Lord of the Rings 1. The beginning

He was the last born of the great Elven King, brought into the world in the waning hours of dawn, in the full bloom of spring. The rain had drenched the wooded kingdom of Mirkwood for a week; day could hardly be discerned from night as constant dark clouds covered the skies. The Queen feared that perhaps her new son might be born in this gloom, but at the last possible moment the clouds parted revealing the glory of a pink sky and sinking red sun. Droplets of rain fell from thick leaves, patting softly on the dampened ground, bringing forth the exhilarating scent of fallen pine needles. And so the Greenleaf was brought into the world.

The Queen had not conceived in quite some time; indeed most thought that the King did not wish for another child. But wish granted or not, the Queen was with child again. King Thranduil had twelve children. He had his fair share of heirs. They even had two daughters, more than enough to keep the Queen satisfied, or so Thranduil thought. And so Legolas' birth was not the most joyous of all births in Thranduil's eyes. But even so, Thranduil could not help but smile with Legolas' first smile, he could not help but laugh at his son's first and clumsy attempts at walk. And he nearly marveled at the young Prince's ability to pick up speech so quickly, all manners of it as well, Sindarin, Qenya, and Westron. Although Legolas rarely spoke.

It was an odd fate, and perhaps it was truly what the Queen had waited for all these years. All of Thranduil's children were much like himself; social, talkative, active, somewhat hotheaded if the term could be applied to royalty. But Legolas was the only one to take after his mother in so many ways. His stormy blue eyes often spoke more than his mouth did. Legolas listened, not just to his brothers and sisters' constant rambling, but many times Thranduil caught him sitting on a thick branch, acknowledging nothing but the mere presence of the wind with his eyes closed and his ears perked. It frustrated Thranduil, for even though he was by nature a Wood Elf, he was also a leader, and leaders are more ought to lead by example than wait to be taught. Legolas was quite the opposite. Whenever opportunity would present itself for Legolas to take initiative, (and Thranduil saw to it himself that these chances were plentiful) Legolas would study with all attentiveness the way the other Elves fought for leadership, never taking the helm himself. It was during these tiresome childhood years of Legolas, that his father sighed with relief that Legolas would never be heir.

The feeling was mutual. Legolas strayed from his studies, more apt to taking to the trees in the depths of Mirkwood. The childhood of Elves are existentially short, and so all effort was taken to ensure that the young Prince did not stray, but Legolas became quite adept at foiling all potential covert bodyguard attempts, much to the chagrin of the King. Still, the King could not deny an exemplary ability in Legolas, although he'd wish that the stubborn Prince would wait until he were properly trained to defend himself. Mirkwood was still haunted with various creatures, most of which had an acute taste for the powerful elements of Elven blood. When Legolas reached adolescence, his brothers, who were centuries older than him, took it upon themselves to train their youngest in the art of archery. 

Now this was indeed a time for Thranduil to rejoice. His aloof son had finally found a sport truly befitting a royal Prince. Legolas had taken to the bow unlike many of his other sons. The naturalness with which Legolas wielded the weapon was both exciting and fearsome. If Lord Elrond were to learn that perhaps Mirkwood had a better archer than Rivendell, what a tournament that would turn out to be!

Although Legolas did relish the strength of the bow, he could never deny the overwhelming influence of his mother. The Queen's quiet soul was instilled in the young prince. The two were often seen in the forest gardens of the Kingdom, strolling side by side with arms clasped behind them, never uttering a word. In the fall they sat underneath the great oaks, inhaling the bittersweet scent of decaying leaves.

Legolas was just reaching manhood, when his mother spoke the words that would forever haunt him.

"Legolas, these times are fated to die."

Legolas turned to his fair mother and stared in question. Her pale eyes bore deep into his, but she smiled sadly at his ever-growing frown. She clasped his hand. "The sky shall once again be dark over Mirkwood. It will not be long."

Of course long was a relative term to ageless immortals, but still, the thought that his forest might be in danger frightened him. "What do you mean?"

The Queen sighed and looked skyward. "I can feel it in my chest, I see the shadows lurking, I smell the death that they shall bring. I have seen what is to become."

It was no secret throughout the Kingdom that the Queen had extraordinary gifts, beyond that borne to all Elves. But it was undeniably rare for her to speak of them. 

"What have you seen?"

The Queen now stared at the ground. "Evil. Evil which I cannot name, for I know not what to call it. I fear many of our kind shall perish."

"But surely we are well defended!" Legolas reasoned.

His mother smiled. "You have the ability of you father, and perhaps one day you shall taste of the calling to battle. But I fear for your well-being when I am gone."

Legolas was aghast. He grasped his mother by the shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes. "Say not what you have seen if it is only to cause me grief."

The Queen shook her head. "It is not to cause you grief, my dear son. But heed my warning for yourself. Darkness is coming. No amount of preparation will give the defenders of this land enough practice for what they are to face. And you, my son. I fear that you shall suffer greatly, more so than your brothers and sisters, for you are the last born, and as such you will bear the weight of your doubts and fears in greater depths than they. But do not bury your innocence for the façade of bravery in ignorance. Instead, wield it as a shield of truth, and if you prevail, darkness cannot overcome you."

Legolas could only stare at his mother in confusion.

She quickly rose to her feet, smoothing out the folds of her sweeping gown and extending a hand to the still sitting Legolas. He felt something stir in his chest that he had never permitted himself to feel before. Fear. He shivered in spite of himself.

"Fear not Legolas. Not now. You have much growing to do before you are to undertake any tasks of real importance, and it will be a greater length of time before the Evil truly presents itself. Until then, live in peace under the safety of our forests and your father. Heed his words. And take heed of the forest's words as well. Theirs is an elusive knowledge, but for a patient soul they would not fail in their devotion."

And so it was that Legolas began his first years of Elven existence. It would be many more centuries before he was to encounter the Evil of which his mother predicted.


	2. The wolf

The only movement was the slight rustle of leaves under the dawn breeze. A frog creaked in a desolate pond nearby, his hardy voice carrying through the trees without answer. A raven called to another several leagues away, announcing its own presence for the sheer joy of it. And apparently life that existed in Mirkwood somehow knew it was being hunted. 

The animals that inhabited Mirkwood had become accustomed to the silent feet of Elves. They were more wary, less sure to take to the open paths of the forest. And they were especially mindful of the trees.

Three Elves crouched on the sturdy boughs of three different trees. Their keen eyes pierced the oncoming darkness with preternatural certainty, focusing on the tracks of their prey. Today it was no mere flighty creature; it was one that struck its prey with as much assuredness as the Elves themselves did. A pack of wolves had made their territory too close to the Kingdom for Thranduil's liking. Early in the week, Thranduil summoned Eliathas, oldest of his children and heir to the throne, and Linnethuil, third oldest, tallest and swiftest runner. It was through his two older brothers that Legolas learnt he was to accompany them on a hunt for a pack of wolves.

At first Legolas was bewildered. It was not often that he was asked to join a hunt. Although a few centuries old, he was still considered young by Elven terms, and often deemed not worthy. But wolves were hardly a great hunt, and Thranduil specifically asked for Legolas' bow. 

He was anxious, slightly nervous. Although quite friendly with Linnethuil, he had not yet formed a trusted acquaintance with Eliathas. Eliathas was a grand sight to behold. So much like his father, it was no surprise that one day he would be King. He was tall, with hair cut cleanly below his shoulders, emerald eyes and a hard nose. His face was often set in a grave mood, part of the reason why Legolas was hesitant to approach him. When Eliathas did confront Legolas, it was mostly to command him to dinner, or inform him of some important going-on in Mirkwood which did not concern Legolas in the slightest.

When the threesome had readied their bows and cloaks, Legolas stopped just before leaving the confines of his known Kingdom. An odd chill swept through him, and unconsciously he touched his heart.

"Legolas." Eliathas had a deep voice that refused to be ignored.

Legolas quickly turned from his home and slowly met the hardened gaze of his brother. Almost immediately Legolas broke the connection. For the trip into the surrounding forest, Legolas kept his sights settled on the dirt paths and encompassing trees, mutely following his older brothers. Occasionally Eliathas would murmur something to Linnethuil, who nodded or grunted in agreement, but never loud enough for Legolas to hear.

It was a most uncomfortable time.

But now, in the shelter of the trees, in the serene calmness of the dawn, Legolas felt at peace. He folded his arms across his bow, hugging it close to his chest. Eliathas was a supporter of the daggers and even commanded Legolas to keep them closely to him, however Legolas still favored the bow that his own brother Erydben had crafted specially for him. Erydben was closest in age to Legolas, although that was still centuries older. Erydben was kind to Legolas, kinder than most of Thranduil's children. Erydben was also Legolas' teacher in the art of defense and archery. Erydben had not minded the task set to him by his father, but was eternally grateful that he had taken on his younger brother's training now that Legolas had shown the greatest potential for archery.

And although he was loathe to admit it, Eliathas also admired Legolas' ability. If only he could keep his mind on the present.

A whistle cut through the air, and Legolas' head popped up and quickly traced the sound to his glaring brother Eliathas. Eliathas made quick gestures, motioning for Legolas to take the ground path. Immediately Legolas dropped from his perch, landing on the ground with a soft thud.

Linnethuil stared at Eliathas questioningly. The ground was not in the Elves favor; they were much sharper in the trees. Not only that, but Legolas would also be more protected in the safety of the trees. Eliathas met his stare for only a moment, and then ignored it. His actions were not to be questioned.

Legolas stalked cautiously, ears perked for any sound that might carry through the trees; bow ready and arrow already notched. His pale eyes sliced through the soft fog that flowed just above the ground, seeing the tracks for the first time. 

There was no denying who they belonged to. This was a large wolf, more than likely the dominant male. But he was alone, and his path did not stray. The tracks were fresh; droplets of moisture still clung to the trenches that the claws made in the mud. Legolas stooped lower to the ground, squinting as the tracks began to grow fainter. After a time, he stopped altogether, crouching on one knee, searching the ground.

A shrill whistle called to him. Legolas looked up to the tree where Eliathas peered down at him. Legolas stood and shook his head. Eliathas frowned and looked to Linnethuil who shrugged back. Eliathas suddenly looked to the West, and after a moment's study leapt soundlessly from branch to branch, weaving an odd pattern throughout the forest. Legolas studied his moves, trying to track his movements but unsure of what to do. 

A hand on his shoulder jumped him out of his reverie. 

"Stay here. We shall drive them toward you." Legolas looked to Linnethuil whose kind glance spoke of friendly concern. "If you are in need, call. I won't be far."

Legolas nodded, mouth setting firmly in the face of what could be a wild hunt.

His bow was ready, the string was taut, the arrow ready to fly. His stance was rigid, perfectly upright with years of proper posture training. His right eye was squinted slightly, the left wide open. He could hear the beast. He knew it would not be long.

And then it was there. A tall, strongly built wolf. It was gray and white, with ears standing at attention, nose sniffing the air as though it were waking for the first time. Hazel eyes pierced the fading dawn, and for a moment Legolas thought perhaps it never saw him standing only yards in front of it. But as the wolf stopped its light tread to sniff the earth, its eyes never strayed from Legolas' face. He could sense Legolas as easily as Legolas could see him. Legolas pulled the string back further, the kill would be swifter. Suddenly the wolf brought its head up quickly, staring Legolas firmly in the eyes.

Legolas could not let the arrow fly. His eyes could not leave the wolfs'. A sudden brisk wind seemed to sweep through the forest, although only Legolas acknowledged it with a slight shiver. The forest seemed to darken, or at least Legolas thought it was darkening. Black ridges formed on the outlines of his sight; the forest had taken on a dull gray sheen. And still the wolf stared.

His pulse quickened. His fingers felt chilled unlike anything he had ever experienced. The wind picked up; this he knew for sure was not his imagination, for the leaves swirled between him and the wolf. And with the wind there came an eerie whisper.

But there came also a calling that Legolas dumbly realized belonged to Eliathas. Eliathas was yelling, urging him to shoot. But he could not.

Panic gripped the young Prince. Dimly he felt the bow and arrow fall from his icy grip, as his breathing turned into gasps. He clutched at his chest, which he was sure his heart would soon burst out of. There came the familiar twang of an arrow being propelled from a bow, and through hazy eyes he saw the wolf flee as an arrow sunk itself deep into the tree only inches from where it had stood. He heard an uncharacteristic swear from Eliathas as well.

