Lord of the Rings 1. Chapter 1

Legolas was screaming again. Thranduil couldn't stand listening to the ripping, sobbing shrieks that came from his elfling, who was barely six years old. He couldn't stand it when any of his warriors did the same in the Healing Ward since that night almost two years ago, but it ignited more anger in him coming from one of his children, from his youngest, from one who wasn't old enough to understand anything other than how wrong life in these cold halls had become.

Thranduil was out of bed and tying his robe around his waist before Legolas could take a breath to cry out again. Moonlight wept through the sweeping windows on his right, lighting the cool carpets as he exited his room through a single red-painted door that opened to his baby's quarters. Jumping the three steps down, he saw that Legolas was still trapped in his nightmare, thrashing in his green silk sheets.

"Sire?" One of the guards stood at the other door leading into the room, having been drawn in with the same speed as Thranduil by Legolas's screams.

The elf's wide green eyes were shadowed with worry, even though this was a nightly routine. Everyone in Mirkwood loved his youngest son, and wanted his suffering to end. Thranduil hated the rumors that had begun to spread that Legolas was fading. His elfling was fine. He refused to believe his elfling would leave him, just like his wife and oldest son, the Crown Prince.

"Get out!" Thranduil grabbed a picture book from Legolas's nightstand and hurled it at the guard. The door shut before it could hit him, smacking against the thick oak instead and crashing to the stone below.

The noise woke his elfling, who lay panting and sweating before him, trapped in a knot that he had made with his sheets. Legolas stared up at him with wide, fearful silver eyes. He was a beautiful elf, delicate and with a spirit so bright that it made his golden-white hair and porcelain skin glow. It was a soft light, one that many in the court compared to their beloved stars. Thranduil hated that they talked about Legolas with such admiration, as if they wanted to take him for themselves. Thranduil hated that his small elfling was as perfect as he was. It brought him too much attention, and Thranduil had no intension of sharing him. Not after almost losing him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at his elfling, who tracked his movements without blinking but didn't inch away from him. Thranduil decided this meant he was getting better. He reached out, slowly, cautiously, and ran a hand over his glistening forehead. In response, Legolas relaxed.

"Kagnirrok," Legolas breathed and shivered. "He isn't here is he?"

The beast's name made Thranduil's bones turn to ice. The dragon had taken his kingdom, Greenwood the Great, and spread darkness across it from the south. The snake bore down from the sky like a serpent sent by the Valar, as if to punish him and his people for living in peace for too long, as if they were meant to suffer like mere humans instead of enjoying the immortality of the Eldar. The beast had come in search for the kingdom's gems filled with starlight, and to see if the youngest son of the Elvenking was as magnificent to behold as he had heard. In one day the beast had shattered three millennia of peace, shorn the light in their forest to shreds and now spiders and other foul things had begun to move in. Other realms had already begun to call Greenwood the Great . . . Mirkwood. While Kagnirrok had been chased away, more than just his elfling feared his return and an even greater darkness. Thranduil and the rest of Mirkwood feared that the elfling prince would be taken from them and all would fall to shadow.

Thranduil kept telling them that the beast would never show itself to their kingdom again, even if such an event haunted his dreams. The monster had taken all of the diamonds in Mirkwood's halls. The only thing it hadn't taken was Legolas. Thranduil refused to believe that it would come back for him.

"Nay, tithen las," Thranduil whispered to Legolas. "The snake is long gone from our home. The fire drake will not return, for your ada scared it away forever."

Legolas didn't look as relieved by those words as Thranduil expected. Usually his elfling would ease back into his pillows when he heard them and Thranduil would sing him to sleep. He waited for his son to explain his new worries as he wiped tears from his soft, flushed cheeks.

"Are you mad at me?" Legolas asked.

Thranduil held still. He moved his attention from the tear tracks to meet those wide, fearful eyes again. He tilted his head and traced the edge of one white eyebrow on his son's face.

"I would never be angry with you," he answered as gently as he could, and wondered with mounting fury where Legolas ever got the idea. Whoever planted it in his head would be punished.

"It's my fault Nana and Oroduil are . . . gone." Tears built in Legolas's eyes again.

"Your Nana and brother died protecting you." Thranduil thumbed the tears away as they fell. "I would never dishonor their sacrifice by being angry with you. It was not your fault that the beast came down that hallway. No one knew he would be there after raiding the kingdom's treasures."

"Why did he come back after taking the diamonds?" Legolas shivered.

Thranduil pressed a kiss on Legolas's forehead.

"He didn't take all of our treasures," he said softly. "He won't ever take all of it. Now sleep, ion nin."

Legolas was tired from a night full of memories, of reliving the moment Kagnirrok swept around the corner and into the hallway as he and his mother and oldest brother, Oroduil, were just leaving the royal wing. Legolas scampered down the steps to the warrior barracks, letting the cool stone under his bare feet push away the heat of the flames and his mother's shrieks from his mind. The familiar, comforting smell of leather and polished steel instantly calmed his racing heart and he felt safe.

"Dearest Prince," one soldier called out as he raced down the empty hallway, strong arms sweeping down to catch him as he passed. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"I'm looking for a sword." Legolas gave Pelorian his best smile and wrapped his arms around the archer's neck.

"You're in no need for such a crude weapon," Pelorian snorted. Green eyes and a wicked smile sparked with mischief. "If it's a weapon you want, you should take up the bow."

"Nay, you daft elf," came Rugon's gravely bark. "Keep your poison out of his ears. If he wants a blade, let him have one. It's better than your useless sprigs any day."

Legolas laughed as Rugon, a large elf with arms and legs the size of oak branches, scooped him out of Pelorian's grasp and swung him up to sit on his boulder-like shoulders. Rugon was a woodland knight, always armed with a heavy long sword, and always argued with the archer's about who was the better warrior. The elite of the archers were snipers, led by Pelorian, and fought spiders and wargs much differently than the head-on, feral screaming method that Rugon and his elves did.

"I'll make him an archer yet, you troll, and there is nothing you can do to stop me," Pelorian said as he followed him and Legolas down the hall. Legolas smiled back at him and silently agreed. He would much rather be stealthy and secretive like Pelorian than a mountain like Rugon. That way, if he could move like a shadow through the trees, no dragon could find him before he snuck up on the snake and cut off its slimy head.

"Just as there will be nothing you can do to stop me from making him a knight," Rugon growled, but the menacing glare from his broad face and gray eyes was ruined by his rumbling laugh.

"Neither of you better hand him a weapon." Another warrior, Sard, joined them as he stepped out of a room. Following him were at least half of Mirkwood's army, flooding the vast hall from hundreds of doors. Legolas eyed Sard's strange throwing knives as the elf tucked them up his left sleeve. Though he didn't understand what Sard did in the military, his father often referred to him as a black magician, but he never used magic like Gandalf. His father never has explained it.

"Legolas is our prince," Sard said with his usual gentle voice, dark blue eyes finding his. A grin lifted his pale lips as he tucked a blade into the long, black braid behind his head. "Legolas should never have to lift a weapon so long as we are around. Nothing will ever harm him, and he should never feel the need to take up arms. You feel safe with us, do you not my prince?"

"I do," Legolas said, but as conversation filled the stone halls he was reminded of Kagnirrok's rolling growl and shivered. "I want to be able to fight anyway, though. Could you teach me?"

Rugon must have felt his tremor because he pulled Legolas off his shoulders and into his arms, cradling him as if he was an infant. Legolas growled in protest, hating to be coddled whenever anyone remembered what had happened to him two years ago. He wasn't four years old anymore. His father was known for his fierceness, and so would he be. After a few futile kicks and punches, he gave up. The elf, with his long golden hair and serious smoky eyes, was not someone Legolas could escape. He looked from Rugon's searching, furious gaze to Pelorian's worried one. Thankfully Sard was still busy hiding knives all over in his dark uniform.

