twitching a few feet away, his features hardened, and all trace of regret was gone. “Prince Legolas Greenleaf, you are under arrest.”

Chapter 2

The Prince of Mirkwood

Legolas, still kneeling in the grass with his hands held in the air, made no trouble as Garaer’s fingers slid down his shoulder, finding the place where his quiver buckled, and undid the straps. Legolas’ back felt cold and strange without his weapons there, but he only tipped his head more erect as a few of the elves stowed their bows, and instead uncoiled a length of elven rope.

Light rain either started falling just now, or it suddenly seemed particularly cold and bighting on Legolas’ back as he waited…waited for who knew what.

It only took one elf to tie the prince’s wrists in front of him, for Legolas couldn’t care less what they said or did, knowing his father would clear him. That is- unless Thranduil did not make it. How far was Bengwiil from killing him? Would he simply pass into a half death, half life like Aragorn had? Legolas had no idea, but he *did* know that the king was in critical condition and this arrest would only make it harder for him to help his father.

Luckily, it was a royal elf’s right to have his hands bound in the front, not the back, so if need be, Legolas could fight his way out of captivity, though he dearly hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He hoped they’d only get halfway to their destination, and Thrnauild’s fit would leave, his head would clear, and he would tell Garaer it was all a big mistake.

The group of elves went swiftly to the Halls once more, Garaer stoically trying to ignore the fact that Thranduil went practically hysterical when he could no longer see Legolas. The elf prince’s heart stung with those pitiful looks the king had thrown him before Legolas was marched towards the great gates that led to the woodland Halls, but what could he do? He only hoped something would come to him. Or someone. Where were Aragorn and Edren?

The hand on Legolas’ shoulder was light, and did not push him in the direction they were going. In fact, it didn’t even hold to the prince’s shoulder, but simply stayed there, almost afloat on the air. It was clear the elf walking behind him didn’t expect the prince would run.

“You believe me then?” Legolas asked as quiet as only elven ears can ear.

The other did not reply a moment. Then, “It would not be the first time Garaer was wrong. He was wrong about Estel, who turned out to be alive though he and I both attempted to bear his body to Rivendell. And he was also wrong about Harain, I believe. Since he has gone, Tiriniel seems out of his head, and Presomin has disappeared.”

Legolas swallowed. He’d forgotten that he and Aragorn alone knew of Presomin’s death. He didn’t want to break it to the other elf right now, though. “Garaer is doing what he thinks is right,” he said at last.

“Perhaps,” was the only response, and then the two were silent.

“Garaer? We have just passed my room.” Legolas knew full well that the prison itself was reserved for dwarves, orcs, and prisoners of war in general. He was not bound for the cells in the lowest level of the Halls, but his own room to await an audience with his father. But they had passed his door by, and it did not take long for Legolas to realize why that was.

They were climbing up great, stone stairs that echoed in the walls as you stepped. Familiar stairs. Terrifying stairs. “Why are we going to Mornaeg’s room?” Try as he did, he could not hide the fear that was throbbing within him.

“Mornaeg is dead; this is no longer his room.” It was *not* the answer Legolas was looking for, in fact, it was barely an answer at all. But he knew better than to question Garaer further. He had a quick temper, and Legolas didn’t need to deal with someone else’s attitude right now.

Upon reaching the top of the staircase, Garaer pushed the door open, and gestured the elf holding Legolas in place towards the doorway. Legolas and his ‘guard’ of sorts, though the elf still did not tighten his grip on the prince’s shoulder, entered the room swiftly, followed by the rest of the contingent. Garaer closed the door, and turned.

Legolas was surprised as he looked about the room. It was clean now, all the woodchips and scraps of shredded fabric had been whisked away to who knows where, leaving a slashed curtain heaving in the heavy, and rain-dampened breeze, and a slightly chunked-up bed as the only clue of the mess that had once been there. Though, as Legolas turned his eyes to the floor, he found the ink still stained the wood permanently in places. That, he thought, would never go away. It sent chills up his spine to look at it. He wanted to be gone. To get away. He hated this room. He really hated it.

“This will be more secure than your room. More secluded as well.” Garaer’s tone was completely horizontal.

It was then that the full truth hit Legolas, causing his heart to beat in panic, though he did his best to keep his features calm. “You…mean to leave me up here?”

The other did not respond, as though he had not heard, and moved around in front of Legolas to begin untying his hands. He then steered the young elf by his shoulder to stand beside the left end post of the four-poster bed. “Kneel,” he ordered curtly.

Legolas gave him a confused and wary look, but steadily complied, sinking to his knees beside the bedpost. Garaer got down beside him, bringing around the rope that had bound the prince before, and tying it once more to Legolas’ right wrist. That done, he brought it around the post, and tied the other end tightly to Legolas’ left wrist.

Garaer rose to his feet without a word, and began towards the door, the other elves in his wake. Legolas’ heart gave a jolt. “When do I find an audience with the king?” he asked quickly, stalling Garaer in the doorway.

“When he has recovered,” the other replied shortly.

Legolas shook his head. “My father is ill with the poison of Bengwiil, Garaer, he will *not* survive if I am not there to help him, you must understand this!”

“I will take no further orders from you, Prince Legolas Greenleaf!” Garaer shouted, causing Legolas to stiffen in surprise. “You have put yourself under suspicion and until you are cleared, you will be under *my* orders! Food will brought to you this evening.”

The three elves left the room, followed by Garaer who reached angrily for the door handle.

“Garaer please, I cannot stay here!” Legolas’ voice was nearly shrill as he tried to rise up on his knees. “I *cannot*!” The door slammed shut. “Garaer, please!”

Silence.

Quiet voices came only heard by elven ears from the other side of the door.

“Stay here, the both of you. No one is to go in or out except with my permission, is that understood?”

“Yes, Garaer, of course…but…if I may ask, why did you bring him here? Surely in his own room-”

“It is the better place, you know well as I. If indeed it is not the prince who has done this to King Thranduil, then he could likely be endangered by whatever it is that *did* do this. If his life is in danger, we must protect him as well.”

“But what of- the Precaution? The king will be furious if his son finds out-”

“Why do you think I bound him? He will not find it, of that I am sure. Now I must go to make sure Tirniel is assisting the king, and help as well if I may.”

“Very well, Garaer.”

Legolas pressed his forehead against the polished bedpost his hands were tied around. Fantastic. More secrets. And where, oh where were Aragorn and Edren?

**********

How long had Legolas been kneeling there? An hour at least. Maybe a little less. He’d lost all feeling in his hands, but he didn’t particularly care. All he could think about was Thranduil. Was his father even still alive? Would they come and tell him if he was dead, or be too afraid of a desperate escape?

The door creaked open, but Legolas didn’t look up. He had a feeling he knew who was there. “I am not hungry, Garaer. Please go unless you’ve the intention of freeing me.”

“Legolas?”

Legolas looked up to find one of his guard elves standing a few feet away, his hand locked firmly on another visitor’s shoulder. The visitor was a human.

“Estel,” Legolas breathed, smiling for the first time in a long while.

The young Ranger tried to advance a step, but the elf beside him pulled him back by his shoulder, now putting his other hand on the human’s chest, keeping him in place. “Garaer’s orders,” he said apologetically.

Legolas twisted his numb wrists. “I am going nowhere, can he not approach?”

The elf shook his head with a half-shrug. “Garaer is…a careful elf.”

“A paranoid elf,” Aragorn muttered, brushing the other’s hand of his chest. “I am not one of your prisoners.” The elf simply let his hand drop to the knife at his belt and nodded. Aragorn turned back to Legolas. “Are you all right?”

Legolas shrugged slightly. “Mae ea im. What happened? Where…where were you?” He did his best to keep hurt out of his voice, not wanting to imply he felt Aragorn had betrayed him, since that wasn’t the case at all.

But Aragorn caught the tone and was afraid he knew what it meant. He sighed, “I’m so sorry- I didn’t know where you’d gone. Edren said it would best to wait for you outside your father’s door rather than interfere with whatever it is you had planned to speak with him about. I was rather put out by the logic, but I actually think Edren was twice as tensed by his own words.”

Legolas half smiled despite himself. That was Edren, all right.

“We waited outside his room for a long time, and didn’t hear any commotion, so we simply continued to wait. Edren ached to see Thernäd and dispel her worries, so I told him I would keep watch by the door. A long while passed, and then Tirniel and a few others came running up the hall, supporting your father between them. ‘Where is Legolas?’ I asked, and they told me you’d been arrested.” Aragorn bit his lip.

“Well, I didn’t know *what* to think, and them being in such a hurry, I received no clues either. I had no idea even where to start asking around, so I went immediately to find Edren. Needless to say, he was furious when he found out, and so came with me to search out the head of the king’s bodyguards.”

“Garaer,” Legolas interjected, nodding slowly.

“Exactly,” Aragorn responded. “When we finally tracked him down, it was just outside the Hall’s gates- that is why it took me so long to get here, I’m afraid, it was nearly half an hour to find him; Edren was positive he’d been the one to arrest you, and we had no idea where you might be.

“But as I said, he was outside the Hall’s gates with a few others, ‘taking certain precautions’ I believe is what he said. The moment they were safely back inside the Halls, Edren lit into Garaer as you would *not* have believed! Demanding where he had the authority to subject you to an arrest without the king’s consent- and seeing what condition your father is in, it was likely without his knowledge.“

Legolas only nodded.

“When Garaer stated his reasons, Edren calmed down a bit, seeing that it would not take much to clear up. He and I both asked to see you, but Garaer said that the regulations permitted but one visitor was allowed within a three-hour period, and that in his ‘riled state’ Edren would not be that one.

“Edren was upset, but also eager to see to the king, and continue his questioning of Garaer. He bid me be the one to come up, and I- well, I was only too eager to agree.” Aragorn paused, glancing around the room, and squinting slightly with controlled emotions. “When I heard they’d put you here…Garaer must be a madman or he has forgotten the things that happened to you and I both in this room.”

Legolas’ eyes also followed the room’s walls, leading his sight to the window. The window out of which, Mornaeg had thrown himself. Yes, this room held many bitter memories…no.

No- not many, right? Mornaeg’s death, that was one, and before that, Mornaeg’s attack on Aragorn. So that was two. Only two? Then why, oh why, did this place scare him? Mornaeg was dead- no more than he deserved, seeing he’d taken his own life. And Aragorn was alive and well. Why was he so scared?

Secrets, he thought, now I keep them from myself, it seems.

But he did not say that aloud. Instead, he turned his eyes on Aragorn again. “Garaer seems to think he is doing what is right.”

“And perhaps he is,” Aragorn conceded, sighing. “But he must see that your father needs you-”

“My father.” A thought struck Legolas like a thunderbolt. “Estel, you have seen him, then, have you? Is he well?” He added quietly, “I can think of little else up here.”

Aragorn licked his lower lip, choosing to place his gaze on the wood beneath his feet rather than the young elf before him. “It does not look well, Legolas, I cannot lie. When but a little I saw him, he was barely awake and calling your name. He says you are the only sight he wishes to see, and keeps screaming ‘Meltha’.

Legolas too looked down at the floor. “May he keep calling my name. Perhaps then Garaer will realize he needs me. Ai grâ hz!” he swore, pressing his head hard against the bedpost again. “How will he find the strength to fight Bengwiil without comfort? He keeps seeing my mother’s death over and over…I seem to be the only thing he can see as real, and only here and there. What could Garaer be thinking?”

“I will speak with him, and work with Edren to show him reason.”

Legolas smiled slightly. “Don’t let them kill each other- Edren and Garaer *never* really got on too well.”

Aragorn nodded. “I had that impression.”

“Your minutes are up, Estel.” The elf beside Aragorn began to steer him to the doorway, where the second guard stood with the human’s weapons he’d been made to leave behind.

“Very well,” Aragorn agreed, turning and walking towards the doorway. Legolas opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. What could he do? But he didn’t want Aragorn to leave. Left up here with nothing but thoughts and memories? No one to speak with? Hours on end? He tried to concentrate on being reconciled to the idea. It wouldn’t be as hard as it sounded, surely. But it was strange that Aragorn did not even give him a last look.

The elf led Aragorn to the doorway, letting go of his shoulder for the first time. No sooner was the other’s hand lifted, then Aragorn did an about-face, and ran towards Legolas, not caring to hear the words of the startled elves behind him.

He fell to his knees in front of his friend, grabbing the rope binding the prince’s wrists together in his own hand. “I can get you out of here, mellon-nin. Just ask me to, and I shall.”

Legolas met his friend’s eyes with a look of longing. “I cannot, Aragorn, or else I lose my innocence.”

“But your father-”

“They would instantly put my father under lock and key, should I escape, and then all chance of seeing him will be gone…and I would not endanger you for that.” Leoglas was talking quickly, knowing they had mere seconds.

Sure enough, the hand was on Aragorn’s shoulder again, but it was joined by another this time. They were trying to tug Aragorn away, but the human resisted, his eyes fixing on the prince’s ropes, and then coming to rest on his eyes a second time, the expression both painful and earnest. “I don’t like to see you this way, Legolas…I’m- going to come back soon.”

Legolas smiled. “I know.”

As the two elves hauled Aragorn away from the prince, Legolas felt a spark of hope fire up inside him. Maybe? Just maybe there was a chance? With Aragorn and Edren firmly on his side, surely *something* would work out…

The door slid shut, and the sound of the elves’ brusque words came through the door, followed by unconcerned tones from Aragorn as he collected his weapons.

“Garaer will be furious, Estel, and you could get your visiting privileges revoked. You should be ashamed.”

“Me? Ashamed? In that case, while you are reporting my ‘shameful actions’ to Garaer, ask him this,” Aragorn laughed humorously as he ran off down the stone staircase. “Who tied Prince Legolas to his enemy’s bed? Ask him for me, will you? There’s a lad.”

Legolas couldn’t help grinning at that. Aragorn, Aragorn. No one else was like him, for certain. Legolas found himself fortunate to be in the company of the only such human…about the only thing that seemed fortunate right now, actually.

The young elf eased off his knees into a sitting position, resting the side of his head against the bedpost.

…soon. According to what Garaer had told Edren and Aragorn both, he was only allowing one visitor every three hours.

The prince sighed a quiet, lonesome sigh. “Aye, Aragorn…I shall see you the moment you’ve been gone three hours.”

He closed his eyes, resting his tired body for a few moments before opening them once more. Already he could imagine the sound of Estel’s restless feet outside his door twenty minutes before three hours were up.

Legolas smiled, and decided on resting awhile longer. Just to rest…for a moment…he hadn’t thought he was worn much, even after the battle in the forest, and rescuing Estel…but maybe he was a bit tired after all. Just a bit.

When one of his guards came in an hour later with a mug of tea and an apple, he found his charge lying slumped against the bedpost he was tied to, his eyes half shut, and his breathing steady.

Leaving the food in a place accessible to the prince, the elf stepped quietly out of the room, and shut the door silently.

Chapter 3

Not a Prisoner

*dock dock dock*…*dock dock dock*…*dock dock dock*

Legolas’ eyes opened. His head was resting against a knot of rope. Turning slowly, he found himself face-to-face with his own bonds. Oh yes, he remembered now.

*dock dock dock*…*dock dock dock*

The elf turned his head gradually towards the door behind which the tapping was coming. It was booted feet on a wood floor. Pacing.

*dock dock dock*…*dock dock dock*

“How long?” came a quiet, familiar voice from on the other side of the door.

“Nigh on twenty minutes still. Estel, why don’t you sit down? You shall wear a hole in the floor with your incessant pacing!”

Legolas nearly laughed. Sure enough, Aragorn had shown up early as possible to await his next visit with Legolas.

“You may as well let me in now, Tiris. It has been close enough to three hours, and anyway, Garaer just meant not too much at once. It isn’t the letter of the law, sure enough, but the spirit is in there.”

There was a sigh as Tiris considered. “Very well, Estel, hand your weapons off to- oh…you already did.”

“Well, I had to do *something* while I waited,” came the irritated reply. “Three hours, honestly! Does he really think Legolas will have a better chance of escape if he is only visited every three hours?”

“I know not, Estel, but do you wish to go in now or do you not?”

“Aye, thank you.”

The door creaked open, and Legolas looked up expectantly. Aragorn stepped through, Tiris keeping a careful hand gripped to his shoulder. The human pressed forward as far as he could before Tiris put a hand to his chest, retraining him from further step. Aragorn looked down at the floor. “I was allowed a half of an inch closer last time.”

Tiris sighed and moved forward roughly a half inch. “Hannon le,” Aragorn replied, pushing the hand off his chest, which moved instead to his other shoulder. He sighed but bit back the urge to protest, in light of more important things. Tiris couldn’t possibly be taking this so seriously in good conscience. Did he honestly think Legolas was so prone to escape?

“How are you?” the human asked with a sad smile.

“Mae ea im,” Legolas nodded easily. “So tell me, Estel, what have you done in the almost three hours since we saw each other last?”

“Well,” the other sighed quietly, “Edren and I both have been doing what we can for the king, but unfortunately, your father seems out of his wit, Legolas.”

Legolas nodded and bit his lip. It wasn’t news, and certainly wasn’t *good* news. “But he *is* still alive,” he said with an undercurrent of frustration that he was asking such pertinent questions about his own father…he should know the answers, he should be *down* there with the king!

Aragorn nodded. “He continues to call your name, but Garaer is unsure of why. He has not *asked* to see you, but he keeps ranting about how he *doesn’t* see you. Truth be told, I think Garaer takes it as evidence against you. He seems terrified of seeing you again, I’m afraid.”

Legolas pressed his head against the bedpost. Great. As long as Thranduil was drowned in visions fostered by Bengwiil, how would he *ever* make it back to reality? Legolas *had* to see him. He understood Bengwiil better than anyone…anyone except-

“Estel, only you can help my father now. You alone understand Bengwiil as I have begun to. You must promise to take care of him as well as you can until I am cleared.”

Aragorn was nodding long before Legolas had finished talking. “Of course, Legolas. Anything I can help with.” The request was practically pointless, seeing that Aragorn had done nothing *but* assist the king since Legolas’ arrest. But he took his friend’s command gratefully, knowing it made Legolas feel at least a little useful, giving orders.

“Thank you, mellon-nin.”

It was quiet. Legolas shifted his eyes from Aragorn to the floor, to the window to Aragorn again, and back from Aragorn to the opposite wall. He was suddenly painfully aware of his position. On the floor of Mornaeg’s room, under arrest, with Aragorn visiting him for a few precious moments. Moments that only came once every three hours. He was like a criminal, here. Kneeling on the wood floor, his hands tied around the wooden post of a four-poster bed. In his own home, he, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, was naught but a suspected murderer.

Ashamed, and ashamed of his shame, Legolas turned away from Aragorn, finding company in the back wall of the dark room instead. Go away, he thought desperately, surprised by his own thoughts, but almost proud of them. Know that I care, that I care for you dearly…but *leave* knowing that. Please leave me. Do not stand there and watch me. Here, tied to Mornaeg’s bed. Here, kneeling in my own home. Here under lock and key. Not here, Aragorn, please, oh please go…

He felt the Ranger’s eyes on the back of his head, and they seemed to burn warmth all over the other’s senses. He wasn’t going to leave till he absolutely had to.

Aragorn watched Legolas’ blonde head for a long time. He knew what the elf was feeling, he knew all too well. The situation had been getting harder and harder ever since Aragorn had come back from his Bengwiil-induced sleep. Now Legolas was a prisoner in the halls of his father. What must it be like? Aragorn could only guess.

It didn’t even make sense! Was Garaer such a fool that he thought Legolas’ a traitor? To his own father?! Was Garaer perhaps on the side of someone other than the king? Perhaps his motive was to get Legolas out of the way so attack could be made on Thranduil…but then, why had he not acted yet? Thranduil could scream that he wanted Legolas any moment, couldn’t he? And then all Garaer’s plans wasted.

Aragorn’s mind spun with questions and haphazard answers as he watched Legolas silently. What could he do? *What* could he possibly do? And what of the evidence that Garaer had just found…? He had to tell Legolas.

He turned a clear blue gaze on Tiris. “Please,” he mouthed silently, imploring the elf with eyes more than mouth. For a moment, Tiris only stared at him, beginning to shake his head. But he stopped. His eyes took in Legolas’ prone form, and something seemed to dawn on him. Prince Legolas Greenleaf dawned on him.

“Do you really trust Garaer so implicitly, my friend?” Aragorn whispered.

And without a word, but a heavy sigh, Tiris’ hands slipped from the human’s shoulders.

Legolas continued to press the side of his head hard against the wooden bedpost. His mind was too busy to focus his eyes very well, so swirling patterns were appearing on the wall he was gazing blankly at.

Everything had gone wrong. At least very nearly everything. What if Thranduil died? Legolas would not be there to say goodbye, and what would be the last thought in his father’s mind then? Emotionally, this is what tore Legolas the most to think about.

Practically, what about after that? If Thranduil died, there would be no one left to clear Legolas’ name, and no doubt Garaer would choose to kill or exile Legolas rather than go on the assumption that it was not he, the prince himself, who had caused the king’s death. Besides, if both king and prince were gone, Garaer, as the king’s right hand guard, would be the ruler, like-as-not, though it had of course never come up before. And although Legolas didn’t believe law-abiding Garaer would base his decisions on that motive alone, it was indeed a temptation that would make things all the more difficult.

There was so much hanging in the balance of whether or not Thranduil would survive, and Legolas very much doubted there was hope he would, as long as the prince was kept locked up, out of sight from his Bengwiil-infected father. What would become of Mirkwood if the king died? What if’s, though, were so tiring to think on, and Legolas tried to refocus his eyes on the wall instead.

His neck hurt. He tried to resituate his weight, moving his knee to the side a bit, but he could only move so far sideways with his hands bound, so he reconciled himself to sitting still. Shame burned in his head as he found himself in Mornaeg’s room, tied to a bedpost once more. But Aragorn’s eyes were no longer on him.

The elf was about to turn and look in spite of himself, but at that moment, the flutter of movement caught the corner of his eye, and he found himself looking into clear blue eyes. Aragorn’s hand seemed to glide to the prince’s face, smoothing unbraided blonde hair from his cheeks.

Legolas didn’t move. Somehow, his proud heart did not resent the gentle care, and so he only stared back at the gaze that penetrated him. Say something, Estel. Say something to fix it, to make this change for the better.

When Aragorn spoke, his voice was as soft as his touch, with every ounce of sincerity he could put in it. “Legolas…if ever you cease to be prince, if you cease to laugh, if you never shed another tear, if you do not wake tomorrow…if they take your freedom, your pride or your life, remember. There is something…something they will never find and can never take without your consent.”

Legolas nodded. “You?”

Aragorn smiled. “No,” he whispered, touching the young elf’s chin to raise it higher. “You. You will always be yourself, normalcy or no.” He reached for Legolas’ bound hands, grasping the soft elven cords tightly in his grip. “Bonds can hurt you, but as long as you don’t let them change you…they cannot.”

Legolas stared back in quiet response. The words were comforting, but unnerving. What’s wrong?

Aragorn’s own fingers closed around Legolas’ numb ones which had turned a sickly gray color from lack of circulation. He said nothing more, but held the elf’s hand and let his words sink in.

“Estel, tell me…why are you saying this? It is truth- it is wisdom, but why? Why now?”

Aragorn’s voice was quiet as he moved closer to Legolas, and met his gaze hesitantly. “Legolas, Garaer has conducted a search of your room…Edren was there and…they found something in your room, Legolas. Something that Garaer was very upset about. He says he will be up to talk to you soon, but- according to Edren, it isn’t good. I didn’t have a chance to question him further, he took off to speak with someone, and said it was important, so I didn’t ask who. But…” Aragorn’s eyes dropped to the floor, his warm fingers still probing Legolas’.

“But what?” Legolas’ voice was barely above a whisper. His heart was beginning to pound hard against his ribs.

“Edren said to come up here and tell you…to be ready with good explanation.”

“Explanation for what?” Legolas demanded, almost angrily. “What did they find? What do they think I’ve done now?”

“I know not, my friend, just listen. No matter how they twist your words, as they are bound to do, no matter what they tell you or what evidence they bring against you, speak the truth.”

Legolas’ chest was beginning to ache from the beating of his heart. Aragorn looked worried. Very worried. The young elf bit his lip and nodded. “Of course…I only wish I knew what to expect.”

Aragorn sighed, shaking his head. “As do I…”

“Your minutes are up, Estel,” came the quiet voice of Tiris.

Aragorn turned uncertain eyes on the elf. “Please, Tiris…Garaer will be up here shortly, may I not stay with Legolas until he gets here?”

Tiris grappled with that a moment, then sighed. “Oh, very well, Estel. I doubt Garaer watches the time closely anyway.”

Legolas and Aragorn sat in silence, nervously anticipating Garaer’s arrival. It seemed like forever, though only a few minutes, till the door creaked open, and Garaer and Edren, as well as four other elves, stepped through into Mornaeg’s room.

Legolas lifted his eyes steadily to meet Garaer’s gaze. There was no pity in those dark eyes that stared back at him. No room for doubt. He thought he was looking at a traitor and a murderer. The intensity of the gaze looked through Legolas, trying to find his secrets, and it burned the young elf’s heart to have those feelings pressed by sight into his own emotions. Your fault, Legolas. All your fault. The words were not his own, they did not belong in his thoughts. Garaer’s eyes burned resentment into his emotions. Legolas couldn’t help it. He dropped his eyes to the floor.

“How is my father?” he asked so quietly, it was hard to know the words from his breath.

“He is fading away, your highness.” The title was a mockery of the elf, and Legolas knew it. Maybe he flinched. He couldn’t tell. His hands were no longer the only thing numb. “I think he is dying.” For the first time, an emotion could be detected in Garaer’s voice: Grief.

“Of Bengwiil?” Legolas’ mouth could now produce the word effortlessly now. Funny thing, once upon a time, he would flinch when anyone said it. Not anymore. Now it was just a very annoying word that had caused him a *lot* of trouble.

Somehow, the comment seemed to spark something in Garaer, and he nodded curtly to the two elves over his shoulder. They nodded back, and advanced towards Legolas. Before either of the friends could react, one elf had pressed Legolas down by his shoulders, holding him bent over his knees. The other smoothed the long, blonde hair from the prince’s neck, and swiftly inserted a small dart.

Legolas gasped slightly at the sudden shock followed by immediate numbness that burned and disappeared. Salab dart. His numbing arms shocked with pain as his body was pressed closer to the floor, with his hand still bound to the bedpost, and a sob escaped his lips as he tried to breathe with his knees pressing into his chest. Neither of the elves paid it any heed, and the second one continued to hold the Salab dart in place.

“Hauta han!” Aragorn tried to wrestle the elf’s hand off of the Salab dart, just as the elf inserted it, attempting to pull it from Legolas’ neck. He could hear the pound of Edren’s boots as he rushed to assist in the struggle, but the sound was halted to a scuffle as Edren was unwillingly held back.

“He will not fight you, leave him alone!” Aragorn shouted angrily, and then was pulled back by force from Legolas by an unexpectedly strong grip. He looked up and found Tiris clinging with an iron hand to the Ranger’s shoulder, keeping Aragorn in a kneeling position on the floor, making it hard for him to maneuver out of the hold. He struggled only a little before the two elves stepped away from Legolas.

The prince’s body had gone slack, and his head was resting limply against the bedpost. There was clearly very little feeling left in his body. His eyes were still open, but he didn’t look around much, only tried to keep himself up, panting hard against the numbing dart.

“That was not necessary!” Edren yelled at Garaer, shoving the two surprised elves off of him. “He wasn’t going to escape- how foolish do you think him?!”

Garaer made no response as he and the elf who had used the Salab dart, knelt beside Legolas and untied his hands. Once all the knots were out of the elven rope, the two elves brought the prince’s arms around behind his back, and retied them with the same rope. Legolas barely moved.

“Garaer!” Edren’s voice was getting about as shrill as a voice like Edren’s could. “What do you think you are doing?!”

Garaer motioned the two elves who had held Legolas down towards the prince once more. Wordlessly, the they hoisted the young elf to his knees, though he was too weak to hold himself up. His head lolled back for a fraction of a second, and then fell forward, instantly hiding his features in a blonde curtain.

“Prince Legolas is *not* a prisoner, Garaer, he is still under suspicion!”

Garaer motioned Tiris off of Aragorn, though the human had pretty much dislodged him anyway. He then turned angry eyes, at last, on Edren. “And what of our search of his room, Edren? How will you explain that away? Tell me how!”

The human was all ready scrambling to Legolas’ side once more, and pulled the dart from the back of his neck. As soon as it was cast aside, Aragorn’s thumbs started massaging the prince’s neck and shoulders. “Feel,” he whispered softly, and wished seriously that he had an antidote on hand. “Feel again, Legolas…you’re all right.”

Edren shook his head, eyes full of gray fire. “Are you now only relying on circumstantial evidence? You have no proof-”

“I have all the proof one can *get* in a case such as this. I don’t pretend to know what is happening, but I know that the prince is more than implicated now, and I have every reason to believe he is guilty.”

“Reasons, very well, but what motive has he, Garaer? Perhaps it has slipped your mind that the king is Legolas’ FATHER!”

“I know that, Edren,” Garaer spat the other’s name impatiently. “But do you not recall the night this very human was presumed dead?” He pointed an accusing finger at Aragorn, who continued to focus on Legolas’ instead. “Do you remember what Legolas did, Edren, when our PRINCE did?”

Edren remained still, but his eyes were still talking a thousand words a moment.

“Do you?!”

“Of COURSE, I do, Garaer. I was there. You weren’t even there, so I would know better,” he added quietly, without resentment, but sadness.

“Yes, he went mad,” Garaer answered quickly, his own voice dropping in volume.

“Mad with grief,” Edren corrected imploringly. “You have no idea what he went through.”

Leoglas’ eyes focused on the floor, his whole body still numb, though he could now feel Aragorn’s thumbs pressing vaguely against his neck. He didn’t want to listen to this, to relive those memories. What was Garaer driving at, anyway?

“No, I don’t,” Garaer consented, with surprising grace, “but I know what happened. In a time of need, a time when our king was ill, our prince was locked in his room, giving no aid to his people.”

Legolas was too numb to move, but inside, he flinched.

“What is your point, Garaer?” Edren demanded coldly.

“His emotions drive him, Edren, they have made him irresponsible and unstable in the past. And now, he finds Bengwiil, something he has been overtly against for these past weeks, in his own father’s room, sets it on fire, and just afterwards, I find him poised over the king, with a knife. You tell me why I shouldn’t believe he is guilty!”

Adda set the fire, and I DIDN’T try to kill him! Legolas wanted to scream.

“So you conducted a search of the king’s room?” Edren responded softly.

Garaer seemed to think the answer to that question self-explanatory, because he didn’t respond, but cocked his head to the elves behind him. “Bring him.” And with that, they began to flow out of the room. Aragorn rose to his feet, and offered to help support Legolas, but neither of the elves complied nor did they even respond. So the human followed directly behind them instead.

Once at the foot of the stone staircase leading to Mornaeg’s room, Garaer led the contingent of elves abruptly to the left where the door to Legolas’ room was. The two elves forced Legolas to his knees beside his own bed, as Garaer went seamlessly from the doorway to the bedside table. “Prince Legolas Greenleaf, you have said yourself that you believe the king is dying of Bengwiil?”

“That is true,” Legolas nodded, now that he had barely enough feeling to do so.

“And you have been ardently apposed to the plant, also true?”

“Yes.”

“Then can you explain to me why we found this in your drawer?” Garaer pulled his hand from the depths of Legolas’ bedside table’s drawer, and opened his fingers to reveal… “What is this, Legolas?”

Legolas’ throat went dry. “Bengwiil.”

“That is all?” Aragorn demanded, stepping forward a few paces. “You find Bengwiil in Legolas’ room so you assume he is poisoning the king?”

“No,” Garaer said curtly. “If that was all, I would leave open the possibility that someone is attempting to frame our prince. But…that was not all.” This time, Garaer moved to Legolas’ bed, lifting the mattress and pulling out a piece of paper folded into fourths. Legolas closed his eyes and felt a jolt of pain rush up his body. He realized then that he was genuinely frightened. Scared to stone, it felt. Not that, not now…

Garaer unfolded the paper, and began to read aloud:

Garaer looked up. “Is this not the write of your own hand?”

Legolas couldn’t meet his gaze, fixing his eyes stoically ahead of him instead, trying to breathe slowly. “Yes.”

Garaer reached into his pocket. “And this was wrapped inside it.” He held up a small, silver key. A very familiar key. “Do you recognize it, Legolas?”

Legolas swallowed back his panic to make his voice work, surprised for the first time. “Well- it is the key to my father’s room.”

“And who knows where this key is hidden?”

“My father and I.”

“No one else?”

“No. Just my father and I…but-”

“But what?“

Chapter 4

“You’re killing him!”

Legolas could hear Aragorn’s breath, and it was almost as shallow as his own. What could be said? What would happen? So many questions ached inside him, yet the air continued to torment him with silence. At last, at long last, Garaer spoke.

“What am I to do now?” It was the first time Legolas could remember Garaer sounding worried. “What am I to say? What action am I to take? You tell me, Highness, this is your future hanging in the balance.” His trembling fingers closed around the poisonous herbs, and thrust them aside onto Legolas’ bed stand.

“I could not tell you,” Legolas responded softly. “All I can ask is that you believe that I did not intend to hurt my father, and I did not put the Bengwiil in here. I did not steal the key from its hiding place, I had put a…different key in there, and that letter was not about my father.”

“But it *is* by your hand, Legolas. If not for Thranduil, who *was* it meant for?”

Legolas dropped his eyes to the floor. “I cannot say.”

“Then- then what other key? What key was meant to be in here other than your father’s?”

“I…someone else’s key.” Legolas’ tone was like a question.

“Who’s? Who’s key was in here, Legolas, and why?”

Legolas didn’t answer.

“Then…you leave me no choice.” Garaer paced away from where Legolas knelt, but said nothing more. The prince was quiet as well, waiting for Garaer to speak, every moment of silence hurting like an hour.

His breaking point did not take long surface. Legolas couldn’t take the silence anymore, so he snapped it in half with words he was afraid to speak, but had to hear. “What will you do with me?”

Garare paused. “As you have pointed out, I cannot decide until the king has passed his own judgment. But he is dying, and if he dies…then the choice will be left up to me.”