It took a moment for Legolas to realize that someone was shaking him. Slowly he forced himself to concentrate on his brother Linnethuil, whose concern was mounting by the moments. His knees felt they might give out at any second.

"Legolas! What is it that ails you?" Linnethuil clasped his shoulders tightly, as Legolas shook his head and swayed with the movement.

Suddenly Legolas understood the wind's song.

"Mother." He quietly said, before turning to look southwards where the Kingdom lay. "She's dying."


	3. The blood of an Elf

Legolas was not known throughout the Kingdom as the Elves' fastest runner, but at this particular moment even Linnethuil had trouble keeping strides with the young Prince. After Legolas had been roused from his reverie, he had immediately broken into a fierce run towards their home, completely disregarding his bow which lay dejectedly where he had dropped it unceremoniously to the ground. In his fury, Eliathas was tempted to leave it, but instead decided against and followed his two brothers home.

Eliathas was quite sure that Legolas was delusional at this moment, that perhaps some strange sickness had overtaken his mind and replaced it with fearful thoughts. He had no doubt whatsoever that the young Elf was terrified, but of what remained to be seen. Of course the Queen was not dying! Of all the preposterous things to say. Eliathas shook his head lightly as he ran. And he was positive that when they reached the cozy halls of their Kingdom, the Queen would greet them with her slight smile as always.

It had frustrated him occasionally that his mother obviously favored Legolas compared to the rest. Although he was certainly not one to bask in the attentions that others gave him, it angered him that the weakest of all the brothers should be 'coddled', if it were fair to call it so.

He was thankful that at least Thranduil saw it his way as well.

He was at the point of exhaustion, even for an Elf, and was relieved to see that Linnethuil was also showing signs of strain. Finally Linnethuil stopped, hunched over and gasping for breath.

"Legolas stop! We cannot keep this pace." He managed to sputter out.

Legolas did as commanded but did not turn to face them. This only annoyed Eliathas further. His anger began to surface, and as he stalked towards his youngest brother it nearly broke into a rage. He grabbed Legolas roughly by the shoulders and forcibly turned the Prince to glare into his pale eyes.

"Legolas stop this madness! The Queen is not dying! We are not in harms way! We – " He paused suddenly, feeling a cool air pick up his blond tresses, flinging them in his sweaty face. Something was amiss.

Linnethuil touched Eliathas on the forearm softly. The two brothers searched the darkened forest surrounding them, hands unconsciously grazing the hilts of their daggers. Eliathas turned back to Legolas who had his face upturned to the dark sky, clouding quickly with ominous gray clouds. His eyes were closed as if listening attentively.

"Can you feel it?" Linnethuil whispered. "This…shadow. Legolas could feel it, indeed he still does. It is an evil."

The outrageous thought that perhaps Legolas was correct took dangerous form in the mind of Eliathas. He nodded silently. "Then we return to the Kingdom."

The path leading to the great halls of the Kingdom were lighted with raging fire torches that flickered almost violently as the three Elven brothers ran swiftly by them. Bursting into the great doors, without thought to who might be behind them on guard the brothers skidded to a halt in the Great Hall of the King.

Thranduil rose gracefully from his perch, green eyes widening, eyebrow arching in silent question, while the rest of the court held still with bewilderment at the Princes' apparent distress.

"Mother." Legolas blurted breathlessly, sweat dripping from his brow.

Thranduil's eyebrows now furrowed in confusion, and he moved cautiously to stand in front of his youngest son. Eliathas and Linnethuil stood only feet behind Legolas, and Thranduil looked to each of them for an explanation. Linnethuil had a worried expression, and Eliathas merely shook his head sadly. Thranduil turned back to Legolas.

"The Queen is resting in her chambers, my son."

Now it was Legolas' turn to show obvious confusion. He looked to his feet as if they would somehow shed light on this latest mystery, but they gave only a weary pang of exhaustion. 

Behind him he heard Eliathas sigh, and correctly guessed that his oldest brother was rolling his eyes as well. 

The noticeably uncomfortable silence was shattered by a piercing scream. It came again and again, growing in desperation and horror with each wail. Legolas felt a horrified shiver course through his body, and for a moment no one in the court moved, but all turned their heads to absorb the scream. Sparing a quick glance to his sons, Thranduil took off with gaping strides to the halls where the scream emulated.

Paralyzed with fear, Legolas only moved when everyone else had already left the court towards the hall. Slowly, Legolas moved up the hall, dread quickening its pace to his chest until it was pounding with what he was sure was audible trembles. The screams had now subsided to heartfelt wailing, and numbly Legolas realized they belonged to that of the youngest maiden in his family, Galsila. He now reached the hall where a great crowd had gathered and there was Galsila, being held tightly by two of his other sisters while she wept and howled uncontrollably. All movement in the brightly lit hall before him seemed to dim, but he was sure it was only noticeable to his eyes. Elves before him wore masks of anger, hatred, grief, and perhaps even fear. Finally, he reached a doorway that he instinctively knew would be the room holding what he most feared. The Elves blocking the door moved away quickly and silently at the sight of Legolas, they gave him a grievous look, but he did not acknowledge them or their sympathy. His heart pounded, and the sweat that accompanied his long run back to the Kingdom increased with his worry.

He knew what he would see even before he approached the room, but it still did not prepared him for the wave of grief that hit when he saw the distinctly dead body of his mother laying sprawled on her bed. His vision clouded with hot tears that threatened to fall, but with all his might he held them back. Linnethuil was stroking his mother's hair, staring into her glazed eyes as if she could somehow answer his wordless questions. Eliathas stood in a darkened corner of the room, arms crossed stiffly across his chest. Thranduil himself stood gazing down at the body of his wife, his queen, his lover, a multitude of emotions threading themselves evenly with his anger, grief, and even guilt.

Just as Legolas felt his legs might give out on him, he found himself being helped into a chair beside the door. He placed his left arm on his knee, mouth resting on his closed fist. The tears came freely now, and he made no effort to fight them.

He numbly realized that the other Elves in the room had been speaking this entire time. The words themselves blended together dreamily, until one word ultimately rang clear in his head.

"Vampire."

Legolas looked to the speaker, one of Thranduil's top advisers. 

"It is undoubtedly the mark of a Vampire." The Elf motioned to the opened window, the gauzy curtains still swaying eerily with the wind. "He came in here. Took her completely unawares." He inspected the visible bite marks marring her ivory skin. "She hadn't time to scream."

"It must be hunted."

Legolas knew the hoarse voice to be that of Eliathas. His words shook with anger. "A Vampire that takes of Elven blood, of _royal_ Elven blood; it must be destroyed."

Legolas could feel the hot stare of Eliathas on him, and slowly he turned his face to finally meet the bloodshot eyes of his older brother.

"Tonight."


	4. The hunt

No sooner had the words been spoken then Eliathas stormed through the crowd of growing Elves in his mother's doorway, already clenching the shaft of his longbow in his right hand, knuckles turning white with the grip. Linnethuil looked up with sad eyes, first to where his brother had left, second to his youngest brother still seated and weeping softly. He looked to his father who did not meet his gaze.

"Eliathas is right. It is our duty to avenge her." Linnethuil rarely gave in to feelings of vengeance, but this did not feel so. Instead he looked to something – anything – that would take his mind off his grief.

"Legolas." 

Legolas jerked his head up to see Linnethuil calmly staring at him. Legolas nodded, slowly getting to his feet, absently wiping the tears away with the back of his arm. Linnethuil left the room; Legolas was about to follow when his father grasped him tightly by the shoulders.

For a moment they stared into each other's eyes, countless feelings drifting towards the other: sorrow, guilt, perhaps a touch of confusion. Thranduil was not know for his affections to be physically shown, and Legolas was most surprised. Suddenly Thranduil drew him into a close embrace, realizing oddly that his youngest son was now even taller than he was. Legolas at first shifted uncomfortably in the hug, but then settled into it. Thranduil touched the back of Legolas' head, angling his face so he could whisper in his ear.

"Go carefully my son. Do not tread the same path as she."

Legolas withdrew, studying his father's face for an answer to the question he had just placed in Legolas' mind. But Thranduil only cast his eyes to the bed where the Queen lay.

Legolas gave one final look to his mother, one final wish that he was still dreaming. He searched the room for any feeling of her, of her familiar spirit but felt none.

She was gone.

"How do you track a beast that leaves no track?" Erydben muttered to himself, but the keen ears of all Elves around picked up his words and shared his frustration. All ten of the sons of Thranduil were on the hunt, as well as some thirty other Elves. The rest of the Kingdom was in preparations for the funeral of Mirkwood's greatest Queen.

The forest of Mirkwood was filled with a strange blue fog that lurked inches off the ground, conveniently covering any tracks that might have been, although Erydben was quite right in his assessment; vampires did not leave marks. The forest was silent tonight, as though all living creatures suddenly feared the wrath of forty vengeful Elves. A brisk breeze continually swept through the trees which was more of a nuisance than it was a hindrance to the hunters. Still, Legolas could not deny the slight chill he felt although whether that was from the wind or something else, it remained to be seen. 

Eliathas, who was in the lead, held up his hand. All company stopped, bows drawn and arrows notched. He motioned for the entire group to split up, but turned around and specifically eyed Legolas.

"Stay with me." He commanded. Legolas didn't even have a chance to nod his agreement as Eliathas swung around. He motioned for half his group to take to the trees, while he, Legolas, and several others remained on the ground.

The night carried on with the carefully silent footfalls of hunting Elves and the occasional whistle from their brothers in the trees. Although Legolas was keenly aware with Elvish instincts how many hours had passed, he placed this knowledge along with his growing weariness in a small recess of his mind.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled slightly, Legolas paused and glanced behind him. His wariness did not go unnoticed. Eliathas halted and studied Legolas. When Legolas turned, Eliathas met him with raised eyebrows in question. Legolas shook his head.

Both brothers turned quickly as a slight rustle alerted their senses. With his sharp eyesight, Legolas spied the other Elves in the trees darting at unbelievable speeds on the boughs of strong oaks. Following their lead, the Elves on the ground path picked up their pace from a cautious walk to full out run. The slight rustle heard earlier had transformed itself into an alarmed shuffling in the bushes. It too was nearly as fast as the Elves.

Nearly.

Eliathas stopped, Legolas halting only inches behind him. "He will attempt to lose us before taking shelter in his dwelling. Stay here. We will signal to you if he turns back."

Legolas nodded mutely, feeling quite suddenly useless as his brother and fellow hunters sped through the forest.

The full weight of his weariness and grief came about him with crashing force as his shoulders sagged and eyelids drooped. Bringing one hand to rub his tired eyes, he forced himself to choke back a sob that threatened to overwhelm him. Visions of his mother, his dead mother, fought to surface and he shook his head to rid his mind of them. Finally feeling he may have chased them away, he opened his eyes and heaved a great breath of cool night air.

Something was wrong.

For one he found he was now very alone. There were no traces or sounds of any of his Elven brothers. And for another, that sensation was back again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at full attention. Legolas shivered despite himself, and it was not from the brisk wind which picked up the fog around him. 

His senses were on full alert, and his wariness now seemed to take an audible presence. There was a low humming in his ears. It didn't take more than a few heartbeats for him to realize that it was not a humming, it was growling.

Slowly, he turned, eyes widened in anticipation of what he hoped not to see.

But it was what he feared and despised. The vampire, assuredly the very one that took his mother's life. He rose to full height, taller than Legolas, with an unnatural ability. The vampire seemed to float like the fog itself; indeed its skin color was not much darker than the pale blue sheen surrounding the two. Its eyes were entirely black, ears pointed sharper than that of an Elf, teeth sharpened to fangs. It was hissing at him.

Behind him, Legolas dimly heard the sounds of his fellow Elves returning, undoubtedly seeing the error of their ways. They had left all cautiousness behind; even the animals of the forest could hear the trampling of twigs snapping beneath frantic feet. 

But that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He did not leave the hollow eyes of the vampire for a moment. From beneath his tattered black cloak, the beast drew a long nailed finger and pointed it at Legolas' heart.

Legolas felt the comforting grip of his bow and knew he would have to make his move soon before this standoff erupted into full chaos.