"Do not tell me that the beast still haunts you." Rugon's gruff voice was quiet as if the mere thought pained him. "That slithering snake fled these lands two years ago from before your father's wrath and has not the courage to return. How can we drive his ghost from your mind, tithen prince? How can we help you?"

"Is he well?" a scared elleth, one of Pelorian's archers, stepped forward and made Rugon and the two others stop walking. "His condition hasn't worsened, has it?"

"He is not fading, witch," Pelorian snapped and shoved her to the side.

Legolas refused to look at her, only holding Rugon's gaze as they began walking again.

"If he comes back," Legolas whispered in response to Rugon's plea, "I will not hide behind anyone. I will fight."

The roar of conversation, the clatter of weapons and the sound of the military barracks coming to life for the day grew muffled and the aroma of freshly baked bread and chilled milk calmed him. The barrack kitchens were busy with the slamming of pots and pans, sizzling eggs and barking orders, but it was a relief compared to the overcrowded halls.

Rugon took a seat but did not allow Legolas to sit up or sit on his own. Rugon did not seem willing to release his charge, or even look away from him.

"I wish. . . ." Rugon began, searching for words. "I wish I could comfort you like you so desperately need by telling you the demon spawn will not return, that I and these other elves will always be here to protect you, but if my prince feels the need to learn how to defend himself, who am I to argue? Just know that my heart will break, because I always want you to stay this small so I can hold you like this and carry you away whenever the next nightmare comes for you."

Legolas smiled his thank you, and reached out to touch Rugon's crooked nose that had been broken one too many times throughout his immortal life that he no longer cared enough to set it straight again.

"It is best this way," Legolas said. "I would rather fight with you than lose you and have done nothing. I can't lose anyone else that I love."

Rugon's eyes glistened with tears and Legolas frowned at them.

"Old words from a young elf," Sard muttered. "Curse that dragon for aging you."

"Breakfast, dearest prince," Pelorian announced and Legolas heard a plate set on the wooden table next to him, where he still lay in Rugon's arms. "Release the sprite, troll," Pelorian demanded.

Rugon grumbled something and sat Legolas on his knee. Legolas smiled when he saw that Pelorian had brought him buttered biscuits, scrambled eggs and a large mug of iced milk. He immediately grabbed the drink and took a long swig from it. When he put it down again, all three of the warriors laughed. Sard took his sleeve and wiped Legolas's upper lip and the tip of his nose with it. Legolas laughed with them.

"There you are!"

Legolas jumped at the high and whining voice that belonged to his keeper, a nervous elf named Blaon. The waif-thin tutor, donned in elegant green robes that seemed to drown his body and made him stand out like a pompous fly amid a sea of black-clad soldiers, tucked his loose brown hair behind both ears and glared at him.

"The whole palace is looking for you, brat." Blaon reached to snatch him away from Rugon, but Sard caught his arm first and held it still. Blaon's icy blue eyes grew wide and his lips pursed like he had something sour in his mouth. "Unhand me, sorcerer. I am the prince's keeper and it is my responsibility to ensure that he is exactly where he belongs and that means he should not be here or ever be here consorting with the likes of you and your fellow killers."

Rugon growled like a furious bear and Pelorian leapt to his feet. Sard, however, remained calm. His dark eyes bore into Blaon's and forced him into silence.

"Say what you will about us," Sard said, soft and gentle as ever, though now with a dangerous edge to his voice as if his very words could slice Blaon's throat. Legolas's keeper struggled to get free and failed. "However, never speak ill of our prince. He is precious to us, and he could one day be your king so you had best be wise and hold your tongue in your frustration. Or else next time I will cut it out."

Blaon sucked on that sour thing in his mouth for a moment more before nodding. Sard allowed him to wrench his wrist free and turn once again to Legolas.

"Come now, Prince," Blaon ordered.

"Let him eat breakfast," Pelorian argued, still standing as well as hovering over Legolas protectively. "Look at him, he still hardly eats anything. Do you want him to be as thin as he was a year ago, or a year and a half ago?"

"Of course not-"

"Then let him eat!"

"His father is tearing the palace to pieces," Blaon shouted, gaining the attention from the entire kitchen now. Legolas spotted the head chef, Fesove, as he marched forward and folded his meaty arms. He had his famous wooden spoon in hand, the one he used on warriors who tried sneaking food. Fesove was almost as intimidating as Rugon, and in response to his angry red face Legolas tucked himself closer to Rugon's broad chest. Rugon wrapped his arms around him in response, tightening his grip on him as if feeling his unease.

"If I do not get the king's son to him quickly then we all face his wrath," Blaon finished.

"Is Thranduil getting worse?" Pelorian asked, all anger vanishing to fear. "Is there any danger to-"

"He is getting worse and so it is best that we don't find out how far his anger will spread, and to who else it may harm." Kasslad. Legolas's brother, the new Crown Prince. All eyes turned to him. He was the spitting image of Oroduil, who was killed with the queen that day. The same fiery golden eyes, white hair that tumbled over broad shoulders, their bodies the same build even. Both had trained with the sword, so it should be expected, but it hurt looking at him nonetheless. It was like looking at Oroduil's ghost.

"Time to go, tithen las." Kasslad waved for Blaon to take Legolas.

"Will you teach me how to fight later?" Legolas whispered to Rugon, but looked at Pelorian and Sard as well. All of them nodded.

Rugon let him down for Blaon to take, but Sard intercepted the keeper and took Legolas's outstretched hand instead.

Kasslad narrowed his eyes at him and Blaon huffed loudly.

"I think it is time that Legolas had a new keeper," Sard explained. "Blaon does not seem fit enough to handle the king's temper or the small prince's knack for sneaking around."

"I am fit enough," Blaon began to protest.

Kasslad held up a firm hand, silencing him. After a moment he nodded and led the way out of the barracks. Soft clapping followed them, and many patted Sard on the back as he passed.

It was difficult letting Sard's hand go. Legolas refused to glance up at the magician for comfort, but rather steeled his nerves and squared his shoulders. Kasslad opened both of the throne room doors, the guards having long since been dismissed in search for the lost prince. Legolas immediately saw the damage that his father's anger caused. The once billowing red and white curtains were ripped from their posts and tossed across the granite and marble incrusted floor. Rugs made from silk and cashmere had been kicked into piles, and tables made from rosewood lay smashed beneath every window. Vases glazed with gold and silver spread in shattered rivulets across the polished floor, the water and long-stemmed white roses tossed into puddles, their petals crushed.

King Thranduil, however, sat in splendor despite the ruin around him. Long robes, made from spun silver and inlaid with pin-sized sapphires, rested around his long body as he lounged in his white throne. His imposing crown, the one he wore in times of war instead of peace, was of steel and white gold. Legolas longed to see his crown of twigs and berries, but feared he would never see it again.

Thranduil smiled when he saw Legolas and opened his arms for his son to rush to him.

"Where have you been, ion nin?" Thranduil's voice was happy and calm. It was as if the destruction around him didn't exist.

"I wanted to be with the soldiers." Legolas hated how small his voice sounded in the big hall. He hated that he sounded like a child.

"Is that why the magician is with you?" Thranduil asked, still smiling.

"I was hoping to speak with you about becoming Prince Legolas's new keeper," Sard said.

Blaon snorted and drew a glare from the king. Thranduil sneered at Blaon for a moment before beckoning both Legolas and Kasslad to him. Kasslad swiftly picked his little brother up and Legolas was glad. He didn't want to navigate the long way to his father's throne with bare feet. Even as Kasslad walked, Legolas heard the snapping and crunching of glass beneath his boots and hoped none of the shards cut through his soles.

Legolas peered into Kasslad's stoic face, studying his perfect cheekbones and the deep grooves beneath them. He was beautiful, his white eyelashes and brows enhancing the gold in his eyes. He used to be fun, while Oroduil was difficult to laugh around because he followed the rules too closely. But Kasslad hadn't laughed since Kagnirrok came. It was just another thing the dragon stole.