“Then, I pray you, Garaer…tint my worries and wonderings. What will you do then?” Legolas didn’t want to know, but waiting out his father’s life, all the while wondering about his fate…it was too much. Aragorn had been right when he told Legolas: ‘Fear is of the unknown’. Nothing more true.

Again, Garaer waited a moment before responding. “Offense is punishable by imprisonment. Murder deserves exile. But murder or attempted murder of the king?” Garaer turned, and knelt down so as to be on-level with the prince, his eyes full of mixed emotions. “It means death.” He grabbed Legolas’ shoulder in a firm grip, and shook it slightly. “So tell me the truth, Legolas. Please, give me an explanation for why this Bengwiil was here. Were you trying to dull the pain when you thought your human friend dead?”

Legolas shook his head, facing Garaer’s gaze uneasily. “No, not-”

“What of this letter? Whom was it written for, if not your father? Who, Legolas?”

Legolas’ voice caught in his throat. “Please, Garaer, I cannot-”

“And what of the key? Tell me, Legolas. Tell me why this is here. Tell me what key you *meant* to have in here. Tell me something I can believe, please!”

“Garaer, I tell you the truth!”

“Explain it, Legolas.” Garaer held the silver key up in front of Legolas’ face, shaking both key and elf simultaneously. “Explain *this*!”

“Please!” Legolas shook his head. “I cannot! I do not know!”

“You and your father alone knew where it was, Legolas. Do not play games with yourself, nor me. I *know* it must have been you, do not lie!”

“I do *not* lie!”

“He does not, Garaer!” Edren’s boots thumped behind where Garaer knelt. “You do not have all your facts. I knew where the key was.”

Garaer stood slowly, turning to face Edren. “How?”

Legolas knew exactly how. He had used it to get into his father’s room to speak with him, and Edren had stood just over his shoulder while he’d unlocked the door. Edren could tell Garaer, but surely the elven guard would ask why Legolas had gone to see Thranduil, and then what would Edren answer? The truth?

The truth was, Legolas came to inform his father of Mornaeg’s death, and came out-as Garaer himself knew from seeing the prince-drenched in wine and blood. He’d been skeptical then, what would he think after all this? And yet, Legoals couldn’t hope that Edren would lie for him. Oh hang it then, Edren, just tell him. I won’t have you working with shadows for me.

“I found it.”

Edren no, Legolas mouthed the words as loudly as he could, but Edren was not looking at him, though the prince had a feeling his friend knew what he’d been trying to say.

“How?” Garaer repeated, looking doubtful.

“Well, that is my business, but I can show you the hiding place to prove it, if you really want proof.”

The elven guard considered that a moment. “I suppose if the king’s life is already in peril, we need a new hiding place for his key anyway…very well, Edren.” He turned to the elves on either side of Legolas. “Keep the prince here until I return.” He motioned to a few of the elves over his shoulder. “Come with me.” Turning to Edren he shook his head with a sigh. “Well, lead on, Edren.”

Edren nodded, and without looking at Legolas, left the room, the others in-toe.

Aragorn pushed the elf who was still trying to hold him in place away. Upon Garaer’s harsh interrogation of Legolas, the human had automatically rushed forward, but as per Garaer’s instructions, the first elf to see the movement immediately pounced on him, holding him in place by his shoulders.

But Aragorn had had enough, and after shedding the elf, he went to Legolas kneeling down in front of him. Apparently, the elves had had enough as well, or were too caught up in the mystery to care much.

“What can I do?” he asked quietly. “There must be something-”

“Aragorn.” Legolas caught his friend’s eyes and held them tight in his own. “Edren cannot be blamed for this, I can’t let him. Please, go with him, help him if you can?”

Aragorn nodded simply. “I will be right back,” he promised, and rising off his knees, ran out the door.

**********

It did not take Aragorn long to run the length of the hall, up the stairs, and down the next hall to the foot of its lines of doors. Thranduil’s room was the last of these doors, the one at the very end. Edren, Garaer and three other elves were standing just out front.

A dull *crack* echoed across the hall as Edren kicked in the small, rectangular piece that covered the key’s hiding place. Garaer knelt down in front of the opening the piece of wood had left, and stood with a silver key in his hand.

“But- there is a key here!” he exclaimed in confusion.

“Aye, but not the correct one. Fit to the lock, if you wish, it will not work.”

Garaer did so. And like Edren had said, it didn’t work. “Then- what *does* it go to?”

Edren sighed sadly, looking for the first time unsure of how to proceed. “Legolas’ room,” he said at last. “And if that is not enough proof to save him, I don’t know what is.”

Garaer shook his head. “Save him? I don’t see how *this* relieves him of all incrimination.”

“What fool would put his own room’s key in the place of a stolen one? Legolas is not so simple-minded.”

“Unless he knew that this is the conclusion we would draw, and therefore left evidence against him to make it clear he was innocent!” Garaer shot back. “Edren, I just don’t understand. If you know something about how this key came to be here, tell me!”

“I put it there!” Edren’s voice rose to impatience, a strange tone in his voice. “So there is some more circumstantial evidence for you.” Edren pressed his wrists together and held them out to Garaer. “Arrest me then. You based enough of this sort of evidence on his arrest, and *he* is your prince. Arresting me should be easy.”

Garaer shook his head. “Legolas was found poised over his father with a knife, Edren. It is different.”

“And yet here I am with a confession deserving great suspicion and you *hesitate*?”

“You are merely trying to make a point, and thank you, you’ve made it!” Garaer shouted. “But until I have something solid, some word I can trust, I have *nothing* to go on and Legolas will *remain* under lock and key! And yes, Edren, so will you.” Garaer pulled a length of rope from his belt and twisted it expertly around Edren’s wrists securing them together seamlessly. Edren didn’t blink.

“Edren no, no wait-” Aragorn ran to the elf’s side, and tried to distract the gray gaze towards his own. “Edren? Edren listen to me, think of Legolas. You can help him, don’t do this! You will only get yourself in trouble and-”

“And secure him a chance to be freed,” Edren interrupted quietly, finally turning to meet the deep, blue gaze that fixed on him. “Do not fear, Estel. If I must do this for Legolas, then I shall.”

“Do *what*? Take blame for something you did not do?” Aragorn shook his head and grabbed Edren by the shoulder. “To lie?”

“I am not lying, Estel. I did switch Thranduil’s with the one in Legolas’ room. This is true.”

Aragorn shook his head. “No it can’t be true. It can’t unless you had a very good reason.”

“I did...or I thought I did.”

“Then tell it to Garaer! Please, Edren, you must see how important this is.”

Edren smiled sadly, and held his bound wrists towards Aragorn who winced slightly at them. “This is my fate and I take it gladly for my prince and friend. And Estel…” He paused a moment, gripping Aragorn’s eyes with his own. “Legolas is not the only one I am protecting.”

Aragorn grabbed the elven rope binding Edren in a trembling hand. “Edren, I do not understand.”

The friend nodded. “I know you don’t.” And Garaer led him down the hall once more, leaving Aragorn standing alone by Thranduil’s door.

**********

“Down,” Garaer’s tone was cold and impatient as he pressed Edren to his knees, facing Legolas. “I want all the truth the two of you can give me. Right here, right now.”

Legolas swallowed hard, watching Edren. Oh, why did the ones he cared about have to suffer for such things? He knew as well as Garaer must that Edren was innocent! “I have told you all I know, Garaer.”

“You have *not* explained this.” Garaer shook the note written in Legolas’ handwriting. “Tell me, Leoglas, why you wrote it and I swear I will believe you. But you have told me nothing.”

Legolas swallowed hard. He couldn’t do it, he could *not*! But there was no alternative, was there? He looked around, his throat cold. Aragorn was not there…perhaps…he looked across from him where Edren knelt. He didn’t want his friends to know. He didn’t want to see Garaer’s reaction, afraid it may be pity. He wanted to shrink away, but it could be that his and Edren’s, Thranduil’s, and perhaps even Estel’s lives depended on the truth.

He licked dry lips with a dry tongue. “All right…”

**********

“I swear, Tirniel, you open this door or I shall break it down myself!” Aragorn did his best to stay beside the door of Thranduil’s room, but the two elves that had been left by Garaer to guard the king’s bedroom were stronger than the human they were trying to restrain.

Tirniel’s theatrical sigh echoed from the other side of the oak door. “Estel, I have strict orders not to-”

“Orders? Orders from who? Garaer?” Aragorn laughed humorlessly, and did his best to pull the strong hands off his shoulders, his voice straining with the struggle. “Tirniel, is that what Harain said? Did Harain-” There was a quick scuffle, and finally, Aragorn anchored his feet to the wood floor, and latched a strong hand onto the doorpost.

“Did Harain take orders from Garaer despite his better judgment? No, what happened to him, Tirniel? Did *he* conform to Garaer’s orders?”

Silence. Aragorn froze, hoping desperately that he was, in fact, getting through to the Healer. From what he’d seen of Tirniel, it wasn’t likely. But he *did* have to try.

“Did he?”

“No.” Tirniel’s voice was so quiet, the human ears straining a few inches away could barely hear him.

“Tirniel, please. There is so much at stake here, so much you nor I know about. Harain was banished from the Halls of Thranduil for what purpose? Apposing the king for the sake of Legolas. Do you believe that apposition was in vain, Tirniel, do you?”

The door unlocked, and slid open. Tirniel’s eyes were dull with confusion, and physical as well as emotional fatigue. And yet there was a dare to hope shining somewhere deeper than visual confirmation. “Let him go,” he ordered the two guards trying to back up with Aragorn.

The first let go immediately, but the second stared hard at Tirniel. “Garaer says-”

“Garaer is not your king, Ruim,” Tirniel responded quietly, with an air of surrender.

“Neither are you,” Ruim shot back defiantly. Tirniel shook his head and seemed at a loss for a response.

Aragorn set a hand on Ruim’s which still rested on the human’s shoulder, and stared smartly back at the elf. “That’s the beauty of the elves, Ruim. Unlike some other creatures that live deep in Mirkwood…the firstborn have always been capable of making their own conscious decisions. This is the part where you choose, Ruim.” Aragorn shrugged. “I can’t decide for you, and no one can.”

Ruim swallowed. His hand slid away from Aragorn’s shoulder.

“Hannon le,” Aragorn nodded gratefully, and stepped into Thranduil’s room. Tirniel closed the door behind him.

**********

The room had fallen so, so quiet. A minute ago, Legolas would have thanked the stars for a bit of quiet, but this silence was so deafening, he was desperate for someone to slice it away with a voice…but still no one spoke.

The wood floor was getting boring to watch, and yet Legolas couldn’t seem to make himself look up. He could feel Edren’s eyes on him, and the pity he had so feared was burning into him, and breaking through to his emotions.

Don‘t let it overtake you again, that horrible grief…it’s just a memory! he begged himself. Oh yes, it was a memory all right. One of the worst in his whole life, as a matter of fact.

At last, someone spoke. Long, long last. It was Garaer. “Legolas I...Forgive me. I believe you, I do.”

Legolas wasn’t sure whether to feel worse or better. Finally, the full truth broke through, and he found himself further in relief than worry. Garaer believed him. He finally believed him.

Garaer cleared his throat. “Well, then the note is not to be held against you, Legolas. You are cleared of that, as well as the key which Edren has admitted to. An admission we will investigate shortly. But yes…yes the note you are cleared of.” The elf seemed still in shock from Legolas’ story, which only made the prince more uncomfortable.

Tired of watching the older elf stumble through this new revelation, Legolas accidentally landed his eyes on Edren. He thought his heart would rip in two. The deep gray eyes did not blink, but only fixed on Legolas’ face unbelievingly. The eyes were screaming, it seemed. Crying why? Why…didn’t you know I cared? Legolas, didn’t you know that? And what if you had not stopped? What if…what if you had…oh Valar.

Legolas met the gaze tremblingly. I’m sorry. He shook his head slowly. Edren, I’m sorry.

Edren turned away, and he may as well slapped Legolas in the face. The prince felt a bolt of guilt wrack his emotions and he desperately wanted to say something…but his mouth would not open, and a tear slipped down his face instead.

“…of that much, but you have yet to explain what you were doing with the a knife pressed to the king, after setting fire in his room, and exiting the Precaution.”

Oh, so Garaer had been talking. Legolas hadn’t noticed, and frankly, didn’t care anymore. So what if Garaer had finally put his mind around the truth? So what if he finally believed Legolas? Edren was broken and would say nothing, Legolas was hurting worse than ever and could not respond to Edren’s silence. It seemed as though the truth hadn’t changed a thing.

“Legolas?”

The prince looked up reluctantly.

“Please, unless the king himself awakes to tell us how he remembers it, or shows any sign of trusting you still, we cannot free you without your own account of the attack on your father.”

“I did not attack him!” Legolas felt angry suddenly, tired of dealing with the circumstantial evidence against him, and positively furious with Garaer for forcing him to admit to such a thing in front of Edren. If Garaer had *any* idea of how much damage he just may have caused, perhaps he would not still be pushing Legolas for answers.

“I did not mean to hurt him, I was trying to help him. Just let me talk to him! Let me prove it to you, I cannot clear myself if you will not trust me when I say what I do!”

“The king will call you to his presence when he desires and audience with you,” Garaer’s voice was horizontal once more, and free of all the emotions that had been there moments before.

“Father will *not* request my presence! He is dying, don’t you understand?! He doesn’t even know what he’s thinking, he *needs* me, Garaer!” Legolas’ voice cracked with emotion. “He’ll die if he does not know comfort, and I am the *only* thing he has found *any* comfort in! He despairs Naneth’s passing, he needs his son!”

“I will not allow you an audience with Thranduil-”

“You’re killing him!” Legolas interrupted desperately.

“-until he *requests* it!” Garaer roared back.

The door slammed open, and to Legolas’ surprise and immeasurable relief, there stood Aragorn. The human smiled pleasantly at Garaer.

“His majesty, King Thranduil, requests that his son, Legolas Greenleaf, be brought to him immediately.”

Chapter 5

Adda

Legolas was marched quickly to the end of the hall, towards Thranduil’s room. “Thank you, mellon nin, thank you,” Legolas whispered softly to Aragorn who strode carefully beside him. “However did you do it?”

“I said, ‘Majesty, who is it that you seek?’ and he said ‘My son, I cannot see my Greenleaf.’ He said other as well, but I couldn’t decipher it. Tirniel says that your father had been speaking that way for awhile, but no one directly asked him if he wanted you. The king never officially said he wanted you, so, Garaer ignored it.” Aragorn shook his head and snorted, disgusted on his friend’s behalf.

To Legolas’ surprised, he wasn’t furious with Garaer as he’d expected to be, but rather proud of Aragorn, a feeling that covered up all malice. You are good, Estel. He smiled.

Before Garaer had a chance to open the door, it swung back, and Tirniel stepped out. “As a Healer, Garaer, I ask that you remove Legolas’ ropes in order to not frighten his father, who is indeed in critical state as it is.”

“Explain,” Garaer murmured warily, glancing sidelong at Legolas.

“The king is traumatic, he is wavering between sanity and madness, and I fear the affect that the sight of his son bound may have on him.” Tirniel nodded understandingly. “I know he is under suspicion, and you are welcome to enter with him if you wish, but I must insist on this matter. Untie him.”

Garaer stood still a few moments, and then reluctantly, turned to undo the knots surrounding Legolas’ wrists. The prince nodded appreciatively at Tirniel, who returned the gesture, and then stood back for Legolas, Aragorn and Garaer to enter.

Legolas looked over his shoulder at that moment. “Edren-”

“He must stay outside, he has not been summoned.” Garaer’s response sounded rehearsed. It probably was.

“I’ll be all right, Legolas,” Edren said quietly, but the prince could tell it was killing him to stand still. Thranduil was every bit as much Edren’s father as he was Legolas’, in some ways.

But Legolas could only bite his lip and nod, walking into the dark room ahead of Garaer and Aragorn.

The minute the door closed behind them, Legolas darted to the great bed standing at the center of the dim bedroom. “Father?” he whispered quickly, falling to his knees beside the king’s bed, and reaching in the dark for his father’s hand. “Father, it is Legolas.”

The king’s breath rasped softly into the empty air. “L-Legolas? Is it…is it you? I think I see you…I thought…maybe…” His silver-gray eyes were pale and roved unseeingly around the room. It tore Legolas’ heart to watch those frightened eyes try and rest somewhere familiar. He knew what it was like to see nothing and feel nothing but the cold of your own fear.

Bengwiil. An evil thing indeed. He squeezed his father’s hand tighter. “I am here. I promise, I’m here to stay with you. I am…so sorry that I left.”

At last, Thranduil’s blank gaze rested and then focused on Legolas’ face. He smiled. A true, relieved smile. “Legolas. Oh, thank…I’m glad you…it’s so cold, you know?”

Legolas swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded numbly. “Yes, it’s cold. It’s very cold…”

“I wish…I wish that you had not made it into the Precaution. Wish you hadn’t seen the Bengwiil I was growing…I wish I hadn’t hurt you, I know I did. I wish…well, I want to make it up to you.”

Aragorn felt Garaer tense beside him at the admission, and the human felt a spark of righteous satisfaction. It was about time Garaer got at least most of the whole truth.

“I want- I want to make it all right for you, Legolas, and-”

Legolas shook his head fervently. “No, no it’s all right. You don’t need to make a thing up to me.”

“No, I’ll…I’ll tell Meltha to come see you, yes? Won’t it be nice…the three of us together again. Wouldn’t that be something grand, Legolas?”

“Father, Naneth is go…” His throat closed. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring the truth that far forward. Not now, not with his father like this, never. He nodded. “Yes, Father. Yes, that would be very grand.”

Thranduil smiled happily, like a child who’s been congratulated on some small matter- ‘small’ being so big in the childish world of ignorance. “Good, then.” He patted Legolas’ hand and nodded. “Good, we’ll do it then. But…maybe later. I’m a bit tired now, you know? Maybe I should sleep.”

“Yes, yes rest.” Legolas squeezed the king’s hand and nodded quickly, trying to swallow back the painful lump still.

“No…no not rest, Legolas. Sleep.” Thranduil’s eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, he seemed to truly understand what he was saying. “Eternal sleep. It will be quite a quick journey to Mandos, I think. I’ll rest when I get there.” He smiled sadly.

Legolas froze. He was shaking his head, but couldn’t feel it. “No…no, Father, you can’t die. Bengwiil is only a real lie. Estel didn’t die from it, and neither shall you, I c’n-” his throat cut him off again, but he swallowed it painfully back. “I can save you,” he whispered.

Thranduil shook his head in response. “No, Legolas. No you can’t. I…want to go. I keep seeing her, staring down at me, her eyes so blank. I don’t want to see Meltha anymore. I hate her for haunting me.” His jaw seemed to be trembling with the effort of not crying. “I *hate* her. I hate her…”

“Father, you do not.” The prince leaned close to his father, eyes wide in the dark. “You do not hate her, and she does not haunt you.”

“She stares blankly, and offers me no comfort. She wishes I were better, and is ashamed of what I’ve done…she…she hates me, and so do I her!”

“It is Bengwiil, Father!” Legolas’ emotions were slipping out of control. Tears were rolling quickly down his cheeks, as he pulled his father’s trembling hand against them. The king’s knuckles were cold against his son’s tear-sticky cheek. Legolas was unsure what he could do but wait and hope for truth to break through to Thranduil.

But there was no sign of acceptance in the king’s weary face as he shook his head again. “No. I have to go now, Legolas, and I do it gladly, so do not wake me. Do not use that accursed plant again…I don’t want Bengwiil to keep me alive. I go freely. Willingly you may say. But you know?” And now the king pushed himself up off the pillows as far as he could to see Legolas better. “I will always regret not being the father to you that the Lord Elrond was to Estel.” His throat chocked with emotion, and he sank down again.

Legolas shut his eyes, closed his mouth, and shook his head. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry I did not love you as I should have. I…should have been here. Valar, where was I when you’re heart ached so?” Legolas opened his eyes slowly, eyes sparkling with tears.

Over his shoulder, the king’s words sank into another heart very deep. Aragorn did not turn to hide his tears as they fell silent down his cheeks. Oh, Legolas…I’m sorry.

“Legolas?” Thranduil’s voice was becoming more and more faint. “Everyone wishes a last word or two to the one he loves…I just wanted to tell you, I…”

Legolas’ eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to be steady as he leaned forward to listen closer. “I’m here, Father.”

Thranduil pulled his hand from Legolas’ cheek, and closed his shaking fingers around the elf’s palm. Pulling it close to him, he kissed his son’s hand gently, and then looked up. “I love you, my son.” He smiled. “I love you…all right?”

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, and then clenched it shut to cry. He shook his head over and over, trying to grip himself. “I love you too, Father.” It was a whisper. “I…I always really…”

The hand that closed on Legolas’ hand loosened. Fell away. A sigh of breath did not echo, but fell and landed empty on the air from the king’s slackened mouth.

“Father?” Legolas whispered, a tear slipping from his flushed cheek to tap Thranduil on the shoulder. The king did not respond. His eyes were half closed, unfocussed, but blank. With no sign of life or dream. Gone. Faded. Even now he ceased to glow faintly. Darkened. Dead.

“Father? No…ADDA!” Legolas was screaming. “Adda- Umi us-eriol, meleth le im…baura le im…Adda.”

//do not leave me alone, I love you…I need you…Father.//

Legolas lay his head down numbly, resting tear streaked cheeks in the king’s tunic. “Adda…meleth le im…” His voice shook, and his throat hurt from trying to sob so hard after holding back the erg for so long.

“The king is dead.” Garaer’s tone was faded of all emotion. “Shall I inform those outside the door?”

“But- he is *not* dead,” Tirniel shook his head, eyes snapping quickly to Legolas. “As Legolas said, Estel was not killed by this plant, so neither shall the-”

“My father’s last request was for Bengwiil not to be used on him to keep him alive! Were you not listening?!” Legolas’ voice shook all over, and his tone wavered in and out. “He’s GONE! By his own volition, he’s leav- he’s leaving me alone, like Naneth! He’s LEAVING ME!“ Breath gushed from his mouth in a painful gasp as he laid his head on Thranduil’s still chest.

“Legolas,” Aragorn pleaded, running from the shadows to lean over his friend, pressing one hand on his shoulder. “Legolas, please- it’s not over yet. We can still help him, we can-”

“We can what?!” Legolas demanded. “His last words-”

“I know that, but- even to save his life?”

“Even!” Legolas cried, and then his voice broke into a whisper, as though he’d used up too much energy to yell. “I can’t do it, Estel…” he squeezes his father’s hand, and sobbed softly, closing his eyes. “I’m trying so hard to find him, to get his permission to bring him back…he isn’t letting me in anymore.” Legolas shuddered, and turned his face away from Aragorn, to bury it in Thranduil’s tunic. “Where was I…where was I when you started dying, Adda? Where…?”

“You were with me.” Aragorn’s hand fell limply away from Legolas’ shoulder. “You were saving me instead, Legolas…”

Tirniel turned away quickly, emotion and realization taking a firm hold of him finally. “W- we…we shall at least inform the closest friends of the king and prince. I believe Edren and Thernad have a right to know as soon as possible. Come, Garaer…we shall leave our prince in peace.”

The Healer left.

Garaer followed to the doorway, then paused, turning to face Legolas’ trembling shadow. “Your highness…I was wrong. Very, very wrong. I pray someday, you can forgive me…Edren will be set free at once. I…I’m sor-” He shook his head, and stepped quickly out the room, before Legolas could look up and see that he was crying.

The door shut quickly and all was still.

Legolas rested his head against his father’s chest, heaving and hiccupping with tears. He wished he could stop, but he was afraid if he did, he would know what to do with himself. Everything became a blur. Maybe an hour passed- maybe two. Maybe just a second.

His chest was sick of crying, and his eyes tired of shedding tears. He was exhausted.

And alone. Legolas suddenly felt a new emotion burn inside of him; anger.

Thranduil had gone to be with Naneth, and left Legolas all alone!

“L-Legolas…?”

The prince started at the voice, and looked around.

In the shadows, a small figure sat hunched against the wall, trembling all over. Legolas was surprised to find hope smiling into him for the briefest moment as a comforting thought nuzzled him. He wasn’t alone. “Estel.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” the young man whispered, his head bracing against the wall and messing up his already messy hair.

“It’s not your fault, mellon nin.” Legolas tried to sound encouraging, through his shaky breath, and found that it made him feel just a bit better to have someone to comfort. He didn’t want to be comforted himself. “It’s-” He swallowed hard, and crawled across the floor to where Aragorn sat. “It- it’s Bengwiil, and neither of us can stop it.”

“N-no…no, I’m sorry I took you away from him. I’m s-sorry we went to Rivendell.” His voice began to weaken with barely controlled tears. “I showed you my family, and I- I took you away from your father with my father, and…and now h-he’s gone, and you- you didn’t know him as well as you wanted to.” The voice faltered and then faded to quiet rasping sobs.

Legolas found his tears driven away by confusion as he stood up from the bed, and came to kneel beside Aragorn. “What do you mean, Estel? What’s wrong?”

“H-he apologized for not being as g-good a father as my father, and he-e said that you…I…I’m sorry that I took you away from him, and that- that when he was dying, that I was dying. Maybe- maybe you could have saved him, and- you’d be better off if you- d-didn’t…didn’t know me…”

“Shh…” Legolas squeezed Aragorn’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don‘t say things like that, Aragorn, it’s all right. I love your father greatly, and I love you. But I promise I- have always loved my father. Perhaps not as much as I should have, as his son and as his prince, but that was my fault, not yours. And it had been that way long before I ever met you or truly knew Lord Elrond.” He smiled, shocked that he could. It felt good to admit all of this.

“But I…he said- you said that you…I…sorry…” Aragorn’s head shook from side to side fitfully as he tried to focus on what he was saying. He couldn’t seem to grasp a thing.

“Aragorn?” Legolas shook his friend’s shoulder. “Aragorn, what’s wrong?” His hand slid to the young man’s forehead, and then shot back instinctively. The Ranger’s head was cold with sweat. He was sick. No…not a fever. The word slipped coldly from Legolas’ lips: “Bengwiil.”

Aragorn’s eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed with confusion as he seemed to watch pictures fly through on the inside of his eyelids.

“Oh, Estel, how could I be such a fool?! You need healing, mellon nin, you are still infected with Bengwiil!” Legolas pulled his friend against the elf’s chest, and let Aragorn pant madly into his shirt sleeve. “How could I forget that? How?” The prince’s mind began to work furiously. Some voice in the back of his mind demanded why he was able to worry about something like this after his own father’s death. I lost Father. If I lose Aragorn?…I may as well send myself to Mandos right now.

He gripped the sweating human’s shoulders tightly, and thought hard. “Hold on, Estel. Hold on…”

More Bengwiil? Well, it worked before. But somewhere Legolas trembled all over at the very thought of poisoning his friend again. What if with too much poison in him, there’d be no getting it out again? What if he made matters only worse? He had to get to Rivendell. That was it! But…Aragorn didn’t have enough time as it was.

It seemed the only answer was to poison the human once more, and then ride hard to Rivendell…and hope not to be caught by the barricades of orcs that perimetered Mirkwood currently.

As if answering his thoughts, Aragorn’s voice shook quietly from somewhere beneath Legolas’ chin. “Don’t save me with it, Legolas…your father, my father, they were right. It is poison- *you* were right, I should not have ever used it…even though Mornaeg attacked me, I shouldn’t…please, I’m sorry for using it.”

“Sh, it’s all right, it’s not your-”

“Don’t use it, Legolas.” The human’s voice was firm. “Please don’t use it again, I hate it, I never want to see it…Bengwiil…ple-ease don’t…” He coughed, and shuddered into panting hoarsely again.

Legolas’ throat closed as the walls seemed to close around him. His options were dwindling. Well, Aragorn didn’t know what he was saying!

“Please…please, Legolas…I would really, honestly, rather die…I w-would…”

“I…” Legolas’ eyes closed tightly and he hugged his friend close. “I won’t, Aragorn. You have my word.”

Legolas’ sense reached out as far as they could reach. Something. Anything. Show me, oh please help me!

A door. A door opening slowly. Was he imagining it? And yet he could almost hear it…three images. Three beings, all glowing with the light of the firstborn. And one looked up, and smiled sadly. “Legolas.”

The prince’s eyes snapped open. “Estel, I’ll be right back. Hold on, all right?” The human did not respond as Legolas sat him gently against the wall again and stood up.

He was opening the door when, “Legolas- please don’t go? Don’t go, it’s so dark…dark here…” Aragorn’s eyes were half-open as he watched his friend walk out the door.

“Hold on, Aragorn. Hold on.” And the door closed.

**********

Legolas came into the hall to find a cheerless scene. Garaer, as well as his four guardsman were standing together by the wall, some staring blankly at the floor, and some whispering Elvish, eyes closed. Tirniel appeared to be missing.

Only one elf stood out from the rest, and this was the hardest sight of all for Legolas to gaze at. Edren was no longer bound, but looked every bit as vulnerable. He knelt on the floor, his palms pressed to the sides of his head as he rocked back and forth, eyes opened yet unfocussed.

“Edren?” Legolas barely dared to speak, afraid of looking into his friend’s eyes.

The other elf looked up quickly, and upon seeing Legolas, looked away. “I’m so, so sorry my friend, I’m so sorry that-” Edren cut off, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he swung his gaze back to Legolas’ face in a double-take. Had he seen what he thought he saw? Sure enough, the moment Edren resumed eye contact, he spotted the excitement in Legolas’ eyes, only slightly dampened by the shock at seeing Edren on the floor.

“Legolas? What- what is wrong with you?” It was all he could think of to say, and to that, Legolas very nearly smiled.

“There’s hope, Edren, I can feel it…there’s still hope. Here, I’ll be right back.” And to the astonishment of all the elves’ assembled there, the prince stepped carefully past Edren, and took off down the hall once more.

**********

Legolas’ feet pounded loudly against the wood floor again and again. Never, it seemed, had he felt so heavy and slow. Hurry up! Hurry up! If there was an easy way to silence that annoying voice in his head without stopping his descent down the first flight of stairs, Legolas would have done it in a heartbeat. But unfortunately, he had to keep going, keep running, keep holding on to that precious thought of hope that seemed to be growing stronger every step. And the result was having to listen to the nagging screaming that drove his heart to panic. Hurry up! Hurry up!

He seemed to half tumble down the stone staircase leading to the empty room that lay like a crossroad between the stairs, two hallways, and the Great Hall. At long last, his slid onto the step fourth from the bottom, and without a second thought, he leapt over the last of the stairs, and stood still.

It was so quiet. Too quiet. Had he heard wrong? Was he holding to false hope? No, he couldn’t believe that, he’d felt- he’d been sure…Legolas’ heart seemed to stop beating.

No. Hope was waiting somewhere, he was sure. He would not give up. He would *not* give up! “Hello?” he called on an impulse. “Who is there?” Silence ensued once more, deafening the prince with its emptiness. “I know someone must be there, if only it be Ilúvatar himself! I know, someone must be there! Hello?”

Still no answer. His ears strained in the still, but were met by cold, dead air. Nothing. No one. Just a false hope. A fool’s hope.

Legolas stood for so many heartbeats, trying to think of what he would do now. Go upstairs? Give his father and his friend Bengwiil against their wishes?

How could he move against a plea such as this? How could he do anything? How was he even going to make it up those stone staircases again without giving up? How could he face Edren…

And yet he backed slowly, step by step, stone by stone, up the stairs. He was already half way, he realized numbly. Already too close. Too soon. Why did Ilúvatar trick him with such false hope? Why would he torture Legolas so?

*click*

Legolas froze. The door…the door on the other side of the Great Hall had opened, and now footsteps were echoing across the hall itself. *tih tih tih tih* boots scuffing over the stone floor. Quickly. Very quickly. Just one set of boots. One person.

A figure appeared in the doorway of the Great Hall. A scarlet robe hung from his shoulders, but was cockeyed, as though he hadn’t fixed it since dismounting from a like-as-not completely worn-out horse.

He looked up, and smiled sadly. Panting slightly, he whispered, “Legolas.”

The prince’s heart seemed to have stopped beating, and he had no idea what emotion the look on his face took the form of, nor did he care about anything less. His knees nearly gave out as he began to step back down the stairs.

“Lord Elrond.”

Chapter 6

Not a Choice

Legolas was running. He nearly tripped the rest of the way down the staircase as his feet flew from one step to the next. At last his boots hit the floor once more, and he made a mad dash for the elf standing in the Great Hall’s doorway.

Before he knew what he was doing, the prince had thrown his arms around Elrond’s shoulders, and pressed his forehead tightly against the elf’s crooked cloak. “It is so good to see you,” he gasped, trying to convey his nearly staggering relief at having hope once more.

“I’m sorry I could not have come on better circumstances,” the elven lord replied quietly, gripping Legolas’ shoulders as the prince stepped back from his embrace. “It is good to see you too, Legolas.” His smile was still saddened as he looked the other up and down. “I know you must be hurting greatly, and I am sorry to bring grief to your door so efficiently, but I must ask…may I-” He swallowed hard, and looked away from Legolas’ stunned face. “May I see him?”

The younger elf didn’t reply at first. Elrond’s grief seemed to shatter all hope that had been in him. “Then…there is no hope for him?” Legolas could barely make the words out in his own head. Elrond’s foresight has all ready seen Estel, and all ready surmised that there was no hope for him…

No, Estel could *not* be lost! It wasn’t fair, he was still breathing, surely there was a way to get all that Bengwiil out of his blood…

Elrond shook his head slowly. “Bengwiil is an artificial strength that becomes poison. And poison kills, Legolas. Once it finally kills, there is no bringing that person back to life, especially when he is…when…” A lump grew in Legolas’ throat as the Lord of Rivendell looked away again. His eyes closed tightly as he tried to control his emotions. “When he is human,” he finished, though his voice was barely above a whisper.

Legolas couldn’t believe his ears. Elrond was here to help, was he not? Had Estel never given to his adoptive father the hope he’d left in Legolas? Where was the lord’s confidence? Surely there was still a way…Legolas stepped back from Elrond quickly, trying to grasp himself. “Then…then what? Will they both die for no reason? Is there really no alternative, there *has* to be, my lord!”