"Legolas!" Eliathas cried his name in alarm.

The vampire lunged, but before his evil brain could comprehend it, there was an arrow lodged in its heart. It gazed down at its chest; arrow half-buried in its pale skin, and back to Legolas, still holding his bow at chest level. It hissed at him vainly as it crumpled to the ground.

Legolas felt a warm hand on his shoulder and did not need to face Eliathas to know it was his. Legolas brought his arm down, staring calmly at the beast clutching the arrow that threatened to take its life.

"It must be finished brother." Eliathas said quietly. No other Elf had made a move towards the creature, but stared disgustedly and pointed their arrows at it. Eliathas passed Legolas his sword.

Legolas stared at the sword for a moment, then looked at the vampire. Its eyes were narrowed in hate and it hissed louder as Legolas walked slowly towards it.

With a cry of anguish and a long swipe, Legolas beheaded the creature swiftly.

The hunt was over.


	5. Gloin

"Perhaps if you would chop your locks, or grow a manly beard such as I, your fellow Elves would not think you so womanly."

If the Dwarf had the hearing of an Elf, he would certainly have heard the growling emanating from the one standing with his back turned to him.

"You're a last-born, aren't you? Ah, that's it. I could tell by your sweet scent and maiden-like status. Why else would you be guarding a lowly Dwarf?"

The Elf angrily kicked a helpless stone that lay in its foot's path. That made the Dwarf chuckle.

"Perhaps if your father weren't so greedy, you would not be stuck down here in the dank dungeons, or perhaps you are not such a brave Prince, and as such are forced to work in these appalling conditions, or perhaps-"

"Perhaps you should silent your tongue before you lose it, you insolent Dwarf!" Legolas would have sworn to any who would listen that he tried desperately to control his emotions, and that anyone else in his state would have suffered the same outburst. Deep down he knew that the state of his emotions were already dark upon being sent to guard the traitorous Dwarf, the one known as Gloin. Such servitude was not befitting a royal Prince, especially when it involves a Dwarf!

"Ah hah! You lack in bravery yes? Missed the target? Let down your guard? Ah little one-"

"Little? I hardly think you are in the position to label me as 'little'." Legolas 'humphed' and turned his back once again on the Dwarf standing in the dirty dark dungeon, clasping the rusted bars with the utmost gleam of mischief in his black eyes.

"You Elves, height is always what you lean on. Perhaps you are lacking in other areas?"

That was enough for Legolas. He swung around, kicking dirt as he went, spraying Gloin with it. Gloin sputtered and rubbed his eyes, but began howling in laughter. Legolas growled, and his piercing blue eyes turned a violent stormy gray. 

"Were you smarter than the rock you imitate, you might not be in this mess, and I would not be forced to watch over your pitiful state."

Gloin stopped his laughing and furrowed his bushy eyebrows, frowning underneath his frazzled beard. "Smarter you say? And you consider yourself smart Elfling? Yes indeed. Smart enough to realize what a glutton of greed his father is. Smart enough to realize it is his father's pride that sent us both down here in the first place! Smart enough to realize that his father has so quickly forgotten his mother and woos another!"

Legolas lunged for the bars, intending to strangle the one behind it. Gloin jumped back quickly enough, chuckling in his hearty throat as he did so. Legolas eyed him hatefully, grasping the bars until his knuckles turned white.

He heard the dungeon doors opening and knew that his relief had finally arrived, but he could not take his eyes off this stoutly being that had dared to tarnish his father's image. What business had a Dwarf to even think he were a match for an Elven King?

With a final grunt of anger, Legolas strode out of the dungeon, not even acknowledging the other guard's presence.

"Remember my words Elfling and hopefully you will not grow to be as flawed as the one that spawned you!"

Legolas slammed the doors behind him.

Erydben was known throughout the Kingdom for his good-natured humor and skill with the bow. His green eyes often danced on the verge of laughter, but could easily silence themselves in favor of tracking his latest hunt. He was a skilled crafter in the art of making bows, and often presented his youngest brother with his latest art. 

It was no secret that Erydben favored Legolas best. Legolas was the opposite of Erydben, although more highly skilled as an archer. Legolas was not known for speaking, and it was his silent, introspective ways that Erydben found so favorable. Legolas had grown much closer to Erydben since the Queen's death so long ago. For awhile after her death, Legolas had fallen into moody trances, and Erydben was one of the few that could rouse him from his anger-filled grief.

It was more than surprising at this particular moment to find Legolas tugging on his sleeve urgently, blue eyes screaming with obvious distress, ignoring the fact that Erydben was involved in an important discussion with various members of the King's council.

Erydben questioned him silently and saw that Legolas was deeply troubled. He excused himself graciously from the other members, and followed Legolas to a covered balcony where the young Prince fumed.

"What troubles you Legolas?"

"If I question you, you will tell me no lies?"

Erydben nodded, confusion and worry growing with Legolas' agitation. 

"Has our father taken a new wife?"

The question took Erydben by surprise. His eyebrows shot up, and he even took a step back to regain his composure. His mouth turned itself into a slight warm smile; his eyes conveyed compassion to his youngest brother's plight.

"Where did you hear this news Legolas?" He asked warmly.

Legolas was still angered. "By that horrid Dwarf! Such lies he tells! What would a race of _miners_ know about proper life?" Legolas spat his words, nearly making Erydben flinch. He had never seen his brother so bothered by anything. Legolas went on cursing the entire Dwarven race until he stopped and studied his brother.

Erydben was staring at the ground. Legolas eyed him closely, bringing his voice to a whisper. "He's wrong, isn't he Erydben?"

Erydben cocked his head to the side and calmly gazed at his brother. "Legolas, it has been many years…" his voice trailed as he saw the distress in Legolas' face at his words. Legolas shook his head, and Erydben thought he saw tears clouding in his eyes. "Her name is Faerla, she is of Lothlorien descent, she is a good Elf Legolas." Legolas shook his head harder, refusing to speak lest he should say something that he could not take back.

Erydben took Legolas by the shoulders, who made every effort not to meet his gaze. "Legolas do not judge him so harshly. She is not a replacement. She is a companion. For ones that live so long as we-"

"How quickly we forget." Legolas finished. He stared hard at his older brother for a matter of heartbeats, as Erydben looked sadly back. Legolas turned his back on Erydben and stared at the starry night sky, while Erydben helplessly walked away.


	6. The attack

"There is shadow upon us." Legolas stated.

Legolas and Erydben halted their horses, both Elves searching the depths of the forest all around them, horses patting the ground nervously.

"It is the Orcs." Erydben said in a low, dangerous voice. "Let us ride further. We would know their purpose before they gain more ground in the forest."

Legolas looked back towards the Kingdom longingly; hunting Orcs had become regular duty since they were first spotted lurking near the edges of Mirkwood. They had moved further into the forest, despite the regular slayings wrought upon them from the Elves. It was certain that they would attempt to attack the Kingdom, but from which front and when remained to be seen. Legolas and Erydben made it their task to find out.

Erydben did not miss the longing glance. He laughed softly. "And what would you be doing there that you could not do here? Has the forest not all the amenities you could desire?"

Legolas turned his head forward and nodded solemnly. "Yes, were it not for the Orcs I would surely like the forest today. But I have an ill feeling and it only increases as we near the shadow."

"Think no ill thoughts brother. But instead, seek solace from your bow. I would not see us come this far without something to show for it." Erydben glanced sideways at his youngest sibling, grinning deviously.

Legolas could not help but return the grin. Even in the darkest moments, Erydben inevitably saw the humor in it.

"You have grown much young Prince. Some thought they would never see you smile." Erydben said, still grinning.

"Perhaps it were the same folk who said they thought you would achieve greatness, but alas, that has yet to happen." Legolas said good-naturedly.

Erydben laughed out loud. "And an attitude at that, you truly are a brat Prince."

Legolas stopped grinning and gave a quizzical look at Erydben which only made the older Elf laugh harder. Erydben paused in his laughing to gaze ahead in thought, eyes still twinkling with mirth. "After the wedding-"

Legolas sighed as audibly as he could. Erydben stopped what he was about to say, facing Legolas, who sent him a warning glance in return. Although Erydben was not about to let the matter drop. "Father was somewhat disappointed."

"I was present, was I not?" The answer was short and curt, much like all the answers he gave when it concerned his father's recent marriage.

"She is a good wife."

Legolas waved it away with a flick of his hand. "She may very well be, perhaps even a good sister, for surely that is all she is to me. Faerla is not of age to have born even I."

Erydben snorted. "That is a lie dear brother and you know it well. She nearly matches the King's age."

"Why do you never cease to let me be on this matter? You know my feelings well enough; it does not do to question me on them at a moment's notice."

Erydben nodded, apparently content with his brother's argument. So they rode on in silence. Until…

"She has deep concern for you."

Legolas stopped. For a moment he stared straight ahead, as if placing his thoughts in order to respond to such an odd statement.

"Why?"

"She is a wise Elf, Legolas. Knowledgeable in the ways of Galadriel, some say. She knows your feelings, perhaps better than you know them yourself. She would be disheartened to see you fall into disarray."

"And she has told you thus?"

Erydben shrugged. "She does not need to. I see her looks for you, and they are etched with worry. Do not judge one so harshly who is not deserving of it. Save it for your true enemies."

A sharp shift in the wind made both Elves stop, both facing the south where an odd smell seemed to be emanating. The horses snorted softly, sensing what their riders sensed.

"They are near Legolas. Ready your bow." 

Legolas did as commanded, releasing his reins and notching an arrow. There were sharp sounds of twigs being snapped throughout the forest, echoing to the ears of the Elves. Birds flocked away, crying in alarm as they did so. The trees seemed to moan in protest.

"There are many more of them than there are of us." Legolas whispered.

"Even so, we shall stay until they are within our sights. We will know their number before we run from battle."

An Orcish howl made Legolas pull back on his quiver further; the Orcs had thrown silent precaution to the wind. They wished for the Elves to know of them. The ill feeling Legolas had felt upon leaving the sanctity of the Kingdom now increased ten-fold. 

"Erydben, we should turn." He whispered urgently. "Now."

Erydben fought with his wills. He would be damned to turn and flee from an enemy so hateful as the Orcs, but he knew Legolas spoke wisely. He faced Legolas, grim regret in his eyes, but nodding nonetheless.

"Fly!"

At the command, Legolas shouldered his bow and arrow, and grabbed the reins for his horse in one fluid movement. They were galloping through the paths swiftly, but the upturned roots and low hung boughs of trees impeded their strides. The Orc screeching had turned into a chorus. They knew of the fleeing Elves.

Legolas was aware of movement in the bushes beside him, although a second too late. An Orc exploded from the bushes, leaping onto Legolas still on the horse. The sudden uneven weight threw the horse's momentum to the side, and as a unit, all three fell to the ground. Legolas was up in a moment, throwing off the Orc, and drawing his bow. Before the Orc could raise itself from the ground, Legolas had fired an arrow at close-range into it's chest. Turning, he quickly fired off three more arrows, all hitting their mark with practiced perfection.

Erydben was battling with bow and arrow, and after firing one arrow, he circled, aiming his bow to strike an Orc in the jaw while Legolas fired an arrow into its back. The battle was soon too close to use arrows effectively. Both Elves turned to their double white knives. Legolas was spinning and kicking and slashing, all without tiring. He had fought before; Orcs were not nearly new to him. But so unmatched…

Something very sudden happened to him, that at first he was unsure what it was. He had never experienced the likes of it before.

Pain.

He found himself leaning his back to a great oak, unable to remove himself when he tried; he could not move his left shoulder. A look of complete shock and amazement flitted across his face when he saw a thick arrow impaling his shoulder to the tree behind him, blood staining the shaft. His vision seemed to blur, but quickly re-found itself when he saw Erydben battling six Orcs by himself. Legolas again tried to move, but only grunted in pain and frustration when he could not free his shoulder. Legolas turned back to the scene in front of him, and began struggling wildly when he saw Erydben on his knees in front of the approaching Orcs.

One notched an arrow, aiming for his brother's heart.


	7. The Rescue

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I did not fall off the earth, although it did kind of feel that way (insert every imaginable excuse for not updating sooner here). Sorry, my bad. Hope you're still reading.