Thranduil's smile widened when they reached him, and he eagerly took Legolas from Kasslad. The king sat his youngest son in his lap to face him and gently brushed Legolas's loose hair behind his ears.

"Still having trouble braiding your hair?" Thranduil asked and laughed before Legolas could answer yes. His blush must have been enough for his father. "Then I will braid your hair for you. Do not be embarrassed. Come to me in the morning before you race out to your adventures and I will gladly do it."

Thranduil's slender hands began separating strands of golden hair and Legolas slowly began to relax. As if sensing this, Thranduil's icy blue eyes softened and the lines around them faded.

"So you wish to give up your high rank in my military, give up your command of the other magicians and abandon your apprentices in order to look after and tutor my son," Thranduil asked, but didn't look up from his task, as if braiding Legolas's hair was the most important part of his day.

Sard and Blaon had slowly approached the throne and now knelt before him on one knee. Blaon fussed with making sure there was no glass before he did, though Sard didn't seem to care.

"Yes, Sire," Sard said.

"Why?"

Legolas turned again to look at his friend, meeting his dark eyes with a smile. He would love to have Sard around all the time. Sard would be able to teach him how to fight when no one was looking, too. Plus . . . he would feel safe.

Thranduil took Legolas's chin in hand and turned him around again to keep braiding his hair. Legolas sat as still as he could.

"Blaon is incompetent." Sard's voice was dry and blunt. "He is impatient with Prince Legolas and fails to keep track of him. I have always loved and been loyal to your family, King Thranduil. Prince Legolas has been set apart from you and the rest, and with a desire to keep him secure I would willingly give up everything to be his keeper."

Thranduil's hands froze and Legolas saw his temper flare in his eyes again, going from calm water to an icy sea.

"What sets Legolas apart?" he asked.

Legolas heard Sard's confusion through his silence.

"Kagnirrok set him apart the moment he came here to view the prince for himself, based on the rumors those filthy humans spread when this kingdom did trade with those in Dale." Sard's anger was bit back with gritted teeth.

Legolas put his hands on his father's cheeks and looked into his eyes, panic building in his chest, his heart racing. He felt the heat from the beast's flames, his nana screaming, Oroduil's face as he told him to hide.

"Kagnirrok came for me?" Legolas whispered. "You said he came for the diamonds."

"You haven't told him?" Sard gasped.

"Ion nin," Thranduil only had eyes for Legolas, "he did come for the diamonds. He only wished to see you, but then he left and hasn't returned. He knows that I would never let him take you from me."

Legolas felt the panic build until he couldn't hold back his tremors. Thranduil squeezed him close, cradled him against his strong chest and then turned venomous eyes on Sard.

"Return to your shadow elves, warlock," Thranduil commanded. "You will never be Legolas's keeper. Look what you've done to him."

"You should have been honest with him," Sard shouted.

Thranduil stood, Legolas still in his arms, and snarled at the magician.

"Return to your killers, trickster," Thranduil shouted. "Do your job and slaughter the scum that tries to crawl into this kingdom. If you truly love this family and my son as you say, then do us all a favor and keep an eye on the merchants returning from Dale. They will be here on the morrow."

Sard stood with a flourish and glared at his king. Legolas tried to catch his eye and shake his head, anything to calm him down, but Sard was too angry.

"You're opening the kingdom back up to them?" Sard shouted. "They are the ones who spread the rumor of Legolas, and of your treasury, which brought the beast down on our heads. Rumors will start again once they see that your son has grown, and he has become even more striking. Do you dare draw that beast back here? Is trade and money worth more to you than what even a dragon holds dear?"

"You are out of line!" Thranduil bellowed for the guards, though where they came from Legolas didn't know. He struggled to get out of his father's arms, but Ada held him tighter to the point of pain. He winced and gasped for air.

"We are also opening our doors to Rivendell and the Golden Wood again," Thranduil said as a dozen guards poured into the ruined throne room. "My son will be safe."


	2. Chapter 2

Sard didn't return to the barracks until nightfall. He had been upset with King Thranduil, Legolas's useless keeper Blaon, and most of all himself. He chastised himself for not being vigilant enough to realize that Legolas hadn't been told why the dragon came to the kingdom aside from his ada's stronghold full of diamonds. Of course Thranduil wouldn't have told his four-year-old elfling that the beast of his nightmares had also come for him, which was why his nana and older brother, Oroduil, the Crown Prince, died saving him.

Sard marched his way to the kitchens to grab what food remained from dinner, and hopefully go to his bunk before the head chef, Fesove, caught him stealing. The halls were dim, torches having burned down, and no one was out. Of course, everyone should be asleep by now except for the night crew and none of them would be out wandering.

He snuck his way into the kitchens. No Fesove. He would have grinned, but the image of Legolas's tiny body trembling in his ada's arms made his stomach roll. Though two years have passed, it still wasn't enough time for an elf, let alone an elfling, to heal from what happened.

Sard could remember it still, very clearly. The beast, Kagnirrok, had come early in the morning. It hadn't mattered that the sun was rising to a beautiful, clear day. The dragon had smelled diamonds, and he thirsted for a glimpse of the Elvenking's youngest – an elf so beautiful that his soul glowed. Sard had just come in from a patrol when he saw the smoke. Of course, due to his high rank he had known why a dragon would come. The storage of diamonds.

He had run all the way to the palace through the screaming mob, letting other captains lead warriors with evacuations and an attack. He thought only of the small elfling who had a tendency to sneak away from his keeper, Blaon, and find trouble wherever he went. If he had slipped away from Blaon again, only Sard had a chance of finding Legolas in time before the kingdom was either destroyed or taken over by the beast.

"I thought you would come back for food," Pelorian, the archer, said.

Sard didn't react. He blinked as he was brought back to the present and realized he was standing, staring into thin air, in the middle of the kitchen.

"Even feral animals return for scraps," Pelorian laughed, though it was a quiet, half-amused one. "I take it from your long absence that King Thranduil didn't make you Legolas's new keeper?"

"Nay, brother," Sard said. "I spoke out of turn and hurt the prince with knowledge that had been kept from him and for good reason. The king sent me away to wait for merchants from Dale to come tomorrow and keep an eye on them."

Pelorian was quiet. Soft footsteps told Sard that his friend approached, but he did not move. His shame kept him still.

"What merchants from Dale?" Pelorian growled. "And what knowledge did you know that the prince did not?" That last he asked hesitantly, as the question was pulled from him by the simple fact that it had hurt their favorite elfling.

"He did not know the dragon came for him," Sard said. "And the king is opening Mirkwood back to trade. The foul humans who brought the dragon on us with their talk of gems and our prince will return and what then, Pel? How can we protect Legolas from his father who slips into madness, a kingdom that darkens and a filthy race that lusts after pure things almost as powerfully as a drake? I fear for him. I fear the dragon will come, we will lose him and all will be lost. The king will break with another death in his family and in turn so will the rest of us."

Pelorian stepped in front of him and stared at him long and hard, pale green eyes awash with worry.

"Have faith, brother," Pelorian managed.

"Faith in what," Sard demanded. "The Valar? The Valar hasn't spared us anything. I will not turn to them now."

"Have faith in us then," Pelorian said. "We will protect this kingdom and its last remaining gem. No human or snake will take Legolas from us, or our future."

"We will find out tomorrow." Sard brushed past Pelorian to the cupboards to grab food. He hesitated. "Spread the word through the troops. I don't want anyone caught by surprise or have any excuse to be lazy tomorrow. Not tomorrow, the day after or the day next. And send someone to keep a close eye on Legolas. Valar knows that Blaon won't."