Elrond’s eyes glided open in surprise as he stared fixedly at Legolas. “Both? Has another life other than Estel’s been taken by this poison? Are there two bodies that lie cold in death this night, Legolas?” The older elf’s eyes were narrow with confusion and worry.

Legolas’ mouth hung half open. “I…” He stood blankly still, landing Elrond with a look of utter confusion. Then, with a blast of realization -realization that had been erased momentarily in relief- his father’s voice resounded in his memory.

“Lord Elrond? Did you…receive word from Mirkwood recently?”

The older elf nodded slowly. “Yes. Well, your father sent a messenger, and he was waylaid by the orcs roaming about in these woods. He escaped, and made it half-alive to Rivendell but a few days ago.” His eyes focused on nothing as he spoke next, his fist clenching and unclenching at the neck of his robes absently. “The moment we got word of Estel…well, we rode hard for these Halls.”

A few days? Had it really only been a few days…? Legolas couldn’t seem to believe that.

Elrond looked up yet again, focusing only halfheartedly on Legolas’ eyes. “Please, Legolas, I know it is hard for you as it is for me, but I just want to see him again. I know it is not pleasant, seeing the dead, but…understand that I must. Please.”

“Elron-” Legolas’ voice chocked somewhere in the back of his throat in surprise. He blinked several times, excitement taking place within him again. And then, to Elrond increasing surprise, the prince nearly laughed. “Oh, Valar, Lord Elrond! I- curse us, we should have sent word…well-” He couldn’t think what to say. Estel is really alive! or It‘s not as you thought, or You shall never guess…

But none of these ideas as they flashed through his head sounded right. Instead, he decided on, “Follow me upstairs, my lord, I shall show…” but he didn’t finish. The Lord of Rivendell’s eyes were wide and disbelieving. They stared up. Past Legolas.

The prince turned, and quickly realized why. Panting, bracing himself against the railing, pale and trembling, Aragorn stood at the top of the stairs. The human seemed not to focus on much, but glanced around wildly for something familiar. He looked lost.

Elrond took a step forward, and Legolas a step to the side to allow space for the father and son. Elrond’s hand had stopped clenching at his robe, and hung limply at his side instead. His eyes were even wider, his mouth slightly ajar. As Legolas watched, the elven lord’s wide eyes began to sparkle with tears. “Estel.”

Aragorn’s eyes shifted downwards to where Elrond now stood at the foot of the stairs. For the first time, his eyes seemed to focus, and he appeared not as pale. For a second, he looked more like a boy, less like a man.

Aragorn’s age fell away from him, and he grinned, and let go of the banister, running down the stairs as best he could, his booted feet thudding sharply. “Adda!” he cried, “Adda!”

Elrond too broke into a still-stunned run, moving swiftly up towards the young man running to him. Aragorn made it halfway down the stairs before his physical strength failed him, and his knees gave way beneath him. But it didn’t matter. Elrond was already there, and caught his son in an embrace.

Elrond sat down on the stairs, and pulled Aragorn tightly against his chest, running trembling fingers through the young man’s sweat-stringy hair. “Estel, fion nin…Oh, I was sure- so sure you were dead. I couldn’t bare it, I didn’t know- what could I have done without…oh, Estel…how did I not know you lived? I can feel you so clearly now.”

“Adda,” was all Aragorn could respond. In his dark world, the place where poison were his thoughts, and lies his sight, there was one thing that Bengwiil could not trick out of him. Elrond was here. He was here and he *loved* his Estel. His adoptive son. He *loved* him. No doubting it. Aragorn held tighter to his father’s robes, and half-panted, half-sobbed, “Don’t let go of me…don’t let the dark have me back, Adda, please…”

“I won’t, Estel, I promise. Bengwiil shall not hold you again. Not as long as I am with you.” He sighed shakily into the top of his son’s sweaty head. “I love you, Estel, how I love you only Ilúvatar understands. And you’re alive. And- and you‘re safe, and I…” He couldn’t seem to express himself enough, so he stopped talking then, and simply wrapped his arms tighter around Estel’s shoulders, closing his eyes, and memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Aragorn closed his eyes, and savored the feeling of Elrond’s pointed chin pressing against the top of his head. He felt the lord’s breath moving in and out, sporadically showering Aragorn’s scalp with a warm, moist sense. He didn’t want to let go…but the breath was turning cold. And his father’s chin was beginning to make his head throb. His father’s heartbeat pounded so loudly, it made his ears ring. And the fingers that closed around his shivering shoulders were thin, cold, crushing, and meant harm.

Aragorn knew it was his head alone telling him these things. That Elrond *loved* him. That the *last* thing he ever wanted right now was for his son to hurt. But hurt Aragorn did…and he couldn’t seem to grasp anything outside the hurt anymore.

The human swung his head out from under Elrond’s chin, and his pressed himself, eyes closed, against the lord’s shoulder instead. As his trembling fingers groped blindly for something to hold onto, he murmured, “You- you don’t mean it, Adda, and…I know you love me, so- I won’t listen, I promise. I promise that-” His hand found the elven lord’s cloak, and gripped it desperately.

Elrond’s hand moved nervously over his son’s forehead, while Aragorn mumbled on, and then slid despondently back. The boy’s skin felt as though it were on fire. Apparently, Bengwiil manifested as a fever in a mortal. As Elrond already knew too well, fevers were dangerous enough in a human on normal circumstances. The fact that Aragorn had survived *this* long was a wonder.

Elrond pressed a warm palm against the back of his son’s sweaty head, pulling the boy’s forehead tighter to his shoulder. “How do you feel, Estel?”

“It’s really…dark and cold…and cold…t-to, but I…see…it’s far…not really, but I…don’t see it…” Aragorn’s voice wandered in and out of itself for the longest time, and Elrond could barely tell what he was trying to say. But at last, the human’s mind surfaced to a conclusion only a selfless personality such as his could have found at such a time. “Legolas’ father is dead.”

Elrond’s head shot up, and he turned a quick look on Legolas. The prince met the gaze evenly, and shook his head hastily. “No, no not dead, just as Aragorn was not dead.” Legolas cocked his head slightly and shrugged halfheartedly. “Bengwiil.”

Elrond only nodded. “Is he more critical than Estel, then?”

Here, the Lord of Rivendell presented Legolas with a hard decision. The prince had no doubt in Elrond’s healing abilities, he could save someone from Bengwiil, as Legolas had already learned. But…what if he healed Thranduil, and there was no time for Aragorn anymore? Was it a choice between the two? No, he refused to believe that. Elrond was here; he could heal them both.

He had to believe he could heal them both.

In the end, though, Legolas needn’t have struggled over his answer so, for Aragorn spoke up. “Yes.” Elrond looked down at the human in his arms, just as the Aragorn looked up at him, his pupils dilating aimlessly, making his eyes look wider and more frightened. “Go, Adda, you can save the king…you can save Legolas’ father.” His head rested limply against the older elf’s chest. “I’m…just sick.”

Legolas stepped to the foot of the stone staircase, staring mystified towards the panting human. “Aragorn, you are *not* just sick, it’s Bengwiil that-”

“I’m just sick,” the other insisted, sitting halfway up, and staring resolutely back at Legolas between painful blinks. It seemed as though the light was hurting his eyes all of a sudden. “Adda, go to the king, I know that he is close to death, I have been there myself. No one is in the room, he does not know comfort, and he will not come back, save if you go now and-”

“Aragorn, this is the third time you have collapsed from Bengwiil- at least! You-”

“I am just sick.” Aragorn turned his eyes from Legolas to Elrond instead. “Adda, if I had not heard Legolas’ voice all that time in darkness, I would not have survived, I know I would not. Thranduil went willingly, he will not fight death. He may be dead already!”

“Aragorn!”

Aragorn’s head snapped to the side. “No, Legolas, I am just sick! Leave it be, save you’re father-”

“But you-”

“Estel,” Elrond’s voice was calm and quiet as he redirected his son’s gaze towards him. “Are you really just sick?” His eyes were deep and probing, begging for the truth or no word at all.

Aragorn stared back for a long moment. Then, “The king is dying, Adda. Please. I know Legolas loves him greatly. That is my choice.”

Elrond nodded reluctantly. “We have little time,” he agreed, and stood slowly up, allowing Aragorn to remain sitting on the stairs, now braced against the railing rather than the elven lord’s chest. “Come, Legolas, will you take me to your father’s room?”

Legolas didn’t respond, but climbed up the stairs after Elrond in silence. That is, until he reached the step Aragorn sat on. He knelt down before his friend, and grasped for the human’s hand. “Aragorn, please, tell your father. It is Bengwiil, your life is in danger, and-” He gritted his teeth, then added in an anger that fear planted in him. “And you know it, Strider!”

Aragorn’s eyes were emptying of emotion as Elrond began to walk away. “Your father’s dying, Legolas. Go to him. I’m…I am just sick.” His eyes shut tightly, and he pushed past the elf before him, staggering down the stone steps. “Go, Legolas, go. Human’s just get sick,” he called halfheartedly. “They get sick and sometimes…well, sometimes they die…”

“Aragorn!”

“Go!” Aragorn’s voice was shrill with emotions he did not feel. Fear and anger. Both were things he didn’t mean to convey. Both were the fault of Bengwiil. Both were taking off with him once more.

Legolas stood frozen as Aragorn staggered as quickly as he could down one of the hallways to the balconies. He had to go after him. He had to save-

“Legolas!” Elrond’s stern tone made the prince jump, and spin around. He met the lord’s dark eyes bravely, for in those windows was an emotion he could understand. Elrond was worried, and yet…there was hope there as well. “If we hurry, we can save your father *and* Estel from Bengwiil. But if we delay they will both die, do you understand?”

Legolas nodded.

“Good, come with me.” And the two of them ran quickly up the stone steps.

**********

When they’d reached Thranduil’s door, and Elrond turned quickly and asked for a volunteer to help, Edren had of course been the first to stand up, though Garaer insisted he’d been more than willing to join them as well. Elrond had responded to the elven guard in a two short sentences. “Help my sons. Front gate, and hurry if you can.”

Then Thranduil’s door shut behind the elven lord, prince, and friend.

“What can I do?” Legolas whispered quickly as Elrond ran his gentle hand over Thranduil’s forehead, and then eyes.

At Legolas’ words, the elven lord cast his robe off along with a leather satchel that had been swinging from his shoulder. Quickly, Legolas and Edren knelt down to open the leather bag. They soon found scattered on the floor before them, about five handfuls of different herbs as well as a pile of cloths, and a flagon a little over half full.

“What should we get you, Elrond?”

“Legolas?” The elf didn’t appear to be listening to Legolas’ question. “How did this get here?” His fingers brushed over the cut running the length of Thranduil’s collarbone.

Legolas looked away. “I…it was an accident.”

“Well, then it’s the most convenient accident I’ve ever been across. Hand me some Salab, will you? Young, if you can find some.”

Legolas blinked in surprise and watched stupidly as Edren handed the elven lord the handful of baby green herbs. “Convenient?” the prince demanded disbelievingly.

“Well, it seems to have sliced one of the primary blood veins. A vein that feeds directly to where Bengwiil is attacking him.” Elrond’s forefinger tapped his temple absently as his right hand reached for the Salab he had taken from Edren and put on the king’s bedspread.

A horrifying memory followed the realization. “You’re…going to take the poison out.” Legolas’ voice was very quiet and slow as he thought the words out. “Like you did with me,” he concluded, meeting Elrond’s curious eye bravely.

The elven lord nodded. “It is the only way I can save him.”

“I know,” Legolas stood up and walked to the other side of the bed. “What should I do?”

“Edren,” the young elf leapt to attention. “I need you to hold the king down. It is a hard thing I ask of you, I know, especially when he is your king, but you must keep him from moving as much as possible.”

“Yes sir,” Edren nodded promptly, moved to Legolas’ side, and began to massage Thranduil’s shoulders gently.

“What should *I* do?” Legolas repeated, trying to catch Elrond’s attention once more. He was afraid he knew…he was right.

“I need you to keep him, Legolas. I need you to speak to him. Keep him here, all right?”

“Like Aragorn did for me,” Legolas said quietly, and at that, his face went resolute.

“Yes.” And Elrond said no more, but pulled the Salab away from Thranduil’s neck, where he’d been rubbing it to numb area, and reached for the flagon, pouring some of the liquid inside onto a cloth.

“Isn’t athales supposed to be boiled afresh?” Legolas asked, as the sweetness of the plant filled the darkness around them. It seemed to turn the air clear.

Elrond sighed. “Well, yes, but better it be prepared in advance than wilted athales be used, I’ve found.” He shook his head, corking the flagon again. “I fear that I am only so knowledgeable with the ways of this plant, but it is all I know of that can delve so deeply into someone’s system and purge it of poison. It is the only thing that saved you, of that I am certain.”

Legolas shook his head slowly. “No. Not the *only* thing…”

Elrond watched the prince carefully, knowing what was likely going through his head. “Legolas,” he said gently. “Aragorn will be fine, but you have to help me now with your father, all right?”

Legolas sat slowly on the bed, taking his father’s hand, and running his thumb up and down the back of it. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly. “I hate Bengwiil, it stirs within me my worst recollections, the darkest of my memories…I don’t *want* to remember.”

“Istón,” Elrond’s voice was sad as he took a second cloth and rubbed Salab into it. “This is the only way. You are permitted to leave if you feel you must, but I truly believe you can keep your father with us while I heal him. Are you willing?”

“I am willing,” Legolas responded quickly shaking his head, and giving Thranduil’s hand a squeeze. “I- I’m just scared.”

Elrond didn’t answer back, but instead, brought the cloth of athales close to Thranduil’s cut, and after a brief hesitation, pressed down hard.

Thranduil’s body didn’t respond at first. The room was still and silent. Elrond’s eyes shut tight as he pressed the athales harder. He began to whisper in Elvish, his tone commanding yet with a undercurrent of uncertainty. Of worry.

Legolas pulled his father’s hand close to his own heart’s rhythm. “Come back, Adda,” he pleaded. “Come back to the light.”

It happened instantly. Thranduil’s back arched painfully, almost as if someone had hit him at a pressure point. Elrond’s eyes snapped open, and he nodded, panting. “Good, it is working.”

Legolas couldn’t meet the lord’s gaze, he was shaking all over. What would happen when Bengwiil started to come out of that wound? What would he remember? Would he become hysterical and useless?

“It’s coming, Legolas, it’s coming…”

Legolas shook his head at Elrond’s words, and felt Edren tense beside him. His hand tightened over Thranduil’s.

The air started to smell green as Bengwiil mixed with athales. Legolas found he was trying not to breathe. He could hear Elrond commanding the Bengwiil out in the elven tongue again. His lungs were burning, and he filtered in a bit of air. Just a bit.

Darkness threatened his thoughts…a cave…Bengwiil…Aragorn’s pale face…death…the dying…the unthinkable…the forgot and remembered…silently, Legolas vowed not to breathe anymore of the green air.

His eyes were fogging slightly, and his head was dizzy. No, he would *not* inhale! His grip on Thrandui’s hand was slackening, and he’d given up on whispering to the king anymore. He didn’t want to breathe to do it.

Oh, Valar! Why did Estel have to believe in Legolas so? He’d so much rather give into his fear, and stop trying to fight it. Bengwiil was evil, and he had a right to hate it entirely, and avoiding it was *wise* wasn’t it?

Think of what you’re saying, Legolas thought bitterly. You would rather avoid your own memories than speak comfort to your father? What is *wrong* with you.

Legolas’ head was spinning from lack of air. His hand rested heavily on his father’s but the fingers would not move. He couldn’t do this, yet he could do no other! The choices swam before him like a blank idea. A blurring more than sight. He didn’t want to breathe in that smell- that living memory of Bengwiil. Yet how could he abandon Thranduil?

“Leoglas!” The prince’s head snapped around to face Elrond. “Breathe,” the lord said quietly, his eyes more understanding than his words. “It will be fine.”

Legolas nodded curtly, and gasping in a full gulp of air, his hand tightened over Thranduil’s. “Lasto beth nin, Adda, tolo nan galad!” He was shouting. Trying to drown out the memories and fears that echoed within him. Threatened to crush him. “Lasto beth nin, Adda! Morth tur-al garo ad thenin glawar,” he called quickly, saying the first Elven words he could think of.

His breath was short, his head spinning. The floor tipped and the ceiling bowed at its center. The whole room was a circular rather than square- lacking corners, lines, sharp edges, defining features. It suddenly became to Legolas a large blur with no shape. No beginning and no end. But he held tightly to his father’s hand and whispered every Elvish word that entered his head, stringing it together in a comforting phrase that made little, and often no sense.

He would fight it. He would stay awake and himself despite his breathing Bengwiil in and out. Despite the driving fear that nagged at him, he would *not* let go. And soon, Legolas was made to realize that there, in Thranduil’s dark room, he was fighting this greatest fear of his. He was defeating Bengwiil again. And he awoke suddenly to the fact that once he had allowed himself to fight it- he could not only battle but win.

Estel, how blind I was not to believe as you did. Not to have hope. But Legolas smiled despite regret. He was winning. Winning over Bengwiil with no doubt as to the result. Everything would be fine. All would be well.

Someone was pounding frantically on the bedroom door. “Lord Elrond! Prince Legolas? Please, someone- Estel he’s- Lord Elrond? Prince Legolas?!”

“Legolas, keep talking, Edren? Hold tight,” Elrond instructed quickly, as the two elves went hesitantly back to their business. But Legolas, though speaking to his father and squeezing his cold hand, could not take his eyes off the bedroom door Elrond hurried to open.

What *about* Estel?

Elrond swung the door open and addressed the elf standing there with a curt nod. “What is it, Tiris?”

“Lord Elrond- Estel was running for the stables, and so I followed him, for he was not himself. I asked him where he was to, but he said ‘I do not want to kill you, Tiris,’ and rode off!”

Elrond didn’t react for several short moments. “In which direction did he go?” he asked quietly.

“Towards the West, into Mirkwood, my lord.” Tiris paused his panting for only a moment. “What can I do, sir, what is wrong with him? Why was he afraid of killing me?”

“I know not…” Elrond whispered, and turned to look at Legolas. The prince’s eyes stared knowingly back, pierced with sadness.

“He is not himself, Lord Elrond,” Legolas repeated Tiris’ own words. “He thinks…his greatest fear it…” Legolas couldn’t bring himself to tell Elrond of Aragorn’s greatest fear; of what the human had seen when poisoned with Bengwiil.

“He is sick,” Elrond summed up to Tiris quietly, when Legolas did not finish his sentence. “I pray you, send a rider after him. When Estel stops, instruct that rider to wait a quarter of the hour, and then make a sort of signal, perhaps if he took a horn with him. By the time of that signal, we will be able to come and assist him.”

“Very good, sir,” Tiris responded promptly and turning on his heal, took off down the hall.

Elrond closed the door, and turned quickly to Thranduil once more. Legolas didn’t move.

“Come, Legolas, keep talking. Keep him here.” Elrond’s voice was very quiet, but in no way betrayed what he was really thinking.

The prince was shaking his head numbly. “I cannot stay here,” he whispered, in the tone of one who has only just realized a great important thing. “I have to go after-”

“Legolas.” The sharpness in Elrond’s voice came unexpected and caused Legolas and Edren both to flinch. “If we go after Estel now, your father will die. This is *not* a choice between lives, all right?”

“I know…” Legolas’ voice trailed away. He didn’t know. He didn’t understand. He forced his mind to slow down and look past the panic that came naturally. Did he trust Elrond? Yes. Did he truly believe that Aragorn was stronger than seemed as he said he did? Most certainly.

“I know,” he repeated, but this time he meant it. Kneeling down once more, he grabbed his father’s hand tightly. “Come back, Adda, please. You don’t know what is at stake…”

Chapter 7

A Rip in History

“Legolas. Legolas…I’m sorry.”

The voice was very distant. Far, far off. He didn’t want to hear it anyway, and as it died away to whispers, he was happy for the change. Just let me lie here. I don’t know why, but somehow…I can’t come back. I won’t wake up and come back, I don’t want to.

“Legolas!” Someone was shaking his shoulder. Hard.

All right, if it must be that way, I may as well open my eyes…Legolas blinked. He was lying on something hard, and could feel cold wood pressing up against his cheek. Before him, he saw only vague lighting, but he could still vividly feel someone shaking his shoulder from the side. He watched blankly along the floor he was even with for a long time.

“Legolas, please awake!”

“I’m sorry, I’m- what have I-”

“Sh, there will be time for that *later*, my friend. Legolas?”

Legolas soon recognized the voice of the one who was shaking him. It was Elrond. But as for the other voice- he recognized it too…and in an instant he sat bolt upright, feeling the rush of Elrond sweeping back to avoid getting hit in the jaw with the stunned prince’s head.

“Father!” Legolas cried, and pushing himself off the floor, he fell to his knees beside his father’s bed once more, his hand scrambling for the older elf’s.

The king’s eyes were open, and he was sighing quietly with relief, his hand squeezing Legolas’ very tight. “I am glad you’re all right. I was worried, my son.”

“I don’t-” Legolas’ eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t remember what happened…” He shrugged and looked up at Elrond. “What happened to me?” he asked, a slight note of regret amongst the words.

“Do not be sorry, Legolas.” Elrond half smiled. “You worked hard, spoke Elvish until you were very nearly into a frenzy. I drew the last of your father’s poison, and as I did so, he stirred. Not awake, but alive. You were so numb, so lost to drawing him back, that you did not even see.”

“I awoke,” Thranduil continued, gripping his son’s other hand in his own. “And I saw you kneeling beside me, whispering to me, and begging me to return. I whispered ‘I am back, Legolas. You needn’t beckon me any longer.’” The king smiled. “And you did not even look up. You just sighed with relief of something you had not yet comprehended. And then you tumbled out of sight, and I heard you fall on the floor.”

Legolas’ eyes widened slightly. “I fainted?”

The disgust in his voice made Elrond nearly laugh. “You were worn from bringing him back. But don’t fret, Legolas, you were not out long, and you’re awake now.”

“As are you,” Legolas smiled, his attention turned to his father’s eyes. “I’m so glad- I- I mean, I was very...” How does one find the words to express his father’s return? Thranduil had been dead, but now he was alive again. Legolas could think only what he was feeling, and the feeling came out from his lips. “Adda, I love you.”

“I know, Legolas.” Thranduil just smiled back. “But my son, there is a greater need than I right now.”

Legolas paused for a breath, and then shot to his feet, whirling to Elrond. “Estel!”

“I have sent Edren to- well, rather, Edren would not stay put and insisted on going after Estel himself.” Elrond nodded at Legolas. “Feel welcome to stay-”

“No, I’m going after Estel,” Legolas said instantly, and then paused.

He turned slowly to Thranduil. “I’m sorry, Father, I will-”

“Tirniel will keep watch of me. Go while you can, and help your friend, Legolas.” The king smiled softly. “I owe a great deal to Estel myself, I know I do. For your sake, if not my own.”

Legolas smiled at the curious glint in Elrond’s eyes, and then disappeared from the dark room just a step behind the lord.

**********

“I have not heard the horn. I have heard no signal, yet it is past the time which the rider would report.” Elrond sounded uneasy.

“I cannot sense him, Lord Elrond- I cannot…” Legolas’ voice trailed off as he tried to hide his panic. Reining his horse hard to the right, he squinted into the thicket around them. Elrond too sat on his horse, staring down the darkness of Mirkwood.

“There,” Elrond whispered, motioning towards the tangle of brambles northwest of them. In unison, the two of them dismounted. Legolas came to kneel beside Elrond in front of the brambles.

“What is it?”

Elrond fingered what he had torn from the jagged thorns. “A piece of Estel’s tunic.”

Legolas’ hand snaked amongst the thorns and a *snap* echoed from somewhere in their midst. When he drew his hand free again, he held one of the dried branches of thorns. “Blood,” he murmured quietly, as his fingers brushed the thorny branch.

Elrond rose to his feet quickly. “We must hurry.”

The prince nodded, and then froze. Elrond heard it too. *thudthudthud* followed by a deep, great sigh of breath that was neither human nor elven. It was a horse. On impulse, Legolas ran toward the sound. “Horthor!” He pulled up short as from the thicket, sure enough, Horthor stepped out of the shadows. And beside him, someone held the reins. The excitement in Legolas’ eyes disappeared. “Daurrè. Wh-what…what are you doing with Aragorn’s horse?”

“Oh, Legolas, thank goodness. Tiris said the Lord Elrond had requested a rider to find Estel, and so I volunteered. Well your Ranger friend has more ability than most give him credit for, because I had barely been trailing him long, when he realized I was there. He found me hiding with my horse in the grove of trees just beyond him. ‘Go!’ he told me, and started trying to push me away.

Daurrè mouth seemed to be working double-time, as he gasped his story out. “‘I have come from your father-’ I tried to explain, but he shouted something I could not tell in rather jumbled Elvish tongue, and then said ‘if you are returning to my father tell him that I am sorry. And take poor Horthor, he does not want to be here.’ And he gave me his horse’s reins, and I hesitated, but he shouted that I should leave, and I’m so sorry, Legolas, he frightened me, his eyes so wide, and his voice so tainted by tears…so I took Horthor and I ran. I guess it was good he had me take his horse, though, for mine had run at Estel’s Elvish shouting, and taken my horn too. That is why I gave you no signal.”

Daurrè paused and stared apologetically at Legolas. “I’m very sorry I left him…”

“Don’t be sorry, my friend, just tell us which direction to go.”

Daurrè pointed the way he had come. “Though, I do not think that is the way he came. He was there quicker than I, I believe he cut through the brambles that direction instead.” He pointed to where Elrond was still standing with Estel’s torn fabric.

He shook his head. “He looks rather beaten up, Legolas. I had not expected him in such roughed-up shape in so little time. I’d lend you my own handkerchief to staunch some of his cuts, but I have given the one on me away.” His voice was apologetic, and his eyes worried.

“Thank you, Daurrè.” Legolas smiled uneasily. “And do not worry about our supplies, I assure you, Elrond has come prepared. Now go on back to the Halls, and stall Aragorn’s horse for us, will you?”

Daurrè glowed at the chance of redeeming himself, and so he nodded promptly, and swung up onto Horthor’s back. “I shall see you soon, then.

Elrond slid silently off his horse, and crouched behind what was left of the horse-trodden brambles. Apparently, this was where Daurrè and his own steed had come across Aragorn. Legolas knelt down beside the elf lord and listened in the silence.

Almost in unison, the two elves raise their vision over the brambles and into the clearing beyond. There was a gnarled tree standing off to the right. And lying crumpled on ground at its roots, there was a man. A man who was now more a boy who had lost his way and was giving up.

“Estel,” Elrond breathed, and the two sprung from their hiding place.

For all their quiet tracking, Aragorn didn’t stir as the two came running. Elrond had advised stealth as an approach for fear of frightening the human away. But Aragorn looked still and cold as they swiftly approached them.

Legolas cringed inwardly as he realized that the Ranger looked more dead than alive.

The two elves fell to their knees beside Aragorn, and Elrond was quick to pull the human into his lap. As he softly whispered to his son in Elvish, the lord rocked the small being back and forth, his eyes dashing all over his body, taking in every detail. Legolas could feel fear rising in his chest. Elrond was here. So things were going to be all right now, right? Right…?

“You can heal him, can’t you?” He realized too late that he sounded positively trembling with fear. That realization led to another; he *was* trembling with fear. “Can’t you?” He repeated louder when Elrond did not look at him.

Elrond’s eyebrows were creased, and a look of concentration on his face slipped into that of worry. “How much Bengwiil has he had, Legolas?”

Legolas felt his heart stop. “A lot. A whole lot. Perhaps-” His mind drifted over all he and Aragorn had been through thus far in a matter of moments. He had been attacked by Mornaeg, and ‘healed’ with Bengwiil for the first time then. Then again, by Thranduil, in a second attempt to heal him. Aragorn had been thought dead, and then brought back by two doses of Bengwiil. Later, they were both taken by the orcs in Mirkwood, and Aragorn had been stabbed with a Bengwiil-coated blade. One, two, three…

“Five.” His voice was dead in his own ears. “Five doses of Bengwiil.”

Elrond sighed, and it sent shivers down Leoglas’ spine. “What?” He demanded, though he was afraid to know.

“It is not hopeless,” the lord conceded, “but it isn’t good either. Five doses of Bengwiil, and who knows how big each one was?”

“But you can draw it out, can’t you?” Legolas’ voice was still on the verge of panic.

“I can, Legolas, but I don’t know if he can survive that much blood loss. He is not an elf, he doesn’t have enough strength.” Elrond’s eyes tore from Legolas’ as he cradled his son tightly, and watched the human’s still features.

“If we do not draw it out, my lord, he will die for certain. At the least we could draw what there is from him, could we not? We cannot just give up like this, don’t you-”

“Of *course* I understand, Legolas.” Elrond sighed quietly, “Look.” Gently, he lifted Aragorn’s arm from his barely heaving chest. The sleeve was torn, exposing a cut that started at his shoulder, ran the length of the human’s arm. The cut Mornaeg had given him, or the most grievous of the cuts he’d been given. The wound was bleeding halfway down now, sending a steady stream of red down the human’s arm.

Legolas touched the cut gingerly. “Did he get snagged by the thorns in the thicket?”

Elrond nodded slowly, and then put his thumb and forefinger against the human’s forearm, pressing slightly. To Legolas’ shock, the red slipping down Aragorn’s arm turned darker. Deeper. It was-

He swallowed hard as his fingers slipped against the coagulated liquid. He held his hand up to the light, and went pale. “It’s green.”

Elrond nodded.

“No.” Legolas shook his head. “No, no it can’t- this is not his blood…this- this isn’t…it can’t.” His fingers tumbled to the ground where he unconsciously wiped them off on the grass. “Please, Elrond, surely there is something-”

The two elves jumped as a gasp of air escaped Aragorn’s lips, and his eyes flashed open. His back arched in pain, and his arm snapped to his chest where he pinned it painfully. His eyes focused and unfocused on the figure over him.

“Adda, please don’t…” he whispered. “Please forgive me, Adda.”

Elrond’s head cocked to the side slightly. “Forgive what, Estel?”

“I…kept it…it was mine, but I don’t want it…I don’t want it.”

“You don’t want wh-”

“I don’t *want* it, Adda, I’m sorry!” Aragorn was almost sobbing as his eyes unfocussed once more. “Except it back, please! Adda, please?”

“Sh…” Elrond pulled his son up a little so he was half sitting. “Estel, you are sick. We will-”

“The Ring, Adda.” The human’s tone was suddenly quiet. “The One Ring. I should have destroyed it. It would all be over now…” his voice drifted out slightly, and his eyes roved aimlessly.

“Estel.” Elrond shook his head. “Please, it was not you who-”

“I hate Isildur.” Aragorn’s voice was hollow. “Please. Take the Ring back.” Elrond blinked unbelievingly as Aragorn held out his hand. Rested on his palm, two silver snakes encircling a green gem. “Let me be Estel only, Adda. Let me be Estel son of Elrond. Please…not Aragorn. Not Isildur’s heir…”

Elrond closed Aragorn’s fingers around the silver ring. “Estel, you are not bound to the fate of others. Estel…?”

But the human’s eyes were glazed. He was not listening. He was barely looking. Just drifting. “Please…” he whispered. “Make me Estel.”

Elrond’s eyes met Legolas’. “Bengwiil shows you your greatest fear in the truest ways.” Legolas spoke with held emotion, but managed to keep the look of despair from his face. “Aragorn’s fear…is very real to him right now, Lord Elrond. His greatest fear.”

Elrond’s eyes closed as what Legolas had known long dawned on him. Aragorn’s greatest fear. Himself. Who he was, where he had come from, and what he was destined to become. Elrond pulled his limp son into an embrace. “Oh no, fion nin,” he whispered gently. “It isn’t you. And you were all ready made Estel long ago…”

There was a second of silence. Each heart beat once around the clearing. And then Legolas spoke.

“It cannot end here, Elrond, please. It looks hopeless, this I know, but Aragorn would be the first to tell you that nothing is without hope.”

“Legolas, I do not deny there is a chance of keeping him alive, but if we draw the poison out now, he *will* die. I cannot fix that.” Elrond’s eyes drifted to nowhere as he rocked back and forth, cradling Aragorn’s shuttering body in his strong arms.

Legolas watched silently, his mouth unconsciously ajar. “You- you’re giving up,” he whispered with such disbelief, that Elrond’s head rose quickly.

“Legolas, I can do nothing. If I could save Estel, I would, but there is too much poison in him. I cannot draw it out, or he will die, for the poison has become part of his blood now. The only option left is to give him more Bengwiil. That would only preserve him for so long, though, and eventually, he would die from the sheer saturation of it. Is that how you want him to die, Legolas?”

Legolas’ hand clenched and unclenched. “I- I don’t want him to die AT ALL!” he cried, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I- I’m sick of life-or-death situations, Elrond. I’m sick of so many dying it- it’s wrong that so many should die. Aragorn can’t die.”

“I know how you feel, Legolas, I know death hurts badly, and it is hard for an elf, even one of your years, to understand.” Elrond seemed to be hanging on only for Legolas. Otherwise, the prince was pretty certain he’d have lost himself in his own silent emotions. “I am no healer, Legolas, not really. I wish I were. But we must-”

“No,” Legolas’ voice was almost pleading. “Aragorn cannot die. Because if he dies, I will die. And my time is not yet, nor is his. Elrond, surely you have some foresight.” Leoglas’ eyes were wide with hope. “Please, what do you see in Estel’s future?”

“I see only what he was meant to be,” Elrond sighed quietly. “He was meant to be Middle Earth’s greatest ruler. The hope of mankind. But that vision is fading now, Legolas, and I can only think why.”

Legolas’ head was shaking. “I won’t give him up, Elrond. I don’t *want* him to die.”

“I don’t *want* him to die either, Legolas!” Elrond’s voice had risen enough to make Legolas flinch. “But I…” he began, his tone quieter in apology. “I don’t want him to die a death of Bengwiil, and nor do you.”

“Surely there is a cure,” Legolas begged. “Surely there is something else…something we can use against Bengwiil. Please, Elrond. Give him enough poison to keep him alive. Long enough that we can somehow heal him. I cannot help but think that we’ve only begun to fight against Bengwiil. Surely it has a weakness. An antidote.”