The thick arrow protruded from his left shoulder, every small movement causing him to wince in obvious discomfort. But now his brother's life lay in the balance, and any notion of pain was erased as he struggled wildly to release himself from the tree, but the arrow would not budge. The Orcs were laughing, hissing laughter as they circled the Elf kneeling on the forest floor, Erydben glaring at the Orc who held him at bay with a notched arrow, awaiting to be released into his heart.

Legolas grabbed his long knife, and in a wide arc brought it down on the feathered end of the arrow, cleanly slicing the end off. He slid his shoulder off the arrow, leaving a long trail of blood behind him. Still clutching the knife, he bellowed as he charged the group of Orcs, who looked quite surprised at his arrival. A few rushed him; the others were not willing to leave their easy prey.

He sliced easily through the bunch, anger and fear fuelling his energy, barely noticing his now useless left arm. But out of the corner of his right eye, and through his steadfast hearing, he could not help but notice an arrow leave its bow. 

A strangled cry released itself from his throat, startling the one who shot the arrow. And although he fully expected an attack, the Orc was disappointed and confused that it did not come. Instead, Legolas dropped heavily to the earth, cradling his brother's head with his good arm. With glazed eyes, Erydben looked at Legolas, who could barely see through the thick haze of warm tears stinging his eyes. Erydben reached up and wiped a tear that had absently fallen onto Legolas' cheek. 

"You will go on Legolas." He whispered.

Legolas shook his head, a terribly large lump in his throat would not let him speak.

"You will. It is…your destiny." Slowly, Erydben's eyes closed, and his hand dropped to his side. 

In his grief, Legolas had completely forgotten the surrounding Orcs, growling at the one who defied them, and was now denying them a perfectly good slaughtering. But he did not care. Time had slowed for him, almost to a complete stop, until it was just him and Erydben and what Legolas was sure was his approaching death.

But death did not come for him that night. Instead, far from the blurry mist that now clung to his mind, he heard a familiar whistle, not like the ones Mirkwood Elves used, but familiar nonetheless. He heard arrows slice through the air with an eery hiss, and the sickening crunch as they found their marks. He heard a metallic ring, and knew instinctively that it was a sword being released from its sheath. He heard the sword drive itself home into the body of an Orc, who wailed in its final moments. All this went on for quite some time, but Legolas could not bring himself to turn away from the peaceful face of his brother.

It was only when strong hands gently pushed him away from Erydben's body that he realized he was not alone. The hands guided him to the base of a tree, where the face of the stranger looked deeply into his eyes. With a start, Legolas realized he was not looking into Elven eyes. No, these eyes were dark, as were the locks framing his face. He was human. And dimly Legolas heard the words the human was speaking become clearer.

"Can you hear me? Nod, if you can."

Slowly, Legolas nodded. His eyes absently trailed over to Erydben, now surrounded by two other Elves with dark hair. They looked very familiar, but his exhausted mind could not think how. Legolas turned his attention back to the human who was undoing the strings that tied his tunic up at the neck, pulling it to the side to reveal the wound in his shoulder.

"Is it painful?"

Legolas thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that it was not. He shook his head. All means of speaking seemed to be lost to him.

"Can you feel anything?"

Legolas flexed his fingers on his left hand, relieved that he still could. "They are numb, but I can feel them." His voice was hoarse, closer to a whisper.

"Good." The human took his left hand and placed it on his chest. He reached into his satchel and produced long strips of bandages, which he tied Legolas' hand tightly to his chest. Then he packed several bandages onto the wound, winding it snuggly in place.

An obvious question suddenly formed in Legolas' head. "Who are you?"

The human smiled, almost embarrassed. "My apologies. I am Aragorn. These are my brothers Elrohir and Elladan."

"Rivendell." Legolas stated, to which Aragorn nodded. Legolas pushed himself away from the tree, swaying slightly which brought forth a helping hand from Aragorn to steady him. Legolas stumbled towards his brother, eyes watering once again at the sight of Erydben.

Aragorn studied his face, inconsolable grief marring his handsome features. "I am sorry we did not come sooner."

Legolas shook his head. "It is not your fault." He looked around at the dead bodies of the Orcs. "I think the ones that have done this to him have been given their justice. I thank you for that." 

Aragorn placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I do not mean any disrespect in your time of mourning, but we must hurry your highness. The Orcs are surely about to attack Mirkwood."

Legolas nodded, still staring as Erydben's body was wrapped carefully in a dark cloak belonging to one of the Elven brothers, but walking behind Aragorn nonetheless. Then he stopped. "How do you know who I am?"

"I have heard many tales of your father. I imagine that you resemble him quite closely."

Legolas shook his head. "No. I think you have mistaken me for my father's eldest."

Aragorn now looked confused. "But you are the youngest, are you not? Legolas?"

Legolas nodded. "But I do not resemble my father. I resemble my mother." 

Aragorn nodded slowly, confused but dismissing the remark for an Elf in grief. He took off his own cloak and placed it around the young Prince's shoulders, who did not seem to even notice the gesture, but instead walked with his head hung low. Elladan and Elrohir carefully lifted the body of Erydben onto his horse, as Aragorn assisted Legolas onto his. The other three mounted their steeds, and the group trotted back towards the kingdom in a defeated silence.


	8. Home

The guards had halted them before the entrance to the caves, eyeing them warily and striding towards the group cautiously, until they both instantaneously recognized the young Prince. Their eyes grew wide as recognition unfolded, but sensing that some terrible tragedy had befallen their beloved royal family. Legolas did not seem to notice the guards before him; his stony trance instead fell to the ground, jaw set rigidly while his left arm hung limply at his side. They guards waved them through quickly, but both straightened their shoulders, a feeling of dread coming upon them as they stared at the one horse that contained what was quite obviously a body wrapped in a grey cloak.

With one hand on Legolas' back, Aragorn led him into his father's halls, for the Prince did not seem to be able to see through the haze of shock that surrounded him. Every Elf they passed on the way to his father stepped aside cautiously, scrutinizing Legolas and this mortal man accompanying him in their woodland realm.

At once they came to King Thranduil's throne where he sat eyeing a large scroll on his lap that two other Elves were helping him to decipher. His attention snapped up to the strangers entering his throne room, but his eyes squinted at Legolas and then his eyebrows shot up in question at the human and dark-haired Elves that surrounded his son.

"Legolas? What news? And what of our guests?" He asked in a low and commanding voice.

Legolas slowly lifted his head, and for a moment seemed lost in his own surroundings, but after seeing his father the King staring down at him in question he opened his mouth in response, but was dumbfounded when none would come.

"Your Majesty, I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. My companions are Elrohir and Elladan, sons of the mighty Elrond from Rivendell." Both Elves bowed their heads slightly upon being introduced and Thranduil nodded in acknowledgment, remembering the sons of the Lord from long ago.

"I was not expecting your arrival for some time. Indeed, it is with much grace that my son should come across you for there are Orcs roaming the Southern perimeters of Mirkwood."

With the mention of Orcs came a dark look upon all the faces, and Thranduil distinctly noted the grimace of Aragorn and the lowering of Legolas' head.

"What has happened?" He asked slowly.

The two guards who had let the troupe entered now carried the burden of the body of Erydben. Thranduil's eyes widened as he saw the body, knowing even before the face was uncovered that it was his son's. He pushed the group aside, falling to the floor of his hall, scrambling to uncover the cloak.

Erydben's pale face looked as though sleeping peacefully with closed eyes, although all in attendance knew this to be false. Thranduil cupped Erydben's face tenderly, his own facade failing in the smallest moment of despair, but setting with a firm ferocity that for but a moment Aragorn was nearly fearful. Thranduil's wrath was widely known throughout Middle Earth, and Aragorn could only hope that it was not enacted upon him. Thranduil stood with an air only the powerful and pristine can impose. His eyes stormed as he glared in Aragorn's direction.

"How did this happen?!" He demanded of Aragorn, as though it were the Ranger's own doing.

Aragorn did not falter in his confidence, yet he could barely find the means to answer. But he did not have to.

"They came quickly. There were many of them, and all but Erydben and I to defend ourselves. They assuredly meant to kill us." Legolas glanced down at Erydben, then steeled himself and faced his father eye for eye. "Were it not for the man and our visitors from Rivendell, you would be bereft of one more son. I owe this man, Aragorn, with my life."

Thranduil was apparently not prepared for the news that a mortal was capable of aiding an immortal. He glanced quickly at Aragorn, who nodded sadly. "Alas, I fear we did not arrive soon enough."

Thranduil could not speak so instead he stared at Erydben. As he spoke, his teeth clenched together making his voice come out as a hiss. "We will find these _orcs_, these foul creatures that have taken the life of a truly noble and beautiful Elf, and they will pay dearly for their trespass." He looked up quickly, rage seething in his stature for all to see. "I want their heads!"

The guards saluted rigidly, then hurried off. Thranduil's advisers also rushed off into all directions, noting their instructions with due diligence and setting off to ready the best of Mirkwood's warriors.

Thranduil spun around to face Legolas, who was once again staring at Erydben's body. Something caught Thranduil's attention on the hall floor. He quickly noted it for what it was.

"Legolas, see the surgeon."

Legolas popped his head up, surprised. "I wish to be a part of the hunting party, surely – "

But Thranduil silenced him with a wave of his hand. "I will have no more blood spilt in my halls." And with that, the King strode off.

Legolas mutely stared at the floor to see that he was, in fact, dripping blood from the back of his palm. Aragorn hurriedly came to the side of Legolas, inspecting his bandages. He grunted with disapproval.

"I fear the ride here did your wound no great service. Your father is correct in that you should see a surgeon. Soon, Legolas."

Legolas stiffened, then faced Aragorn with a mixture of so many emotions that the hardy Ranger could barely keep track. "Are you injured?"

This question took Aragorn completely unawares. He shook his head, then looked back at his companions who also shook their head.

Legolas seemed to sigh, whether in relief or exhaustion, Aragorn could not be sure. "You are all in need of rest. I fear this has not been our warmest welcome for strangers from the great realm of Rivendell. Come, I will find you suitable lodgings, though if you were expected than I suspect there are some already awaiting you."

Legolas turned and motioned for them to follow him, but Aragorn was at his side before the Elf could dismiss him. "But what of you?"

Legolas faced the man, and Aragorn saw his sapphire eyes flicker briefly with weariness but quickly regain their strength. Instantly the Prince seemed to remember his standing and his back arched with a composure that only royalty could muster. "Do not trouble your thoughts with my wound. See to yourselves, as I will do for myself. You forget yourself son of Arathorn. I am immortal. Slight wounds such as these fade quickly." 

But Aragorn caught the wayward glance the Prince stole towards the spot where Erydben's body had been laid, but was now removed and being prepared for burial. It was there but a second, and then was gone – faded, just as the Prince had said.


	9. Encounters

To a stranger entering the orange-lit room of Legolas, they would assume him to be daydreaming. The complete opposite was transpiring. Staring at the warm flames that licked the stone walls of the fireplace in his room, Legolas grasped at the thoughts that swirled through his mind without direction. And although he tried to keep the most obvious of them all from taking a forefront place in his mind, he could not prevent the inevitable replay of his brother's murder. His right fist clenched and flexed, over and over as the what-ifs filtered in between the real.

But even through the thick haze of disturbing truths, his keen ears picked up the sound of silent footsteps approaching his room door. He quickly stood and reached for the clean white shirt that lay on his bed. Struggling slightly to place his left arm through the hole, he nonetheless accomplished his goal and just in time as a soft rapping announced itself. Without waiting for an answer, the thick oak door opened with a creak, and Legolas faced his stepmother.

Gingerly, the blond-haired Faerla stepped into the warm surroundings. She stood several feet away from him; shoulders arched proudly, hands clasped in front of her demurely. She regarded him with a kind, if somewhat unsure smile.

"How fares your wound?" Her voice was tinged with the regal Lothlorien accent, deep and melodic.

Legolas shrugged and winced as his shoulder protested the slight movement. "It will heal quickly."

Faerla stepped closer, gesturing her hand towards the injured shoulder. "May I?"

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then acceded to her. Her fingers gently probed the area, so lightly he could barely feel her. She came round to the front, her brows creasing as she inspected the entry wound, but smiling with reassurance. 

"The surgeon is quite skilled. It should heal with little or no scarring."

Legolas nodded, rubbing his shoulder absently and turning from her. 