O

_Legolas clung to his nana as he listened to the screams below the window. His nana's dark golden hair hung around him as she rocked him back and forth, cradling him close to her breast even as she cried. He felt her tears drop onto his head, warm and fast and he was terrified because he did not know what to do. A serpentine shadow passed the window, dark and long. He smelled smoke and sulfur. Both stung his nose and made him cough._

_ "Legolas!" Sard's voice caught his attention and he lifted his head to look at the office door just as it slammed open. His nana jumped and a hand flew to her mouth._

_ "Sard," she choked. "Sard, I know we should be outside of the palace but he came here in his ada's study to play with some toys he hid-"_

_ "I know, my queen." Sard slid to a halt next to them and grabbed her by the arms to haul her to her feet. Legolas watched the magician's dark blue eyes and the fearlessness in his sharp face calmed him._

_ Flames erupted outside of the window and a grating voice that rattled his bones called a name, though Legolas couldn't understand it over the screams that poured out of his home. However, both his nana and Sard seemed to know who the dragon called for because both of them looked at each other in horror. Nana started nodding._

_ "The beast has been calling for him the past twenty minutes," she sobbed. "I got so scared to move him I just stayed here instead. I was so scared if we ran he would see him. What does he want with him, Sard?"_

_ Sard didn't respond, instead ripped Legolas from her arms which made her shriek and slap him. Legolas let Sard hold him, too unsure of what to do otherwise._

_ "If I have him, the beast won't see him," Sard shouted at her, which shocked Legolas. Sard was usually the most respectful soldier out of the whole military, patient and loyal to a fault. "If I have him, you know I can hide him."_

_ Nana stared at Sard for a moment before understanding broke through her terror and she nodded again, tears spilling out of her burnt-golden eyes. Sard began tucking Legolas inside of his jacket and threw his cloak over one shoulder to finish the illusion that he wasn't there. Legolas felt safe._

_ The world rattled and rocks and glass shattered in a screaming rain. Legolas tucked his face against Sard's muscle-hardened chest, feeling the handle of a hidden blade next to his cheek. The stench of smoke grew thicker and Nana hacked as she struggled to breathe. Legolas was glad that he could breathe in Sard's scent to help mask the odor of burning trees and other things he couldn't place. Sard smelled like leather. It centered him and he knew with Sard there that nothing bad would happen._

_ "The beast has broken into the palace," Sard shouted to be heard over the chaos. "We must get out of here."_

_ "Nana!" Oroduil's cry made Legolas try to sit up out of Sard's jacket and supporting arm. Sard held him still in an iron embrace. "Nana, the snake is headed this way." Legolas heard Oroduil run across the study to reach her. "Have you found him? Where is Legolas?"_

"Legolas," was his ada's stern, commanding voice. "You must wake, ion nin." Ada hushed him and a strong hand stroked the length of his back as if to calm his gasping breaths. "You are safe now, tithen las. Ada is here."

Legolas opened his eyes and more tears fell from them, gushing out as if trying to rid his body of fear and sorrow. His whole spirit trembled, shaking his muscles and an ugly sob retched out of his lungs, screaming with its ferocity to be heard, to be saved. He buried his face in his ada's blue robe, breathing in the smell of the forest, of home. He clung to his father, clutching handfuls of robe and pale blond hair, ruining both with his tears and spit.

Ada untangled Legolas's bare feet from the sheets and carried him to the red door between their rooms. Legolas buried his face against his ada's neck, hiding beneath his long curtains of hair and cried harder, screams breaking out of his mouth as if they wanted his nana to hear and come running from the Halls of Mandos, or Oroduil who would sometimes stay up too late and hear his little brother's nightmares, as silly as they were then. Legolas now longed for dreams of darkness, of being trapped in a cave to never see the stars again. It is how he felt now when he closed his eyes and watched over and over again Kagnirrok's smoke mask the sky and the flames eat up all he loved.

"It's my fault," he wailed and opened his eyes again, only to find himself in his ada's room. Ada sat in a white winged chair by a window, a glass of water in his hand. The cool rim pressed against Legolas's lips and tipped, forcing him to calm enough to drink some of it down. He then followed his ada's finger to look outside where stars lit up the night. Legolas rested against his father's firm chest and scowled against the headache that blossomed behind his eyes.

"It is not your fault," his ada soothed and rubbed his back. "Sleep, ion nin. Your ada is here." Ada sounded tired. "Dragons fear me now, and will not come so long as you are with me."

O

The humans were dirty. Legolas spied on them from behind a clothing vendor at the side of Common Street. Human and human were pouring into his home, some greasy faces streaked with dirt and others with lank hair that hung uncombed and unbraided around their round shoulders. Some were even overweight, though they seemed the happiest. Overall, he was both awed and revolted by the race, but he liked how they laughed. Many of them were laughing and smiling, gazing at Mirkwood's inner village with big eyes and wondrous gasps. He missed his people when they laughed, but most of all he missed his brother Kasslad's laugh. It had sounded like freedom, so loud and unbridled that everyone couldn't help but laugh with him.

Legolas was pulled from his musings as one man, and what appeared to be his wife and three half-grown children, spotted him. Legolas cursed a word Rugon had taught him that would have made Blaon smack him on his rear if he heard it.

The man pointed at him, a strange look in his brown eyes. The family huddled together and looked at Legolas, smiling as if he were some lost and scared puppy. Legolas glared at them in return, especially when the daughter clapped her hands as if that would urge him from his hiding place.

"Filthy, aren't they?"

Legolas jumped at Pelorian's voice, even though he had whispered. He turned and smiled at the archer, who crouched behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Lines faded from around his mouth when he did this, as if he had needed to reassure himself that Legolas was with him.

"Are they looking for me yet?" Legolas whispered back.

"Thankfully not," Pelorian said. "Else these humans wouldn't all be laughing, would they?"

Legolas blushed at that, but stood. He was done spying on the filthy humans, having not appreciated how they acted around him. Pelorian scooped him up, earning a cry of protest from Legolas.

"I can walk," Legolas told him. "I'm not small anymore."

"Of course you're not," Pelorian agreed with a serious face, but the glint in his green eyes gave his joke away. "I struggle to hold you, you've grown so big. Allow this old archer the illusion of being able to spoil you like he used to when you were very little." Pelorian produced a honey cake at that, almost as swiftly as Sard. Except Legolas had seen Pelorian struggle to pull it from a pocket first, and grinned at that. Sard was still the best at making treats materialize out of thin air.

Legolas took the honey cake, hands instantly sticky as honey ran in rivulets from the soft bread and onto his fingers and palms. As Pelorian turned to take him back to the palace, he hesitated. Legolas turned with his mouth full of cake to see what the matter was and scowled when he saw the family that had treated him like a dog.

The humans still watched him, smiling and nudging each other as if they weren't already staring. The girl who had clapped now waved at him as if he was a baby, a ridiculous scrunched smile on her face. Other humans pointed at him now, and he heard the faint whispers of "youngest prince" and his name.

Pelorian made a growl in the back of his throat that could have put Rugon's to shame, and almost ran back to the palace.

"Don't tell me that he's been in the barracks again." Blaon sounded disgusted, his voice the first thing Legolas heard as Pelorian burst through the gates and rounded a corner in the direction of the royal wing. The endless line of humans with their wares still stared and the whispers still followed. Blaon didn't seem to notice though, or at least not care.

"How long has he been missing?" Pelorian demanded.

Legolas took another bite of his honey cake, always glad when Pelorian, Rugon or Sard was angry with the elf. He loathed his keeper.

"Not long enough to send his ill-tempered father into another tantrum," Blaon said.

Pelorian's fist moved faster than Legolas could follow. He dropped his honey cake to hold onto the archer better as his body moved, swift as water, and Blaon's face was sent jerking to the left, his long brown hair whirling. The smack of knuckles against soft flesh rebounded through the giant hall, silencing the humans before they all started talking again, this time louder.