Legolas moved forward on the forest floor slowly, laying his hand gently against Aragorn’s sweating forehead. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Elrond only inches away. “Please. I don’t know how to lose him again.”

**********

When Aragorn opened his eyes, he smiled. Legolas was laying on his stomach next to Aragorn on the human’s bed. There was an unfolded map laying beside him, and in his hands was a book with a leather cover. Legolas’ head was resting on the pages of his book, his eyes half lidded, and his body still.

Aragorn sat up halfway, careful not to wake his tired friend, and looked around the room. In a chair that had been pulled from the side of the room to stand beside the bed, Elrond sat, his eyes only half focused as he stared straight ahead.

As Aragorn smiled, it was as though the expression had made a light sound, for Elrond’s head turned, and his eyes became bright with sight again and he smiled back at the human.

“Good morning, my son.”

“Suilad,” Aragorn replied, his eyes moving to Legolas again. When he looked back to Elrond, he was grinning, causing the elven lord to do the same.

Elrond shook his head. “He was so very tired, but insisted he was going to work while you were asleep. I believe you’ve run him raged, Estel.”

Aragorn laughed quietly. “Right. You know me, always getting him to push himself. You’ve no idea what a task it was to get him to take a break just a few days ago.”

Elrond nodded and sighed. “I can imagine. It’s a wonder to me that it was you alone who stood so near to death’s door, Estel.”

“I rather think Legolas wouldn’t mind dying that way, Adda,” Aragorn shrugged, “were it not for the fact that he’d need to depend on others to force me into rest.”

“You are quite the pair,” Elrond conceded, and stood from his chair. Sitting on the edge of Aragorn’s bed, he reached over Legolas’ sleeping body to touch his son’s forehead. “Your fever is down,” he said, and nodded with relief.

“Why?” Aragorn asked, as the truth slowly dawned on him. He wasn’t sick anymore. He felt- rather good, really. Fantastic. “Why am I well again, Adda? How did you heal me?” Then he added quickly as the new though struck him, “Is Legolas’ father all right? And oh dear…where are Daurrè and Horthor?”

“Shh…enough with the questions for now, my son. Be still and I will answer a few.” He smiled as Aragorn nodded, and leaned back on his pillows once more. “Legolas’ father is quite well, and I have extracted all the Bengwiil that was in him from his system. It appears that, though he has been using it for quite some time now, he has merely burned most of it, and only eaten some. Daurrè met Legolas and I in the woods, and has taken Horthor to the stables, and I can assure you, Daurrè completely understands you were not yourself when you shouted at him.”

Aragorn nodded slowly. “I do not know what happened to me. I saw him in the clearing and- it frightened me. I was so afraid of hurting him. Of making him sick with a disease of heart that I carried invisibly. I didn’t want to hurt him, yet I couldn’t make him understand to leave. So I shouted.” He sighed. “I remember it as if it were a dream that stayed in my mind for years and years, and I only just remembered today. It’s so far away, it almost feels as though it were not I with the feelings, with those emotions. Someone else more distant, rather.”

“Do not be uneasy, Estel,” Elrond said. “It is over for now.”

“But how?”

The lord was quiet momentarily. “Bengwiil,” he said at last, “though in your heart, you knew this.”

Aragorn didn’t reply but the answer was in his eyes. He sighed. “I made Legolas promise not to use it on me. That must have made it harder for him, I’m sure…” He shook his head. “I am so sorry.”

Elrond was already shaking his head. “Legolas did not use it on you, I took the responsibility. I would not force him to go against his will, Estel. And he agreed with me beforehand, that it was the only way…rather, he convinced *me* of it.”

“So…what does that mean? I mean- you of all, Adda, would know that Bengwiil will not save me. If I learned one thing from Legolas over these past days, it is that Bengwiil only buys more time.”

“You’re right, Estel, you are right. You only have a little time, and we’re going to have to use every moment of that to figure out how to heal you.”

“And we *will* too.”

Aragorn spun around, startled by the new voice. Legolas sat propped up on his elbows, his book closed in his hand, and a determined look on his face.

Aragorn couldn’t help laughing.

“I don’t see what you’re so happy about,” Legolas grumbled in mock-annoyance. “Have you any idea what a guilt I went through giving you Bengwiil *again*?”

Aragorn only smiled. “My dear friend, I do not laugh at your efforts or the situation. To be sure, it is of serious nature, but well…” his hand moved to the prince’s cheek, his thumb rubbing up and down it. “Your look of determination is rather marred by ink.”

Legolas grinned as well as he looked into the leather book he was holding, and found the offending smudged text. He shook his head and laughed as he allowed Aragorn to wipe the ink splotch from his cheek.

“There,” Aragorn smiled. “Almost gone.”

“Oh good riddance if it isn’t,” Legolas smiled, rubbing at his cheek absent-mindedly. “Look, I’ve been looking through this book, trying to find any record whatsoever of Bengwiil. This is perhaps the ninth book from this time period that has been blank of any information on it. It’s very strange, Aragorn, the record should be in here, but it isn’t. And look, here.” He reached for the map that lay crumpled before him, flipping it around for Aragorn to see. “There is no mark for the spiders lair in which the Bengwiil was found by Binwen. This is map is dated here.”

Aragorn squinted at the date. “It most certainly would have been active and most likely known of by that date, correct?”

“Correct, and yet it is not.” Legolas nodded.

“What are you leading up to, Legolas?” Elrond asked. “The record could very well have been an oversight, and as for the spiders’ lair, there’s a possibility you’re wrong about which date it was discovered or active. I know what you are trying to say, but isn’t the evidence circumstantial thus far?”

“It is, my lord,” Legolas conceded handing the book to Elrond. “But look here, at the top of this page, just before the paragraph break, it is old Quenya, that translates: over now, so be it but a memory. The poison without peace is gone, and thank Ilúvatar!”

“Poison without peace,” Aragorn repeated.

“Bengwiil,” Leoglas nodded. ‘ben’ meaning ‘without’ and ‘gwiil’ the most common Sindarin for ‘peace’. There was a record of Bengwiil here once, but it is gone, see here where the pages are torn.” He held the book out for the two to see. “They are ripped close to the binding, so not noticeable, but if you close the book, you can tell there are pages that are missing buy the spaces left behind.”

Elrond nodded. “Then the record was destroyed?”

“I think so, Lord Elrond, look.” Legolas reached underneath the map, and pulled a slip of old parchment with three Sindarin words written on it in sparkling green ink. “This was slipped into the book where those pages once were.”

Aragorn read the words and sat back on the pillows with a sigh.

//may we remember.//

“I think you may be right, Legolas,” Elrond nodded thoughtfully, taking the book in his own hands for a moment.

“So- what do we do now?” Aragorn asked.

“Ask the only person who can tell us what was once on these pages.”

Aragorn shook his head. “Your father will not be so willing as you think, Legolas. This subject is clearly painful for him, seeing his reluctance to speak of it in the past.”

“My father will tell me all I need to know when I need ask him. But he is not who I plan to ask.” Taking the book from Elrond’s outstretched hand again, Legolas bent the pages from the front cover, revealing a tiny inscription on the back of the dark leather.

Aragorn met Legolas’ gaze slowly. “Edren.”

Legolas nodded.

Elrond began to nod then paused, and his gaze snapped to Legolas. The same thought, apparently, had just come to the prince as well, for his eyes grew wide and quietly, he gasped. “Oh, Valar. Edren- he went after Aragorn.”

Aragorn’s face paled. “He did? Then where-”

“We did not see him on our way there…” Legolas’ voice trailed off, and then rose again like a wave. “How could I be so stupid? We did not even *look* for him, where might he be?”

Elrond shook his head. “Out in Mirkwood, yet in search of Estel, I presume.”

Aragorn and Legolas were both silent. “We must find him then,” Aragorn murmured at last. “And start right away-”

*thudathudathuda*

The three spun around to face the door.

*thudathudathuda*

“Adda, are you in there?”

“I told you he would not be. Did I not say it? He will be in the *king’s* room, right?”

“Perhaps, but Daurrè said to go up here, El, and here is where we will check. That is if someone will open the door-”

“You know, ‘Daurrè’ means ‘gentle’.”

“Aye? So?”

“Well, for someone with the name ‘gentle’ he was rather disgruntled, don’t you think?”

“Well, you’re name means ‘Elf Knight’.”

“Good point. Adda?”

*thudathudathuda*

“Adda, are you there?”

Chapter 8

The “Precaution”

Elrond rose quickly from his seat on the bed, and went to the door, pulling it open with a smile all ready on his face.

“Adda!” Elladan’s voice came suddenly with relief, and then added exasperatedly, “Thank goodness.”

“I’d worried about you two, I thought you would soon seek me out in the king’s room,” Elrond smiled, raising his eyebrows in mock disapproval.

“You would not *believe* the time we had, Adda.” That was Elrohir. “I mean, the task of stabling the horses sounded easy enough at the time, but-”

The twins had entered into the bedroom now, and Elrohir was still talking as Elrond closed the door behind them.

“It was ridiculous,” Elrohir continued. “We came down to the stables, and were happy to do so, so you could go ahead and- what is it, El?”

Elladan was staring blankly ahead, his eyes fixed disbelievingly on Aragorn. As he elbowed his brother in the ribs, Elrohir also looked up. He froze, his mouth slightly ajar, and his face pale. “Est…im- impossible.”

Aragorn smiled courteously, but he was trying not to grin. “Mae govannen, my brothers. It is good to see you.”

“Estel!” Elrohir dashed past his brother, and pounced onto the human’s bed, throwing his arms around him. “Estel- you’re not…I thought- Estel, why- you’re alive!”

“Yes!” Aragorn laughed, pulling the elf into a tight hug. He looked through his adoptive brother’s dark hair to see Elladan still standing by the doorway, pale as the white walls around him.

Aragorn gave Elrohir a last squeeze, and then released him, his eyes still on Elladan. “I’m alive, El. It’s okay to believe it.” He nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

Shaking from head to foot, Elladan lurched forward, and suddenly lacking all his elven grace, grabbed the bedpost, and tumbled down beside Aragorn on the bed, pulling his human brother into his embrace. As Aragorn buried his face in the other’s dark hair, he could hear Elladan whispering elvish thanks to Ilúvatar in his ear.

Elladan’s fingers snaked into Aragorn’s hair as he pulled his brother closer. “I love you so much, Estel, I missed you so, so much, I-”

“I know,” Aragorn smiled, and squeezed Elladan’s shoulder. “I missed you too.”

“Don’t do it, Estel, don’t you ever, EVER make me feel such loss again, tithen gwardor.”

//little brother//

“Oh El…” Aragorn shut his eyes and squeezed him even tighter, his knuckles digging into the elf’s back, though Elladan was far from noticing.

At long last, Elladan let go, and Aragorn was clobbered by Elrorhir awhile longer. The younger elf couldn’t seem to grasp Aragorn’s life, so he kept rubbing his shoulder, or pressing his hand to the human’s heartbeat, just to be sure.

“I’m alive, Elrohir,” Aragorn kept reassuring smilingly. “I’m alive, ea mae im.”

//I am well.//

After awhile, Legolas felt it was all right to speak. “I’m glad the two of you are here. I’d begun to worry, though perhaps not as much as I should, when you were not with your father.”

Elrohir spun on his heal, and launched across the bed, grasping Legolas’ shoulder. “Legolas! You’re alive too!”

Legolas laughed. “Why would I not be, Elrohir?” The prince grinned for a second, and then, unable to help himself, grabbed Elrohir into a hug as well. It felt good. “It is so *good* to see you, both of you.”

“And you, Legolas,” Ellandan assured, his arm still tight around Aragorn’s shoulders.

Elrond smiled fondly, and sat on Leoglas’ end of the bed again. “So what ever happened to delay you so?”

Elladan sighed, letting go of Aragorn at last. “It was a unbelievable, Adda. First, after we met the elf called Daurrè in the stables, we stowed the horses, and on his direction, went looking for ‘the room Legolas gave Estel’ as he said. The trouble was, we kept trying to find assistance in locating this room, and none would assist!”

“’The sons of Elrond, thank the Valar! Where is your father?’” Elrohir bellowed loudly, apparently imitating one such encounter.

“’We are grieved indeed for the loss, we cannot easily replace a ruler,’ and ‘Perhaps your father can help the prince at this time!’ or ‘It is already too late for him, strong though he was…’” Elladan picked up. “It was amazing how many were simply too distraught to help us.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise Legolas much at all. Emotions seemed to running frighteningly high in the Halls of late, though Legolas couldn’t blame his people. After all, not much had gone right since he and Aragorn first returned from their encounter with Binwen and his dwarven halls. Ever since Bengwiil.

“By the time we found someone who was actually useful,” Elrohir continued, “it sounded to us as though not only Estel, but the King, and Legolas, one of the healers, and some fellow called ‘Lindo’ were all dead!”

Legolas flinched, and sat up quickly, feeling Aragorn’s eyes move onto him. “Lindo, Elrohir? Who mentioned that name to you?”

Elrohir shrugged. “I did not know her name, I’m sorry Legolas, does the name ‘Lindo’ mean something to you?”

Legolas’ eyebrows lifted. “Her?” he repeated, and switched glances with Aragorn who responded with the same confusion.

“What exactly did she say, do you remember?” Aragorn asked probingly.

“She was distraught, as were most of the others we came to for help,” Elladan answered for his brother. “She said something like: ‘I suppose you are here for Lindo, aren’t you? The sons of Elrond, are you not?’ and with nervousness, she began to speak quietly, as though attempting to convey a secret message, or something. ‘I did not know him, you know,’ she said, ‘but there *are* those who- miss him greatly. Very greatly.’”

“And then I remember clearly what she said next, and how frightened her voice became,” Elrohir added, nodding at his brother. “She said: ‘Do you understand?’ and her eyes grew wide with pleading. Elladan told her that we were looking for Estel’s room, and did not know a ‘Lindo’. ‘Oh,’ she then said and backed away from us. ‘Then you do not know after all,’ and she looked so greatly disappointed, I wanted to assist her, but she shook her head, and spun away, running down the hall. After her, in fact, we found our help.”

“And who was it who assisted you, El?” Aragorn asked.

“A friend of Legolas’, I believe, because he didn’t call him ‘the prince’ or ‘His Highness’, but rather by name. ‘You will find Legolas up the hall there, and down for seven doors. That is the room Legolas gave Estel,’ he told us, and then said he was sorry, but in a great hurry, so he departed with haste.”

“A friend of mine?” Legolas queried, shaking his head. “Did you recognize him, Elrohir?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, Legolas has spoken of him before, I believe. A close friend of his…Eren?”

“Edren,” Elladan corrected quietly, “for I remember his name of ‘trust’ suited him at a glance.”

“Indeed it does,” Aragorn filled in the silence as Legolas stared fixedly back at him.

“I suppose he figured out that we had all ready found Estel,” Elrond answered Legolas’ unspoken question, though he sounded as though he didn’t believe it.

“Surely he would have come to be sure first, unless there was a much more pressing matter that he went after…which, I suppose there was, seeing he left in a hurry…” Legolas’ voice trailed off in thought.

“Where was he when you spoke with him, Elladan?” Aragorn asked.

“He was all ready up towards these rooms, and after answering our question, ran on ahead of us to a different door past this one. Perhaps about five doors down?”

“Well, that would be his own room,” Legolas answered slowly. “Perhaps we should go find him?”

Elrond nodded. “I think it would be wise.”

“What is it, Adda?” Elladan demanded quietly, “What’s wrong? And- I would *very* much like to know why Estel is not de…why Estel is alive.” And Elrohir nodded in agreement.

“I myself would like to get the full story,” Elrond admitted, “but there are more pressing things that must be attended to first.” The twins nodded in understanding.

“I think we had best not bombard Edren with all of our company,” Legolas began hesitantly.

Elladan held up a hand. “Say no more, we will go and be sure the king is well.”

Elrond nodded. “I have tended to him, El, but it would be a good idea for and your brother to be sure and keep the confidence of his healer up, at the least. I believe…” Elrond sent a questioning look at Legolas as he paused.

“Tiriniel,” the prince answered, nodding.

“I believe Tirniel is running himself raged at this point. I would appreciate your helping him. He is the only experienced Healer left in these Halls, and we cannot afford to lose him. And he needs help.”

“Of course, Adda,” Elladan nodded, but had to elbow Elrohir to say the same.

“Don’t worry, Elrohir,” Aragorn smiled. “I will tell you all in time.” And Elrohir nodded and smiled back.

“Now, go on to the king’s room, do you know where it is?”

Elrohir nodded. “We gathered that much by accident on our way here.”

“Good, and Legolas and Estel will go to Edren’s room.”

“What- what about you, Adda?” Aragorn asked.

“I will go and see to Tiris, and perhaps Daurrè. I’ll only be a moment, but I want to ask him a few things. I’ll join you and Legolas shortly.”

And each nodding with agreement, they parted ways.

***********

Legolas and Aragorn stood silent before Edren’s door, the sound of knuckles on wood still resounding emptily in their ears. Still, there was no answer.

“Try again,” Aragorn suggested, even as Legolas’ knuckles were rapping the hard wood again.

Still silence.

Then, at least, a quiet scuffle from the other side of the door. Looking down at the floor, Aragorn saw the shadow of someone standing just beyond the doorway, close enough to touch the door’s handle and open it. But still, there was no reply.

“Edren? Thernäd? It is Legolas. I need to speak with you.”

Nothing.

“Hello?” Legolas repeated.

At last, there was a quiet, frightened whisper. “He’s not here.” It was a high, female voice. Ghostly and without emotion.

“Who is not here? Edren?”

“Yes.”

“Well- where is he, Thernäd?”

“He’s trying to find something. Some- some secret. He’s looking for the Precaution, Legolas.” Thernäd’s voice wavered in and out quietly. It sounded as though she were crying.

Legolas froze. He remembered that word. It was from when he’d been arrested and locked in Mornaeg’s room.

Legolas took a deep breath. “What’s wrong, Thernäd? Why are you so upset? Can I-”

“Go to Mornaeg’s room, Legolas. Then you will see why.”

Legolas’ heart was racing. What was in Mornaeg’s room? Had something happened to Edren?

“Will you not come with me, Thernäd?”

“No.” Her voice was dull. “No. I don’t want to.”

Legolas nodded. “All right, I will be back shortly.”

No response.

Legolas exchanged nods with Aragorn, and the two set off down the hall towards the tall, stone staircase leading to Mornaeg’s room.

As they advanced on the stone staircase, Legolas’ mind began to whirl around his many unanswered questions. Was Thernäd the distraught young elf that Elladan and Elrohir had heard speak the name Lindo? It would make sense, for if Edren knew as much about this Lindo business as Legolas was beginning to think he did, likely Thernäd knew as well.

But what of those words the twins had heard from the elf they’d found? Surely Thernäd hadn’t thought Legolas was dead…

*****

A shadow tucked beneath the floor,

Wrapped close and stowed away

Slips outside a careless door

And to the open sight of day

A bit of past, no longer you

A memory you will not heed

A few words spoken, proven true

A lie that you no longer need

The tattered shreds of gray, concealing

Dust that settles thick and close

Now the light is white, revealing

That which once you feared the most

*****

“No one is here,” Aragorn’s voice was distant, as though he’d half expected the room to be empty.

The two friends stood silently in Mornaeg’s room, looking at its emptiness nervously. The wind blew harshly through the empty window, where the curtains that had given up and let go of their rod, lay crumpled betrayers on the cold floor.

Legolas’ eyes danced over the ghostly shadows of ink still lingering on the floor, a sight that brought back several bad memories now that he did not want to recall. He turned instead to Aragorn, who had the same look of fear in his eyes, for quite the same reasons. Neither one wanted to be here. Neither wished to remember.

“If Edren is not here, we should you go find out where he is,” Legolas resolved quietly.

Aragorn nodded. “I don’t wish to stay here, that is one thing I know certain.”

Legolas smiled. “Me neither, mellon nin. Although,” he continued, cocking his head slightly as he looked around the room once more. “I would have liked to know what those elves and Garaer had been talking about. The Precaution. I really would like to know what they meant.”

“The Precaution.” Aragorn repeated. “You mean what Thernäd said Edren was up here looking for?”

Legolas nodded. “When they arrested me, I overheard one of the elven guards and Garaer speak of it, saying that my father would be furious if ever I found out what it was.”

“Well then,” Aragorn shrugged, “if it does indeed sound that important, Legolas, oughtn’t we to look for it or try to find out what it is? I confess, it is mere curiosity on my part, but we must start unveiling this mystery at some point.”

Legolas thought a moment, the look on his face betraying the fact the idea was tempting. “No,” he said shaking his head. “No, we will look for Edren first.”

“All right.”

*click*

In split second it took the friends to spin around and face the door, they had both managed to draw their weapons and aim them at the doorway. But the doorway was blocked by its closed door, and it took only moments to figure out why. Aragorn was first to the door handle, and he shook it hard.

He turned. “Locked.”

Legolas sighed and nodded. That wasn’t, in fact, very surprising.

“Oh,” Aragorn sighed, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his closed eyelids. “This day just gets more and more complicated.”

Legolas only laughed, stowing his bow and the arrow that it had been strung with. “Oh come, Aragorn, don’t be so down. I’m just glad your father is here. Now we can look for that ‘Precaution’.”

Aragorn shook his head. “What about Edren?”

“That’s why I’m glad Elrond’s here. It won’t take him long to find us, and then we can find Edren,” Legolas said easily, keeping the anxiousness out of his tone. He was worried something had happened to his friend…but it didn’t look like he was where Thernäd *thought* he was, so perhaps there was no cause for worry.

“Nothing for it,” Legolas concluded at last. “Let us search.”

The human shrugged, and sheathed his sword. “How do we know it’s in here?”

“Garaer said he tied me to the bedpost so I wouldn’t find it,” Legolas responded, “thus it must be here somewhere.”

“Well, there’s really only one obvious place to check,” Aragorn said, approaching Mornaeg’s bed.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed coming to stand beside Aragorn. Simultaneously, they crouched to their hands and knees, and surveyed the underneath of the bed. It took but a moment to see it. A silver door handle.

Legolas and Aragorn looked at each other. “This is just the same sort of door I found under my father’s bed.”

Aragorn shook his head. “What?”

The prince was paused a moment, then as realization struck him, he laughed. “Oh, Strider, forgive me. I have left you long in the dark I fear.”

“Being arrested by your own people can do that,” Aragorn responded easily, patting Legolas on the shoulder. “What door?”

“I found a trapdoor just as this one under my father’s bed…” Legolas explained in the shortest fashion he could as the two pushed their way under the bed towards the trap door.

“…Garaer and his men thought I’d attempted to murder my own father, of course, so when they found me there- well, I think you know the rest.”

Aragorn nodded, scooting out of the way for Legolas to pull the trap door’s handle. “I talked with most of the elves who were there, even Garaer. I think I have a pretty safe account of the rest.” He shook his head in wonder as Legolas tugged hard on the handle, but the door would not budge. “I just cannot believe that your father has been growing Bengwiil under his bed for so long.”

Legolas nodded, tugging at the door again. “I know, it’s hard to picture him thinking it wisdom, but from where I stand, Bengwiil has never been anything but solid evil, so perhaps you could say I’m just close-minded.”

Aragorn shook his head, grasping the handle as well in assistance. “Not close-minded, Legolas. Just sensible.”

With a silent count of three, the two pulled on the trap door’s handle, and with a *creeeak* it groaned open. Legolas froze as stale air wafted from the unknown black bellow. It was musty and dank…but there was a beautiful scent as well…something clean and wonderful. Something lighter than the heavy dirt-smelling breeze that drifted towards them.

“I know that scent…” Legolas whispered before he could stop himself. “I- remember it…barely. It brings something back to me, though I cannot recall it.”

Aragorn leaned his head down to the black opening, and sniffed. “Oh,” he smiled and nodded, “it’s eucalyptus. Yes, a beautiful scent.”

Legolas looked at him. “Eucalyptus?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen it, Legolas, with it’s raindrop-shaped leaves and almost suffocating strong scent. It is a vine plant, and I’m fairly certain you can find it growing here.”

Legolas nodded. “Yes, I think you can…it’s just- I knew someone. I- I knew someone who loved eucalyptus and grew it outside their window…it made their whole room smell of it, once. It doesn‘t smell that way anymore, but it…” His voice was quiet as he probed for memory. “The name just brings back memories.”

“What sort of memories?” Aragorn asked curiously, letting the trap door close partway.

“Good ones,” Legolas smiled, and nodded. “Yes, good ones. Of my mother.”

Aragorn paused and studied his friend. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, trying to think of something more meaningful to say. Legolas only shrugged half-heartedly, and stared into the dark below the trapdoor.

“Legolas,” Aragorn began hesitantly, “I have never asked you before, and if it is a question you have no wish to answer, say it, and I promise not to ask again.”

Legolas half smiled and shook his head. “What is it, Aragorn?”

Aragorn’s face was quiet. “Where is your mother?”

Legolas was silent, his eyes locking on Aragorn’s. But he was not hurt, not angry…just suddenly silent. He didn’t seem to even breathe. He finally broke his eye contact with Aragorn, and looked into the trapdoor again. “She left,” he said at last. “Because of complications in Mirkwood, problems within these halls, and…and family problems. It was all too much for her, so she had to go away.”

Aragorn shook his head. “To where?”

“Far,” Legolas answered vacantly. “So far…I don’t know if I shall ever see her again.”

“I’m sorry,” Aragorn said again. “I should not have asked-”

“No, Aragorn, no.” Legolas’ eyes met his friend’s again with solid assurance. “It’s all right. Naneth, she- she promised me I’d never forget her, and I have not. She also promised to watch me forever.” He smiled. “One of the last things she told me. I was- very young then.” He shook his head, his smile fading, and his features softened to impassive remembrance. “I think her last words of all were to Father…but I do not know what they were. I wish I did. I suppose I miss her.”

His eyebrows creased in painful memory, and then at seeing Aragorn beside him again, he sighed, and let his pain dissolve. “But it is in the past, mellon nin, and there it is to stay…and now that I smell eucalyptus again, it seems all the clearer to me. It doesn’t hurt, my friend. Memories of Naneth are nothing but good.”

Aragorn paused, holding the door open for a moment. “I am glad you could tell me.”

“I am glad you could ask…you know me, Aragorn.” Legolas laughed lightly. “Not many people really know me, but- well, you do.”

The silence only lasted a moment, and Aragorn nodded resolutely, causing Legolas to do the same in a silent, mutual understanding, their hands going back to holding the trapdoor open.

Legolas sighed and shook his head. “I *very* much don’t want to go down there, but I know I have to.”

“Don’t worry,” Aragorn reassured, “I go with you, Legolas.”

Legolas nodded, then froze.

Echoes of something distant. Something hidden in the present or buried in the past.

“You first, mellon nin,” Aragorn encouraged, he seemed to have missed his friend’s momentary confusion, or at least misjudged it to be Legolas gathering his courage to go down. “Go on the count of three.”

Legolas nodded, as the Aragorn counted quietly: “Er, atta, nelde!” And Legolas leapt into the dark unknown beneath the trapdoor. Without hesitation, Aragorn let go of the door, and slid into the opening after him.

It was completely dark below as the trapdoor slammed shut behind Aragorn. “Legolas?” he called quietly in the dark.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned quickly in surprise. Almost instantly he was reassured, though, for it was Legolas, his features glowing pale in the darkness.

“Forgive me,” Legolas apologized, grinning.

A dull thud came from above that sounded somewhat like footsteps, and Aragorn’s eyes snapped to the ceiling. But there was nothing else to be heard.

“You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you, Strider?” Legolas’ face was amused.

Aragorn shook his head in wonder, and laughed lightly. “I have a good reason.”

Legolas nodded, glancing around at the dark. “Indeed. Come, let’s see what’s down here.”

The two made their way easily down the sloping dirt ground, Aragorn following Legolas’ pale glow. The human noted with curiosity that Legolas’ feet knew this ground. They walked flat and smoothly over the unfamiliar terrain. Perhaps it was simply that Legolas was an elf, and Aragorn a human…perhaps.

The ground sloped easily downward for a little while, and then opened up into a much wider room. Aragorn couldn’t see how wide for sure, but he could hear his breath echoing, and feel that the air was no longer so close.

“Aragorn, there is a torch just to your left, and a flint rock underneath it. I’ll light the other one by the wall.”

Aragorn blinked in the dark, but he could see nothing. Still, he trusted Legolas’ eyes more than his own, so he turned to find the torch. Sure enough, there it was, just to his left, and a fair-sized flint rock just beneath it. He struck the rock against the inside of the torch, and in short time held it aloft so the light could reveal the mysterious room.

The ceiling wasn’t that high, but high enough to stand straight- just barely. For the most part, it was a normal dirt room. That is…except for a few strange things.

As he had suspected, there was eucalyptus hanging from the ceiling, held up by lengths of thin twine. Just to the corner of the ceiling, though, was something rather odd. Something not belonging in this mysterious room of cold shadow.

Tied to two wooden pegs that appeared to pin all the way through the dirt to the wood floor above, were two lengths of elven rope. Tied to the ends of those ropes was a wooden board which hung about two feet from the ground. Aragorn approached the strange device slowly, the sound of Legolas trying to light his torch echoing around him.

As the human held his torch up to the dirt wall behind the ropes and board, he found, as he thought he might, the marks of bare feet on the loose dirt. Small bare feet that had pounded against the wall to propel the board and ropes back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...

“Finally,” Legolas called, as his torch lit, and he turned to find where Aragorn had gone. Aragorn only half noticed when Legolas came to stand beside him.

“Legolas,” the human asked quietly, “why is there a swing down here?”

Legolas shrugged. “How should I know?”

“You knew where the torches were, and though perhaps you saw in the dark better than I, you could not have seen the flint rock beneath them. Your feet know this ground. This dirt.” Aragorn shook his head. “Legolas, I think you’ve been here. You know this place.”

Legolas seemed to wince. “I know.”

“Where is it? Why do you know?”

Again, Legolas seemed to cringe slightly, as he whispered, “I don’t remember.” He walked slowly towards the small swing, and he smiled faintly as he grabbed the rope, pushed it back, then let it swing forth. His mind seemed to retreat within him as he watched the swing glide forward and backward, and fought to remember.

The Ranger moved a step towards the swing, examining the board that was its seat. He stood up to face Legolas in confusion. “The side of the swing is crusted with blood, Legolas.”

Legolas’ look became nearly identical to Aragorn’s as he leaned forward to find that, sure enough, there was blood crusted to the right-hand corner of the swing. Aragorn’s bewilderment increased as he watched his friend carefully.

Legolas had begun to rub the back of his right hand unconsciously.

Then, something caught the corner of the human’s eye, and he moved across to the opposite wall to look. Just to the right of where he and Legolas had entered, was a piece of old paper tacked to the wall with an arrow. “Legolas, come look,” Aragorn called over his shoulder, and felt his friend instantly respond by coming.

As Legolas came to stand beside Aragorn for the second time, his eyes became wide. “I know this…I know it…” His hand trembled strangely as he pulled the arrow from the wall and let the piece of ancient parchment flutter into his grasp.

On it there was an inscription followed by a strange list, all written in faded red ink. Ink that was dark and crusted, like dried blood. And yet, though it was old and faded, it shone slightly in the torchlight, as though it were still wet- which is was not. Legolas shuddered as he recognized the look of it. Mornaeg’s ink, that was certain.

He read the words carefully, and felt Aragorn look at them over his shoulder.

And then, at the very bottom of the page, a small inscription that was slightly unsteady, and certainly not as fancy and smooth as the writing above. A child’s pen wrote the words:

Legolas’ mind was whirling with questions, with answers, and yet it somehow seemed completely blank. Not a word he was thinking made sense to him. What was it? No- when? Where had it been? Memory or dream? Dream or memory? Something in this was familiar, something he had to find. Had to cling to. Had to trust with all of his might.

“I know these words…I know them, Estel…” Legolas breathed quietly.

“You know them but don’t remember them,” Aragorn assessed.

“Exactly,” Legolas nodded and almost smiled. Aragorn’s voice seemed to bring him back to earth, and his mind stopped swirling at this comforting realization; Aragorn was there. No matter how confused Legolas was, he had a friend who knew him like no one else. Legolas could almost feel his mind anchoring itself in reality again.

“So what do you think it means?”

Legolas shook his head, reading the paper again. “Silivren,” he whispered, before he knew why.

“What?”

“S-silivren,” he repeated, shaking his head. “The passwords is ‘silivren’. I know it.”

Aragorn nodded slowly. “All right. But what has that to do with the-” He leaned over Legolas’ shoulder to read the paper again. “Find the wind and ask him his name?”

“I don’t know.” Legolas’ voice was in a daze. “But- the passwords is ‘silivren’. Someone…once told me…they said: ‘the password is silivren this time.’ I can still hear it in my head.” He shuddered slightly. “I don’t recall a face.”

“What of the voice, Legolas? Who told you this password?”

Legolas shut his eyes tight, and felt Aragorn’s kind fingers rubbing his shoulder to calm his thoughts, and assist his concentration.

“What do you remember?” Aragorn’s voice echoed gently in Legolas’ head as the elf’s mind fought to answer the question. “What do you see, Legolas?”

Legolas’ mental eyes searched his memory madly. The password is ‘silivren’ this time. Tell Bioren it’s ‘silivren’. Who spoke? What voice was it? He knew it, he remembered it…it struck familiarity in his heart. It struck deep.

“What do you see?” the question now came from nowhere. It came from something close…somewhere right beside him, though it no longer felt like Aragorn. Rather a command from his own mind. A command to remember.

“I see…” he whispered, his eyes shut tight. His memory seemed to be surfacing for the first time, clear as day. He saw an elf with blonde hair and deep, green eyes. The elf was smiling, laughing. Bioren something told him. It’s Bioren.

The elf was so small…no…not small, just far away. Legolas realized he was looking through the branches of a tree. Everything was green and alive, yet he was unhappy. He was worried…

“Come down now, Lindo! You cannot stay up there forever, little sparrow.” The voice was kind, yet it did not make Legolas feel better.

Legolas’ eyes opened, and he realized he was panting.

“Legolas, are you all right?” Aragorn was asking, afraid to touch the elf, and jerk him from the memories he’d fought so hard for.

Legolas’ hands were shaking and he’d dropped his torch to the dirt floor, though his fingers still clutched the old paper determinedly. “I- I’m sorry…” he whispered, his eyebrows creasing with confusion. “What…what did I say?”