"But there are other scars that will not heal so quickly I fear." She said quietly.

Legolas lifted his head, tilting it to the right. He sighed loudly for an Elf, the exhausted noise carrying itself to Faerla's ears. The looming grey of dense clouds carrying bellies full of water decided at that moment to open upon the Kingdom. The moment so perfectly coincided with his emotions that he was wary the hard knot in his throat would surely burst and he would be left weeping like a child in front of his stepmother. But he successfully fought the urge back into hiding.

If she had any inclination of his present state, she either ignored it or failed to notice it in the first place. Instead, she glided towards the open doors leading to the balcony and closed them, drawing the airy curtains shut. She was once again directly in front of him and he could not avoid her piercing blue eyes. Not entirely unlike his, he realized suddenly.

"Legolas, you are weary."

Legolas shook his head back and forth, his eyes staring downcast. But it only furthered her assumptions.

"You must rest. You will tire – "

Legolas turned from her again. "I cannot rest when our Kingdom is threatened by Orcs. Not when more lives might be lost."

"You could not fight today, perhaps not even tomorrow without doing more harm to yourself. Save your strength until –"

"Until what?" He spun around to glare at her with stormy eyes. "The Orcs are knocking politely on our door?"

She took a refreshing breath and composed herself. "I meant no harm. I am concerned for your welfare. I can see your frustration."

"No, you cannot."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know that this grief has you-"

He placed his hand on top of hers, and for a moment her heart swelled with hope, but was sorely crushed when he merely drew her hand away from his body and dropped it unceremoniously. "You cannot possibly know. What do you know of us? Of this family? You of the Golden Wood who lowers herself to the dark gloom of our threatened home? What could you possibly know?"

His words stung as a slap to the face and she was at a loss for an answer to his angry words. She stammered before he cut her off again.

"You cannot know. You are not a mother."

She stood unsure of herself, but quickly walked from the room and from her seething stepson. She closed the door quietly behind her, and once she was safe from his words and his glare, she brought a hand to her lips, attempting to stifle the sob that was working its way to the surface. But Faerla did not give in to this weakness. She gasped for one breath, then steeled her body into its former composure that had been forgotten under Legolas' barrage. Faerla left the hallway hurriedly and did not look back.

Secretly, he regretted his words. He saw her reaction but could stop the stem of words that streamed from his mouth. They were indeed meant for someone, but not her. Still, he could not bring himself to approach her. The relationship between the King's new wife and stepson were hardly complementary to each other. But now Legolas feared that he may have ruined any chance of at least an amicable understanding.

He sighed again, this time in frustration with himself. Lowering himself to the bed, he placed his head in his hands and wished for all the world that his life had not taken the turn that it did this day.

He heard the door creak open again, but did not feel the need to even raise his head out of courtesy to whoever the new intruder was.

"I had heard rumors of a strained camaraderie between the new Queen and youngest Prince, but I truly did not believe them."

The voice was low, gruff, tinged with the years of wisdom, knowledge, and tiresome duties. But it brought with it a much-needed comfort that he could not find elsewhere in Erydben's absence.

Legolas was surprised and relieved, but still could not find the strength to greet the Istari properly. "Hello Gandalf."

Gandalf sat beside the lithe Prince on the bed, groaning quietly as his body adjusted to the comfort of the rest off his feet. "Of course I didn't believe them. Not for a second. How could they be true? Legolas was the sensible Prince, not the hot-headed Eliathas who so took like his father. No, Legolas would be entirely accepting of this situation and welcome a good Elf-maiden like Faerla into his life. Maybe not as a substitute for his mother, of course not. But as a trusted friend."

"I am sorry to disappoint you old friend."

Gandalf's bristly eyebrows lifted. "Disappointed? No, no, no." He drew out the 'no's' with a mumble perfected by years of smoking pipe weed. "But surprised, very."

"I could have used your counsel earlier."

Gandalf harrumphed. "I would have been here earlier, had I been informed of Mirkwood's troubles."

Legolas shrugged, wincing as he had not yet learned his lesson the first time he tried the movement. Gandalf noticed, but did not comment. He already knew what had transpired in the woods earlier that day, and he also knew that Legolas did not require a reminder of it. "Then my father has not requested your presence here?"

Now it was Gandalf's turn to shrug. "It was suggested by other parties that I accompany a young mortal on his first journey to Mirkwood."

Legolas looked at Gandalf. "Elrond?" To this Gandalf nodded. 

"Alas, the young Aragorn and his brothers left before I was aware they had. The trek through the paths of Mirkwood are not kind to old bones."

Legolas smirked, the first half-smile for the day. "I hardly think that trails such as Mirkwood's could slow a determined Wizard such as yourself."

Gandalf chuckled lightly. "In this you are true young Prince. But I can see in your face that time and events have caught up with you. I leave you now, and as your father is absent I fear that I must assume the regrettable role." He smiled kindly at Legolas, who wearily returned his look. "Rest. That's not a diplomatic request."

Legolas did not smile, but his eyes warmly regarded the Wizard's retreating form. Gandalf need not have ordered him; Legolas was asleep as soon as his head graced the pillow. 


	10. The Escape

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A thousand apologies to Tolkien fans during this chapter. I am taking huge liberties with my vision of Mirkwood's kingdom. Think Ewok-like. I can see the eyes rolling as you read.

The sight of armed Elves always brought forth two distinct reactions from Aragaron. The first was an enormous sense of awe, of these agile and graceful immortals whose weapons became an extension of their being. The second was a shiver, and a tiny hint of pity for those about to encounter the fighting prowess of the ancient race. Under Elrond's tutelage, Aragorn sought to emulate the Elvish fighting style, and although more mastered than any mortal could ever be, he was still not an Elf. As a younger man, he was ashamed that he was not balanced as perfectly, his senses were not as acute, and his reflexes were not as swift. But instead of admonishing these traits in him as Aragorn did, Elrond taught him to embrace his fallacies, use them to his advantage. The result was a combination of Elvish swordsmanship and archery, and the stubborn and unpredictable heart of a mortal man. He was a better fighter than any man he had encountered, and surprised a good many Elf along the way as well.

Aragorn was not easily fooled having lived most his lives among the Elves. He could sense their agitation; it was as almost audible throughout the Kingdom of Mirkwood. Elves standing casually in the hallways threw wayward glances about them. Fists were clenched, shoulders were arched, slender hands strayed to the hilts of swords and daggers. Although none would come forth to him and admit their concerns; Elves of Mirkwood were noted for their innate distrust of all strangers, particularly men. It was not long before Elves were racing down the halls in full war apparel. Sindarin shouts warned of approaching Orcs attacking from all directions. 

Aragorn paced uneasily in his guest quarters. The last Elf he had approached and asked for news had curtly told him to wait in his room where he would be safe. Aragorn unsheathed his sword and stared at the blade. It would not give him the answers; indeed it only fueled his adrenaline and an urge to do battle against the Orcs.

Elladan and Elrohir stormed into his room, a look of anxious smiles danced on their faces. "Orcs!" Elrohir whispered urgently as though he alone knew of their presence.

Aragorn nodded, frustrated. "I was told to stay in my room." He placed his sword on the bed.

"That's what we were told as well. They said it was not fitting for guests from Rivendell to fight their battles." Elladan stated.

"That would be Thranduil's way of thinking." 

The three companions spun around to the door where a disheveled Gandalf stood snorting. "In his eyes it would be a failure to require help from friendly neighbors." 

Aragorn smirked. "What of the Prince?"

Gandalf shrugged. "I assume that because of his injury he was told much the same we were."

Aragorn nodded and made way for the door. Elrohir stopped him with an outstretched arm. "Where are you going?"

"To see Legolas. He seems more hospitable than most of his kinsman. Perhaps he would provide us with news."

Legolas was in the middle of buckling his straps that kept his quiver in place with one good right arm and a horribly stiff left one. He grunted with the effort but was finally rewarded with a secure strap. How exactly he would manage to aim his arrows with the consistency he was accustomed to was still up in the air but he would be damned if he were ordered to his bed like an invalid while his own people were attacked.

Just as he was about to make his sly escape through the balcony doors, the soft creak of his door stopped him. He stood stock still, knowing that he was officially caught but patiently willing the berating to be over and done with. So when it did not come as was normally expected with Gandalf, he turned very slowly to observe his captor. Which brought much confusion when he locked eyes with an amused Aragorn.

"I didn't think you would stay, unless they chained you to the bed."

Legolas looked suspiciously to the bed and back to Aragorn, and then to Aragorn's hands to make sure there weren't in fact chains there. He felt a flash of relief but continued suspicion at the Rivendell man's intentions.

Aragorn held both hands in front of them, palms harmlessly facing Legolas. "I do not come here to stop you Legolas. Only to aid you."

"In my escape or my battle?" Legolas asked softly.

Aragorn shrugged. "Both." He answered just as softly.

Legolas nodded, the suspicion leaving his eyes as easily as it came. He gestured to the open balcony doors. "Shall we?"

Aragorn briefly entertained the thought of leaving by the front gates but thought better of it as he knew that Gandalf would surely stop them if not the Mirkwood Elves. Aragorn stepped out into the cool night air and gasped. The balcony gave an exquisite view of the Kingdom, the tall graceful trees that held the rooms and watchtowers of Mirkwood. The calm blue midnight above the shadowed treetops contradicted the adrenaline-surged chaos below. Torches lit up the forest floor like a river of fire. Haste yells and whistles spoke of the onslaught approaching and the proud Elves' defiance. The balcony also showed Aragorn just how high up he was.

"How do you propose we climb down?" Aragorn asked.

Legolas smiled slightly. He knew the mortal was not going to enjoy this part. "We do not go down my friend. We go up."

Aragorn looked to where Legolas pointed. He closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly wishing for a giant eagle. "Legolas, we are not birds."

Legolas let out a full-hearted laugh. "And for that I am thankful. No, we do not mimic the birds. We shall mimic the ant."

Aragorn cocked his head to the side. "Much better comparison."

Legolas grasped the top of his balcony and shrugged. "I thought so."

A bead of perspiration trickled down Legolas' brow. He wiped it away with an annoyed swipe. The climb into the tall trees from the balcony proved more difficult than he had first thought. His shoulder now throbbed in rhythm to the beat of his heart. 

Aragorn noticed the Elf Prince rub his shoulder; it was quite evident from the first few steps ascending to the treetops that the wound was a nuisance. "You are not hale, Prince. Perhaps we should turn back."

A flash of irritation flitted across the Elf's face. It was shameful that he should draw sufficient attention to his bane that even the human would notice. "It is well enough." Legolas brought his bow around to his chest. He purposely decided to divert the man's attention. "Or are the heights proving too much for your abilities?"

Aragorn's brows creased. He knew he hit a soft spot when he mentioned the wound. "No. If you feel ready, then let us keep on."

The twosome left the rooftops of Elven homes and stepped cautiously onto awaiting tree branches. While Legolas leapt lightly from limb to limb, Aragoran found himself balancing precariously at times. With a silent glance and motion with one hand, Legolas signaled to him that they were about to leave the trees and make for the ground. Inwardly, Aragorn let loose a sigh of relief. Trees were fine enough to look at, but his tastes were more attuned with the earth-bound.

They had descended to the ground, effectively avoiding direct contact with other Elves, although Legolas listened intently to the whistles parlaying back and forth. He translated for Aragorn, although Aragorn informed him that he was already quite learned in the techniques of woodland Elves. With a jolt, Legolas suddenly remembered the whistles that Aragorn and his adopted brothers had used.

An ear-curdling yowl startled them. "They attack from the east." Legolas stated.

Aragorn nodded. "And they are gaining ground."

Legolas notched an arrow in his bow, but winced. His left arm began to shake as he drew his bow upright. 

"Legolas, if-"

Legolas silenced Aragorn with a swift glare in his direction. "They approach quickly. You would do well to arm yourself."

Aragorn too readied his bow; the sounds of foliage being trampled by savage feet were now apparent to his ears as well. Beyond thin branches and tall grasses, he could see deformed creatures rushing them and the glaring yellow of their eyes as they spotted their prey. Aragorn stole a quick glance in Legolas' direction, noting the stock-still calm form of the Elf, although a constant cringe played at the corners of his lips.