Blaon got caught in his billowing green robes and tumbled onto his back. Legolas laughed at the sight, but quieted when his keeper's blazing eyes caught his. Guards ran toward them from down the hallway and the humans started shouting to them stories of what happened, as if eager to be of help all at once.

Pelorian set Legolas on his feet and gave him a gentle push toward the throne room instead of the royal wing. He was still angry, his face pink and a vein bulging between his brows.

"Run to Kasslad," Pelorian ordered. "Tell him what happened."

Legolas nodded and spun around, running as the archer instructed.

O

Thranduil had grown tired of the humans giving condolences for his wife and Crown Prince. He leaned back in his throne and gazed down at the current cluster of mortals from off the bridge of his nose, trying very hard to control his temper. He had listened to hundreds all morning as he greeted them back to Mirkwood and sent them off to his own merchants to deal. However, even the merchants he had vaguely known and the ones who had never come before insisted on giving him gifts to thank him for helping Dale improve its economy and how nothing sold for more than items made in Mirkwood.

"It was a sad day to hear of the dragon flying to your green wood, King," said one dark-haired merchant. The man was cleaner than most, his brown pants even ironed and his leather boots polished. He wore a billowing white shirt with the ties undone at the top, with a sweeping leather trench coat. Sharp blue eyes watched Thranduil and gave the king a reason to glare.

"Such terrible cries filled Dale when we heard that the beautiful queen and admirable Crown Prince had been burned and . . . they were eaten by the beast, were they not?" The merchant, his name lost to Thranduil now, tilted his head in concern and gave his ruse away.

"You mock our pain," Thranduil growled, furious almost to seeing red at the human's audacity. Kasslad, who stood next to him, placed a cautioning hand on his shoulder which he shoved away. "What do you gain from these questions? Do not tell us how sorry you are, for the deaths we suffered did not impact your short lives except a brief end to your trade. Has that made you so bitter as to continuously bring up that black day?"

The merchant did look apologetic, as most were before the king's infamous wrath. Thranduil boiled in it, but was satisfied by the flash of fear in those insufferably confident eyes.

"Mocking your pain was not my intention, Sire," the merchant groveled. "I merely bring up that day to pass on my condolences and to ask . . . hadn't Prince Legolas seen it all? Interesting if he had because that meant he was nearby, which must be incredibly maddening for the beast because I believe the dragon failed to see your son that day. Doesn't that mean he will come back?"

Thranduil almost lurched to his feet, a volley of insults on his tongue, when he noticed a black insignia on the merchant's white shirt. It was on the left side, over the man's heart, and had almost been covered by the trench coat, missed if not for Thranduil's sharp eyes. It was the curled image of a dragon, the implication of which baffled and enraged him.

Before he could call the guards to restrain the man and ask him what the image meant, the pattering of small, bare feet echoed through the shocked silence. Thranduil felt his blood chill, his heart slow, and watched in horror as Legolas bolted into the room through the open doors, past the quiet humans.

"Kasslad," Legolas shouted.

Thranduil stood, hand lifted to bring out the guards, but the merchant had already seen his youngest son. The merchant's piercing eyes landed on the elfling and his hand flicked down to catch him.

"No!" Kasslad moved to run forward, a dagger in his shaking fist, but Thranduil grabbed his arm. Kasslad turned to confused, furious and terrified eyes on him, only to follow his ada's attention back to Legolas.

The elfling was pressed against the merchant, a steel blade pushed beneath his delicate chin and into his soft throat. If the merchant moved the blade even an inch, Legolas would die.

"Look at this," the merchant breathed, a twisted smile on his long face. "He is a pretty one, isn't he?"


	3. Chapter 3

Legolas held his breath. The blade was cold against his throat and he could feel it already cutting his skin. The merchant smelled like tobacco, which made him want to gag. He held the reflex back though, terrified that the sharp knife would slice deeper. The blood that trickled down his neck and into the front of his white tunic was hot. He watched Ada and Kasslad and took in their pale faces and wide eyes. Kasslad looked defeated, arms hanging limp at his sides with tears on his cheeks. Ada . . . he looked like he did when the dragon came. Ada towered over everyone else in the throne room, blue eyes blazing like balls of fire, hands fisted and his soul pulsating with power. It pressed down across the hall and with it light began to fade.

Legolas shivered, scared of him again, and the knife cut deeper at his movement and he winced. It sliced him again, farther along his throat and a panicked sob escaped his lips.

Heated silence followed and the merchant laughed.

"Release him," Thranduil commanded and the guards that had rushed into the hall from around the throne took a cautious step closer. Legolas knew many of them from the barracks and saw fury in their usually happy faces.

The merchant began to laugh again and moved his left hand, the one that had been on Legolas's chest, to his jacket. His laugh morphed to a deep, gurgling choke and Legolas felt the knife slip from his grasp. Before Legolas could make a run for the nearest warrior, strong and familiar hands grabbed him under the arms and lifted him to a lean, muscular chest. He felt the coolness of hidden blades beneath the black uniform and knew it was Sard before looking into his furious dark eyes. The magician wrapped powerful arms around him and Legolas felt secure enough to look back at the merchant.

White and pink foam bubbled up from his mouth. The man lay on his back as if every muscle had lost its strength, his eyes rolled into his head. A trail of blood ran out of one nostril, making a path along his cheek and into his ear.

"What did you do?" Legolas didn't even remember seeing Sard nearby, let alone how he could kill the man without touching him. He began to understand why his ada called him a black magician. Thinking of the nickname as he watched the merchant struggle in his last, watery breaths made Legolas cold with fear.

Instead of answering him, Sard cupped a hand behind his head to turn his gaze away from the merchant. He didn't manage it in time though, before Legolas saw the man's body shudder and fall limp. Though he didn't see an actual soul, he felt it pass away.

Legolas clung to Sard, feeling safe with him even though he was now terrified of the elf.

"Why did you kill him?" Ada's voice rang across the room. The humans just outside the wide open doors quailed and huddled closer together, like being in a group could protect them from the Elvenking.

Other hands tried to pull Legolas from Sard, but he refused to let go until he saw that it was Kasslad. Sard gave him a comforting squeeze before passing him over.

"Where is Blaon?" Kasslad's voice was shaking.

"I don't want to go," Legolas muttered, shock still making him tremble. The blood dripping from his throat made him scared and he didn't want to look at the front of his tunic.

"I will visit you when we get this chaos settled," Kasslad promised, sealing it with a kiss on Legolas's forehead.

"I killed him to save the prince from being abducted," Sard told the king, walking over to the body and pulling out a black pouch from inside the man's jacket. "He was reaching for this." Sard dipped two fingers into the pouch and withdrew a pinch of gray powder. He threw it and billowing smoke filled the hall. "This is dragon's breath. He would have escaped with it."

Sard dropped the bag back on the body and stood before Ada again. Black smoke coiled around him, slowly fading. It reminded Legolas of dragon's breath. It was a fitting name.  
"This man had a dragon emblem on his chest," Ada shouted. Legolas saw that his father was still furious, filled with the same wrath that had made the dragon flee. He shrank back from the dark power pouring out of him, glad that the king hadn't rushed to him like he had that day when Kagnirrok came. It took months for Legolas to feel safe around Ada after that. Sard, however, stood his ground.

"He spoke as if he was in league with Kagnirrok," Ada shouted.

Sard looked to the body and walked over to it, jerking the trench coat out of his way so he could see the black, spindly dragon on the man's shirt. He looked up and met Legolas's gaze just as Pelorian and Blaon, as well as a dozen more soldiers, hurried into the room.

"My prince." Pelorian fell to one knee before Kasslad, eyes frantically searching Legolas's chest for a source to all the blood.

"Take him to his rooms." Kasslad handed Legolas to Blaon, but Legolas kicked his keeper in the gut and stretched his hands to his brother, fearful tears finally making their appearance.

"I don't want to go," he cried. "Kasslad!"