Aragorn shook his head. “Nothing, but you started panting and dropped your torch, and- Legolas, you’re pale…what’s wrong?”

“I don’t…I think- I don’t know.” Legolas shook his head. “I remembered something…but it can’t be…I don’t…”

“Sh…” Aragorn soothed, setting his torch on the ground as well so he could grip both of Legolas’ shoulder. “Sh, calm down. Legolas, look at me.” Legolas did. “What did you see?”

Legolas froze for a heartbeat, his eyes widening in disbelief. “I saw…I saw my past. I saw someone…”

“Who, Legolas? Who did you see?”

Legolas’ face blanched even more, and his free hand gripped Aragorn’s right shoulder. “Aragorn- I saw…I saw Minaeg. I saw Mornaeg’s brother Minaeg!”

*thudthudthud*

Legolas flinched painfully at the sudden sound, and nearly gasped. Aragorn held his friend’s shoulders tightly still, and turned his head. “Hello?” he called at the sound of boots on the wood floor.

“Átniir? Are you up here? It’s Daurrè, Átniir, where are you?”

Chapter 9

Back to the Beginning

It took little time for Aragorn and Legolas to climb out of the dirt room, through the trapdoor, and back under Mornaeg’s bed again. Legolas had folded up the old piece of paper and tucked it into his belt, and now that Aragorn and him were lying under the bed, closing the trapdoor once more, he felt strangely comforted by the fact that the paper was with him.

As much as it frightened him, he wanted to know. And to remember. After all, he couldn’t help thinking, it was *his* past, and he ought to have it back, somehow.

When the two friends slid out from under the bed, Daurrè was still there, but he was not paying any attention to the companions who seemed to appear out of nowhere from under the old bed frame. He was standing by the stone window, looking down at the towering trees, a thoughtful and slightly troubled look on his face.

“Daurrè?” Legolas asked gently as the two came to stand beside the younger elf.

Daurrè jumped, and whirled around. “Legolas! Estel? What- where did you come from?”

“Sorry to frighten you, my friend,” Legolas smiled. “We heard you come in looking for someone.”

“I could have *sworn* this room was empty when I came in,” was Daurrè’s still-shocked reply.

“Well, it wasn’t,” Legolas responded simply, in a hurry to get off the subject. Somehow, he didn’t want to speak of this ‘Precaution’ which held so many secrets of his past. Not even to Daurrè. “What were you looking at, mellon nin?”

The light in Daurrè’s eyes that had sparked with his surprise, faded to dull at the words, and he turned to look out the window once more. “Just the tree. That one, the tall scraggly thing.” He pointed, and then let his hand fall limply to the windowsill. “The tree that took a life. I always thought- that it was so much harder for the Firstborn to die. I didn’t want to be wrong.” He shook his head. “What a gruesome memory it is.”

Legolas was surprised. He had been certain that only a few knew of Mornaeg’s death. Only he and Edren had been there when they found his body, thrown out the window by his own will. And then, they had told Thranduil. Surely no one else knew. Surely not Daurrè, at least.

“How do you know of his death, Daurrè?”

“I was among those requested to take the body down and let it fade.” His gaze was distant. “We left him to lie ever in the river…to be washed away to the sea someday.” He looked down at his hands which were trembling slightly. “I can still feel his cold hand…I’ve never dealt with that before. Death. I never considered it until now. And it frightens me, because- I just don’t understand it.”

Legolas put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know, it’s hard to comprehend. I’m sorry my father asked you to assist, Daurrè. If I had known-”

“No, I’m glad,” Daurrè cut in, turning to face Legolas. “And your father did not ask me, I volunteered, because…because if one thing can scare me more than death, it is ignorance. I don’t want to be sheltered forever, Legolas. I’m not so young anymore.”

Aragorn was surprised to hear that. He’d always thought of age being something elves never really considered. Something that meant nothing to them. And to now hear Daurrè refer to himself as ‘not so young anymore’…it was a strange thing to hear from elven lips.

“How many years are you, Daurrè, if it is not ill-mannered to ask such a thing of you.”

Daurrè couldn’t help smiling slightly as he turned his gaze on Aragorn. “Well, too many years to count. And it would not mean anything if ever I counted them. But…I have not been on this Middle Earth for the time Legolas has. Perhaps rather for a half of that time.”

Aragorn’s eyes went slightly wide before he could stop them. “You are- half of Legolas’ age?”

Daurrè shrugged, and Legolas was smiling now too. “Age doesn’t mean much to the elves, as you know well from your brothers, Aragorn, but Daurrè…” Legolas rubbed the elf’s shoulder again before letting go and turning to Aragorn once more. “He has long been looked down on, or so he used to feel.”

“Not the most blessed of- I suppose you’d think of it as ‘chlildhood’,” Daurrè interpreted. “When I was young, my life seemed ever darkened by my inferiority.”

Aragorn shook his head. “What inferiority?”

Legolas grinned and Daurrè shook his head in quiet laughter. “He was small,” Legolas answered at last. “For the first centuries of his life, he remained small for an elf. And his size led most to protecting him far too often. He never hunted either. He wasn’t just *short*, mind you, but small. And maybe a little frail, as well.”

Legolas shook his head, and tugged gently on Daurrè’s sleeve. “But that is in the past now, is it not mellon nin? And for that, I will not shelter you if you wish that.”

Daurrè nodded, and smiled. “Over all my years, all my life…you and Edren were always kind to me when no one else was.” He smiled and turned to Aragorn. “Between the two of them, I was never alone. They gave me…what I shall cherish forever…” His voice trailed off, and he smiled.

“What?” Aragorn turned his curious eyes from Daurrè to Legolas, but the elven prince was also smiling, and in a sort of playful way, for his eyes were sparkling, and a dimple imprinted itself in his right cheek. He wasn’t going to answer the question, it was written all over his face.

“All right, fine then, ah idher muina mellyn,” Aragorn grumbled good-naturedly. “Have your secrets.”

//oh dear and secretive friends,//

Legolas laughed lightly. “Come, Strider. We must find Edren.”

“Edren? Oh…y-you are looking for him as well?”

The two friends looked questioningly at Daurrè. “Yes, we are,” Aragorn responded. “You?”

Daurrè nodded. “I came up here, thinking I would find him.” He shrugged. “I found you instead.”

“Well, then, let us be off to look for him!” Legolas concluded, starting towards the door.

“Go look, and bring word if you find him,” Daurrè asked. “But, I have other business see to first. I won’t be long, I shouldn’t think.”

“All right then, Daurrè. See you in awhile.” Legolas nodded to his friend, and then he and Aragorn went back down the long stairs to find Edren.

**********

“Thernäd!” Legolas gasped, holding onto the wall he’d grabbed to get out of his friend’s way. He had not expected, when he and Aragorn came looking for Edren, they’d nearly run into his wife, Thernäd coming around the hallway corner.

Legolas turned to be sure Aragorn was all right. “You’re not hurt, mellon nin?”

Aragorn shook his head, still holding his nose which had collided violently with the back of Legolas’ head when his friend had pulled to a sudden halt after walking so brusquely down the hall. “Fine,” he assured, letting go of his nose at last, and sporting a rueful smile.

Thernäd was pressing her palm to her heart and panting. “I apologize, Legolas! I had not expected you here.”

Legolas nodded. “Where are you going at such a pace, if I may ask.”

Thernäd paused a moment, then shook her head. “Looking for something.”

“Well, do you know where Edren is?” Aragorn asked.

“Aye, and why did you tell us to go to Mornaeg’s room? Someone came and locked us in, Thernäd.” Legolas’ voice was somber. “I would very much like to know what’s going on.”

The elf maiden looked blank and at a loss. “But I-” She stopped. “I sent you up there,” she finished, but her heart was no longer in the words. She was just speaking them so her sentence would not be left incomplete.

“Remember, Thernäd? When I came to your room, and knocked at the door? I asked about Edren, and you said to go to Mornaeg’s room.”

Something behind Thernäd’s eyes seemed to click, and she went pale. “Oh yes,” she said. “I must- I must be going, please excuse me.” She pushed past the two friends, and ran down the hall they’d just come from.

“Where is Edren?!” Legolas called after her, panic seeping into his voice unexpectedly.

“Our room!” she called, but did not look back, and disappeared into the darkening hall.

Aragorn and Legolas simply stared at each other for a heartbeat, and then, turned quickly in the direction of Edren and Thernäd’s room.

About seven paces down the hall, another familiar face came brusquely up the staircase just ahead.

“Any news, Adda?” Aragorn asked, pulling to a halt before the elven lord.

“No news, perhaps a lead, though,” Elrond responded, nodding at the two of them. “You’ve spoken with Edren?”

“N-no, not yet. We were on our way to do that.” Legolas was suddenly painfully aware that they had been held up by the ‘Precaution’ for a fair duration. Surely Elrond would be curious what had taken them so long, and then what would Legolas tell him? Where would he start?

But Elrond didn’t press the matter, but nodded, and said, “Well, let me know if he can help you at all. I have spoken with the Healer Tirniel, and I want to have a word with Daurrè, have you seen him?”

“Mornaeg’s old room,” Legolas responded, while Aragorn pointed over his shoulder to the steps at the end of the hall.

“Hannon le.”

And they parted ways a second time.

**********

Legolas rapped lightly on the oak door, but there was no response.

“Seems to happen a lot of late,” Aragorn answered dryly. “Do the elves of Mirkwood often hide themselves in their rooms?”

“Only when they are needed most,” Legolas grumbled, causing Aragorn to grin.

“That’s it,” Legolas said at last, and opened the door, stepping into the dark room on the other side of the doorway, Aragorn close behind.

The room looked dark and saddened. Soft rain patted the windowsill which was half visible through its fluttering curtain. The entry room was empty, so Legolas went to Edren and Thernäd’s room. It also was empty. Well, there was only one room left.

Legolas walked soundlessly to the guest room…a room he could remember well. His last night spent there was as clear as his darkest dreams, as he stood in front of the door.

Legolas’ shook the memory from his mind, feeling the presence of Aragorn over his shoulder particularly comforting right now. It’s funny, he mused silently, but even now, I can scarcely believe I’ve completely lost him once, and received him back again. Not all of it, but parts of life are amazingly gracious.

And he put his hand to the oak door, and pushed.

In the gloom, in the white sound of rain against the windowpane, in the middle of the room, Edren was sitting on the guest bed. His legs dangled loosely over the bed’s side, and his head was concealed by his hands.

“Edren?” Legolas spoke quietly.

Edren’s head rose quickly, and he fixed his blank gaze on Legolas. Legolas’ heart froze. There were tears in Edren’s eyes, and in the dim light, he could see the trail of older tears on his fair cheeks.

“Legolas,” Edren tried to look pleased, or at least welcoming, but all he managed to do was speak the words with a cracking voice. “Welcome,” he added, quieter this time, perhaps so his voice wouldn’t crack again.

Legolas swallowed hard, suddenly at a loss of what to do. He walked slowly to the bed, and just as gradually and gracefully, sat down beside Edren. Aragorn also approached the further of the room, but did not assume a position so close to Edren. Instead, he sat on the wood floor, bracing his back against the night stand.

“Edren?” Legolas asked quietly. “What is wrong, my friend?”

Edren shook his head, rubbing tired hands over his face once more, then staring unblinkingly at the floor. “Thernäd, she…we’ve been…there’s something-” he paused, meeting Legolas’ gaze at last. “I wish I could tell you,” he stated at last, and then looked away.

Legolas sat silently, wondering what on earth was wrong and how he could ever ask Edren for the truth when there was clearly something more pressing on his friend’s mind. He opened his hand. It seemed that with the thought of his questions for Edren on his mind, his fingers had gone for the piece of old paper he and Aragorn had found. He couldn’t remember pulling it out of his belt, but he must have without looking.

He stared down at the paper, but said nothing, and Edren did not seem to notice he had done anything at all, so he did nothing.

Silence is painful when purposeful. Something in the air- something akin to hesitance, and yet more determined than even that wrestled on quiet moments.

At last, at long last, the breathy sound of an elven voice trickled into existence. “Edren, I came here to ask something of you.”

Aragorn said nothing, waiting almost as eagerly as Legolas for the reply.

“And what is that?” It was clear Edren knew, or was afraid he knew.

After all this. All this, and it would end here. He didn’t know if he was relieved or afraid.

It felt more like fear.

“I want…” Another pause. At last, he would ask.

Now.

“I want the truth, Edren. All of it. Lindo, Arasen, Tiro-Lim, Bioren…” Legolas shook the old piece of paper in his hand. “I need to know, Edren. I must. Please.”

Edren sighed solemnly, taking the paper from Legolas’ outstretched hand, and smoothing the wrinkles out of it. “You needn’t push the matter nor worry of convincing me, Legolas…for it has been long that I’ve wished to tell you of this. Long.”

“Then you will?” Legolas was unashamed of his pleading tone.

“Yes,” Edren said at last. “Yes I shall. But understand, Legolas…it won’t be easy, it-” He shook his head. “Never mind, you’ll find out soon enough.” He was quiet a moment longer, searching his thoughts and memories. “So many things to say,” he sighed, shaking his head. “But where to begin…”

“Why not the beginning?” Aragorn put in quietly.

Edren nodded slowly, and then fixed gray eyes on the young elf in front of him. Legolas met the intense gaze with his own silver one, ready to lose himself in mystery.

“Prince Legolas Greenleaf. Lindo. The Little Sparrow.”

And so Edren began.

Chapter 10

Your Story

“When we were little, Legolas, we had a game we simply always played.”

“What?”

“We called it: The Adventures of the Worthy Heroes of Greenwood the Great. A long title, considering that we were quite young when we first invented the game.”

“How young?” Legolas put in again, shaking his head. “I don’t remember a game like that in any detail-”

“Legolas,” Edren broke in hastily but kindly, “if you interrupt like this the whole way, I shall never get my story out.”

Legolas smiled in spite of himself. “Forgive me.”

Edren shook his head. “I understand your confusion. You don’t remember that make-believe world of ours in any detail, because…well…” He shook his head harder, refusing to continue that particular train of thought. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Just bare with me, all right?”

Legolas nodded, and concentrated on listening rather than speaking.

“These adventures always consisted of two major characters; Lindo, the Little Sparrow, named for his tendency to hide like a bird in the trees, and to sing like a spring sparrow from its concealing branches. The second ‘Worthy Hero’ who was without fail in the midst of these adventures, was Arasen, the Loyal Fawn. For he ran far faster than the sparrow flies, and yet he was not as clever as his songbird friend, so he stood as the loyal companion, ever and true.”

Edren smiled slightly. “You were Lindo, Legolas, I think you have all ready comprehended that much.”

Legolas nodded, and then responded slowly, as if in a dream, “You were Arasen.”

Edren seemed to freeze for a moment. It *couldn’t* be that easy. “You remember?”

In slow motion, Legolas shook his head. “Not as of yet…please, keep going.”

Edren nodded quickly, and launched back into his tale. “There was another Worthy Hero who often spent time with the two of us. His name was Tiro-Lim, meaning ‘Guardian of Sparrows’. He was always the one to protect us when we needed him, and be with us to make us laugh.” Edren smiled distantly. “He could always…always make you laugh, Legolas. No matter what.” He seemed to pull out of his deeper thoughts and surface once more.

“And then there was Bioren, the Follower. He was the one to always get us out of trouble with your father. Whenever we were caught playing in the prison cells or trying to taste-test his celebration ale, Bioren seemed to keep us from getting in trouble every time…well…almost every time.” And Edren almost laughed at some unseen memory. “He followed us everywhere most times, and assisted in our make-believe, but more so he was there to tell us no when we were about to do something disobedient again.

“His heart was always in it, and yet he never was as whole-heartedly playful as Tiro-Lim. The both of them were so much older than us, like uncles more than playmates, and yet they always found time for us both. Anyway, one afternoon-”

“Edren…who were Tiro-Lim and Bioren?” Legolas shook his head, afraid of the answer. Because he knew it. Was he remembering or just guessing? It didn’t matter.

“Legolas, you know,” Edren interpreted the fear on Legolas’ face. “They were twins. Twin brothers. Mornaeg and Minaeg.”

Legolas nodded slowly, ashamed of his fear. “I know,” he confirmed, shaking his head, trying to grip himself. Mornaeg and Minaeg. Not villains, not evil beings, but friends? How was he supposed to grasp that?

Edren could tell there was confusion on the young prince’s face, so he trudged on into his story, laying a comforting hand on his friend’s knee. “Stay with me, Legolas, keep listening. Try to remember.”

Legolas nodded.

“One afternoon, Minaeg came to us in our hideout…I suspect since you found this list, you’ve all ready found that old hideaway.”

Again, Legolas nodded, but said nothing, clinging to every one of Edren’s words.

“I’m not surprised…it was only a matter of time that you searched the only likely hiding place in there, seeing that that room has been under suspicion so long.”

Legolas just nodded a third time, waiting for the story to continue.

“Well, Minaeg came to tell us that he and Mornaeg were going on a hunt. It had been a very, very long time since they’d gone hunting, since their father had been attacked and killed by orc scouts once, causing their mother to leave into the deep of Mirkwood and fade forever. They never saw her again. So needless to say, we were both surprised, and worried when they told us they were off on a hunting trip.

“Mornaeg said it was because Minaeg- the older of the two by mere moments -had decided it was time for the two of them to face their fears. I think the decision was brought about because the anniversary of their parents’ marriage had been a few nights before, and you and I had both found Mornaeg on his favorite balcony, weeping. We reported it to Minaeg, which of course at first, had made Mornaeg furious, but in the end, he felt it was for the better.

“’We will finally face the pain that fades with the year’ Mornaeg told us. Though I, being older than you, tried hard to understand, you, being closer to Mornaeg than anyone save his brother, were very upset with it all. You ran out of our hideout, all the way down the stairs, where I called after you, but you did not turn. As Minaeg told me afterwards, he found you in a tree, hiding away like the sparrow you were. He finally coaxed you out of the branches, and you came to say farewell to them.”

Legolas’ mind was whirling. That was what he’d remembered in the hideout…those words of Minaeg persuading him out of the tree. Yet the whole story still sounded new to Legolas. The names were familiar, and yet he could not remember the events…it felt more like a favorite book he had not read in centuries, and only now picked up anew.

It wasn’t his story. It was someone else’s. It had to be. Shouldn’t he remember his own past?

“After they left, along with several other hunters, you and I were worried, but still held out hope that it was an easy venture, and they had promised to return in at least a fortnight. Well, it did not go as we had hoped.”

“I know,” Legolas said swiftly, realizing he hadn’t budged for quite awhile. His mouth all ready felt dry, like that of someone who has awoken from a deep slumber, and licks their lips for the first time.

“You know?”

“Morneag told me…to stall me from helping Estel when he was dying,” he added bitterly, remember the story Mornaeg had so resentfully related to Legolas in the Great Hall…

Legolas shook his head. “It seems so far away…you would think I’d remember-”

“Keep listening,” Edren encouraged, and continued. “Well, so you know of the unfortunate attack on Mornaeg and Minaeg while hunting. We were brought inside from our midnight romp in the top balconies with the news of Minaeg’s wounds. We both found him in the Healer’s with Prestomin, cuts and bruises marking him all over…I remember that fear unlike any other. I’d never seen an elf die since…since my father.” Edren paused, thinking, and then, seamlessly, started again.

“I don’t remember clearly how long it took for them to decide on a cure, but I do remember what happened whichever day it was. They chose Bengwiil. It was such a strange idea that neither you nor I fully understood, and Mornaeg and Minaeg didn’t like talking about it. All we really knew was that people all over Mirkwood had begun to think of it as the magical cure for virtually everything. ‘All you have to do is burn it and breathe, and pain is gone’ they would tell us. But your father, at least, was uneasy about it as well, even though he used it often himself.

“But despite all this, they had officially decided that burning it was no good for Minaeg, who was dying more everyday. So they fed him one. Just one leaf…but it was enough. In hours, he was better, seemingly. Completely healed. He was happy again, and he was cheerful and wanted to play our games.

“I think you found it unsettling from the start, Legolas. You kept saying that Minaeg seemed ‘a bit happy’ to you. And it was true, Minaeg had always been the silent one, like a second father to you and me. He and Mornaeg being so much older than us, we looked up to them to be smarter than the both of us. Seeing him so happy worried you, I think, though you never said as much aloud. I was slower to believe it. I think I wanted Bengwiil to be a cure…maybe I…well, I won’t dwell on the details, else the story shall never be out.”

Edren smiled but Aragorn, who could see his face plainly, unlike Legolas who sat close beside him, could see more than a history streaming over the elf’s eyes. It was more than a thought to him, but something in this tale played to his emotions in a very different way.

But Aragorn nodded unconsciously, his eyes never leaving Edren’s face as Legolas’ history, one that seemed to bring a whole new dimension to him, in Aragorn’s eyes, was played out word by word. Be silent and wait, he commanded himself, and settled the back of his head to the night table he was braced against, ignoring the whirling sensation in his head that was coming back…

“I don’t remember much about the days that passed during Minaeg’s strange recovery. All I can recall vividly is what happened almost exactly seven nights after that recovery. Minaeg started acting strange. It started when Mornaeg and I went to visit him- you were on your favorite balcony watching the sunrise, Legolas. He was in the Healer’s again, but you had asked not to come until your head was clear, so Mornaeg and I went instead. When we got there, we found Minaeg very ill. His eyes were strangely wide, and he was staring around the room as though the walls themselves meant to attack him.

“When Mornaeg tried to speak with him, Minaeg just shook his head and said, ‘Stop! Please stop! Hauta han!’ and his eyes tightened shut against the image of Mornaeg’s face, and he shook his head over and over, covering his ears as though in a pounding headache.

“Mornaeg, completely shaken up by his older brother’s strange actions, said no more and fled the room. I was terrified to be alone with Minaeg in such a state, so I went to find you, Legolas. I told you what happened, and you were as frightened as I. We made up our minds that we could do nothing for our friends, but let your father fix everything.

“We decided to hide away in your room and play make-believe. Fantasy seemed the only fallback now. The only thing that could possibly distract us from fear. So we went to your room, and played. But it was so half-hearted it felt even worse than before, knowing all the while that Bioren was acting strange, and Tiro-Lim afraid.

“Well, we were standing by your window, looking over the trees, silent, when Mornaeg came in. He had a casket of ale, and a burlap sack. Well, we took one look at the casket, and by the fact that it had hardwood for the cork, and metal rings instead of brass, we knew that it was the undiluted ale that your father keeps for celebration.” Edren shook his head. “We were so stunned to see him up here, and so frightened by the ale and suspicious bag, we just froze, and said nothing.

“Then he said, ‘Tell no one where I am…don’t tell your father, Lindo.’ He didn’t even look at us, but climbed under the bed, and disappeared through the trapdoor.

“Well, you, Legolas, were braver, and climbed under the bed after him. I followed behind, but only stayed at the trapdoor’s entrance, while you went down.” Edren smiled ruefully. “I was a coward even then. Who knew?”

And before Legolas to argue, Edren spurred on, almost in a hurry to get through this part.

“I heard you ask him what we could do. He said the same as he had before. He *begged* you not to tell anyone where he was, especially your father, and pleaded that you and I both keep the secret as long as possible. You promised faithfully, as did I, from a distance, and so you then asked how Minaeg was doing, anyway. There was silence a minute, and then he said, ‘I went to play the flute for him, like I used to when we were young…he didn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear a note of it. He is lost and…Ist-’”

“Istonal tulga.” Legolas’ voice sounded dead in his own ears.

//I know not comfort//

There was silence for a long moment.

“Do…do you remember?” Edren asked quietly.

Legolas didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He seemed completely frozen, staring somewhere just beyond the open doorway of the bedroom. His mind whirled with thoughts and questions that were answered as soon as asked. It took several long moments for him to realize the answer to Edren’s question.

Yes.

He did remember…if only a little.

But instead of saying it aloud, afraid of losing the memory in the midst of Edren’s surprise or Aragorn’s inquiries, he began to speak, taking up the tale where Edren had stopped. “’He is lost, and thus istoal tulga.’ After his words, he started to drink his ale down so quickly…I thought he was going to drown himself in it somehow. I was so frightened of him all at once…I turned and I climbed back out the trapdoor, nearly running straight into Edren.

“I told him I had to go to Minaeg. I had to…I had to make him hear Mornaeg’s flute again. Edren tried to make me think better of it, but I was so terrified of doing nothing, that doing something foolish seemed much easier. So I ran as fast I could back to the Healer’s, trying to think of what I would say to Minaeg the whole way there. When I reached it, I couldn’t have ever been prepared for what I saw…” Legolas shuddered, and his eyes closed tight as his memory became steadily more and more vivid.

He was remembering.

He was REMEMBERING.

The story was slipping from ‘tale’ to ‘past’. HIS past. It was impossible.

“Minaeg was dying. Prestomin, Uilin and even Tirniel, who was so inexperienced to be healing on his own, were around him, trying to keep him from fading away. They were scrambling around, whispering ‘He must know comfort…any comfort…’ But no one was as panicked as my father…he was moving everywhere…walking faster than I’d ever seen him. He was frantic, something he had not been for a long time. It frightened me even further.

“’He has to hear Mornaeg’s flute!’ I cried as loudly as I could, thinking, I suppose, that if only I could get my father and get Minaeg to agree to that, Mornaeg would come out of our hideout again. I felt so small…and useless too, before my father and all his Healers. What could I do? No one looked at me but my father. His eyes became wide, and he shook his head. ‘Leave, Legolas, go now!’ he cried at me. I couldn’t go, not when I didn’t understand why. ‘Minaeg-’ I started to say, but he cut me off. ‘Minaeg is *dying*, Leoglas! Go now!’.

“Dying.” Legolas’ tone was horizontal with confusion. “What a strange word to me. I knew what it meant, and yet it made no sense. I don’t remember anything about the run back, I only know that somehow I made it to Mornaeg’s room…no.” Legolas shook his head, his eyes opening for the first time in a long while, and he looked at Edren. “Not Mornaeg’s room. It was *my* room.”

Edren nodded.

“But that- doesn’t make sense,” Legolas argued half-heartedly.

“What was up till recently Mornaeg’s room was indeed, *your* room, Legolas. It does make sense.”

“But why-”

“I’ll explain soon, I promise. But keep going with what you can remember.”

Legolas nodded slowly, and with a sidelong glance to see how Aragorn was doing- the human was sitting comfortably against the bedside table, with a transfixed look locked onto Legolas and Edren -and then closed his eyes again…

**********

“Edren!” Legolas came running as fast as his small legs could carry him, panting for breath at the top of the stairs. Edren was sitting on the prince’s bed, cradling his fist tightly against his heaving chest. Legolas’ steps slowed. “What’s wrong, Edren?”

The young elf bit his lip, then shrugged, opening his hand for Legolas to see. His index finger had swelled red, and the nail was lightly tinged in purple. “Pinched it in the trapdoor,” Edren explained, shrugging again. “It’s okay, though.”

“How’d you pinch your finger?” Legolas shook his head, momentarily forgetting his reason in running so quickly back.

“I was in a hurry to get out,” Edren said shortly.

Legolas shook his head again. “Well, anyway, we *must* get Mornaeg! Is he still here? Where is he?”

“Somewhere safe,” Edren said placidly. “Somewhere to get away from pain.” Slowly, he climbed off the bed, and knelt down on the floor, pointing to where the trapdoor was hidden beneath the prince’s mattress. “He’s down there, Legolas…he’s down there.”

Legolas knelt beside Edren, and studied his friend tensely. “What’s wrong, Edren?”

Edren sighed. “I pinched my finger trying to get away from him, Legolas. I scrambled out the trapdoor, and was going so fast, I clipped my finger in the latch.” He looked up, meeting his friend’s eye. “Don’t go down there…he’s not himself, Legolas, he really isn’t.”

Legolas shook his head slowly. “I have to…”

“Why?” the other demanded almost incredulously.

“Because Mornaeg has to come see his brother. Minaeg has to know comfort.”

Edren just shook his head, attempting to convey without saying, ‘I don’t understand.’

Legolas sighed, and bit his lip. He didn’t want to say, he didn’t want to talk about his fears. But he had to get Mornaeg…and he would doubtless need Edren’s help. “He’s dying…” he whispered at last, “he’s dying, Edren.”

“He is…?” Edren’s eyes were huge with confusion. Dying…dying?

“I have to go down, I have to.” Legolas shook his head. “I have to.”

“I…I go with you, Legolas.”

Legolas sighed, nervously eyeing the trap door, and then smiled slightly. “I know.”

**********

“When we got into the hideout, Mornaeg’s eyes were half closed, and he appeared to have drank almost half of what he’d brought with him. He hadn’t, however, touched the Bengwiil we knew was in the burlap sack, and so Edren and I tried valiantly to bring him to his senses.

“When at last we got him to awake, he just stared blankly when we tried to explain about Minaeg. But he just kept saying, ‘He can’t see me…he can’t hear me…I won’t come.’ and hard as we tried, he stayed where he was, and at last, he added, ‘Leave my aching heart in peace! Do you wish to torment me even now?’ and so we left him where he stayed.

“Well, I couldn’t bare to sit and do nothing, though Edren and I both tried to do that, and hope for the best. I became too restless, and at last decided that *I* could help Minaeg by myself.” Legolas shook his head slowly. “Foolish,” he muttered, opening his eyes once more, as though he could see his past better now, and pictured it on the open doorway rather than behind his eyelids. Almost seamlessly, he continued.

“So I forced Edren to stay and make sure Mornaeg didn’t come out or hurt anyone, and then ran ahead back to the Healer’s. I suppose- I guess I thought I’d rather do it alone, for if I had realized just how much it all frightened me, I would have asked Edren to join me in seeing Minaeg and helping him. But, for whatever reason I thought I had, I ran alone back to the Healer’s.

“That’s what I really remember best, Edren…and it frightens me even now to recall. The thing is, I never knew it was real. It’s my dream, Aragorn. It’s that first Bengwiil-built dream…”

**********

Legolas came to a sudden halt at the door of the Healer’s. Slowly, swallowing hard, he stepped through the oaken doorway.

The room reeked of something dreadful…something dead and awful. But what made it all the worse is that it smelled as though it was once sweet and good, or at least pretended to be so. It was sickeningly sweet, but Legolas pressed on to where he knew Minaeg was.

Still, the Healers rushed about, talking quietly, as though the crisis would not be as true if they didn’t say it loudly. Thranduil stood by his patient’s side, pressed a white cloth the elf’s forehead, and whispering softly, clenching his eyes. White? No…Legolas recognized the cloth as one of the Healers’ many bandages and rags, but this cloth was no longer white as once it had been.

It was green. A sickly, syrupy green.

Legolas clenched his fists to keep himself from trembling, and walked purposefully to Minaeg’s bed. Hang on, Legolas, he thought, be strong for Minaeg. You can save him, I know you can!

Minaeg was struggling back and forth as if at sea, on his bed, and Thranduil proceeded to pull the rag away, and whisper softly.

“I h-hate…hate him, hate Minaeg…he l-eft he…he’s go without what- when I…needed *him* to. A-and I hate, I hate him…” Minaeg slurred almost drunkenly through his shaking lips, and then swerved his head to the side, and his blank eyes met Legolas.

Legolas’ silver gaze went wide as Minaeg fixed him with empty green pools of pain. Fear clutched the young elf’s heart and would not let go. A cold shiver went up his back as Minaeg smiled slightly, and the smile was so unnatural on his face, it looked as though he were all ready dead, and then come ghostly back to life.

Legolas felt his feet move him unwillingly back a step, as Minaeg’s dry lips parted again. “So you die too.” Each word dragged out strangely long, as though there were far too many vowels in the labored syllables, adding again to Minaeg’s appearance of madness. “I see it…see the blood on you, Lindo…t-to bad. That you will die too…and painfully.”

Legolas’ eyes grew even wider, and he backed up another step. “Adda,” he whispered, but his voice wouldn’t make enough noise for the word to be heard even in his own ears. And anyway, Thranduil was so busy mixing green plants into boiled water, and muttering things to the Healers, that he had not even noticed his son. He didn’t even realize that Minaeg was whispering to anyone. Perhaps the elf had been doing it a great deal, and the king was past trying to understand it anymore.

Minaeg continued to stair, half-grinning as Legolas backed away, his eyes dancing over the youth’s head, eyes, and eventually, his heaving chest, at which point the squinted, as though there was something in the elf’s heart that should not be there.

He smiled again, cold and empty. “An arrow…tell me, is it Edren that has shot your heart?”

Legolas’ mouth went dry. Arrow? He looked down at his chest, a small hand clutching at it wildly on impulse, but there was no arrow there, just as he knew there would not be. But Minaeg’s words had muddled him so much, and his eyes haunted so completely, for a heartbeat, anything seemed possible.

He doesn’t know comfort, Legolas remembered. Does that mean that he sees things that are not there? Like blood, like arrows? Like my death…? It scared him even more to think of it.

At that moment, Thranduil, who had been feeling Minaeg’s heartbeat, looking concerned, pulled out the green cloth from a new mixture of ugly, stinking, boiled water. Silently, seeming still not to notice that Minaeg’s eyes were fixed on a new visitor, he pressed the cloth against his patient’s forehead.

Minaeg screamed. A high, piercing, almost blood-curdling scream of pain, agony, and anger. He sounded like a bird of prey who had been outwitted, shot down, an arrow in his throat.

All the breath Legolas had exhaled from fear, and in an attempt to keep from shaking, gushed back into his lungs full-force, coming out in a choked gasp which was half sobbing, as he watched Minaeg’s eyes slam shut, and his lips purse in agony.

Thranduil looked up for the first time, and met Legolas’ terrified eyes for a split-second. “Go!” he commanded urgently, “and do not allow your eyes to witness this.”

“But- what is happening to him?” Legolas’ shook his head, suddenly remembering why he’d come here. To help! “Can I-”

“You cannot help.” Thranduil was clearly trying to be gentle, as he came around the patient’s bed, to stand in front of his son. “Don’t worry, Legolas. He is going to be just-”

“Mornaeg!” Minaeg screamed, his voice rasping and delusional. “Mornaeg, come back! Come back, Mornaeg, please, forgive me my brother! Teli ganna-teimpinin lin, Mornaeg! MORNAEG!”