Aragorn let out his breath that he did not realize he was holding. Calming his heart to make his hands steady he waited. He did not have to wait for long. "Here we go."


	11. YrchThranduil Attack

Their arsenal of arrows were almost spent by the time the battle reached them on a close combat scale. Legolas drew his white-handled knives and spun them furiously through the air, slicing his enemies with diagonal swipes. Aragorn unsheathed his sword, nearly twice the length of Legolas' dagger.

Despite the number of Orcs the two friends continued to hack through them as though they were merely weeds, and not the blood-thirsty mutations they were. Aragorn supposed it was due to the fighting skills that both he and Legolas possessed, but then he reasoned that much of their luck was more likely attributed to their intelligence and their enemies' lack thereof. 

A swish of metal came daringly close to Aragorn's ear and he quickly shook his head free of wayward thoughts and redirected his concentration to the battle at hand. The waves of attacking Orcs were ebbing; were they winning the battle, or were the Orcs focussing on another area of attack? With the last Orc howling at the fatal blow of Aragorn's sword, he stopped to gather his strength. The young human wiped a bloodied hand over his sweat-ridden brow, pausing to feel his drenched hair. He mentally commanded his heaving chest to slow its intake of air, and finally when he regained a regular rate of breathing, he turned to face the Prince.

He fully expected the son of Thranduil to look as prim and posed as his brothers so annoyingly did after a battle. But he was quite shocked to see the Elf leaned against a tree, right hand clasping his chest. 

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked cautiously.

The Prince, whose eyes had been clenched shut, now opened slowly to reveal a glazed and bewildered face. Aragorn became even more alarmed when he began to gasp for air.

"Legolas!" Aragorn placed his hands on both shoulders, trying the calm his harsh breathing. "Where are you hit?" Aragorn patted Legolas gently on his chest, trying to find whatever wound ailed him. Legolas shook his head and tried to push his hands away. 

"No…no." He gasped. It was Aragorn's turn to look bewildered. Then he thought for a moment. As realization hit him like a blow to the head, Legolas took a mighty gasp, clamped his eyes closed and doubled over. Before he could completely fall over, Aragorn wrapped his left arm around his waist, and swung Legolas' right arm over his shoulder.

"I'm taking you back to the Healers. I knew this was a bad idea."

There was an argument forming in Legolas' mind against the idea that the human would be more knowledgeable in such areas than an Elf, but unfortunately his stolen breath prevented any words from coming out. He had no choice but to let Aragorn lead him, stumbling un-Elven like over stray branches and upturned tree roots.

As they neared the Kingdom, Aragorn noticed that the howling calls of the Orcs seemed further away. He surmised that the Elven warriors must have driven them further north and safely away from the halls of Mirkwood. Legolas stumbled and fell to his knees, wrenching Aragorn painfully down with him. Although Elves were by nature light beings, Legolas was quickly becoming dead weight for Aragorn to carry. Aragorn sunk to his knees, leaning Legolas' body against his while he checked him over. His breathing was not as loud, but had transformed into a quick wheezing. The Prince's eyes were half-lidded, drugged looking. Sweat gleaned on his body, making his long blond tresses stick to his neck. Aragorn clutched Legolas' left hand in his. It was freezing cold, with the digits swelling. 

"Legolas, Legolas listen to me." Aragorn slapped his face gently, trying to rouse him.

In his foggy brain, Legolas knew that Aragorn was waking him. He also understood the importance of this, but couldn't seem to coordinate his eyelids with his mind. With as much effort as he could muster, Legolas managed to open them fully. Now if he could just focus.

"Legolas, can you see me?"

"I can see both of you." He knew it was a silly answer and could imagine the tired look on Aragorn's face when he heard it. His head lolled forward; it was as though his neck had become pudding. Thankfully, Aragorn held his head up for him.

"We must get to you to the Healers quickly, but I cannot carry you. You must walk, do you understand?"

He tried to answer but found his mouth had now failed him as well. He blinked in response and hoped that Aragorn took the meaning. 

Apparently he did, for Legolas found himself being hoisted up. Dizziness engulfed him, bringing the ugly waves of nausea with it. But somehow he managed to make his legs move.

Some horn was blowing…shouts…Aragorn's tenor voice murmuring something to someone…someone else grabbing his arm…

Needless to say the events arising from Legolas' arrival back at the Kingdom were muddled. But things quickly cleared up when he heard the unmistakable boom of Thranduil's voice. Although his head still hung limply on his neck, his sharp ears pricked up considerably, especially because Thranduil, his King, his father, was undoubtedly furious.

"The audacity! The sheer audacity of it all!"

He then picked up the low comforting voice of his stepmother attempting to calm down Thranduil, who of course would have none of it.

"Direct orders! Have you no concept of who is ruling this Kingdom! I give these orders for a reason!" Legolas felt a strong hand on his chin, forcing his lazy head up. Unfocused eyes of the Prince met the smoldering glare of an enraged King. "And now see what you've done to yourself. Let this be a lesson to you Elfling! My orders are not to be ignored so lightly. And though I yearn to punish you myself I see that the Orcs have beat me to it. Take him away then."

It was at that precise moment that with great embarrassment Legolas felt his entire body chill with the tell-tale warning that he was about to faint. He opened his mouth to say something, but was quite dismayed when nothing but an incomprehensible moan drawled out. He felt his vision swim with black circles as his shaky knees gave out on him, which proved too much for both Aragorn and the assisting Elf to hold. 

Before he could hit the stone cold floor, he felt himself being caught by strong arms and in one graceful movement, being swepped up and carried by…his own father. Thranduil huffed with anger and concern while Legolas' mind was slowly piecing together the ultimate humiliation of being a grown Elf and having to be carried like an Elfling in his father's arms.

"Having a son like you Legolas can bring even an immortal King one shade closer to death."

Had his mind been able to process what his father was implying, Legolas surely would have responded in his own defence. However, his ability to speak along with his ability to keep his eyes open failed him, and he finally settled into blissful unconsciousness. 


	12. Black Blood

Gandalf placed his callused palm on the smooth porcelain forehead of the Elf Legolas. His bushy grey eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth upturned in a distinct frown of concern.

"He has fever." He stated to King Thranduil.

Thranduil drew his head back. "Impossible. Elves are not afflicted with illness."

"It is no illness my lord. It is the poison's work." Aragorn stood in the doorway of the Healer's ward, arms solemnly clasped in front of him. 

Thranduil eyed him closely, for it was known that the King of Mirkwood was not trusting of mortal men. But Gandalf could see in the deep pools of Thranduil's eyes that he was considering this development. He nodded to his chief Healer, who looked gravely on the prone form of Legolas.

The Healer murmured some words to his assistant, then gently removed Legolas' tunic and shirt, depositing them to the side of the wooden table he lay on. Legolas' breath was an audible gasp, chest heaving with much more effort than should have been needed. The Healer made eye contact with Thranduil. Both Thranduil and Gandalf leaned in closer to inspect the wound.

Aragorn did not need to see it to know what he would find. The wound was infected with an Orcish poison, a small amount no doubt, for a normal dose would have killed the Prince long before. But now it had reared its ugly head, and the Prince's fate would not be so easily determined.

Thranduil's nose wrinkled in disgust. Indeed, there was an odour to the wound; one which had not been present before by the Healer's knowledge. The wound was raised, black clots marred the opening and veins ran red with infection around the area. 

The assistant returned with fresh linen and hot water. The Healer himself picked up a slim dagger, which seemed to gleam with an odd light by Aragorn's account. Gandalf placed a strong hand on Legolas' thigh, while Thranduil covered his son's forehead with his hand. The Healer pressed the point of the dagger into the wound.

Thranduil turned his head to the side at the sight of a thick black ooze pouring from the wound. The Healer pressed deeper, and a low moan erupted from Legolas. Thranduil clasped his right hand tightly, although he knew the Elf was beyond feeling such an action. The Healer pressed deeply now, so deep that the assistant was mopping up the infected blood with strips of linen. Legolas' body twitched unconsciously; Gandalf tightened his grip on his thigh.

"We are almost to the root of it my lord." The Healer announced.

Thranduil's jaw was set rigidly as he nodded in agreement. The Healer depressed the knife until Legolas opened his mouth and softly groaned. It was then that the bright red blood seeped forth. The Healer quickly replaced the dagger with a damp cloth, wiping away the blood. He grasped some herbs which Aragorn could not recognize, though he would surely not forget as the scent of them were so strong they made his eyes tear up. 

With Legolas freshly bound, the Healer cleansed and wiped his hands, then took Thranduil by the arm and led him to the side. Aragorn approached the unconscious Elf and the wizard slowly. He looked down at Legolas, whose eyebrows were fitted together in feverish sleep.

"He will live." Gandalf reassured the young man in his calm rough voice.

"Of course he will. He needs to." Aragorn stated while staring down at Legolas. Gandalf glanced curiously at Aragron. "Apparently even a wise and brave Elf like Prince Legolas needs to be reminded of his own limitations."

Gandalf harrumphed at the remark. "And apparently a noble mortal raised by a wise and brave Elf like Lord Elrond needs to be reminded that sneaking out of a Kingdom under direct orders NOT to should invariably be heeded."

And for added effect, Gandalf swiped Aragorn across the head.

Aragorn jumped and rubbed the spot where Gandalf had cuffed him, then looked at the wizard with a hurt composure.

Gandalf smiled in return. "I only did what Elrond would have done had he been here to witness your momentary lapse into stupidity." 

The air was closing in around him. He could not breath enough of it in to satisfy his lungs' cravings. His head pounded mercilessly with every beat of his heart. And to top it all off, he could not seem to free himself from the clasps of some unknown attacker.

Thranduil watched his son as his fever raged, until the Prince began to thrash weakly in his sleep. Thranduil grew concerned until he realized the true ailment of his son; he was tangled in the bed sheets. The King leaned over from his high-backed chair to gently pull the covers away from his son's chin, thereby freeing his arms. Legolas gave up his fight abruptly and even his wheezing breaths appeared to relent some. Thranduil placed a hand on his sweaty forehead, and for the first time in many hours, the Prince's half-lidded eyes unglazed. He now stared up at his father.

"Water?" He requested softly. 

His father nodded and poured him a cup from the nearby decanter on the bed stand. Legolas grasped the cup with his right hand, while Thranduil helped him to keep his head up. Easing his parched throat, Legolas settled down into the comfortable pillows. 

"It's quite hot in here." He stated.

Thranduil cocked his head to the side. "I found it somewhat cool."

This confused Legolas; he muttered something unintelligible about the silliness of his room being cool. Then a thought dawned on him. "Is there sickness here?"

Thranduil brushed his hand over Legolas' blazing cheek. "Yes, my son."

Legolas thought for a short time, then looked up at his father. "It's the mortal, isn't it?"

Thranduil was bewildered. "No, Legolas. The mortal is quite well."

That surprised Legolas, but he nodded nonetheless. Then it struck him. "Am I ill?"

Thranduil nodded at him, brushing away a stray hair that stuck itself to his neck. "You will recover sooner than you think though. This isn't much worse than the sting of a spider is it?"

Legolas shook his head. "Not as painful. But much more cumbersome…and inconvenient."

A low rap interrupted their muddled conversation and the Healer walked in with a particularly nasty smelling potion in his hand. Thranduil and Legolas both caught its scent and recoiled.

"I fear to ask, old friend." Thranduil remarked. The Healer smiled at his King while handing the cup to Legolas whose nose was wrinkled in disgust.  
"What is it?" Legolas asked.

"Something to ease the fever."

Legolas peered into the cup, which contained a very thick looking green sludge. "Perhaps we should consult Aragorn on this matter. Their kind have much experience with this sort of thing."

"It is of my own recipe." Legolas strained to see over his father's shoulder and found Aragorn grinning in the doorway of his room.

"Then lets hope it works swiftly." Legolas drew the cup to his lips. "For my revenge on you will come all the more sooner when it achieves its goal."

The potion worked quicker than was expected, for Legolas had barely finished his first gulp when his eyes glazed over once again and his body fell back into the pillows. Thranduil had caught the cup in time, and now handed it to his Healer. He leaned over to check on his son, who appeared to have fallen into a deep and peaceful slumber. Satisfied, all three left the confines of Legolas' room, to let him sleep off the effects of his illness.

But it was hardly peaceful.