O

Legolas fought Blaon the whole way back to his quarters. He couldn't escape the surging terror that still ripped its way through him, and it resulted in his screaming and tears. He didn't feel safe with Blaon. He wanted to be with his family or one of the warriors, namely Sard. A fierce determination overtook him and he knew that one day he would be a black magician too. He would be so deadly and so fierce that every race in Arda would tremble at his name and no one would hurt him, those close to him or his kingdom. First he had to escape Blaon and beg Sard to apprentice him.

The soft, spidery hands that held him threw him across his room and he hit the bed. He rolled twice, shocked that Blaon had tossed him like he was a bag of trash. Before he could turn and demand why his keeper had disrespected him, a hand slapped him across the face and then backhanded him before he had a chance to gasp. Pain ricocheted through his skull, his cheeks and mouth burning with the blows. He pressed a hand against his bottom lip and felt blood.

Blaon took hold of his shoulders and shook him, blue eyes filled with something more than disgust, but Legolas couldn't place it. All he knew was that it was ugly and he needed to get away.

"How do you like it, brat?" Blaon shoved him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him as he landed on his right side against the rug. Blaon's boot flung at him, but he wasn't quick enough to roll away from the kick to his stomach. "It doesn't feel good when someone hits you, does it?"

Legolas was too shocked to cry, too stunned to do more than stare up at his keeper and wince as he lifted another hand against him.

"Get off me!" Blaon suddenly shouted.

Legolas looked back and saw Rugon's mighty figure twisting Blaon's arms back, an enraged frown on his wide face, gray eyes darkened to almost black. Rugon wrestled Blaon to the ground within seconds, strangely silent. Legolas wasn't used to seeing him fight, and found himself unsure how to act without the friendly smirk or teasing remark to guide him. He pushed himself across the floor and against the wall, scraping up the courage to stand and walk calmly back to the throne room to inform his brother that he wanted Blaon dismissed.

Three of Rugon's knights took hold of Blaon, tied his hands behind his back and stood him up.

"I wasn't going to hurt him seriously," Blaon argued. "I gave him a taste of his own medicine. He kept hitting me so he needed to understand how it felt."

Rugon's powerful hand slapped Blaon and then backhanded him, splitting his lip like Legolas's had been. Before Blaon could protest, eyes still unfocused, Rugon punched him in the gut. Blaon doubled over and would have fallen had not the soldiers on either side of him held him up.

"A six-year-old doesn't hit like a grown elf," Rugon growled. "And he likely hit you because he knew better than any of us the sort of scum you are."

Rugon raised a hand for the soldiers to take Blaon away when the sweeping windows along the far wall shattered. A flaming arrow plunged into Blaon's face, and another went through the soldier's neck to his right. Where Blaon's nose and mouth had been was suddenly a black and bleeding hole, flames licking out from between broken teeth before he slid to the floor. The soldier next to him almost lost his head by the impact, his black uniform catching flame. The other two soldiers backed against the wall, shouting for help though their words were lost on Legolas. His ears were filled with the thumping of blood through his veins, accompanied by a high-pitched whine that brought his headache back from the night before. Legolas curled in on himself, listening to the distant whoosh as more arrows volleyed through the glass and into his room.

Rugon's body was suddenly on top of him, a heavy weight that shielded him from the growing heat in the room. Legolas looked up into Rugon's face, unable to stop his frightened tears. Rugon gave him a smile but it didn't reach his gray eyes. Legolas searched his face for what to do, how to get up and get out of there, but as he watched Rugon the light in his eyes began to fade.

"Rugon!" Legolas reached out and gripped him by the hair, shaking him. "Rugon, we need to get out of here!"

But his friend didn't respond, as if he hadn't even heard him. His eyelids fell closed and the smile on his lips disappeared. Rugon's weight grew heavier, pinning him to the stone floor. Legolas gasped for air, his lungs restricted and screamed. Rugon's soul had left him behind, Rugon was dead, just like Nana and Oroduil and even Blaon. He hated Blaon but he couldn't make his keeper's punctured face from his thoughts. He screamed and he pushed against Rugon's body, kicking with every ounce of strength that he had. He heard the clatter of more arrows and smelled smoke. Burning. Something was burning. He struggled to see passed Rugon and saw orange flicker on the vaulted ceiling high above their heads. Fire. The room was on fire.

Kagnirrok. Had the dragon returned for him?

Sheer and utter panic overwhelmed him and he pushed harder at the elfin knight. Gradually he squeezed his upper body away from Rugon, but his black pants were caught on something, likely some of Rugon's buckles. Legolas clawed at the floor, inching his way free, fingernails breaking. His entire bed was engulfed in flame, as were the white and green curtains along the entire south-facing wall. Smoke suffocated him, pressing down on him. The flames roared and he could almost swear that he saw a serpentine shadow fly just outside the windows, calling his name with that bone-drumming voice.

"My prince!" one of the soldiers, Legolas didn't know which, grabbed his outstretched arms and pulled on him until he was free of Rugon's body. The soldier scooped him into his arms and rushed out into the hallway and into disarray. Screams filled the palace and Legolas called for his ada.

Then his ada was there. Thranduil's eyes were wide, his spirit still raging and dark, but Legolas didn't care. He opened his arms to his father and was transferred to him. Thranduil draped his outer robe over his son, covering his bare legs and bottom. It wasn't until then that he noticed he had lost his pants escaping Rugon's body.

Legolas shivered and welcomed the protection of his ada's robe, burying himself into his father's chest and simply let the world descend into chaos around him.

O

"Tell me what this means." Thranduil lifted one of the rolled pieces of papyrus that had been bound around each of the arrows that were used to attack his son. Each sheet was the same: a black and curling image of a dragon. The spindly image made Thranduil nauseated to even look at. "It was on that merchant's shirt, as well."

Sard stood in Thranduil's study just outside of the king's bedroom where Legolas slept. With them was Pelorian, commander of the archers, and Rugon's replacement, Naspen. Thranduil studied the previous second-in-command over the warriors and elite knights. Naspen wasn't as largely built as Rugon was, but he made up for it in height. The elf towered over even him, and was still broad and powerful. Thranduil would miss Rugon, and couldn't help but resent Naspen for taking his place even though it was necessary.

Also with them were Kasslad and council representative, High Chair Inamgia. Thranduil studied the elleth, hating that she had to be here. He didn't trust the council and would have rather done this without anyone from that board present. As if sensing his displeasure, the elleth raised her dark brows, challenging him to throw her out.

"It would seem that this is a cult," Sard said. "It was well known that the humans in Dale often looked to us as a sort of higher race, and some even went so far as to worship us, though not many. Since we were attacked by a dragon, a species even greater than our own, I would dare to suggest that we are looking at a group of people that have decided to worship Kagnirrok. I'm sure the beast would love to discover this, especially if they are this determined to capture the prince and deliver him to the snake themselves."

"Then why attack Legolas?" Kasslad was still pale and shaken from the tireless events of the day.

"Kagnirrok's followers probably had no intention to seriously injure the prince, but rather take out those around him and let us know they will keep coming, maybe even trying to get us to give him up," Sard said, and a dark smile lifted the corner of his mouth, as if amused that anyone would try to frighten him.

Thranduil seethed and stood, unable to sit still. He paced the length of his study, throwing anxious glances to his bedroom door, waiting for his elfling to scream from his regular nightmares. He was certain tonight would be worse than normal.

"Do you think the snake could have sent these humans?" Thranduil asked.

"No," Sard said. "I would wager that Kagnirrok has no idea they exist."

Thranduil snorted and continued pacing.

"We should close off the kingdom again," High Chair Inamgia announced, throwing her head back and pinning Thranduil with frosted green eyes. "Keep the humans out of Mirkwood and thus keep Kagnirrok's cult away from the prince."