//come play your flute, Mornaeg!//

Thranduil ran to his friend’s side. “Mornaeg?” he questioned gently, then looked up, turning panic-stricken to Prestomin. “Where is Mornaeg?”

The Healer shook his head. “After he attempted to play his flute…I know not where he went.”

Thranduil’s eyes fell on Legolas. “Go find him, my son, please. That is what you can do to help!”

Legolas froze. Find him? But…he’d promised not to tell anyone-

“Legolas! Do you hear me? Bengwiil is- I don’t kno why, but it- it’s essential that Minaeg know any comfort we can give him, or he will die, do you understand?”

The words sounded like a different language in Legolas’ young ears, though he nodded slowly, as though he understood them. “I…I can’t get him, Father.”

Thranduil shook his head. “Just try, all right?”

“N-no, I mean…“

“I- I can’t. I promised-”

“Promised who? Legolas, what are you talking about!”

The prince’s hands started to trembled at his sides again, so he clenched them into palm-scoring fists. “Mornaeg’s afraid of Minaeg, he says- he says that he needs to get away, so I promised not to say where he’s hiding!”

“Have you told him that Minaeg is *dying*?!” Thranduil demanded.

“Yes, he knows, but that’s why he’s hiding.” Legolas shifted uncomfortably from on foot to another. He wanted desperately to be helpful, to save Minaeg’s life, but how could he turn on Tiro-Lim? Poor, hurting, Tiro-Lim. He wished he understood the whole situation just a bit better…then perhaps his decision would make a little more sense.

Thranduil came around Minaeg’s bed a second time, and knelt to his son’s level. “Legolas, whatever promise you’ve made, surely it is not worth the price of Minaeg’s life!”

“Mornaeg…he’s in so much pain, Adda. I don’t want to hurt him, I don’t want him to try and play his flute again…I…I’m afraid that Minaeg won’t hear him…” Legolas’ own words didn’t make sense now, but rather sounded like unprecedented excuses rather than reasons. What was he doing? Why did he not just run down the hall and call out Mornaeg’s name, hoping he would come?

He realized blankly that he was just too afraid to make a decision. Too confused. As his eyes locked on his father’s, they asked for help. What am I doing? Tell me what way is the right one, show me which choice should be mine!

But Thranduil did not get a chance to respond.

Minaeg’s voice gasped in with pain, as he shrieked slightly at the same time, and then fell immediately away. The room went completely silent, except the sound of Thranduil running to the bedside, his feet patting the floor quietly.

He gazed into Minaeg’s face for a long while, then responding to something Minaeg whispered, that was not audible to Legolas, murmured, “It is all right, my friend. You’ll be fine.”

Minaeg, gasping slightly still for air, rocked his head from side to side a few times, in an effort to shake a ‘no’, and this time, his response was perceptible by everyone who stood stock-still in the room.

“Namarie, idher mellon-nin. I am sorry-I…I leave you alone…”

//farewell my dearest friend.//

Legolas couldn’t see him, and yet he knew that Minaeg, through the eyes at least, was finally looking like Bioren, the Follower. The elf that Leoglas knew, not the madman he did not. He was going to be all right then? He had to be! But then…why did he say those quiet, sad words to Thranduil? They sounded so like last words, it was hard to think otherwise.

His trembling body at last slackened, and Legolas’ questions were answered. Yes. Minaeg was to die after all. Legolas’ fists released, and someone whispered in Sindarin some last words in Minaeg’s honor. The whole room seemed to have died. All of it. The air, the walls, the people within it…everything.

This is what death felt like then? Legolas bit his lip and tried to bite back tears. The mortals of Middle Earth must be very, very unhappy beings, mustn’t they…?

“He is dead,” Thranduil whispered, in a voice that seemed to be in the same state. Then, all at once, he whirled around, facing, to the youth’s shock, Legolas, with an angry glare. “He is dead!” he shouted. “Dead! And…a-and it is because of you!”

Legolas choked in a sob, and shook his head. What? What?

“You, you and your foolish stubbornness, your rash promises, you and your- your ignorance!”

“Adda-”

“Silence!”

The little elf just coughed loudly as though he had something stuck in his throat, and tears filled his silver eyes.

“Legolas, you do not know what you have done!”

His words echoed coldly around the room. Needlessly cruel words that hammered through ever crack and flaw of the walls. Unfair words. And they made something in Legolas’ heart stagger back in disbelief.

“I- I’m sorry…”

“Leave! Now, go!”

“I’m sorry,” Legolas pleaded, “I’m so sorry, Adda-”

“I said leave!” The king shouted, his voice thundering from the ceiling, and all around the walls. “Go!”

Legolas froze, his eyes locked on his father’s. “Adda-”

“GO!” And Thranduil took a violent step towards Legolas, like a man trying to scare a stray animal away, and Legolas, tears spilling down his cheeks, gasped in fear, and whirled around. Pushing past Prestomin, he dashed pell-mell for the hallway, and slammed the door behind him, desperate to get away.

The young elf ran as fast as his legs could carry him off down the hall. A moment after he’d left the Healers’, he heard his father’s voice ring out after him. “LEGOLAS!” But the prince couldn’t tell his father’s tone, and was terrified to even consider going back to see why he was being called.

His breath panted loudly in his ears, his frightened mind too blank for intelligent thought. He thought wildly even so, his eyes darting over the walls that seemed to rush at him from either side, as though they meant to close in and crush him entirely. The whole atmosphere was that of blame. Even the *taptaptap* his small feet made on the stone floors seemed to be mocking him.

His heart beat with panic, and at last, a desperate thought struck him. I need help. Someone must help me! I have to- but my father hates me…he hates me! At last, tears still streaming down his face at that last thought, Legolas’ voice cracked half-audibly from his throat. “Edren,” he whispered.

All his fear flooding back, his feet picked up the pace once more, for at some point they had slowly slightly, and he bounded up the stone staircase. “Edren!” he shouted again, the name seeming to be his only comfort in the world. His feet pounded against the stone steps as he called again, his shouts cracking with sobs in his keen ears. “EDREN!”

He was almost there. Almost to his room. It seemed to have taken him years longer than ever it had before to climb those long, tall steps. Almost there. You’re almost there, Lindo.

The door flew open, and Legolas stood in it’s frame, panting and trembling all over. Edren looked up quickly, and came to stand next to the bed he’d been sitting on. “Legolas! What’s-” Edren’s tone slowed as he saw the pure terror and pain etched on his friend’s features. “What’s wrong,” he demanded fearfully.

Legolas’ mouth opened to respond, but he couldn’t answer. Before he could even feel the air rush past him, he fell to his knees in the doorway, and covering his face with trembling hands, began to sob uncontrollably. It was only a half of a moment later, and Edren was hugging him tight, and squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. “Sh…Legolas, what’s wrong? What is it? Please, please tell me, if you can.”

Legolas, his voice still trembling with hiccups and sobs, raised his tear-stained face to meet Edren’s gaze. “I- I- I- killed ‘im I killed h-him!” he cried, coughing loudly, and gasping in a sob when the cough tore at his throat.

“Killed who, Legolas? Who?” Edren shook his head.

“I- I…Minaeg’s d-dea- d-dead. A- a- and Adda s-said I- I killed him!” he choked falteringly. “I s-should have just g-gone and got Mornaeg- a-and- and then- then maybe-” And with that, he trembled against Edren again, his voice breaking down into inconsolable hysteria.

Edren rubbed his friend’s shoulders comfortingly, but his face had frozen expressionless in wonder. Minaeg? Dead? How could he be. It didn’t fit. It didn’t make sense!

“H- he hates m- m- me, Edren…h- he hates me…” Legolas whispered miserably, pressing his forehead tight against the other’s chest, and shaking his head over and over.

“He doesn’t hate you, Legolas, it’s not your fault,” Edren responded quietly, clutching the prince’s tiny hand in his own, and warming the fingers with his gentle rubbing. “Oh, Lindo, worthy hero of Greenwood the Great…it’s not your fault. Believe me, mellon-nin.”

Legolas did not respond for a long time, but rather let his sobs subside for awhile, and contented himself with being up against Edren, the only person he trusted anymore. At last, he sat up, his eyes red-rimmed, and his cheeks flushed, but his face no longer inconsolable. It was grimly resolute. “I have to go tell Mornaeg.”

Edren sat back quickly. “No, Legolas. You can’t! Mornaeg, he-”

“He has a right to know, Edren. And- and I should tell him. I was there to see Minaeg last, I must tell him.”

Edren shook his head slowly. “Please don’t, Legolas. I- I’m scared of him…he keeps yelling, I can hear him through the trapdoor. I think he’s completely drunk!”

“Edren, Minaeg was his brother!” Legolas stood up with strength he’d doubted he had, and reached for Edren’s hand. “I do not ask you to come with me, but I must go either way.”

“Then I go too,” Edren took Legolas’ hand, and stood up. “I won’t let you go alone.”

Legolas could have smiled if he were not so cold and afraid inside. “Come on, then.”

The two made their way in through the trapdoor, and came to find themselves standing in darkness. As they squinted in the pitch black, a light came from the corner of the room, glowing slowly and sickly. And as the two youths approached the light, they realized it was not torchlight nor a campfire of any kind. It was the burning leaves of Bengwiil, and the odor almost completely covered that of the Eucalyptus they had hung from the ceiling to remind them of a queen.

“Mornaeg?” Legolas whispered quietly to the elf that was inhaling the smoke wafting from the green pile of ashes. “I have something to tell you…” Legolas licked his lips, and watched Mornaeg carefully, but the elf stared blankly at the green-tinted flames as though no one but him was there.

With a final glance at Edren, who nodded encouragingly, Legolas pressed blindly on. “Mornaeg, Minaeg is- Minaeg…he is dead.” The last word echoed soundlessly in Legolas’ head over and over and over.

Dead. Dead. Dead. He is dead. Dead. Dead. Legolas’ own tone of voice haunted him, and he stared searchingly at Mornaeg, every thought in him screaming that he could have said it better. But how many ways do you tell someone about death? You say it. But if only there were a way to tell without using that horrible final word. Dead.

After a dull pause, a light seemed to ignite in the other’s eyes. He looked up slowly. Oh, he’d heard all right. Edren and Legolas started to back up gradually.

“How did he die?” The voice was low, and rasping. Nothing like the elven voice he usually had.

Legolas felt such a great swell of pity for his friend, that he took another step forward, and got down on Mornaeg’s level. “The Bengwiil was too much for him, he was starting to fade…my father was trying to save him, and perhaps he may have, but…I would not tell him where you were, Mornaeg…I kept my promise, but because of that- Minaeg has died.”

Silence ensued once more. Legolas was surprised at his own words, but not half as surprised as Edren, who drew a stiff gasp of worry at hearing them. Mornaeg seemed to need awhile to finish processing that statement. Perhaps it was a great many words to figure out when you’re drunk, Legolas wasn’t sure, but at last, Mornaeg spoke.

“You- you killed my brother?” His voice slurred slightly, and it was hoarse, as though it had gotten so by not speaking for so long.

“Yes, Mornaeg, I- I guess I did.” Legolas said, feeling that it was the only heroic thing to do anymore. He lifted his chin just a bit, as though he could make himself braver that way, but realized a little too late, that to any glancing at him, it looked a little too much like pride, or at least purpose. Perhaps that was what had sparked Mornaeg off.

Before he could think, Legolas was flat on his back, and frantically shaking hands were squeezing his throat. The elf prince kicked out madly at the bigger elf on top of him, but Mornaeg was far too big for him. Just as his gurgling noises were starting to become faint in his ears, Legolas felt Mornaeg fall off of the youth, another pair of small arms wrapped around the older elf’s neck.

Legolas sat up, feeling his throat, as though he weren’t expecting it to be there anymore, and staring, dazed and wide-eyed as Edren strangled Mornaeg off of him. But though Edren’s move was a good one, and had the element of surprise, he was soon pried off of Mornaeg, by the bigger elf’s strong shoves, and Mornaeg lunged suddenly at Legolas again.

The elf prince flattened himself against the ground, and rolled as fast as he could away from Mornaeg’s strangling hands, kicking up dust in the other’s face the whole time. When he pulled himself to his feet, he felt suddenly disoriented, and tried to clear his head, which had been made dizzy by the rolling. He was now very close to the trapdoor, he realized, and the idea of running away entered his head for a moment, until he remembered Edren, and his silver eyes danced frantically over the darkness, still trying to focus against his dizziness.

Unfortunately for Legolas, this whole thought process took him longer than he meant, and he was suddenly thrown against the dirt wall by a seemingly invisible force. That is, until he was looking into deep, green eyes. “You killed my brother.” Mornaeg’s fingers snaked into Legolas’ blonde hair. Grabbing it close to the youth’s skull, and hauling the boy’s head forward, he then proceeded to slam Legolas’ head against the dirt wall. And then again.

Edren lunged against Mornaeg’s back perhaps five times, once even biting the elf on the shoulder, but each time, Mornaeg pushed him aside, as though he were a troublesome fly. “You killed him…you killed him…he’s dead.” He slammed the youth’s head against the wall with each sentence, till Legolas couldn’t see straight, then threw the elf to the floor.

Legolas lay dazed for a few seconds, then was hauled to his feet, and shoved forward a full three paces, landing hard on his hands and knees. “Edren-” he whispered hoarsely, but he didn’t have time to look around and see where his friend was. Mornaeg jerked him to his feet a third time, this time punching him in the stomach.

Legolas doubled over, and slumped, gasping, against the dirt wall just beside the swing. “Tiro-Lim,” he moaned half-audibly. “Please…hauta h-han…mellon nin.”

//stop it…my friend.//

Mornaeg’s eyes were wide as he shook his head furiously. “Don’t you- *dare* call me your friend, Lindo. Why- why did you not get me? Why did you not tell me he was dying! Now you’ve killed him, Lindo! I *hate* you for killing him, do you hear I HATE YOU!” Mornaeg was virtually spitting with anger as he towered above the trembling elf prince.

“Forgive me,” was all Legolas could respond. “Please…?”

“Never will I forgive for this, Lindo, never! I’ll- I’ll kill you first!” Mornaeg’s hand went to his belt for his dagger, but his hand was stopped. Edren threw himself against the other’s back, grabbing Mornaeg’s elbow with both hands, and jerked to the side violently.

Mornaeg shouted as something in his shoulder popped, and Edren let go, swinging around the elf’s side, grabbing Mornaeg’s knife, and standing protectively in front of Legolas. “You’re drunk, Tiro-Lim, and Legolas, despite what he tells you, did *not* kill your brother! Bioren was attacked while hunting, and Thranduil tried to save him. It didn’t work! It didn’t work, Mornaeg, we *couldn’t* save him! Leave Legolas alone!”

Mornaeg stood motionless before the two, his eyes blank of expression. “You should have told me he was dying,” he slurred. “I could have shown him comfort. *I* could have!”

“But we *did* tell you, Mornaeg! We did! And you did not heed us, so it is the fault of *you* not Legolas, for it was you who made him promise to conceal where you were! Please.” Edren’s hand shook only slightly, as he added pleadingly, “Leave him alone.”

Mornaeg’s eyes ignited. “*My* fault?! It is not fault of *mine*, Arasen, it is yours and Lindo’s! It is- it is all your fault! I…my brother…m-my…my Minaeg…my-” For a moment, Mornaeg looked almost pitiful, as reality came to his gaze, and he seemed to realize for the first time that his beloved older brother, everything he wanted to be, was dead. Gone forever. But it only lasted a fraction of a moment, and something in him said that anger was the answer.

Lunging to the side, away from his own dagger pointed at him, Mornaeg grabbed the swing, and swung it harshly to the side. The seat of it collided with Edren’s head, knocking him off his feet, and clearing the way to Legolas once more. But the elf prince pushed himself hurriedly up, and staggered to the side, as Mornaeg swung at him with the swing seat as well.

Legolas screamed as the sharp, splintery edge of the swing seat dug deeply into the back of his hand; the only part of his body, luckily, that Mornaeg had managed to hit. Legolas sunk for a third time to the dirt floor, clutching his hand tightly against his chest, and clenching his teeth to keep from crying.

He felt Mornaeg closing in on him, but thanks to Edren, the older elf never got close enough to hurt the prince again. Mornaeg’s scream was more of anger than of pain as Edren thrust the stolen dagger into the back his former friend’s knee. The older elf crumpled to his knees, and Edren, not wasting a second more, ran to Legolas’ side, hauled the prince to his feet, and raced with him to the trapdoor.

The two elves scrambled out as fast as they could, both being more than a little shaken, and slightly disoriented. Mornaeg, however, had not been so easily beaten, and was all ready catching up, cursing as he limped after them. “I’ll kill you, Lindo! I promise it, I’ll KILL you!”

As they closed and locked the trapdoor together, they caught a last glimpse of Mornaeg’s enraged face as he tried to make it to daylight in time. But they shut it, locked it, and lay on their stomachs, beneath the bed, panting, their hearts pounding in their ears louder than Mornaeg’s fists against the trapdoor.

Silently, they finally climbed out from under Legolas’ bed, and came to stand in the room once more. It seemed at once so quiet, for Mornaeg had all ready stopped shouting and pounding from beneath the trapdoor, and the only other sound was the frightened breath of two boys, and the almost silent wind stepping in and out of the open window.

Something had to be said.

“Legolas…I’m sorry about Minaeg. But you kept your promise, and you have done the right thing, all right?” Edren’s tone was soft and kind, but Legolas was not listening to it as he stood beside his window, and gazed over the Mirkwood trees.

“I’m sorry, Edren…” he whispered, gripping the curtains in his uninjured hand. “I’m sorry that we won’t play Worthy Heroes again…I’m sorry- that Bioren is dead.” His breath shook as he inhaled, and he trembled all over at the after-shock of adrenaline burning through his chest and stomach.

“There is nothing to forgive, Legolas. You did nothing wrong. There are those to blame, but you are not among them, all right? Legolas?” Edren’s voice shook uneasily as he stepped towards the window, his eyes fixed on the back of his friend’s head.

But the prince did not look. His eyes stared blankly over the treetops of Mirkwood, as his fingers clenched and unclenched the curtain absently.

“I’ve never killed anything before, Edren…not ever. It feels strange, knowing that…that because of your actions, a living thing isn’t there anymore. I never realized I had that kind of power, and now I know, I don’t want it.”

Edren shut his eyes painfully. He’d never, *never* heard these sort of words from his friend! “Please, Legolas, please!” He whispered, shaking his head. “You did *not* kill Minaeg. Listen to me, I beg you.”

And yet, though Legolas heard his friend’s words, felt his thoughts, they meant nothing in his ears, and echoed blankly over his mind. All he’d seen and heard this day was enough to convince him of his fault. He had concealed needful information from his father, and when Minaeg’s need had been most dire, he had easily given up on bringing Mornaeg to him.

He was weak, he realized. How could he forgive himself for being so weak…?

“My father hates me,” he said blankly.

Edren’s eyes opened. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s angry and hurt as Mornaeg is. But your father would never, never hate you, Legolas, you must see *this* at the least!” His voice was pleading. He didn’t understand how such circumstantial anger could convince his friend so thoroughly that he was to blame! “Please,” he whispered again, “hear what I say, and know it is true. Do you trust me, Legolas? I- I am still your friend…”

Legolas at last turned, and his eyes were sparkling with tears, his cheeks all ready streaked with them. “I trust you more than anyone, Edren. Yes, you’re still my friend but- but now perhaps I ask you not to make me yours. I don’t deserve your friendship anymore, Edren.” A silver tears slid down Legolas’ cheek, slipping into the corner of his mouth, and leaving behind a glistening trail. “I have blood on my hands now, mellon-nin. I guess…I’m a murderer.”

Legolas’ knees buckled, his own words too much for him, and as his eyes fluttered shut, he fell to the floor.

Edren rushed to his friend’s side, screaming his name on impulse, and fell beside him to find the prince completely still. Legolas Greenleaf was unconscious for the first time in his life.

Chapter 11

Edren

“Your memory has served you far better than your father estimated, Legolas.” Edren’s voice was low as he opened his eyes. His own memories of the whole, horrible affair mingled so seamlessly with Legolas’ voice, he couldn’t even recall now how Legolas had recounted the story. But it was told. It was there. At long, such long last, he knew the truth.

“He should not have concealed this from me,” Legolas answered quietly. “Why did my father keep from me the truth? It was my memory, Edren how could he?” Legolas couldn’t explain why he felt suddenly so upset. Perhaps because for the first time, the full gravity of the situation made sense to him, as it never had before, when he was young.

“Your father…wanted to protect you,” Edren said slowly.

“So he lied?”

“He didn’t lie.”

“Well *someone* lied to me-”

“Legolas,”

“They did!” Legolas insisted angrily. His past, HIS past, and it had been kept from him? Hidden from him over centuries?

“I know you were lied to, Legolas, I know how it must feel, but-”

“And my father-”

“It wasn’t your father.”

“Someone did, someone had to!”

“But your father did *not*…”

“Then who DID?!”

“I DID!” Edren shook his head, and looked away from Legolas’ surprised eyes, the sound of his uncharacteristic shout still ringing in the room. “I did,” he repeated quietly, his chest settling to a slow panting.

There was silence in the room for a long time. Finally, however, a voice broke it- though it was such a silent voice, it seemed more of a ripple than a tear. “I don’t blame him.” Edren and Legolas both turned to Aragorn, who was still sitting with his head leaned against the bedside table.

“Who?” Legolas asked.

“Your father. I don’t blame him from concealing this truth from you, as it appears he has for many, many centuries. If something such as this had happened to my son…” Aragorn shook his head, meeting Legolas’ eyes at last. “Legolas, don’t you see how it would have changed you, growing up?”

Legolas shook his head. “It would have hurt, aye, but I have a right-”

“I know you do, and your father should not have kept that truth from you, but Legolas you must see you cannot blame him either.”

“I don’t…blame him,” Legolas said carefully, “I’m- I’m disappointed in his distrust. Hurt by what he said to me all those years ago…‘you do not know what you have done’. Those words still haunt me, Estel.”

“Still?”

“I know he did not mean them-”

“Then why do they haunt you so after almost a lifetime?”

“How can I say? Perhaps it is hard for you to understand, but my father and I-”

“I understand your father, and I understand you, Legolas.”

“Maybe, Estel, but the fact is, there is an unexplainable bond between a real father and son-”

Aragorn stood up suddenly, his eyes fixed on Legolas in disapproval. “Well be glad you have a father at *all*, Prince Legolas Greenleaf,” he snapped. “Especially a *real* one.”

Legolas froze. “Estel, what- I’m sorry…” Aragorn had never, *never* brought up the subject of his own father like this, and the idea of him speaking of Lord Elrond- so bluntly calling him an unreal father -was preposterous once.

“You’re sorry.” Aragorn nodded curtly.

“Aragorn, forgive me, I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking my friend. You’re right. I know you’re right, I’m sorry.” Legolas felt like he was aimlessly repeating himself. The idea of trying to appease his friend was an entirely alien one, and it made Legolas feel uneasy.

Aragorn just stared back at the other for a long moment, then with a scoffing hiss, turned on his heal, and muttered, “I’m going to clear me head…” as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Edren stood up, but Legolas caught him by the wrist. “No, Edren. Give him a chance to calm down a bit, then we will go after him.” As Edren turned to look at the prince, he could see his silver eyes sparkled with concern, but better sense overwhelmed that, and soon Edren sat beside him once more.

It was Bengwiil, and Legolas knew it…he was wasting time, wasn’t he? No. No, he had to believe this was worth it. He had to *know*!

But really, he couldn’t completely blame Bengwiil for the outburst either. ‘A *real* father and son’?! How *dare* he have said that? The feeling that he was beginning to lose touch with Estel, his father and even himself was growing inside Legolas’ chest like a nervous shudder.

What was he doing? What had he been THINKING putting off Aragorn’s healing yet again?

…but he had to know the truth first. Then he would go after Aragorn.

“Finish the story,” Legolas whispered at last. “Tell me why I don’t remember any of this, my friend, for there *must* be a reason. I cannot have simply *forgot* such an emotional calamity, can I?”

“No,” Edren’s voice was somewhat dull as he responded. “No, you can’t have.”

“Then- please tell me.”

“All right…though you must understand, this will be- it’s harder for me to talk of this than…well…you’ve a right to know it all, Legolas.” He sighed, and adjusted his weight on the bed before he began. Legolas never took his eyes off of him. Not once.

“After what happened with Mornaeg,” Edren began, “you were not the same. You would not go near your father, though he only tried perhaps twice to *be* near you, so afraid was he of your pain. We moved you away from your bedroom, in fact you refused to go up even to help carry your things down, for every now and then, we could all hear Mornaeg’s pounding against the trapdoor- which your father ordered to be kept closed until all your things were safely moved.

“But even in a new room, you could not sleep. You’d lay awake for days, speaking to no one, eyes focused tightly on the ceiling, refusing to eat, drink, or do anything to break your blank stares other than cry. And then when exhaustion took you, and you were forced to sleep, it was a restless, nightmarish thing for you. You would wake up in the night, screaming, and clawing at the bare floor you always ended up rolling onto. In such times, no one could wake you. And once awake, only I seemed to be able to console you.

“Well, one of these times, I remember clearly. I heard from my room your screaming, and I ran to your bedside to find you once again on the floor, whimpering and moaning to unknown figures that ‘it wasn’t your fault’…“ Edren’s tone turned less ‘story-telling’ but more gentle. More emotional. He was remembering more vividly now. Facts as well as feelings intact.

“Well, I was there holding you in my arms, whispering what I thought you may find comforting as quickly as I could, when your father entered. He watched me a long moment, and then asked if I would lay you back in your bed, and come to speak with him in his room…”

**********

“I’m confused, Majesty,” Edren admitted as he followed in the king’s wake, up the stairs, down the hall, and into a dark bedroom.

“I know, Edren, but…I have something I must ask of you.”

Edren’s heart became just a bit lighter. The king had something to *ask* of him. So not only was he not in trouble, but the answer to the question was on him. He was at least sort of in control, which relieved him greatly. And yet, something nagged at his heart…*what* was he here for?

He couldn’t stand holding the question in any longer. “What do you want, your Majesty?”

“Edren,” Thranduil murmured uncomfortably, “will you not call me Suuleth anymore?”

Edren shifted on his heals silently, then made himself to meet the other’s gaze. “Forgive me, Suuleth…I’ve been around Legolas so much lately, I’ve fallen into such habits…he’s really the only one I talk to anymore. I’ve rather forgotten how to talk with anyone else.”

“I am…sorry, Edren. I suppose I never considered how this may be affecting you as well as Legolas.” Thranduil’s eyes were misty with regret, but he blinked the mist away before Edren could be sure he’d seen it there. “Well, to the matter I’d been meaning for you here.”

The king sat down heavily on his great bed, but Edren did not follow, and stayed standing before him instead. Sighing, Thranduil began to speak quietly. “Edren, I’m sure you of all people know just how serious Legolas’ condition has become. He won’t eat or sleep, leastways he won’t rest, he will not leave his new room, and he refuses to truly notice anyone but you.”

Edren nodded, still standing stiffly on the wood floor, and still waiting to understand.

“I’m beginning to…to become very worried about him. He can’t go on like this much longer before- it becomes more than worrisome.”

Edren’s eyes widened slightly as a horrible truth that children, not even elven children, are used to considering. “Is Legolas going to die?” His own words seemed to freeze in his throat after he spoke them. No, that wasn’t even *possible*.

“I don’t want him to, Edren…but I don’t know how to pull him back from the shadow he’s in right now. His despair has become half of him, and the other half…well, it’s become you. You’re the only one he can speak to or be near anymore, Edren.” Thrnaduil was trying to keep his emotions in check. The foot of all his words shook vaguely, but he was doing admirably, considering the thoughts going through his head.

Thoughts he would never tell Edren, as the boy knew well.

Edren shook his head. “I don’t understand…”

“All right, I’ll put it simpler for you…I’m asking you to take Legolas’ despair. I’m asking you to make him- make him forget it.”

“F-forget it? For*get* it?” Edren’s voice was indignant. “That’s impossible, Suuleth. I think perhaps you don’t know just how *upset* Legolas is! He’s…he’s not *just* afraid, hurt and confused, you know. He’s more…he’s not glowing anymore. His skin is so dark and pale, and sometimes his eyes grow so dark as well, they don’t look blue anymore…they’re dark as wet earth. And sometimes I think he can’t see me…” Edren let the rest of the breath out of him, sitting down on the wood floor, and covering his face in his small, trembling hands.

He hadn’t meant to say all that. It was true, but it all scared him so, he didn’t actually want to hear the words spoken. And now it seemed that not even Thranduil, the grown-up, the one meant to be wiser knew when to do. It wasn’t fair!

Rubbing his knuckles tightly against closed eyelids, Edren simply whispered, “I *can’t* make him forget, Suuleth…I wish I could.”

There was silence a moment. Then, “What if you could…would you?” Thranduil’s voice was suddenly closer, and when Edren opened his eyes in surprise, he found the king was sitting on the wood floor just in front of him.

He blinked. “I…yes, of course I would.”

Thranduil nodded. “Because you *can* do it, Edren. I know you can.”

“How?” It was the obvious question.

“Convince him it never happened. The Bengwiil, Mornaeg, Minaeg…none of it.”

Edren’s look of expectancy turned to skepticism. “He doesn’t trust me *that* much. Legolas is no fool!”

“I know that, Edren, I know. But I think you can do it. Over time…a little now, a little later. Every time he wakes up with a nightmare, you try. Every time he asks you about what happened, you try. Every chance you get, you try, and over time…”

Thranduil’s words were gently vague, but somehow, Edren began to understand. Yes, perhaps it was possible…perhaps. But then- “What about Mornaeg and Bengwiil and all that? Legolas will leave his room eventually, if this works, and the moment he sees Mornaeg it will all come flooding back!”

“I’ve spoken with Mornaeg,” Thranduil said slowly. “He is to be pardoned as long as he stays in that tower-room of his.”

“You mean Legolas’,” Edren corrected spitefully. “And what do you *mean* you’ve pardoned him?! He tried to *kill* Legolas!”

“Edren, he was grieving.”

“And?”

“Please, understand. You’ve never lost a brother.”

“I’ve lost Father and Mother both, though. I know how much it hurts for someone immortal to die unexplainably, but Father said it’s never all right to use hurt as an excuse. It is weakness and folly to turn hurt into such a reason. There *is* no excuse for evil, Suuleth, and Mornaeg was cruel and he hit Legolas…and…and…he hurt him so much.” Edren’s words seemed to spill from unwilling lips. He wasn’t sure if that was because the words weren’t meant to be said, or they were but he was reluctant to disclose them.

He could still hear his father’s voice in his head the moment he quoted him…

Edren still flinched at the memory…he must have been angry indeed just a moment ago, to quote his father like that. He’d swore once he’d never do any such thing.

“I’m sorry, Edren,” Thranduil whispered, reading the boy’s face with quiet understanding. “I know your pain. I know you’ve been hurt deeply- beyond the understanding of any. But I cannot send Mornaeg away…not since I myself have felt what it is that drove him to his madness. He says he would ask Legolas’ forgiveness, but he is afraid of how Legolas would react, seeing him again. I have spoken with him, and he has agreed to stay in what I’ve given him as his room now.”

Edren stood up quickly, his face disgusted. “He tries to *kill* your son, and so you pardon him, feel for him, and give him Legolas’ *room*?! Tell me why, Thranduil!”

The disrespectful use of his real name made the king pause, but he was not angry. He rose slowly to kneel before Edren, for there, he was on the boy’s level. “Edren, listen to me, please. Hear me out. You’ve every right to hate me and Mornaeg both…but there are things about Mornaeg that you may never understand. He has been hurt deeply through this death, and I cannot bear to send him away as well. It is not that I think his actions right, nor his motives justifying those actions to any extent. I cannot send him away, Edren…I can’t do it.”

Edren bit his lip, and leaning forward, gripped Thranduil’s shoulder so his young face was close to the king’s. “You want me to deceive Legolas. To lie to him. I, his only friend left at this time- *that* is what you ask of me, can you tell me otherwise?”

Thranduil shook his head. “No, I cannot. I ask you to do something terrible, I know this…but I ask you to do it save Leoglas’ life.”

“The ends do not justify the means, Suuleth. Don’t you see that?”

“I do.”

Edren stood silent for a long moment, weighing everything in his thoughts. Lie to save Legolas’s life, or do what he could…and potentially watch him die instead. The choice seemed like it should be easy to make. It was either Legolas’ life or Edren’s conscious. What was the selfless choice? What would be best for Legolas…and was there another way?

“I cannot make you say yes, Edren, and I would not seek to. I only…I only want to save Legolas. Trust me when I say I’d go to him myself, and take the lies and the blame upon myself in an instant. Valar knows I never, never wanted to make you do it, and have debated over the wisdom in this choice for days. But each day I considered it, Legolas has become weaker. Now he is fading…his screams become quieter every time, the strength he pulls to him for his struggles against the nightmares is ebbing. I can think of no other way.”

Edren sat down on the floor slowly, and all ready his knees were trembling at what he was about to say. Just say it. Just say it, before you can think. What is best for Legolas. For Legolas, Edren…Legolas.

“I’ll do it.”

Thranduil did not smile, but nodded gratefully. “Hannon le, Edren. You…you know that I’m very proud of you, don’t you?”

Edren’s face lit up for the first time. Years had he hoped Thranduil would say that- say what his father never had. Then, a thought hit him. “But I’ve a request, Suuleth.”

“Name it,” Thranduil said quickly.

“Bengwiil. We must get rid of it. All of it. It only hurts people, and takes lives away. We don’t need it.”

Thranduil nodded slowly, sitting down in front of Edren. “Yes. You’re right…I thought perhaps, someway, we’d keep it alive. But…it’s not real. It never was. And I know that.”

Thranduil’s eyes were suddenly reflective, and as Edren stared into them, he couldn’t see but his own expression, and none of the king’s feelings. Blocked out, he simply waited for Thranduil’s attention to come back to him.

At long last, the king’s eyes fixed on Edren. “Anything for Legolas,” he whispered, and nodded. “I’ll destroy it, Edren. All of it is thus outlawed from Mirkwood- even in the forest. I shall ride with my best hunters and search it out. All this plant shall be destroyed. I swear it.” Thranduil’s voice had turned to not only resolve, but determination. Almost vindictive. Edren realized that despite whatever it was that made the king hold to Bengwiil for so long, he’d given it up now whole-heartedly. He knew its poison full-well.