	13. Whispers In The Dark

She was the youngest and slightest of her sisters. Galsila was also second youngest to that of her brother, Legolas. It was therefore natural for the two to seem closer than the rest of their siblings. While she could not relate to the warring and archery as her brothers could to Legolas, both Galsila and Legolas were known throughout the Kingdom for a virtue not common with Thranduil's children – their silence. While Thranduil had instilled in his offspring a definitive outspoken demeanor, Galsila and Legolas took after their mother. More content to watch and observe than be heard themselves. It both infuriated and enchanted their King.

As night drew its eerie drape over the Kingdom, Galsila clutched her robe closer to her fair skin; although she did not feel physically cold. But there was something amiss in the halls of Mirkwood…

And then her ears picked up a single uttered word. The fine hairs at the base of her skull stood on end. Torches lit her way down the cavernous stone walls until she reached the door of her brother. Opening the thick rounded door, she was greeted with a cool breeze that brought tidings of the forest's ill contempt. The inhabitants of Mirkwood were more than accustomed to the misery that the wind blew with during this age, but tonight it seemed suffocating. 

Legolas' windowed doors were open, gauzy drapes softly conforming into shapes as if a spirit possessed them. She shivered. Glancing down at Legolas who lay quietly breathing in a deep slumber, she rushed over and closed the doors. She lingered a moment, staring out the balcony. This night brought tidings of another ill-fated night. But she would not dwell; she promised herself long ago that she would never dwell on a past that could not be reversed.

A soft moan from Legolas made her spin on her heel. He was dreaming, although it was uncommon for Elves to talk in their sleep.

"It's the draught the human gave him."

She gasped in surprise. Only Eliathas could sneak up on a fellow Elf like that. When she was an Elfling he took great humour at frightening her whenever the chance presented itself. Galsila soon learned to counter act by always having her back covered. She forgot herself this night.

"I did not mean to startle you." And he was sincere.

Still, she shook her head in denial that she had been startled when it was quite obvious the opposite was true.

Eliathas approached the bed with feather light steps. He studied his brother's glassy eyes, which stared at nothing in particular. Try as she could, Galsila could not read what emotions lay behind the stony look in the future heir's face. He looked up at her with the same stern composure only her father could muster.

"What has he said to the dark?"

She spoke softly, all the while gazing down at Legolas. "I only heard but a few words. He was speaking to our mother."

Eliathas' eyes narrowed. "What did he say?"

Galsila felt as though she were being scrutinized. "Nothing coherent. If you are so concerned with what he had to say, then by all means awaken our poor brother now and ask him yourself."

Eliathas held up a hand, and his face softened. "Peace. I did not mean to be accusing."

"You never do."

It was Eliathas' turn to look surprised. "I have never heard you speak to me as such."

"Of course not." Galsila gathered her robe tightly around her and headed for the door. "Perhaps because we never speak at all."

Eliathas' eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his sister's words. He had always thought the youngest Princess to be so innocent, even naïve at times. Perhaps she was not so courteous as her maidenly form projected.

A soft whisper broke his thoughts. Legolas was speaking, but to whom he could not tell. Eliathas leaned in closer. 

"Legolas. Awaken from this reverie. Tell your secrets not to the shadows, for they have ears even sharper than that of Elves."

"Take back the night! Give us the blood and nothing more!" The words came out as a fierce snarl. So sudden was the change in Legolas that Eliathas jumped back a step. He had never heard his brother utter words of such dark nature.

Eliathas turned sharply on his heel and jogged out of the room and down the hall. He did not know whom he would go to, indeed he did not know who would help. Eliathas grew fearful for his brother.

Two pale and slender hands caressed the limp left hand of Legolas. The fair maiden of Lothlorien, stepmother to that of Prince Legolas lightly traced the lines on the palm, reading them and finally placing his hand back under the sheet next to his torso. She softly touched his cheek, then his forehead.

"Do not give in to the shadows now, Legolas. Not when so much valour awaits you."

Gandalf cocked his head to the side when she whispered the Sindarin words. He glanced up at Thranduil who stood silently to one side, looking very opposing in the dark midnight. But he could tell that the recent developments were upsetting to the King.

Clutching his head in her hands, Faerla lowered her forehead to rest on Legolas'. She closed her eyes in deep study. Gandalf had never seen the likes of this before, particularly on another Elf. Thranduil folded his arms across his chest. The old wizard could only guess what the King was thinking; disdain, fear, disbelief, perhaps even jealousy? 

She spoke silently, only her mouth moved. Gandalf knew the conversation was meant only for her and Legolas.

After a few moments, she raised herself but still held Legolas with her hands. "There is much darkness in his thoughts. It is not from the draught or the poison. Nay, I think something has wormed its way into his mind. Who knew how long it lay hidden, until it chanced upon the opportunity when a foul poison would weaken him so."

Thranduil looked aghast. "There is an evil spirit in him?"

Faerla concentrated deeply. "No, not in him per say. No, I think it is here, in this very room with him. I think it speaks to him in a language only his fevered mind can understand."

Thranduil began to pace. "Then it must be rid of! Can you find it Faerla?"

She shook her head in resign. "I do not think this is our battle to be won."

Thranduil grunted. "And you propose we just sit here? As lethargic in action as the one who lays sick with shadow?"

"That is exactly what I propose. We will aid him with our strength for his has been sapped from him. Husband, we cannot stab this evil with a sword." Faerla looked up at Thranduil and held his gaze with a piercing steadiness of her own. Gandalf would have smiled had not this been a moment of utmost severity. There were not many beings on this earth that could hold Thranduil enrapt. And so the King deflated and sunk into the closest chair, hand holding his head up.

It was a detachment of unearthly kinds, this much Legolas knew. An odd fog dulled the visage of what he knew to be some sort of evil dream. He passed Elves in the halls but they did not acknowledge him. Their eyes were devoid of any recognition. Two Elves passed him, whispering between themselves and as Legolas strained to hear, he realized he could not understand what they were saying, nor even the language they were speaking. Panic threatened at the corners of his sanity but he suppressed it with the reasoning that this could not possibly last for long. He would wake up soon, that much he was sure of. The mist swirled around his legs as though to entrap them, but he waded through regardless of their intent. He entered his room, or what he was sure was his room.

There were no lights flickering, no fire burning and a very unelven shiver coursed its way through his body. He was quite cold. The window was opened and Legolas surmised that that must be the culprit of his chills. Clutching his hands to his chest for added warmth, he made his way over to the window and closed it. He turned to his bed and felt his heart stop.

His mother lay in his bed. As beautiful as he remembered her, she looked to be asleep, although her eyes were closed. Attempting to call for her, he found his voice had failed him. Even his mouth refused to open. His entire body shook again, although whether it was from cold or shock, he could not tell. He wanted to move to the bedside but his legs would not answer his commandment. For all intent purposes, he was paralyzed. 

"She looks quite peaceful, doesn't she?" The voice was a hiss, not human like at all. And fight it as he wished, he felt compelled to answer it.

"Yes." His voice was nothing more than a strained whisper.

"No more fear, no more death, no more betrayal. This world was not meant for one with such beauty as she."

Legolas was colder than he had ever been for now his body was shaking uncontrollably. "Who are you?" He managed to ask, but his voice had lost much of its countenance.

He could fell movement behind him, the thing was moving to face him. And when he saw it his hand automatically strayed to his side, but was quite shocked to find that his daggers were no longer with him.

The vampire laughed. "No need for bothersome weapons here, young Prince."

Legolas' eyes narrowed into a steely glare. "I killed you."

The thing made an unsettling sucking noise through his fanged mouth. "You cannot kill what is already dead young one." The vampire drew his attention to the sleeping Queen on the bed. He cocked his head to the side in admiration of her. Legolas wanted to rip him from limb to limb. "And now here we all are. Quite cozy don't you think?"

"What do you want?"

The vampire was actually pouting at him. "Only to give you the means to your salvation. After all, mother and son is a sacred bond. You should be together."

Two parts of Legolas' mind were entrenched in a deadly fight with one another. One screamed at him to move, to not listen to the beast, to run from this evil place. The other bade him to listen, to stay with his mother, to give in to the beast.

The vampire knew the war that was raging within. It would not be long now. "I can give you this. I can give you respite from your weary life. Join your dear mother."

Legolas could not break his stare from his mother's prone form. Tears of frustration fell from his eyes. 

"See how she calls to you?"

"Legolas!"

Both Legolas and the vampire were jolted by the new voice calling from the doorway. The vampire hissed and recoiled while Legolas' eyes widened as the figure of his stepmother walked into the room.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, feeling very breathless. 

Faerla kept her eyes glued to Legolas' tired face. "You are in a very dark place Legolas. You must come back to us."

The vampire was crouching behind Legolas. "Do not listen to the Elven witch!"

Faerla fixed the beast with her glare. "Begone creature! You are not welcome here! Go back to the depths of shadows and bother the living no more!"

The thing hissed and screeched but crawled nonetheless to the window, and just as the mist encircling everything in the dream, the vampire dissipated. 

Legolas' mind was trying vainly to comprehend the spectacle taking place. 

"He was not real, Legolas."

He turned back to his step-mother, mouth hanging slack while trying to form some sort of intelligible sentence. "He..he offered me…"

"He offered you death."

Legolas shook his head. "No…she is here…" He turned to face the bed, and a strangled sob escaped his mouth. His mother was not there. She disappeared just as the beast had.

Faerla took hold of his shoulders. "Her spirit is with the Valar. She does not wish for you to make that journey, not yet. But if you give into your grief for but a moment, it will convince you to follow. You must resist it, Legolas, no matter how tempting the offer is. This world is not finished with you, and you are not finished with it."

Legolas shook his head, but could not hold back the tears. Faerla embraced him tightly, letting the fog consume both of them.


	14. Recovery

"It was by all accounts a very ineffectual attack." Gandalf spoke to the King in a light-hearted tone regarding the recent Orc attack, although he sensed that Mirkwood's leader was not paying all that much attention. "Hardly any injuries to the Elves, many grievous on their part. You know your majesty, even high ranks of Elves would consider this to be a victory."

Thranduil nodded noncommittally, his stern eyes focused intently on the fertile soil of the forest beneath their feet. "I do not think it was their task to make it an effectual attack. No, I do not think that was their intent at all."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. He had bore the same thought that Thranduil spoke of, but did not wish to speak of it in the open. Gandalf nodded, still eyeing the King, wishing to know what troubled thoughts lay behind the stoic façade of Mirkwood's fair-haired leader.

If Thranduil noticed Gandalf staring at him, begging silently for him to continue his train of thoughts, he did not show it. He sighed as he reached up and grasped a low-hanging leaf, studying the intricate lines of its veins, contemplating Mirkwood's future. "The Orcs attack more often and in greater numbers. But I do not think they wish to wage war with us. Not yet at least."

"Then perhaps they are amassing." Gandalf suggested.

Thranduil shook his head. "Nay. I think the foul beasts toy with us." He turned and faced the wizened wizard fully. "I think they mean to distract us."

Gandalf's bushy grey eyebrows now popped up in surprise. "Then you have also heard the whispers."

Thranduil breathed in deeply. "Not directly. But one needs only to heed the wind's malcontent, to see the restlessness growing in the hearts' of his people, and to know the gnawing warning in his own heart. Something stirs in the south. I can feel it."

Gandalf felt an impulsive shiver within the core of his being. There was great unrest throughout the Elven realms west of Mirkwood, and now Mirkwood herself had fallen prey to the nameless fear. He resolved to be ever watchful of all goings on in Middle Earth. Something was about to rear its ugly head.

They made their way through the courtyard in silence, until they returned to the confines of Thranduil's halls. Even the Elven kingdom seemed to have lost much of its lustre of late. Gandalf found his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness after coming from a bright afternoon.

"How fares the Prince?" Gandalf asked. Gandalf – and many other visitors for that matter – had not been permitted to see Legolas. Although it was not hard to guess what had transpired.

At the mention of his son, Thranduil's eyes clouded and he frowned deeply. "He recovers from his physical wound with the speed typical of our kind. It is the first time Legolas has been bit by the foul Orc poison. I hope that this imparts upon him a terrible lesson; his life is not invincible. Even he can be touched by death's hand."

"I would think that his mother and brother's death would have already left their mark on his dealings with death."