"No," Thranduil snapped. "I will not sit here and hide from them. We must respond to this attack with one of our own."

"We do not know where they meet or who leads them," Naspen argued, his voice monotone and as cool as steel. "We can't charge into Dale and expect their king to understand why we blindly burned down every home to eradicate a small group."

"Do we know it's small?" Thranduil snapped.

"Until we know more, we can do nothing against Dale." Naspen met his glare with calm, almost bored blue eyes. "Not unless you want war with both them and their allies, the dwarves under the mountain. They will not care that you are doing this to protect your son."

"Unless we direct the dragon to the dwarves instead," Thranduil hissed. "Send the beast to their mountains of gold and let their kingdom burn. I would do it to spare Legolas. I would see every human and dwarf die and suffer in place of my son."

"Dangerous words, my king," Naspen said. "It is best to investigate before acting rashly."

"We can call for help," Kasslad interrupted. "Rivendell and the Golden Wood would come to our aide. We need only ask."

Thranduil tore his scowl away from Naspen and studied his son. His daughter, Chailiel, was in Lothlorien with Lord Elrond's daughter, Arwen. Both had fled there after their mothers died, though Arwen's had sailed instead of being torn to shreds by a dragon. Perhaps the other elven realms would help. . . .

"In the meantime," Thranduil decided, "double security around the palace, send out more patrols and every human who enters this kingdom will be searched before allowed entrance. Anyone with the image of a dragon on their person will be taken to the dungeons."

"What of Legolas's keeper?" Sard asked. "He will need a new one, and one who can protect him."

Thranduil gritted his molars together at the thought of Blaon. The idiot elf had no foresight and no patience. If Kagnirrok's followers hadn't killed him, Thranduil would have lobbed his head off himself and placed it on a spike outside of the palace.

"Kasslad," Thranduil said. "Hold interviews. Find Legolas a new keeper."

"I am willing to take the job, my king," Sard said.

"You will be busy investigating this cult," Thranduil ordered. "Find out how to destroy them. That is how you can help my son."

"What of the funeral?" Pelorian's voice was muted, his eyes downcast. Thranduil saw Sard's shoulder slump and place a comforting hand on his friend's back.

That was when Legolas started to scream again.


	4. Chapter 4

Thranduil was worried about Legolas. Rugon's death and the attack had been three weeks ago and still his son had not said a word. He feared that his youngest was slipping into the state he had been in after the dragon's raid. Legolas hadn't spoken to anyone for six months once Kagnirrok had fled and his loved ones buried, but of course he had also been two years younger and terrified of his own ada. Thranduil still cursed himself for running up to Legolas's hiding place after battling with the beast. As Elvenking, he had inherited certain abilities that other elves don't have and would never want. Turning his dark, furious spirit onto his small son had not been wise, especially after having just fought off the dragon.

The last of the summer storms whispered against the windows outside, knocking for entrance. The rain wept down the panes and lightning flickered through a churning sky. The cold blue flashes made Thranduil scared. The dragon had come during the end of winter, and though two years had passed he was still afraid of the coming snows and the thaw that followed. Each year he still asked himself: is this it? Will the fire beast of the south return as the ice melts and before the trees blossom?

Roaring booms of thunder rattled the chandeliers and left ripples in the clear glass water jug on the nightstand. As Thranduil waited for the rumbling to cease, and the memories of Kagnirrok's gravely call for his son to fade, his attention returned to Legolas. His elfling was lost to elven dreams, but they were not peaceful ones. The pucker of his brows said as much and it broke Thranduil's heart.

Legolas slept in his bed, curled on his side and with the blankets under his tightly closed eyes. Thranduil stroked his son's white brows, smoothing out their creases, and longed to hear the elfling's chirping voice and laugh that sounded like a cool spring wind through the trees. Even the elfling's spirit had dimmed. The glitter in Legolas's gold-woven locks and glass-smooth skin had diminished to a mere flicker. He feared now the rumors that he was fading might be true. What Legolas had been through was too much for one so young.

He laid a hand on Legolas's soft, round cheek and grimaced at its chill. If something wasn't done quickly, there would be no more worry for the dragon returning. The beast would never risk coming back for a corpse.

"Ai, Ayanu," Thranduil called for his wife, a prayer lost to another roll of thunder. Tears gathered in his eyes and a pain pierced his heart, so painful, so forceful, that he almost doubled over. "Show me what to do?"

To make things worse, the anger in him was growing and he was afraid of it. He was getting lost more and more to his mounting fury and was scared that one day he would not be able to come back from it, that it would blind him, and was terrified that Legolas and Kasslad would see another loved one lost. Most of all he was terrified that he would hurt them in one of his red rages. . . Or dragon rages, as he heard the staff begin to call them.

"Help me save him," he begged Ayanu, tears breaking free of his eyes. He pushed at them, mad that he couldn't hold them back. "Help me save this family."

But all that answered him was the steady rain, as if Mandos wept with him, unwilling to do anything else.

O

Sard was talking with the other magicians. Legolas watched the dark wizard march through the small group of black clad elves. Though none of them wore any kind of insignia declaring what sort of soldiers they were, it was still obvious. Out of the entire military, these were the only elves that didn't seem to be carrying any weapons. But like Sard, they had every blade, powder and poison expertly hidden. Legolas wanted to stand with them, to listen to Sard's commands and be counted as one of them. Instead, he stayed crouched behind the tree at the edge of the courtyard amid the barracks. Though many other warriors went about their business around him, none seemed to notice him. Of course, the old oak he leaned against whispered his name in hello but did nothing else to speak with him. None of the trees ever did anymore, not since the dragon. They blamed him, called him "lhug mir," which was Sindarian for "dragon jewel." They whispered that he would bring the snake back to burn the rest of them.

Legolas usually tried to stay away from the trees. He already blamed himself enough without their help. He wouldn't even use the old oak to hide behind, but in the courtyard this was the only good place to be without drawing unwanted attention.

Still, he couldn't quite hear what Sard was saying to the other magicians. It had something to do with a cult, but the few other words he caught made no sense. He glanced up at the afternoon sun and glared at it for scaring away any shadows he could have used to get closer. Taking a deep breath, he inched his way into the oak and farther out on one of the branches that reached towards the dark group of elves.

As he crawled, clothes catching on the rough bark, a surge of dislike rose through the tree. Legolas froze when he felt it and realized that he would be wise to climb down and walk away from the oak. Trees often got like this when he became too comfortable with them, which was something he learned very soon after the dragon's attack. Though, he had never climbed so far into one of them since he had always been too small, so the damage had never been too bad except for a few new nightmares.

Legolas placed a hand on the branch beneath him.

_I am only trying to listen to the elves nearby. I won't be bothering you for long, old oak,_ he said.

_What if the dragon comes? Am I to burn with you?_ Its furious response made fellow aspens around the courtyard sway with fear and Legolas felt their trepidation as well.

Legolas used another one of Rugon's bad words and the oak trembled in anger.

_You will do as I say_, Legolas tried to use his ada's commanding voice, the one where people cowered before him. _I mean you no harm._

_You are the lhug mir. You are dirty!_

Before Legolas could argue with it any further, the branch gave a violent jerk and he lost his grip. An early winter wind spun around him, catching his hair and clothes as he fell. Gravity yanked at his body, and his stomach twisted at the empty space below him that was quickly being closed by the rough cobblestones below. He hadn't realized how high he had climbed.

Pain erupted in his right elbow, hip and knee. It stung and for a moment he could see nothing. Twigs were thrown down at him and he felt a few cut his face and left arm, but otherwise he did nothing but curl in on himself, willing the pain to leave him.

"My prince?" a voice called, as if unsure that it was really him who had suddenly dropped out of the tree.