“I’d best go help Legolas back to sleep, then, before he decides he’s too frightened to.”

Thranduil nodded, and the two stood up. “Thank you once more, Edren. I promise you that I will help in any way I can. Only ask, I’ll assist you if need-be, all right?”

Edren smiled faintly, and turned to walk away. But for a moment, he paused in the doorway, and looked slightly over his shoulder. “Suuleth…did you tell Legolas it was his fault? Bioren’s death…it wasn’t his fault.”

Thranduil stood slowly up, his eyes fixed painfully on the back of the youth’s head. “Yes. I told him it was his fault. I know it was not, I- I *know* it was not his fault…I don’t know why I did that to him. I was…”

“Grieving,” Edren finished tonelessly.

Thranduil nodded half-heartedly. “I suppose.”

“Ah.” Edren walked slowly away.

“Edren!”

He paused, and turned. Thranduil had followed him into the hall. “Edren…you’re right. Hurt is no excuse for wrong-doing. I see that now…I only ask your understanding, and perhaps, someday, your forgiveness.”

“True,” Edren agreed slowly. “But if indeed hurt *was* your motive, Majesty…I all ready forgive you. And I’m sure Legolas will as well, sooner or later. I…” Edren paused, his mature mystique falling away, and his eyes filling with the concern of ignorance. “Is there any peace, your Majesty, found in lies? Truly, really…any peace?”

Thranduil watched the younger elf gently, and without breaking eye-contact, shook his head. “No.”

“Only in the truth?”

“Yes, Edren. Only within truth. But this-”

“It’s the only way,” Edren nodded, as though this were a phrase he’d grown up with. “I just- I only wish I could give Legolas *true* peace. I-” the boy eyes fell to the floor in a moment of thought, and then rose smiling shyly. “I’ll try hard, Suuleth, if only that Legolas will know your love once more. He’s so very fortunate, with such a father. As am I.”

Thranduil smiled back, faintly, his eyes prouder than the rest of his face could convey. Edren glowed at the satisfaction he saw there, and turned at last to find Legolas.

*****

“Don’t- don’t I didn’t mean it! I didn’t- I don’t know! I don’t know! Please- ah! Saes hauta han! H-hauta- stop…stop Adda, DON’T!”

“Legolas, Legolas, shh, mellon nin! Legolas?”

Legolas was still thrashing half-heartedly in Edren’s arms when his deep, silver-blue eyes opened. He was sweaty, as he often was after such a dream, and his fingers twitched to grasp for something reassuring.

“Edren,” he gasped, pressing his head against the other’s chest. “He’s back…he sees me and he can’t…see me…ah! No, no, stop- you can’t…can’t…not my fault…it’s- please, Edren, believe me!”

“I believe you, I believe you, Legolas, I believe you!” Edren whispered quickly, holding his friend tight. “Legolas, please see me. Legolas!” Panic struck his voice as Legolas eyes danced unseeing across the ceiling. “Legolas, see me! See me!”

Legolas shuddered with shock, and finally, the deep pools of blue swirled until his pupils were visible once more. “Edren…please…not me…it wasn’t me, it wasn’t!”

“Istón, istón, Legolas, istón I know.”

“Edren, it’s all my fault, but I didn’t mean it…I didn’t- didn’t…didn’t.”

“I know.”

“I tried.”

“I know, mellon nin.”

“I told Mornaeg, but he would not come…he would not come…he-”

“Yes…he would not come.”

They sat for several long moments, Edren battling within himself. What now? What must he say now? How could he force himself to begin…how. Hannon le, Edren. You- you know that I’m very proud of you, don’t you?

His mind was made up.

“Legolas?”

Legolas just paused in his rapid breathing as response.

“Legolas…are you sure Mornaeg knew?”

“Knew?”

“Well, recall…recall that we tried to bring him out of the hideout, but he would not come.”

“Yes.”

“Well he didn’t know Minaeg was dying, see. If he’d known, he would have come.”

“But…he *did* know…I told him, Edren, *you* told him. Why wouldn’t he know?”

“Because no one told him, Legolas.”

“We told him.”

“No, we didn’t.”

Legolas sat up quickly. “Edren, what is wrong? Tell me, because I don’t understand what…we- we told Mornaeg, we warned him that Minaeg was dying, and he would not come! I remember that- why are you telling me this? Why…we told him…I remember it, we…we said…we told him.”

Edren’s heart throbbed and all he’d promised to Thranduil almost fell apart as he watched Legolas’ sleep-confused eyes dance over the floor, while he muttered to himself about the now uncertain truth.

Edren realized now why this was even possible. For one, Legolas was so sleep-deprived that his mind was not working full-well…but for another, and this the thing that broke the young elf’s heart, the prince had thought of that one nightmarish day over and over and over…thinking and re-thinking of the terrible things that frightened him most about it, asking himself ‘why’ at each moment…

The details were all ready fogging into unbelievable fantasies. Left to himself, it was possible Legolas himself would stop believing them all on his own. But he would die.

At last, he met Edren’s eyes again; his gaze was nothing but pools of bewilderment. “Why did we not tell Mornaeg that his brother was dying, Edren? If we had, surely he would have come! Indeed, I’m sure we did! Didn’t we?”

Silence a moment.

“Edren, didn’t we?”

“N-no, Legolas,” Edren answered hesitantly. “We didn’t tell him.”

“Why? Why not, Edren?”

“Because, Legolas…we didn’t know.”

“We- we didn’t know? We didn’t know Minaeg was dying?” His voice was so small…

“No, Legolas, we didn’t know.”

Legolas froze, leaning against Edren stiffly, his eyes glazing over, and his body beginning to tremble. “Edren…I’m so afraid.”

“What is it, mellon nin?” Edren inquired kindly, pressing a reassuring hand against his friend’s shoulder, and feeling like a liar and traitor as well as a coward.

“Because…I keep remembering things that never happened. My nightmares are becoming real. So, so real. Mornaeg telling me it’s my fault…Minaeg dying…Adda. Adda saying I don’t know what I’ve done. All so many things…I don’t know what of it is real anymore. I don’t remember what- I don’t remember what Naneth smelled like.” At this, Legolas crumbled into tears, and leaned fully and confidently on Edren’s chest.

Edren smoothed the prince’s hair back like he remember his mother used to do, and whispered all the elvish he could think would heal Legolas’ pain.

“I don’t remember…I don’t know what’s right anymore, Edren, I don’t…I can’t remember anything! I don’t know what to do, a-and I’m scared! I’m so frightened, how will I ever sleep again?!”

“Sh…” Edren soothed, recognizing the prince’s wild rants as partially the fault of his lack of sleep. He was lost as though still in one of his dreams…it would take a lot, Edren suddenly realized, to ever convince Legolas out of his pain. But it could be done. It was possible.

Anything for Legolas.

“I’ll help you, Legolas. I’ll help you remember, I’ll show you what’s real.”

“Hannon le,” Legolas whispered against his friend’s chest. His face was still pale, but not so tense anymore, as he lifted his thumb and ran the back of it down the length of his nose.

Edren smiled, and doing the same, hooked his thumb around Legolas’ at the end of the gesture in their ‘secret’ handshake. “Look,” Edren whispered, his thumb tightening reassuringly about Legolas’, “I know your nightmares are so real to you, but every bad dream goes away eventually.”

“But I’m *sure* that we knew…I saw Minaeg, and Adda said to bring Mornaeg…no, I saw Adda, but then Minaeg said he needed to hear Mornaeg’s flute! Yes, that was it…no…no it wasn’t.” He shuddered, and shut his eyes tight. “Help me, Edren…please.”

“Count on it, Legolas. But first, you’ve got to sleep. Go to sleep, okay?”

“Hm.” Legolas was just noncommittal enough for Edren to know he was all ready falling asleep. His thumb relaxed, and let go of Edren’s, and there was silence in the room.

**********

“Every opportunity, I did just what Thranduil said. I lied to you, Legolas. Over and over I lied to you, convincing you that it wasn’t as bad as you remembered it.”

Legolas was silent, his eyes fixed on the wood floor before him. Edren went on.

“I made up stories about things that *did* happen that I could not erase. One of these things being the scratch across the back of your hand, from where Mornaeg hit you with the swing. No matter what we tried, it refused to go away, and I was forced to tell you all sorts of falsehoods about it and why it would not disappear…I don’t even remember them, now. It all blurs into one, long, lie. As for our old game, the Worthy Heroes…well, it was a one thing we had to give up permanently, for fear of your memories. But when Daurrè came to the Halls, we created a sort of new game, in which we were each a different bird.”

Legolas smiled faintly, as a comfortable memory surfaced, and he took comfort in the pure familiarity for a few moments. And then, Edren continued.

“I’d finally convince you of one thing, and then move on to the next. Soon, you trusted me enough, that you didn’t even notice when we left your room and wandered to your favorite balcony, nor when we had an evening meal with your father. I had persuaded you into thinking that he’d not been angry at you, only he’d been gone on a hunting trip. This was the easiest thing to tell you, since I was eager for the rift between you and Suuleth to be mended, and also, this time it wasn’t completely a lie. Your father had, in fact, been out hunting.”

“Hunting Bengwiil,” Legolas finished.

“Exactly. He spent nigh over a few years in the depths of Mirkwood, searching it out. Burning it all. Finally, he returned, and to his unexplainable joy, he returned to a son who still loved him.” Edren smiled. “That day, all my lies very nearly seemed worth it. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking that you had not forgiven Thranduil, that you only thought it did not happen…it wasn’t really over.

“Well, about a century, I suppose, it took. Maybe. I don’t really remember, actually. But one thing I do recall with perfect clarity is the last day you remembered at all. You were young, but not a boy anymore, yet not grown up either. I cannot say what day, but the season was spring, and you awoke in the middle of night for the first time in several years.”

Legolas’ eyes shut slowly. This he remembered…very, very clearly.

***********

“Legolas, please…please, see me. See me, Legolas.”

His eyes opened. “Edren.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I had…” he blinked hard against the pale light of the moon. “…had a nightmare.”

“And…?” Edren seemed nervous for a strange reason. Legolas focused on him as the other held his hand tightly.

“Adda was dying…and he blamed me, everyone blamed me, because Mirkwood was burning. Because I was running as fast as I could, and I came over a hill, and the fires sprang up everywhere. I touched the walls of my home, and they crumbled. And…Adda hated me for it. ‘You do not know what you have done’…I don’t understand what it meant, but I felt it. I could tell…I was all alone. It hurt so badly.”

Edren was silent.

“It was so real, but it didn’t just look real, but it *felt* real. As though those emotions were in my heart all along, but the dream used them for its own means…I’m not making sense to myself, Edren, you must think I’m mad.”

Edren smiled, trying to look reassuring, but Legolas didn’t believe his expression. “It was just a dream, Legolas.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Legolas nodded. “I think so.”

The guilt that had relieved itself of Edren the day that he’d married Thernäd came sneaking back to his heart. “Well, Legolas, you should…trust your instincts…” for a terrifying moment, Edren was afraid he was going to tell him. To give everything away, just so the guilt would be gone.

But Legolas saved him from a further word.

“I trust you.” He didn’t know why he said it, perhaps because he’d unintentionally read Edren’s troubled thoughts, but the words made Edren’s face deepen with pain.

“I know you do.”

“Hey,” Legolas whispered, sliding his thumb down his nose, and clasping it with Edren’s. “You have never let me down, Edren.”

Edren finally smiled, his original reasoning behind his lies surfacing. Though his conscious still ached, the words soothed him a little. Anything for Legolas.

It worked. Legolas was saved.

That night, all memory Legolas had ever had of Thranduil’s anger, Mornaeg and his twin, Arasen, Lindo, or Bengwiil faded away, never to surface again. And strangely, the next morning, the scar that had marked the back of the prince’s hand for so, so long…it was gone. But only Edren noticed.

Legolas’ memory of the whole incident had been entirely deleted, replaced with millions of fantasies about things that never even half happened…never once did he wonder, never once did he awake with another strange dream…

…never, until one night, when he and a young human took a hunting trip into Mirkwood, and stumbled across a strange poison that gave him nightmares, and caused the stars to disappear…

**********

“I’ll ask your forgiveness, Legolas…but I shall not give it to myself.”

Legolas’s head jerked up, and his eyes hit Edren’s. The other’s words had startled him out of his thoughts, and he was surprised to see, as he took in Edren’s features once more, as though awaking from a deep sleep, that Edren’s eyes were suddenly worried, and apologetic.

Legolas realized, to no small amount of self-frustration, that there were tears on his cheeks. He scrubbed at them quickly, muttering, “I’m sorry…I don’t know why- I didn’t realize they were there,” he finished awkwardly.

Edren sighed quietly, running a weary hand over his face. “I do not resent you your tears, Legolas. You’ve a right to them.”

“No I don’t.”

“It was a very hard thing for you, my friend,” Edren soothed kindly.

“Yes, and no wonder. All that hurt…all those lies. Over and over. All those poisonous lies. Edren…” Legolas’ eyes raised to meet Edren’s once more, wounded and confused. “Why? Why, Edren, why did you do it? How- could you…” He looked away.

Edren’s eyes shut, and his breath shuddered within him. “I am so, so sorry, Legolas-”

“Edren!” Legolas cried, his voice strangled by something stuck deep in his throat, as he stood quickly to his feet, and whirled to face his friend. “Don’t- ask me for my forgiveness. Please don’t- I don’t…I cannot *forgive* you, I-”

He shook his head slowly, backing away a step at a time…and then, he left the room quickly to go find Aragorn, leaving his friend with haunted echoes of memory.

Edren sat alone, completely still in the room for a very long time. But he couldn’t force himself to be strong enough for it all, and at last his shoulders shuddered, and he buried his face in his hands.

Chapter 12

“The Facts”

Legolas ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Where would Aragorn go to ‘clear his head’? Perhaps…back to his room? No, doubtful. How about…Legolas’ room. The library? Maybe, maybe not, maybe…

Legolas had to finally come to grips with the truth. He was thinking as fast as he could and running even faster for one purpose only. He was trying to drown out his own thoughts. His memories which only now were returning.

Each step he ran, another miniscule memory that had been buried underneath the cobwebs of fantasy, surfaced, causing further pain. No matter what, it hurt. If he tried to forget, it hurt, because he was so tired of forgetting. If he remembered, it hurt, because whether it was a painful memory that was better buried, or a happy memory he regretted losing, it hurt.

His mind flitted back to Edren, and his heart ached horribly. He simply couldn’t see how Edren could lie to him like that! Very nearly risk their friendship? He *hated* himself for making Edren do all of it. And now, Edren asked his forgiveness. After all Legolas’ weakness, after making Edren go against his conscious to heal *Legolas’* scars, now, on top of it, Edren asked for forgiveness?

It broke the prince’s heart to think of it.

The words made him feel sick. All these years, he’d never known just how selfless Edren had been. Through this whole battle, Edren’s one thought had always been anything for Legolas. He’d traded his own innocence and comfort for Legolas’ life. But what had the prince given back?

A thousand childhood, and even several recent memories surfaced in Legolas’ head, and it made his stomach churn.

Memories from youth…

Memories from his mid-ages…

Memories that felt like just yesterday…

Every time he’d shunned Edren’s kindness or needs in some way shone painfully clear in his whirling mind. All those years, and he’d never even known he owed Edren more than his love…he had owed him his life.

And Edren asked for forgiveness? Forgiveness!

He ran. Fast. Aragorn, where was Aragorn? Surely if he could only find Aragorn it would be all right! “Aragorn?” he cried, his feet beating against the stone hall floor. “Aragorn?!”

His breath panted in his ears, and as though he’d stepped into the past, the breath became smaller- not shorter, but younger. It panted quickly and falteringly in his ears. He was crying. His heart wrenched painfully in his chest as he tried to breathe.

“Us nin er!” Legolas screamed, forcing the memory away, and running twice as fast. “ARAGORN!”

//leave me alone!//

*****

*****

Finally, he pulled to a blinding halt at a door. Where was he? He blinked. His father’s door. Why? Then he remembered. This is where the twins were last he checked. Perhaps Aragorn was here! He pushed the door open.

The twins were sitting quietly about the king, who lay still in his bed, his eyes half open, and unfocussed. Elladan was applying a warm cloth to Thranduil’s forehead- which was wet with something sweet-smelling -while Elrohir whispered softly in Elvish. Both twins looked up quickly when Legolas came in.

“Legolas,” Elrorhir said quickly, though keeping his voice soft, so as not to awake the sleeping king. “Thank goodness, is he all right?”

Legolas stood stunned as the Elrohir came over expectantly. “He…is who all right?” he asked stupidly.

“Estel. When he left- Legolas?”

The prince’s eyes went wide. “What’s wrong with Estel?”

“He…he left.”

Elladan stepped past his brother, his eyes deeply concerned. “Legolas. You did not go with him?”

“Go where?!” Legolas demanded.

“He said ‘we are leaving, don’t get father, he knows. I’ll be back.’ We tried to ask him where he was going, but he just said, ‘tell Thranduil too, he’ll want to know- he’ll have to tell someone else.’ and then he left! We figured you’d gone with him, he did say ‘we’ after all.”

Legolas stood for a moment, and then, whirled around, and ran once more, the twin’s calls following him. His feet nearly slipped on the first set of stairs, and then when he reached the next one, the one leading to the Great Hall, he leapt over the banister rather than taking the steps, and hit the ground running.

He reached the stables at last, his eyes darting around until they found what he was looking for. Sure enough, Horthor was gone. He kept going, outside the stable doors, towards the protective gate surrounding the Halls of Thranduil. Estel. He was almost to them- about to go through them.

“Aragorn, please! Wait!” Horthor was faster than Legolas’ feet. Aragorn’s selfless will strong than the prince’s stamina.

Defeated Legolas stretched out his hand, and standing to a sudden halt, shouted: “Enthi telu im!” in a commanding voice. The gates shut with a loud *clang*.

Aragorn stopped just short of the iron gates, and turned his horse around, backtracking slowly until he was just a few yards away from where Legolas was catching his breath. “I couldn’t tell you I was going,” he said quietly. “I told my brothers to tell the king when he awoke, and thought…that maybe he could tell you instead.” He shook his head apologetically.

“Aragorn- where were you going?”

“Legolas, leave me alone-”

“Even if you won’t let me go with you, tell me that I might find you again.” Legolas shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand, mellon nin, what is it? Where are you going so quickly? There is no one in Rivendell for you-”

Aragorn rode up to face the elf, and then held out his hand as though it were a weapon. “I don’t want to- hurt you, Legolas.”

“You won’t…hurt me, Aragorn, what do you mean?”

“I mean…I-” Aragorn’s fingers flew to his belt, and he jerked a hunting knife from it. With a sudden slash which made Legolas’ hand go for one of his elven knives in blind defense, Aragorn ran the knife across his palm.

Legolas’ arm came back down slowly from its defensive pose, and he sheathed his knife the next moment, eyes never leaving Aragorn’s slit hand. It was bleeding. But like in the clearing with Elrond- it wasn’t crimson blood. It was tinged green.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Legolas Greenleaf,” Aragorn whispered. “If I stay, I know what will happen.”

Legolas shook his head. “What, Aragorn. What do you think will happen?”

Aragorn’s voice was strangely vacant as he spoke. “What happened last time.”

Memories echoed around Legolas’ head at the words and the meaningful look in his mortal friend’s eyes…

“Aragorn…”

“I’ll never forget your fear. Fear I have caused you. I don’t want to attack you with words I do not mean, and I don’t want to die before you again. Bengwiil robs me of all my control, Legolas. I can’t- I will *not* do that to you.” Aragorn’s eye contact broke away from Legolas’ with painful abruptness, and he turned Horthor around in a half circle. “Come look for my body in the woods someday, if you must, but please…open the gates.”

He was doing it again, wasn’t he? Legolas was being too weak for his friend, making him do something he feared and hated. Are you going to let Aragorn do what Edren has?

“No.” Legolas sprinted to Horthor’s side, gripping the horse’s main, and caused Aragorn to look at him again. “You can’t go without me. You. Can’t. I won’t let you.”

“And what will you do, Legolas? Give me some more Bengwiil? I don’t think I can take that…I’m all ready feeling waves of unrealism. The whole world tips around me, mellon nin, even your own features swirl now and then…it’s all bound to happen eventually with Bengwiil. It’s all bound to fail.” And it was very quietly indeed that Aragorn said next, with a tone that related gentle truth, “You can’t save me.”

Legolas stood silent, his fingers feeling about Horthor’s mane absently. “Forgive me, Estel. I have wasted the time I bought you with Bengwiil- wasted it on Edren and I. On memories that now- that now I don’t want. But I want to change that now, Aragorn, I want to help you all I can. And yes, give you Bengwiil yet again, if that is what it takes!”

Legolas stepped away from the horse a pace, his eyes suddenly more saddened then determined. “But I will do nothing against your will. Not this time. I won’t let you take Bengwiil again so that I may preserve your life…I can’t go against you anymore, Aragorn. Not now I know that- that I am really no good on my own. I can’t do this alone, and I won’t ask you to do what you would not. It’s your choice…I won’t stop you if you want to ride away…but I- I’ll miss you a great deal.”

Legolas tried valiantly to arrange his face so it conveyed indifference. So it made it look as though both choices were equal, and it was only a matter of choosing one or the other. But in his heart he was begging…Stay with me. Give me another chance. Don’t go yet…And because of these thoughts, he could not help adding, “A *very* great deal, Estel. My friend.”

And then there was silence.

“I’ll stay.” The words took them both by surprise, and Legolas so stunned at first, his expression seemed to put across ‘whatever for?’ more than anything else. Aragorn surveyed the expression, and raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather me go, Legolas?”

“No!” Legolas stepped forward, and smiled hesitantly. “But is that your choice?”

“What else would it be?”

“I can *tell* when you’re simply reading my mind, Estel.”

“I was *not* reading your mind,” Aragorn said incredulously, and then he made an amused sort of breath. “It takes a wise man to read one’s thoughts. Any fool can read one’s face.”

Legolas couldn’t help laughing quietly. So much for indifference. “I’ll try as hard as I can this time, Aragorn, you have my word on it.”

“I know I do. Just tell me how to help…it is not only my own life on the line for this cure we must find.”

*****

“Father,” Legolas’ voice was almost deafening in the complete silence of the king’s room. Elladan halted suddenly, and Elrohir started when Legolas, accompanied by the Healer Tirniel, entered the room and spoke so immediately.

Thranduil’s eyes were open, and his back braced against the headboard of his bed. He looked somewhat anxious as Legolas entered the room, yet he seemed to be keen to hear whatever it was his son was here to say.

“I have come to speak urgently with you. Long have we been tarrying about the truth, and so I state fact alone. Estel is weakening; truth is all time has left us.”

Thranduil nodded, bidding his son to continue, his eyes still fixed uncertainly on the prince’s face.

“The facts stand thus: There are eight elves of your realm, dead.”

Thranduil flinched noticeably, and his face became pale. The twins were both watching the prince’s face fixedly now, their expressions identically grave. Legolas did not pause.

“Five elves are missing; one of them, Rhinthûr, was reported dead, and now, it appears has completely vanished without a trace.”

“Reported dead?” Thranduil repeated numbly. At this, Tirniel stepped up beside Legolas, and bowed slightly.

“Majesty, I can testify to that. He, like the rest of the hunters that were sent out to fetch Bengwiil at your bidding, has died from an overdose of that same plant. But now, it seems…he is gone.” Tirniel’s voice was somewhat strange as he said these words. Almost as though he felt bested, or defeated. Unwilling to announce something as odd as a dead elf’s disappearance.

“Do you suspect someone of stealing the body?” Thranduil asked sternly, sitting up straighter in his bed.

Tirniel hesitated, looking down a the floor with pained concentration. He was mulling something over…and hard, as it appeared. “I will not lie to my king,” he said slowly, not meeting Thranduil’s gaze, and feel Legolas’ burn into the back of his head. “…I do suspect such a crime. But by whom and for what purpose, I am not at liberty to disclose. Even to my king!” He added quickly as Thranduil’s mouth opened to speak. “I’m sorry, Majesty. All I can tell you is Rhinthûr’s body…is in good hands.”

The looks on Elladan and Elrohir’s faces mirrored what Legolas had felt when Tirniel had said that to him as well. But pushing the peculiarity aside, Legolas pressed on with his facts.

“You may call me calloused, Father, but I have compiled a list of the dead and the missing for you.” Legolas withdrew a piece of parchment from his belt, looking a little guilty at first. “’Tis a shame to put down the dead’s name in black and white, as though it were just another group of letters among many. And even more shameful it is to put that name in a list with six other such names…”

Sighing, he handed the list over to Elrohir, who gave the paper to Thranduil. The king’s eyes danced wearily over the list, and the crease on his forehead deepened as he read.

Maranos - attacked by orcs on the hunt for Bengwiil, commissioned by the king, and killed by Bengwiil twenty hours later

Thranduil’s eyes danced up and down the piece of paper at a rapid rate. He couldn’t seem to make the words make sense. So many names…so many deaths and disappearances. And almost every one due to Bengwiil.

Tiriniel seemed to not be able to keep his silence anymore. “Your Majesty, the deaths of Maranos and Meliim are the fault of mine. I tried to heal them with Bengwiil, without knowing they all ready had it in them.”

“They did?” Thranduil questioned firmly.

“Yes, Majesty, there was poison in all of them all ready. I was so afraid of making a mistake, I made one. I gave them Bengwiil. I thought it would be an easy recovery after that, but…it killed them.”

Thranduil shook his head, dismissing that for the moment. “What of Haithin? What of his death?”

“Of that I know not, Father,” Legolas said. “He was among those that died of Bengwiil, we thought, on the hunting trip you sent them on. But then, just several days later, he rode to these Halls on his horse, full of orcs’ arrows. Dead again. Nyarin tells me that he and Haithin had ridden out together to keep Anwé and his company from death. When I inquired as to Haithin not being dead of the Bengwiil, he simply said ‘he wasn’t dead’ and that was all.”

“Hm…” Thranduil murmured thoughtfully, and his eyes danced over the many names and what had caused each death and each disappearance.

The room was silent for a very long time. All of a sudden, there seemed nothing to say. When Legolas had spoken the words: The facts stands thus it was as though everything would become clear finally.

But it hadn’t.

At last, Elladan cleared his throat, causing a few people to jump slightly, and voiced what was going through everyone’s mind. “What do you propose we do now, Legolas?”

“A good question,” Legolas said quietly, gripping the rungs on his father’s bed tightly as he spoke. “We have no definite leads. Tiriniel has told us all he knows, as has Fenan. In fact, it was Fenan that gave us most of the information on that paper.” Legolas nodded at the parchment in Thranduil’s hand. “It was he that recounted the result of their venture into Mirkwood with Anwé…he was very upset to recount Anwé’s death…especially because Anwé *went* to avenge his brother, Nyarin, who had been attacked and wounded previously, as you recall.”

Thranduil nodded somewhat absently, his eyes flittering over the paper in his hands still. “So…what do we do?”

“We take the only lead we have; Nyarin.” Legolas shook his head for emphasis. “There is something buried deep here, Father, and I think Nyarain knows something about it too.”

The king folded the piece of paper still in his hand, and tucked it away in his robes, nodding. “I would arise and join you, Legolas, but the sons of Elrond,” he gave the twins a blatant glare, and was met with identical half-grins, “will not allow it.”

“I understand, Father, and I agree.” Legolas couldn’t help matching Elladan and Elrohir’s smirk, as he turned to the healer over his shoulder. “Tiriniel and I will go back to the-”

Legolas’ bow was out and strung the moment the door slammed open. His grip on the weapon slackened, and the arrow suddenly pointed at the floor instead. “Aragorn,” Legolas breathed, but his relief soon turned to worry at the look on his friend’s face. “What-”

“I can’t find him,” Aragorn panted. He looked as though he’d been running a great deal. “Legolas, I can’t find him *anywhere*.”

“Sh, calm down,” Legolas commanded. “Where did you look?”

“Everywhere!”

“Where did you start?”

“Daurrè, he went to talk to Daurrè, remember? But Daurrè says he hasn’t seen him! *No* one has seen him, not even Nyarin, and I was *sure* he’d at least gone by the Healer’s like he said he would.”

“It’s all right, Aragorn,” Legolas assured, “just tell me where all you have looked, these halls are large.”

“Who, Estel? Who is missing?” Aragorn’s eyes left Legolas’ face quickly to fix worriedly on his adoptive brother. “Adda, Elladan. I can’t find Adda!”

Chapter 13

“so very tired”

Legolas and Aragorn ran non-stop down the stone corridor leading to Daurrè’s room. Tiriniel had returned to the Healer’s to speak with Nyarin, and Elladan agreed with a surprising amount of grace, to stay with Thranduil. Elrohir hadn’t been nearly as eager, but had finally consented to stay with his brother, on the understanding that Aragorn and Legolas would notify him if they learned anything about Elrond’s whereabouts.

Legolas had immediately decided to go to Daurrè first. He knew that Aragorn had all ready spoken with him, but he also knew Daurrè hadn’t exactly been himself lately…and something in him told him it was the only place to start.

When they got to Daurrè’s room, however, Daurrè was not the one waiting there. “Átniir, what’s wrong?” Legolas asked kindly, kneeling beside her. She was sitting on the edge of Daurrè’s bed, rocking back and forth, and moaning into her slender hands.

She jerked upright when she heard him speak, and Aragorn realized that she must be upset indeed if she hadn’t even heard them come in. “Your H-highness, I only- I was…Daurrè’s no’ here,” Átniir stammered, rising quickly to her feet.

“It’s all right, Átniir, what’s wrong?”

Átniir’s eyes were wide, like an animal caught in the firelight, and it was all ready clear she was too frightened to say whatever it was that was *really* wrong. In other words, neither Aragorn nor Legolas were surprised when she shook her head firmly, and whispered what was furthest from the truth: “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Legolas repeated slowly, as though he found that *highly* unlikely, though next, he sighed quietly, and nodded. “All right then, Átniir. But let us know if we can help?”

Átniir nodded dully, and Legolas and Aragorn turned to go, confused. The both turned around quickly at the sound of her footsteps chasing after theirs. “Tell him- Daurrè, that is -tell him…that his questions were grounded, and- and he’s in the forest.” She was pale, and her fingers twitched at the ends of trembling arms, but her eyes looked desperate as well.

“Who is in the forest?”

“Tell him, please!”

Legolas nodded, “I will…where is Daurrè?”

“H-healers,” Átniir whispered back. “I h-have…t-…to go now, though, so I- yes, I must go…”

“All right, Átniir,” Legolas answered encouragingly, “Hannon le.”

“Ea le govonnen,” Átniir muttered curtly, and rushed away into the door at the end of Daurrè’s bedroom.

“You know, I don’t even *know* her well, and I get the impression she is not herself,” Aragorn mused as the two made their way to the Healers.

“You would be correct too,” Legolas nodded. “That door she went through when we left?”

“Yes?”

“It was Daurrè’s closet.”

Aragorn turned a puzzled look on his friend, and Legolas merely shook his head in response. “I have *no* idea what is wrong with her…”

“Is she always- always…” Aragorn hesitated.

“Crying?” Legolas put in dully.

“Yes,” Aragorn replied quietly.

“No,” Legolas sighed, as the two leapt down a stone staircase in unison. “Though I myself don’t know her *very* well. In fact, I only know her at *all* because the day she came here, she became instant friends with Thernäd, you know, Edren’s wife.”

Aragorn nodded, and then paused. “What do you mean ‘came here’?”

“She is of Rivendell. She came to Mirkwood with her brother, Haithen, when she was a girl. Their parents had hopes of them reaching beyond themselves and of being stronger and better. So, when their mother and father left to the Grey Havens, Haithen and Átniir decided that they would ‘challenge themselves’ and left the protective bliss of Rivendell for the shadow of Mirkwood.” Legolas shook his head and smiled slightly. “I’ve always thought the both of them quite brave for living in Mirkwood on purpose.”

Aragorn couldn’t help laughing a little at that, but their conversation was cut short upon approaching the Healer’s door.

**********

**********

“Daurrè…” Legolas murmured quietly as he approached the younger elf, who was sitting beside the still form of his still-sick friend, Fenan. “Daurrè- we were…wondering if you…” nothing for it. “Where is Elrond?”

“I don’t know,” Daurrè said dully. “Why?”

“He’s missing, my friend.”

“Well I- I haven’t spoken with him,” Daurrè answered flatly. “I don’t know where-”

“Daurrè what is it?”

“What?” the other insisted in the same tone.

“You aren’t telling me something.” Legolas told him, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. He didn’t know why, maybe he was tired or worried for Elrond, but it was starting to feel like Daurrè too was hiding something from him. It seemed to have become a trend in these halls…

“I don’t know what you mean,” the other’s tone was blank.

“Did you ever find Edren?”

“Edren?”

“You were looking for him.”

Daurrè just shook his head. “No, I never found him.”

“Well, he was in his room,” Legolas challenged quietly.

“I see.” Still the young elf’s tone lacked any sort of emotion. It was infuriating!

Legolas bit his lip, putting the anger away, and sat down beside his friend instead. “He said he was going to speak with you. Did he never do this?”

“Who?”

“Lord Elrond.”

“No-” Daurrè began to answer automatically.

“Tell me honestly, my friend. If ever you had reason to keep something from me, dispel in now, in the name of our friendship. I *need* you to tell me all you know.”

To Legolas’ relief, the statement appeared to have shaken Daurrè somewhere deep, and yet the younger elf stubbornly controlled his face in a concentrated effort of indifference. “Legolas, I don’t know where Elrond is. Ple- please leave me alone, mellon-nin.” And he turned back to the still form of Fenan.

“Daurrè, listen, Átniir said-”

“Legolas!” Legolas, Aragorn and Daurrè all looked up quickly as the door of the Healers banged back on its hinges, and Thernäd came running in, still catching her breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and judging by her bloodshot eyes, it was from crying rather than running.

“Thernäd, what’s wrong?” Legolas asked gently, moving swiftly forward to help Aragorn sit the elf maiden on one of the empty beds.

“Edren- a- and Lord Elrond, in the- they’re both-” She was gasping, and trying to get Aragorn to stop assisting her, as though it would impair her capability to speak clearly to them.

