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!”

Arag