The King stopped abruptly in his tracks. "Their deaths were drowning him in his grief." Thranduil looked to the floor, his entire face hardened by the vivid memory of Legolas' struggle to release his grief and embrace life once more. "I would not see him touched by melancholy like that again."

"You cannot shelter the Prince, your highness. In his future travels Legolas will undoubtedly encounter death again, in scores perhaps."

It was Thranduil's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Future travels? Legolas is needed in Mirkwood. This is his home, and this is where he shall stay. Mirkwood Elves are not as flighty as our kindred in the west. We are ever pressing to return to our former life as Greenwood the Great, and until that day comes none under my house shall flee these boundaries."

Gandalf hummed under his breath. He disagreed with the King entirely on the matter of Legolas' future, but he would not argue with Thranduil. Thranduil was of a stubborn mind and nature, and no Elf nor wizard had yet won a battle of the wits with him.

As the two rounded a corner, they found themselves rather unintentionally at the door of Legolas' room. And it was slightly open. Gandalf kept his eyes glued to Thranduil's back, wondering if the King would eavesdrop or not. For indeed there were two voices coming from the room and one just happened to be his wife's. 

But Thranduil was above eavesdropping. Instead he just rapped softly before entering completely. 

Sitting upright in his bed – propped by many pillows behind his back – was Legolas, talking softly to his stepmother who sat beside him. The two were smiling, discussing what, Gandalf did not know, but it warmed his heart greatly to see Legolas well.

Thranduil could not suppress a smile either. "You are hale, my son?"

Legolas nodded earnestly at his father. "I am. Unfortunately the Healers keep me prisoner in my own room."

Thranduil looked around the room. "For a dungeon it is marvelously well furnished."

"Perhaps it would inspire you to reform the dungeons as well then, your highness." Gandalf jokingly added. Legolas and Faerla let out a hearty laugh while Thranuil merely harrumphed the idea off. 

"I have interrupted. Please continue. Gandalf and I have much to discuss." Thranduil was about to leave when he stopped. He turned back and faced his son, then quickly leaned down and kissed him on his forehead. Without another word, Thranduil strode out of the room.

Legolas' eyes grew to the size of saucers. Faerla looked to him questioningly. "He's never done that before." Legolas answered. A small smile crept to the corners of Faerla's mouth. 

Bits of pulp went flying as a large sized fruit exploded with the contact of an arrow. An admiring whistle sailed on the wind as another fruit met its cruel fate.

"Well at least you have some remaining talent." Aragorn murmured.

Legolas sent a deadly glance in his direction, then shot another arrow precisely into its mark. "Those talents far outweigh your meager existence, human." He added as much venom to the _human_ as he could muster, but he could not help but smile as he jested with the ranger. 

"Your humour has something left to be desired though." Aragorn let loose his own arrow.

Legolas couldn't stifle the laughter as he countered Aragorn's remark. "So does your appearance." 

Aragorn smirked in disagreement. "I'll have you know, pointy-ears, that a great many fair maiden has fallen prey to these appearances."

Legolas shrugged. "Young maidens should digress from ale consumption when around homely rangers. Obviously those young maidens have never met the likes of an Elf before."

"Obviously. Otherwise they would have no virtue whatsoever."

Legolas' mouth dropped, causing Aragorn to laugh. "Never thought I'd live to see the day when an Elf had nothing to say."

"Aragorn! Are you ready to depart?" Both Aragorn and Legolas turned to see the sons of Elrond waving at them. Aragorn waved back, but turned to Legolas and spoke in sincerity. 

"I would not leave until you are completely healed."

Legolas smiled at the human's concern, and placed a hand on his new friend's shoulder. "I am, with much thanks to you."

"Ai! Aragorn!" Elrohir was urging the young man impatiently. Aragorn waved him off again.

"You best depart with your brothers Aragorn. Lest you wish to face spiders on your own."

Aragorn smirked, then gathered his pack onto his shoulders. "Perhaps the spiders can be convinced to go after two Elves of Rivendell though."

"Farewell Aragorn. I hope that we meet again."

Aragorn smiled warmly at the Prince, whose eyes sparkled with the sunlight once more. "I am sure we will. Until that day, farewell."

As Aragorn neared his brother's Legolas could already hear the starts to a verbal war that he guessed would follow them all the way back to Rivendell. He laughed softly at the thought. Legolas watched the trio until they were well into the forest. He was about to return to his home, when the sound of shuffling feet and heavy breathing caught his attention. 

"Confounded sons of Elrond! I will make mincemeat of them!" Gandalf hurriedly wished Legolas a fond farewell as he chased the disappearing forms of Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn. Shrugging his shoulders and sighing, Legolas turned and made for his home.


	15. Epilogue

The forest of Mirkwood was unnaturally silent as two striking Elves made their way through a densely covered path, one that led them deep beyond the safe halls of their father, almost to the edge of the Kingdom. The sunlight was trickling through small patches in the forest canopy, in enough amount to light their way but not enough to warm the air at ground level.

Eliathas and his youngest sibling Legolas held their armed bows downward, in a ready stance. Their father had ordered them to patrol the forest, to look out for any signs of Orcs or other foul creatures. So far the pair had come across two spiders and a rutting buck that would have charged had they not taken to the trees, but no Orcs. There was hardly any noise either, something that was rather unsettling. The birds kept their songs in check, instead opting for curious warblings.

Legolas squinted. "Something approaches."

Beside him, Eliathas hummed his agreement. "Go ahead and drive it towards me. Be silent but stealthy."

Legolas nodded and shouldered his bow. He mounted a tall tree and was about to scurry across the branches when his brother's soft voice interrupted him. "And be careful." 

Legolas smiled and went quickly along his way.

The creature was wriggling with the rope around his neck, clawing at it and trying to bite it off. Realizing that the rope would ultimately defeat him, the creature threw himself to the ground, writhing as though in agony. 'Or like a child with a temper' Aragorn thought smugly to himself. As he waited impatiently for Gollum to pick himself up from the ground, Aragorn silently cursed Gandalf for giving the charge to him.

_'Oh, come Aragorn. A man with the grace of the Elves and prowess of the Rangers shouldn't find one so small to be too much of a burden.' _Gandalf had said.

Gollum was howling like a wounded animal and punching the soil. Aragorn knew he should have made more of the wink that Gandalf had given Lord Elrond at the time. He should have also taken the uncharacteristic grin of Elrond for what it truly was. Humour. Humour at his expense. Gollum stopped wailing for a moment and took several gasping breaths.

"And may we continue?" Aragorn asked.

Gollum glared at the human and lunged for him, but Aragorn was quite used to this trick. He swung the rope quickly, just as he ducked away from Gollum. The momentum, plus Aragorn swinging the rope lead to Gollum taking a spectacular dive into the dirt, which under any other circumstance would have been down right hilarity. Right now it was just plainly tiresome. 

As Aragorn picked himself up slowly, he heard a soft chuckle. Turning quickly on his heel, and unsheathing his sword at the same time, he found a young looking Elf trying to stifle a laugh. He rolled his eyes and placed his sword back in its scabbard, while Legolas covered his mouth with one hand.

"It seems that you have too much to handle my friend." Legolas stated.

Aragorn glared at him. "And it seems that this is no longer my problem. He belongs to you now." 

Legolas was instantly confused and thought perhaps this was the 'other foul creatures' his father warned them about. He peered around Aragorn's legs, where a gruesome little creature was clinging to the back of Aragorn's cloak.

Legolas' nose wrinkled. "What is it?"

Aragorn looked from Gollum to Legolas. "Gollum meet Legolas. Legolas meet Gollum. He will now be Mirkwood's charge."

The greyish creature was cowering behind Aragorn as Legolas stooped to get a better look. Gollum's eyes grew wide and his chin trembled, striking a sympathetic chord with Legolas. "What has one so small done that Mirkwood would need to house him?"

"It's not what he's done. It's what he could do."

Aragorn was in the process of handing the rope to Legolas when Gollum chanced upon his opportunity. Quickly grasping Aragorn's calf with both his hands, he opened his mouth wide revealing a horrible set of mangled fangs and bit down with all his might.

Legolas jumped when he heard Aragorn's raging howl. He stood stock still in shock when he saw the human grasp his calf and go down on his back, where Gollum was still locked on his leg.   
"A most disagreeable little thing, isn't he?" Legolas breathlessly remarked.

"Help me get him off you useless Elf!" Aragorn yelled. 

Legolas reached down to yank Gollum off of Aragorn's leg when the creature lunged for Legolas. Legolas barely had time to register what the foolish thing was thinking of, when he found his left hand was now completely enveloped in Gollum's mouth, and the thing was starting to chomp on it.

Legolas let out a bellowing cry, which Aragorn was sure could be heard throughout Middle Earth. Legolas was trying to shake his hand free, which only made Gollum bite down even harder, which brought forth even more frustrated cries from the Elf. 

Legolas was positive he was going to lose all his fingers in Gollum's mouth when Gollum abruptly let go, and kicked Legolas in the shin, making the Elf lose his balance and topple onto Aragorn, who was still nursing his calf.

"He's getting away!" Aragorn cried as Gollum galloped into the dense underbrush. Both man and Elf were struggling to get up when they heard the sounds of a scuffle coming from the bushes, and eventually a thud and some of Gollum's patented yelps.

A severely antagonized Eliathas came out from the bushes, hair disshelved and containing several wayward leaves, and also carrying Gollum. Eliathas held Gollum in front of him, being mindful of his snapping jaws and his flailing arms, while Gollum grunted his disgust with a vigor only an Orc could rival. 

Eliathas' eyes blazed in Aragorn and Legolas' direction, both of whom were rubbing their attacked body parts. "I believe this belongs to you."

"So the One Ring still exists." Legolas stated as they slowly walked back towards the Kingdom. His left hand was bandaged so heavily that only the tips of his fingers could still be seen. He held it close to his chest for it throbbed terribly, but he would rather not disclose that to either Eliathas or Aragorn. It was embarrassing enough to have been bitten by a … thing. 

"That it does. And its whereabouts are questionable. But if any of Sauron's minions or allies should find it, we would all be in danger." Aragorn walked with a pronounced limp. Gollum had even managed to break the skin nicely, despite having to go through a layer of clothing. Aragorn was sure it would become infected. Eru knew what that creature had eaten for the past month.

Eliathas had Gollum on his leash, although Gollum was now leading. He had no desire to be anywhere near the two Elves. "So this little monster not only takes out the two of you, but he also held the One Ring that could destroy all of Middle Earth? Gollum is far more dangerous an enemy than anyone took him for, isn't that right Gollum?"

Gollum turned around to face the trio and spit his disgust at them. "Nassty elfses. Dirty ssslimy efses!"

Both Legolas and Eliathas stopped and eyed their captive severely. If there was one thing that the Elves were distinctly not, it was dirty. Aragorn laughed.

Thranduil scowled at the spectacle taking place before him. The creature Gollum was causing a ruckus in his halls, the likes of which had never taken place before. Gollum was crouched in the centre of several guards who were trying to wrestle him down to the dungeons. Gollum would have none of it, and every time a guard came away clutching his hand, or his forearm, or even his cheek, Thranduil would shake his head in disgust.

Finally, with the help of Aragorn, Eliathas and Legolas, Gollum was shackled and thrown over the shoulder of one guard, while the others kept their spears firmly focussed on him.

As Legolas was leading Aragorn to a guestroom, Thranduil grasped Legolas by his arm. "What happened to your hand?"

Legolas tried his best to keep the red from his face while he stammered for a believable lie. "We came across spiders, father."

Thranduil turned to Eliathas for confirmation, and found a noncommittal shrug in return. He looked down at Aragorn's leg. "And you Aragorn?"

Aragorn's eyes grew wide. "Spiders, my lord."

Thranduil grunted but released the two nonetheless. Legolas was exhaling slowly with relief when his father stopped him again. "Legolas?"

Legolas stopped and slowly turned around. "Yes, father?"

"Isn't that your wrist guard in that horrible creature's mouth?" Thranduil pointed to Gollum, who smiled brightly as he was carried down to the dungeons, containing in his mouth Legolas' very own wrist guard.

THE END

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THANK YOUS….

To everyone who read and reviewed. Sorry for the lame ending, but couldn't think of a better way. Besides, I'm quite partial to Gollum's antics. 


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