“Ea na gwiil,” Aragorn murmured almost inaudibly to her, and she closed her eyes a moment, breathing deeply and nodding.

“What is it, Thernäd?” Legolas repeated, kneeling in front of her, and grabbing a small, trembling hand in his own. “What about Edren and Elrond?”

“In the forest. They’ve both- well, Elrond…” She paused a second time, breathing again. Finally, she opened her eyes, her voice just a bit calmer, yet still shaking with recent tears. “The Lord Elrond came and spoke to me about- well, that doesn’t matter. But he went into the forest-”

“Why did he go into the forest, Thernäd?” Aragorn asked quickly, cutting Legolas off from asking the same thing.

“I can’t- I can’t say…but he was going to help me look for someone, and I had seen that someone running into the forest. He agreed to find- find that person, and said I should go to our room and speak with Edren, because he looked to be very upset.”

“Upset?” Legolas repeated quietly.

“Yes.”

“Do- do you know why he was upset?”

“…yes.” Thernäd’s voice was quiet, and she fixed Legolas with her soft eyes for the briefest moment.

In that moment, it seemed all of Legolas’ last words with Edren came flooding back in painful vividness…

How could he have said that? What was he *thinking*?! To him, those few words carried so much confusion, and such a crushing debt that he couldn’t see straight. To Edren? It was selfish blame.

A dagger of guilt seemed to be attacking Legolas‘ heart as Thernäd continued.

“I went to Edren, we- we spoke awhile…and then, I told him about Lord Elrond…and how he had not been back in awhile, and h-he-” Her breath caught in her throat, and she covered her face in her free hand suddenly. “I cannot tell you with such little detail, Legolas.”

“What, Thernäd?” Legolas pleaded, squeezing her hand.

“He went for you!” she cried, dropping her hand into her lap again, and revealing pain-filled eyes. “He went for you, Leoglas! He said he had to go and he had to find Lord Elrond. He said he had to do it for you.”

“Do it for me?” Legolas asked numbly. “Thernäd, what-”

“He said, ‘I have destroyed the bond I fought to keep between Legolas and I. I have lied to a friend. Perhaps I can redeem myself. I have to try, meleth-nin. I have to say I’ve tried as I could’. I tried- I tried to tell him not to, Legolas, but he said he had to, he kept saying he had to try. ‘Legolas loves Lord Elrond almost as a father’ he said, and he left. He- he left, Legolas, please-”

She sucked in her breath quickly, and put a small hand on Legolas’ shoulder, her voice dropping to a precise whisper. “Something, Legolas, there is something in those woods right now…an evil is growing there. Please…Edren is out there…and-”

Legolas’ head was shaking without his bidding. “No,” he whispered. “I will not let him risk anything more on my account.” He paused only a moment, and then squeezing Thernäd’s hand a last time, he stood up quickly. “Aragorn, the stables!”

**********

The pounding of Lint’s hooves seemed to be the only sound in the world, save the sound of Legolas’ own breathing. Every once and awhile, Aragorn, who appeared to be thinking a little clearer, would cry “To the right, Legolas!” or “Past that thicket!” but other than that, there was nothing but pounding, and blank, worried thoughts.

It was all dark. All mist and damp trees and muddy ground.

Edren, be all right…*please* be all right…you have to. Legolas was desperate, and his mind full of horrible visions. Thernäd was right- there was something evil in these woods, and it was becoming stronger and stronger. And somewhere in its midst, Lord Elrond and Edren were lost.

At last, at long last, they both heard a new sound up ahead. “Al-anon, dismount!” Legolas cried, and both jumped off their horses, and charged towards the clearing, as the sound of battle echoed through the woods.

Legolas and Aragorn tip-toed to the edge of the clearing, and peered through the foliage. Beyond the scrubby trees and bushes, just outside the shadows, was roughly a dozen orcs, who appeared to be fighting over what looked like a torn piece of balled-up cloth.

They both sighed in half-relief, half-frustration at seeing no sign of Elrond or Edren.

“Not our fight,” Aragorn whispered into Legolas’ sensitive ear, so quietly that he could barely hear it himself. “Let’s go.”

Leoglas nodded, and made to turn around, when the cold tip of an arrow pressed against the back of his neck. “Turn slowly,” a voice behind him whispered, and the arrow jerked slightly in emphasis. “And no sound,” he added.

Legolas complied, turning slowly around on his knees, and then the breath went out of his lungs at what he saw. “Edren! What were you-”

“Sh!” the other insisted, though he was clearly grinning slightly. “A little distracted, Legolas? After all- I’ve never been able to sneak up on *you* before.”

Legolas rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t seem to hide his relief at seeing his friend alive, and smiling even. “What was that for?” he demanded, standing up, and brushing himself off.

“I didn’t want you to startle and attract the orcs,” Edren replied simply, and then smiled again. “Besides, I rarely get to play a trick on you, Legolas, though you have *often* on me.”

Legolas wasn’t going to argue the point, but merely grinned. Edren grinned back, but his was directed just over Legolas’ shoulder. Legolas turned to find a third grin facing Edren’s. “And just what is so amusing, Strider?”

Aragorn shrugged, and now looked as though he was trying not to laugh. Legolas just shook his head in a good-natured ‘oh, never mind’ sort of gesture, and faced Edren again.

Without Legolas’ bidding, his expression became serious, as his last encounter with Edren rushed back to mind. “Edren, I-”

Edren held up a hand. “There is no time for talk right now, Legolas, Lord Elrond was captured.”

All trace of mirth disappeared like a leaf downstream on Aragorn’s face. “Adda has- how do you know?”

“I saw them dragging off with him.”

“Them?”

“The orcs. I made to fight, but he shook his head at me, and tore a corner of his robes off, wrapped something up in it, and threw it.” Edren cocked his head at the clearing. “The orcs saw him throw it, and several stayed behind to fight over it. I don’t know what is in it, but we really ought to get it back.”

Aragorn’s mind swept his good sense for something Elrond would want to give them. A note? Not likely, he wouldn’t have been able to write one, and had now way of knowing his capture. It took only a moment for him to think of something. Vilya. “Legolas, we have got to get that item back from the orcs,” he said quickly, his eyes flicking to Edren as well.

“Why, what-” Edren began.

“No time. We’ll come at them from three sides, all right?”

Legolas and Edren nodded, drawing weapons. “You stay here,” Legolas instructed, “Edren, to the left, I’ll off to the right.”

“At our pause, count three, and you charge first,” Edren told the human.

They nodded, and parted ways. Aragorn sat alone in the shadows for a long moment, the sound of elven footsteps echoing off in two different directions echoing ghostly in his ears. Finally, they stopped, somewhere far away, the moment they did, Aragorn began to whisper to three. “Er,” Adda, please be all right. “atta…” Valar keep Legolas and Edren safe… “NELDE!” he cried, and leapt through the clearing.

Distracted by the human rushing at them from the back, all twelve orcs looked up, and were bombarded from the left and right by elven arrows.

It was a slaughter. It took perhaps three minutes to kill the orcs. They were greedy for the scrap of cloth still, and half-blinded by surprise and some sort of drink, that they seemed to crumble under the weapons that attacked them.

Legolas was surprised to stand up after down-thrusting a particularly scrawny orc, and find no more to fight.

By then, Aragorn was all ready on his hands and knees, unfolding the scrap of cloak. Edren and Legolas reached his side swiftly, but he had all ready folded the crimson cloth over the blue-studded ring. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s safe.”

Edren never questioned what it was, knowing that the Lord of Rivendell surely had a great many secrets, and he needn’t know any of them.

The three stood silent in the clearing, feeling for the first time, just how eerie the woods were, and how dangerous their situation. “How does a group of Mordor slaves go about capturing the Lord of Rivendell?” Aragorn asked numbly of the silence.

Legolas’ eyes flitted to Edren, who sighed, and shook his head. “I do not know what weapon they used against him, Estel, but- it must have been powerful indeed.”

Aragorn turned questioning eyes on the other elf, forcing Edren to elaborate. “He- he did not look well when they were taking him away, Estel…he was very pale, and looked weak. Very weak.”

Aragorn blinked rapidly, and looked to the forest floor, as though struggling with the mental picture of his adoptive father being ‘weak’. “But how-” he began hoarsely. “How did they manage to…in such little time?”

“I know not, Estel.” Edren shook his head, and the three were plunged into painful silence once more.

A look of resolution came across Legolas’ face, and he strode silently to Aragorn’s side, wrapping an arm around the human’s shoulders. “We will find him, Aragorn. Someone must go back, tell your brothers, and return with help, but we *will* find him. I promise I won’t rest till we do. All right, mellon-nin?”

The human nodded quickly, (I knew you would Legolas…) and grabbed the prince’s hand, which still rested on his shoulder. “We should set out immediately, before the trail is cold.”

Legolas nodded, giving Aragorn’s hand a squeeze, and then turned to Edren. “Might I ask-”

“I will ride back and inform the sons of Elrond,” Edren was all ready saying. “Who should I ask to accompany me back?”

“Anyone who will come,” Legolas answered darkly. “Thernäd was right when she spoke to us, Edren. She said there is a darkness growing in these woods, and there is. I can feel it even now…a hungry evil, and an angered vengeance.”

Edren nodded. “I sense it, Legolas, and I wonder that it has taken this long. Such evil is ever in Mirkwood but-” he shook his head, his keen eyes darting around the dark forest. “Surely we should have noticed it before now.”

Legolas sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “It snuck in upon us, my friend. Such pain and so many emotions have been left unbridled in the halls of late. I think every one of the elves of Mirkwood are emotionally spent, and have no mind for outside those walls anymore.”

Legolas’ voice turned from reflection to disgust, as he muttered his next words. “ We have not sensed this evil growing, for we were preoccupied with our own evils.”

A thousand memories flashed through his head, as all thought turned away from Edren (who was watching him closely, as though guessing his thoughts) as well as Aragorn, who stood tensely still, wishing that words didn’t take so long, and that he could run away into the dark and find his father, rather than stand hear and wait.

Legolas’ mind seemed to be numb to both his friends, and rather churn uncomfortably through thought after painful thought.

Aragorn was shouting…

Thranduil was whispering…

Edren was trying to comfort him…

Aragorn was going to die…

Thranduil was dying…

Thranduil was alive…Aragorn was dying…dying with green blood…Aragorn was back, alive for awhile…but now, he was riding away, far away.

It didn’t matter, though. Aragorn wasn’t *going* to leave. Maybe he never would have. More emotions wasted.

“I have cried more tears than ever before, just over these last days and nights.” Legolas’ words cut into his own thoughts, and his eyes opened to face Edren and Aragorn. “I have lost Estel more times than I care to recall, I’ve lost my father nearly, I’ve seen more elves die than ever before in these halls. I-”

Legolas shook his head slowly, and then continued in a purposeful tone, “I am *tired* of crying, I am *tired* of losing my emotions, my heart and the ones I love, just to gain them all back at once, I am *tired* of giving up, and I am so *very* tired of Bengwiil!”

He whistled shrilly, causing Edren to flinch. Aragorn did not move, however, but kept his eyes fixed on his elven friend. Lint came running to his master’s side, at the sound of his whistle, as did Horthor, who stopped short in front of Aragorn.

Legolas grabbed his horse’s reins, and mounted him quickly. “Estel? Edren? My friends…” The prince’s eyes seemed to have a fire in them, and his air was more determined than Aragorn had seen him in a long time. “We will find a cure for Bengwiil, and we will defeat it once and forever. But first,” he added, and nodded at Aragorn as the human mounted his own horse, “we will find the Lord Elrond.”

Aragorn nodded, and reined his horse into a full circle, facing Lint. “Which way did they go, Edren?”

Edren pointed towards the woods just over the two companion’s shoulders. “There, and I think straight back. They should not be hard to track.”

“No,” Aragorn agreed, “thank goodness for that at least. Did you come on foot, Edren?”

“Valar, no,” Edren smiled, nodding towards the woods behind him. “Ilera waits for me just back there, and I shall not have her waiting long. Just tell me, Estel, what you would have me tell the sons of Elrond. Should they stay with the king?”

Aragorn almost laughed. “Aye, have them stay with the king, and I shall reward you, Edren, if you can do it.”

Edren returned with a smile, and then his eyes shifted bravely to Leoglas’s face. “Ride safely, my friend.”

Legolas’ mouth opened to say something. Wait Edren. Don’t go. Forgive me. Edren, forgive me…Edren, where are the words I need? All this and many more things he wanted to say, and yet, all that came out of his mouth was: “Edren?”

There was a pause. “Edren, I-” He couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t he speak? Why wouldn’t the words come out? Something was holding the words inside his throat. Something had caught his mind’s attention, and refused to let go.

To both Edren and Aragorn’s bewilderment, Legolas’ eyes started to dance wildly over the dark forest around them. “Something is there…” Legolas wasn’t exactly sure if he’d *said* it or merely thought it, but the feeling was growing.

Edren and Leoglas both drew their bows, and Araogrn his sword. The clearing was silent.

“What is it?” Aragorn’s voice was barley a whisper.

“Something- familiar. I’ve felt it before…I know…do- do you feel it, Edren?”

Edren’s eyes flashed from the woods to Legolas, and then back again. “No,” he whispered. “Why?”

“I- I just thought you…nothing.”

Aragorn chanced a curious look at Legolas, and then switched to the woods again. “The horse’s sense nothing,” he noted quietly. “It isn’t orcs.”

“No,” Legolas agreed. “No, not orcs…”

Silence. Deadly, eerie, silence.

Legolas’ eyes shut, and his mind fought to center on the alien source of familiarity and danger. What are you? What do you want? His mind swirled. It stretched out imaginary fingers, into the forest, and sought out another probing thought. One that was not his own, but someone else’s.

“Edren…” Legolas breathed, his eyes snapping open. “Edren! He’s going to kill you!”

Chapter 14

Ranîmär

It was one, short blur of vision and thought. Legolas was off his horse one second, and in the dirt, on top of Edren the next. And *SHWOOONT!* an arrow landed just inches away from where the two friends lay.

Edren and Legolas both shot to their feet, ready for battle. Aragorn had all ready turned Horthor around, and was firing arrows into the bushes with his small bow. Edren began to do the same, and Legolas stooped down to examine the arrow.

It was elven.

“Edren, there is an elf in there,” Legolas breathed disbelievingly, as he too loaded his bow for action. Edren and Aragorn both ceased fire, and the clearing rang with silence once more.

“An elf?” Edren repeated urgently, and Aragorn’s head snapped around at the comment.

“Yes, this is no orc arrow.” He held the weapon that nearly took Edren’s life for the elf’s inspection.

“Who would possibly want to kill Edren?” Aragorn whispered, his eyes now searching the woods again.

“I know not,” Legolas shook his head, and threw the arrow away, re-stringing his own. “But let us find out. Suilad!” he cried into the shadowed trees. “I know you are one of the firstborn, and I know you mean harm to us. Ed-teli!”

//come out!//

It was as though the lack of response taunted Legolas, laughed at him for daring it to stop. He gritted his teeth, and with a sideways glance at Aragorn, repeated, “Ed-teli, lutha!”

//come out, now!//

And still, there was no response. Not so much as a bowstring tightening. It was unnerving, but Legolas was determined not to admit that to himself. His mind was reaching out again, hoping to find that someone’s thoughts again, but he couldn’t seem to grasp it. All he could feel was the unnerving familiarity with whoever it was.

Then, at last, there was sound. A twig snapped just behind Aragorn. He whirled Horthor around quickly, and shot. His, Edren’s and Legolas’ arrows all found the same mark, and a gnarled-looking orc tumbled out of the undergrowth.

And all hell broke loose.

Three orcs stepped out of the shadows, just behind the dead one, and rushed at Edren and Legolas. Aragorn would have assisted, but he had to turn swiftly around on his horse again, and start shooting at the barrage that exploded from just over his shoulder.

He fired arrow after arrow into them, but they seemed to simply keep coming. At last, it was too close-range, and he drew his sword, slicing them down one-by-one from his vantage-point on Horthor’s back.

Legolas and Edren were doing well, they had managed to keep the steady flow of orcs just ahead of them away with arrows. And now, while Edren kept shooting, Legolas drew his knives, and attacked the ones that got too close.

It was a good set up, with Aragorn felling just enough of them to protect the elves’ backs, and Edren and Legolas easily fending off the ones coming from the front. Too easy, in fact. Had the three not been so busy holding off the steady flow of orcs, they may have thought of that, and worried.

But as it was, it took roughly ten minutes to ward off the orcs, and then, almost instantly, they stopped coming. It was then that Legolas, Edren and Aragorn got to worrying. “Where are they?” Legolas whispered uneasily, as the last orc fell dead, with no comrades behind him.

“They can’t all be dead,” Aragorn stated, and Edren nodded quickly in agreement, his keen eyes scanning the forest for the third time. “And where is that elf?” he added, and the question seemed to turn the air cold. It was the feeling of following someone else’s plan to the letter.

Something was about to go very, very wrong…

It did.

Out of the forest, from all sides, stepped perhaps a hundred orcs, all with weapons drawn. On impulse, Legolas, Edren and Aragorn shot several down, but the rest kept coming without flinching.

“Can we win?” Legolas murmured, as Aragorn tried to hush Horthor’s nervous shuffling.

Edren shook his head and sighed. “We can try.”

As one, they began to fire in three different directions. One by one, the orcs fell under the elven arrows, and still the living ones pressed steadily forward.

“Aragorn!”

Horthor was beginning to buck wildly, despite Aragorn’s urgent whisperings, and it was making it harder for him to fire into the orcs. Legolas was forced to jump behind him, felling the orc that was attempting to stab Aragorn in the thigh.

After the orc fell dead, and Aragorn nodded unspoken thanks, and took up the fight once more, Legolas made a grab for the small object that the orc had tried to wound Aragorn with.

“It’s a salab dart,” Legolas muttered anxiously to Edren, once he sided him again, and began firing. “They’re not trying to kill us.”

Edren risked a glance at Legolas, and then shot an orc nearly just in front of him.

“Dartho!”

The clearing rang, and echoed with several stray arrows, before Aragorn, Edren and Legolas stopped firing, for the orcs had frozen in their steps. Three pairs of eyes jumped around the surrounding forest, in search of the new voice.

“Lay down your weapons, the three of you.” It was a deep commanding voice, and seemed to be coming from just behind the three of them. Legolas spun around, yet in search of its source.

“Surrender, and I will not kill you.”

Legolas’ mouth opened to reply, when he felt Edren tense beside him, and turned quickly around once more. All the orcs they had killed thus far…were rising from the ground. Well, not *all* of them. There were some with arrows protruding from their necks, or their heads that did not rise. The rest, however, were coming nearer and nearer, weapons raised.

“Lay down your weapons!” the voice shouted dangerously. “Lutha!”

//now!//

Slowly, carefully, Edren and Legolas put their bows down on the ground. “And your knives, Legolas, as well as Edren’s boot-knife,” the voice continued, conversationally. The two complied, and heard Aragorn’s sword and bow clatter to the ground.

It took an unexpected while, for every time they shed another weapon, the voice would call the name and location of some other hidden defense. How he knew about all these, Legolas had no idea, but it was unnerving. Even so, the companions did their best to make it a struggle, laying down each weapon at the absolute slowest rate…but no solutions were coming to mind, during these delays.

Oh, *surely* there was an alternative to captivity…

At last, the hidden elf (for the three of them had easily surmised that was who was speaking from the trees) ordered Aragorn to dismount his horse and stand beside Legolas and Edren. He did.

“Good good,” the voice approved, and it was now much closer. Legolas guessed he’d finally entered the clearing. “Turn around and I shall kill you,” he went on, still with a sort of hospitable tone. “Now, Legolas. Tell me, what are you doing in these woods at a time like this? The orcs are rampant, you know.”

“I know,” Legolas responded, just as easily, “but we came to seek Lord Elrond.”

“Lord Elrond?” the response was surprised. “Is the Lord of Rivendell in these woods?”

Leoglas was not fooled. “Aye, and might I trouble you to inquire *where* you’ve taken him? It’s quite important to us, you see.”

“That I can understand, young prince, but I fear I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Perhaps if I duck quickly to avid the arrow, I can spin and attack him before he can shoot… Legolas’ mind mused. But what if the arrow is in fact aimed at Estel or Edren? Perhaps he doesn’t *wish* to kill me, and would shoot one of them instead… there *had* to be a way out of this. It seemed silly for there to be no course of action they could take.

Every trap had a hole, right?

“All right, Legolas, answer me something else. Why should I not kill you?”

The sound of a bow tightening resonated about the clearing, and Legolas felt both friends tense on either side of him. “No reason,” he answered easily. “Only, if you do, it will be your own problem afterwards. I am King Thranduil’s son, you know.”

“Yes, I’d heard that, *prince*,” the voice retorted silkily. “Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“Not a bit.” Aragorn had to admire how Legolas’ voice held no trace of fear, considering the human could feel the prince shaking from head to foot.

The cold point of an arrow flexed suddenly against the back of Legoals’ neck, causing him to flinch painfully, and his breath to catch in his throat on impulse.

“I see,” the other responded in an infuriatingly intentional tone, tugging a stupid guffaw out of some of the closest orcs.

“What do you want?” Aragorn asked quickly, trying to drag the focus off of Legolas for at least a moment, for his pride, if not his life’s sake.

“What do I want, fier? What makes you think that *you* would understand that?”

Aragorn couldn’t resist rolling his eyes slightly, as the voice drawled on for a memorized moment. Between the snide commenting and the battle-of-wits banter, maybe they *would* have enough time to escape…

“No elf could understand half of what I want, no human could understand a *fragment* of what I want, and you could never begin to try. Take their weapons.”

There was a loud shuffling, as several orcs moved forward, claiming the elven and human weapons, as well as Horthor, and bearing them off to the side to dispute over. The rest of them closed in on the three companions.

“What I want, fier, is the king’s halls,” the voice went on in an easy way. “I won’t prattle on about just *how* I intend to obtain them, because, just now you and both your friends are trying to think up a way of escape, and I don’t really want you to find one. Kneel, the three of you, and hold out your wrists.”

As usual, there was a prideful moment of hesitation, but they complied at last, Aragorn being the first to swallow it and kneel, Edren and Legolas following. And, to none of their surprise, a few of the orcs pressed forward with ropes, binding the wrists of each.

“Right, that’s better,” the voice continued lazily.

Legolas’ mind was fighting to recognize the elf’s voice. He chanced a glance at Aragorn, and could tell that the human was trying to discover that as well. He wanted so *badly* just to spin around and see, but didn’t dare risk the lives of his friends, if not his own. He glanced at Edren as well, hoping that his peripheral vision would help him out, but everything behind him was dark.

“I’ll make this simple,” the elf said at last. He must have motioned to the orcs, because they instantly started to move again.

Two sprang on Aragorn, knocking him to the ground, and pinning his bound hands to his chest. Edren was piled on by two as well, but one clung to each arm, holding him to his knees instead. Legolas almost flinched to the side to avoid them, but two of the orcs latched onto him as well, one grabbing his left shoulder, and one his bound wrists.

The three of them instantly began to fight, but Aragorn had the horrible feeling that whoever this elf was, he somehow knew they were going to do it, because neither he nor the orcs seemed too concerned. After all, they had about a hundred orcs for backup…it was all ready a losing battle.

Legolas thrashed back and forth, nearly dislodging the first orc from his shoulder, but just as he made to stand up and shake the second one, a huge behemoth of an orc ran almost out of nowhere, and slammed two huge fists down on both the prince’s shoulders.

All breath was knocked from Legolas’ lungs, and he went temporarily slack, giving the three of the orcs time to take hold of him. His eyes flicked blearily to Edren at his right. The elf had given a pretty good fight, it seemed, because there was a third orc clinging onto him now.

Aragorn struggled his best, but one orc straddled his back, grimy hands slamming the human’s shoulders into the ground every time he tried to resist, while the other was attempting to tie the thrashing man’s legs together.

“Since you can’t see me,” the elf’s voice echoed loudly over the slowing chaos, “I’ll just tell you that I am four paces behind young Prince Legolas, here, and my arrow is trained on his back. Right about where his heart is beating.”

The frank statement made Aragorn’s adrenaline shoot up another notch, and he gave another shot at bucking the orc off of him, but the being was stubborn, and cuffed the human soundly across the back of head, causing Aragorn’s vision to blur for a moment.

There was a long pause as first Aragorn, then Legolas, and finally Edren stopped struggling.

“What do you want?” Legolas asked wearily, feeling bruises all ready forming on his forearms and shoulders where the three orcs were clinging as though for dear life. Their claws had all ready drawn blood in several places.

“As I said before, Prince, I will make this easy for you. Tell me where the tunnel is that leads into the king’s bedroom, or I will kill you. And,” he added quickly, with the tone of an important detail, “I *will* kill you, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, make no mistake.”

And the prince’s mouth slammed resolutely shut.

Another moment of painful silence. “Where is the tunnel, Legolas?”

Legolas’ lips remained stoically tight, as both his friends knew they would.

“Will you tell me, Legolas?”

“No.”

“What?”

There was more of a pause this time, and then, with all the courageous intention he could manage, Legolas repeated, “No, I will not tell you.”

“I see.” A twig snapped, and it sounded like the elf was backing up a step, to better his position. “I will ask you one more time, Legolas, and you have the count to nelde.”

“I will not tell you.”

“Er,” the elf counted dangerously.

Aragorn’s heart tensed inside him as he watched his friend- and then he felt clawed hands snake into his hair, and snap his head to the side. The human’s body seemed to shock at the sudden movement, and his heart screamed. He struggled, but each time, the orc smacked the side of his head against the hard earth, and pressed it there again, causing stars to spark in front of his vision.

He couldn’t see Legolas! The orc was turning his head away from Legolas! “Let go!” he whispered hoarsely, not exactly expecting it to work, and so it didn’t. He jerked and bucked, managing to swing his gaze at Legolas now and then, only to feel it snapped to the side once more. He didn’t *want* to see Legolas die, but what cruelty was this, not to allow him to see his friend alive one last time?

It seemed a little too intelligent for an orc…and then, for a brief moment, Aragorn could have sworn he felt the strange elf’s eyes on him. They were smiling slightly. In satisfaction.

They don’t want me to see Legolas. Why?! His body was telling him to work harder, to force the orcs away, but he couldn’t shake them…and it seemed as though the second one had managed to tie his ankles together.

“I won’t tell you!” Legolas declared loudly, and Aragorn’s heart skipped a beat.

“Atta…” the elf continued. He was enjoying himself immensely.

“Legolas, just tell him!” Aragorn begged, his eyes roving wildly over the forest he had to look at. “Tell him now, and pick up the pieces later!”

“No, Estel,” Legolas’ voice was securely resolute. “I will not endanger my father. You would do the same for Elrond.”

“You’ll break your father‘s heart, mellon-nin!”

“I am Adar’s son, and I-” his voice raised, “I *will* have justice prevail as he would.”

“Legolas-”

“No, Estel!”

“I’m almost to nelde, Legolas,” the elf warned.

“I don’t care.”

“Legolas, please just-!”

“Nelde!”

“Leoglas!”

*SHWOONT*

“No- NO!”

*****

******

Aragorn lay still for a long, long moment, and then felt the orc climb off of him, settling for pressing the human’s shoulders to the ground. Aragorn’s head snapped around, his vision all ready blurred by tears of shock.

No. No…his eyes seemed to momentarily forget what they were looking for, and then remembered Legolas’ resolute face again. Aragorn’s heart froze inside him as he saw what he had not been looking for…

It was then that he realized who had shouted ‘no’. It hadn’t been him after all, though he was sure the word was in his heart when it was screamed.

It was Legolas.

The prince was shaking, crying, and hovering hesitantly over the still form…of Edren.

“Edren?” his whisper shook with tears, as his trembling fingers went to the arrow protruding from his friend’s heart. The arrow he’d swerved to the side and taken for Legolas. The memory of him knocking Legolas over and out of the way, was all ready a blur in the prince’s head. He couldn’t believe it. It just- didn’t make a lot of sense.

“Edren…?”

Edren’s eyes flickered open halfway. “L-golas…I’m s-rry I lie- lied to you…there is no pe-eace in lies, Legolas, I- Suuleth was right I should have known that and- and peace is…ea er ranîmär.”

//is only within truth.//

“Edren, forgive me for what I said, please…I did not- I did not mean that I was angered at you for lying.” Legolas’ heart broke with his own words, remembering what he had said. Remembering too, that he should have made up with Edren awhile ago. Not like this… “Rather, my friend, I hate myself for making you do it…all that pain that you went through for me…why, Edren?”

“For you.”

“…why?” the prince pleaded.

Edren shook his head, his eyes closing most of the way. “You were worth it, mellon-nin.”

“No, no, no I wasn’t.” Legolas’ head shook rapidly from side to side.

“Well…” he smiled. “I think you are.”

“Edren, no!” an elven tear touched Edren’s blood-stained tunic. “You gave up your everything for me, you can’t die now…not for me. I can never repay you, and you- you can’t do that to me, you can’t leave me with this debt, Edren, you can’t!”

“Sh…Legolas, I can. And I do this gladly, s-so…don’t hate yourself anymore, my friend…because- I…t-tell Thernäd that- th-that I love her? I do, I love her so…a-and I love her fingers.” He seemed to look somewhere else for a moment. “They…they’re so small, and thin and- they fit in mine p-perfectly. Tell her?”

Legolas’ breath sobbed in his chest, and he could only nod, and mouth the words, ‘I will’.

“And- and Legolas?” his eyes came to rest on his childhood friend again. Seeing every part of him in many ways. So much to say. No time to say it. “Le-egolas, I- I l…also…love…”

“I love you too, Edren,” Legolas whispered, grabbing Edren’s bound hands in his own, and kissing his fingers gently. “And Edren, I-”

The birds were chirping gently, the wind stirred a fresh breeze between the trees, and yet it was suddenly so very, very quiet.

“Edren…?”

But Edren was not breathing anymore. His eyes were shut.

He was gone.

Legolas’ eyes slid closed, and his golden head lay shakily down on his friend’s still chest. It felt as though his heart was literally breaking. Disbelief clouded his vision, and he couldn’t think straight.

Thousands of words and memories flooded his head. All the times he’d failed Edren were painfully vivid now. All the things he hadn’t done for him, and all the pain Legolas had inadvertently caused him came in a rush, and seemed to be all that was propelling the tears from Legolas’ eyes.

All he could see was his own failure. Maybe because it was something he could understand. But he couldn’t understand that Edren was dead. It just didn’t make any sense. And it crumbled what was left of Legolas’ resolve to be strong.

And he was. But what other way is there to react when a friend leaves forever? Pain wrapped its arms around Legolas’ awareness and would not let go. Look what you’ve done, Legolas. You do not know what you have done.

“I’m sorry, Edren, I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m SORRY!” Leoglas sobbed into his friend’s chest.

No one moved. No one breathed. The whole world stood still for Edren for just a moment, and then began to spin again…but so much slower, and it felt so much colder now.

*****

******

“Time to go, Prince,” the elf’s voice was just beside Legolas now, towering above him. It made the prince’s blood boil to hear it, and he would have hated this coldhearted elf…had there not been too much pain in his heart for other emotions.

“On your feet, Legolas.”

Legolas didn’t move, his bound hands slipped to his face, and he ran his thumb down his nose smoothly, reaching down and clutching Edren’s limp thumb with his own.

Aragorn recognized the childhood handshake the two had shared, and a tear slipped unnoticed down his face, and made a patch of ground salty for a brief moment, before the earth soaked it in.

The elf strung his bow and pointed the arrow tip at Legolas’ head, his voice harsh. “Now, Prince.”

Legolas stayed still, his thumb still clasped around Edren’s, and his face a blur of disbelief. The bowstring tightened threateningly.

With little guard on him anymore, Aragorn rolled easily away from the orcs, and moved quickly onto his knees, laying his bound hands on Legolas’ shoulder. None of the orcs moved to stop him, so Aragorn put his face close to the prince’s and whispered gently, “Legolas?”

Legolas inhaled suddenly, his breath shaking, but did not look up.

“It hurts, Legolas, I know it hurts. But y-” Aragorn’s throat constricted with his own mixed emotions, but he swallowed it for Legolas’ sake. “You have to leave him. If- if you don‘t…”

Legolas raised his sliver gaze to Aragorn’s, and the human’s voice became all the gentler. “Keep his sacrifice worthwhile.”

The breath hitched in Legolas’ throat, and he let go of Edren’s hand. Instantly, the orcs leapt forward, jostling the two friends away from Edren’s body.

After cutting the ropes around Aragorn’s feet, they stood both of them up, and retied their wrists. Two large orcs tied and then took hold of some thick cord attached to each of the friend’s ropes, and started pulling them along into the deep of the forest.

It all seemed to take a millisecond. First they were kneeling in the clearing beside the faithful form of Edren, and the next, they were being pulled into the mists of Mirkwood.

One second the world had slowed to a stop, and now it was moving much too quickly.

The sound of an arrow being fired echoed from over their shoulders. Legolas turned to look, and Aragorn tugged quickly on his rope for slack. Reaching his bound hands up to Leoglas’ head, the human covered the side of his friend’s face, gently turning his gaze away. “Don’t look, mellon-nin.” Aragorn told him quietly. “It’ll be all right.”

But the human’s own eyes strayed to what he knew he’d see. Two of the orcs were firing a few random arrows into Edren’s body. Just to be sure.

It made Aragorn feel sick, and as his gaze flicked back to Legolas, he could tell the prince was not ignorant of what his eyes had been protected from. The look on Legolas’ face was heartbreaking.

A dark horse rode up beside the friends. “I am terribly sorry about shooting Edren, Legolas, but I cannot pretend it wasn’t somewhat satisfying. In fact, I believe I rather enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

Legolas turned a burning gaze on the elf at last, prepared to leap onto the horse and strangle the life out of this traitor elf, if the impulse took him. He’d kill him if he had to! He’d-

The gaze fell away, replaced by shock. “Oh no…” he breathed, aloud or in his head, and his heart went cold as he was faced by dark, green eyes.

They smiled, and it sent an earthquake of memories through the prince’s head.

“Hello, Lindo. It’s been a long time, has it not?”

Legolas’ feet rooted to the ground, and the time froze stone solid.

“Mornaeg.”

Isten

Legolas’ eyes snapped open.