Legolas took a deep draw on the cool fall air, the earthy smell of rain still clinging to it from the night before, and opened his eyes. The stones beneath him were sticking into his ribs and shoulder, bugs crawling between the diamond-shaped pieces and disappearing into the brittle weeds. The frantic thud of boots rumbled the ground beneath him and he tried to sit up, just managing to do so when at least a dozen soldiers and magicians surrounded him.

Too many worried questions swirled around him, making little sense through the annoying ringing in his ears. He scowled at them, wanting to latch onto one and whatever was coming from his or her mouth, but the pain in his right side was too distracting. Hands were gripping him, all patting and pulling as if they all wanted to help. He scowled harder at them.

"Get back," one command rang over the voices. "Give him some room."

Sard crouched in front of him, dark blue eyes swimming with fear. Legolas relaxed and gave him a grateful smile.

"Where are you hurt, tithen las?" Sard asked, his soothing voice like a medicinal cream in his ears, calming the pain in his head and the last echoes of the chaos that had surrounded him.

Before he had a chance to tell the magician where he had struck the courtyard, the warrior's gentle hands were probing him for breaks and other wounds. Legolas flinched when Sard touched his right arm, and Sard hissed as if he felt the same pain.

After a few tense moments where none of the watching elves moved or spoke, and Sard examined his arm and knee, the magician gave him a smile and cupped his face.

"Just a few scratches, my prince," Sard said. "We can treat them here if you do not wish to return to the palace, and your new keeper. Who is it today?"

A few soldiers laughed, though Legolas missed the joke. Suddenly self conscious, he swallowed and blushed. None of the keepers that Kasslad had tried out with him stayed long. In fact, the one who stayed the longest had only been around for four days. The rest didn't give more than a day, let alone a few hours. Legolas didn't know why, but had heard a few of the complaints as they exited and when Kasslad tried to stop them. Most had said they didn't want to be responsible for him if he was hurt, and others declared him "dragon cursed" and didn't want the trouble that followed him to rub off. Though, they always added that they loved him, worshipped him even like he was one of the Valar, and that he was indeed very beautiful. Then they would leave and he never saw any of them again.

"Legolas," Sard whispered, drawing him back to the courtyard and their audience of staring soldiers. "Do you want to stay or do you want me to take you to the palace?"

Legolas studied Sard, took in his long black hair and his thick, powerful brows. They made his dark eyes mysterious and wise, as if hiding the two thousand years that the elf had lived behind a door made of volcanic glass. Legolas didn't mind that he couldn't see and read every thought that the magician had, and found an endless amount of comfort in those fortress-eyes. Somehow, when they looked at him, he felt included in their dark barriers. He felt safe. More importantly, he felt loved.

However, staring into Sard's hooded eyes is not what he wanted. He didn't want to feel safe with anyone, not when they would throw themselves over him and die just like his nana, Oroduil and now Rugon had. Tears burned and he blinked them back. He wanted to defend himself. No one else would die for him. He would protect them for a change, which was why he had come to the barracks today. He needed to learn how to be a magician.

"Do you want to stay with me here?" Sard asked.

Legolas blinked back more tears, embarrassed that he had forgotten to answer his friend's question. That had been happening a lot since Rugon died. He kept getting lost in his head, in the memories and the grief. He didn't know how to stop the endless swirl of thought and emotion; how it brought the pain back that he had fought so hard to overcome after the dragon attack. The slightest sound or smell would tear him from reality though, hurling him to the trap of memory and he would forget everything else.

It happened again. Legolas bit his lip and nodded to Sard, yes he wanted to stay. He feared that if he spoke then the tears would fall and he would dissolve to nothing more than the weak elfling everyone seemed to think he was. He swallowed hard again to get a hold of himself.

Sard smiled, though a heavy sadness now weighed down the corners of his brows and eyes. The magician scooped him into his arms and the crowd began to disperse.

"Now what is a wood sprite doing falling out of trees?" Sard's voice was light and laughing, which confused Legolas. His friend did not look happy. "Were you spying on us?"

Legolas watched as the other magicians walked with them back to the middle of the courtyard, many looking his way and smiling warmly at him. However, Sard halted and his banter died. Legolas twisted in his arms to see what was wrong, and again became trapped in those hooded eyes.

"Are the trees still angry with you?" Sard asked.

Legolas blushed again and the tears returned. He ducked his head into Sard's chest and played with a button on his uniform instead of answering. He knew it was wrong for the trees to hate him. It wasn't natural and he was humiliated by it.

Sard's body tensed as if Legolas had somehow confirmed his suspicion.

"Take the tree down," he commanded.

Legolas jumped and stared at him. The tears won their battle and fell down his cheeks, though now they were cold. He grabbed Sard's chin and made the magician look at him.

"Nothing is allowed to hurt you," Sard whispered. "Not while I live."

Legolas shook his head, lost for words, both touched by Sard's friendship and horrified that he would hurt the old oak. He held nothing against the tree, just blamed himself for nature being disgusted with him. It was his fault alone, him and Kagnirrok of course.

After a moment Sard held up his free hand. Whatever commotion had taken over the courtyard ceased.

"Do it later," he said. "It is not for the prince's eyes."

Legolas heard the old oak and surrounding aspens wail. The fall wind blew through their branches, twisting their leaves that were morphing from green to the colors of blood and gold. The wind snuck into his tunic and hugged him with its icy arms and he shivered. His heart ached, but still he could find no words to argue with Sard. The warriors were too protective of him. It's why Rugon had died.

It's why Legolas needed to get away, so no one else could be hurt. Not even the trees.

O

The bath was cold. It had had enough time to grow cold, but it hadn't felt warm when Legolas got in either. Even so, he didn't get out. What the old oak had said to him before throwing him away still rang in his ears: _You are dirty!_

So Legolas scrubbed. He felt dirty. He felt the "dragon curse" on his skin, just like some of his keepers said before they left him. He had a responsibility to his family and friends, to his kingdom, to be clean. Because he wasn't, too many had been hurt.

The tears ran freely from his eyes since no one was around to watch them. He scraped at his arms, his face, his legs, his chest, hoping that the soap would get rid of whatever the dragon wanted from him. Sard had said Kagnirrok wanted to see him, just see him, so he would wash it away. Then the trees would let him climb them again, then people wouldn't be afraid to be around him, then his ada wouldn't get so angry and Kasslad would laugh again.

"Ion nin?"

Legolas jumped, startled, and gazed up at his ada.

"What are you doing?" Thranduil looked horrified and rushed to the tub, silvery-blue eyes wide and frantic. "You have scrubbed yourself raw!"

Legolas flinched at the shout and blushed, not having realized what he had done. He looked down at himself and saw how the washcloth had left his skin mostly pink, though angry red in many places and bleeding in others. The cold water had red tendrils swimming through it, as if his blood had turned to little snakes. He cringed at the thought.

A towel wiped over his face, taking away his tears, and then hands lifted him out of the water. The towel was wrapped around him tight, the top half being used to dry his sopping hair.

"You are shivering," his ada muttered. Legolas was glad he didn't shout again.

Legolas also hadn't realized he had been cold enough to shiver. He noticed it now, though, and tucked closer to his ada.

"What is the matter, ion nin?" Thranduil whispered, as if careful not to raise his voice. "Speak to me, please. Tell me what is wrong."

Legolas longed to tell his ada, but the words would not come. He didn't know how to explain it. He twisted his right arm around, his attention drawn to the pain coming from the scrapes he had gotten earlier that day. Thranduil took his arm in hand and clicked his tongue.

"This will not happen again." Thranduil's voice was still soft. "I have found you a keeper myself. He will not let you get hurt like this with him around."

Legolas perked up at that, immediately thinking of Sard. The tears stopped at the thought of spending every day with his friend and was content allowing his ada help him get ready for bed. He still slept in his ada's room, even though his own bed had been replaced and his room cleaned and redecorated. Regardless, he couldn't bear to be in it.

Thranduil kissed him on the forehead and smiled.

"Now sleep, tithen las," he said. "I will be back later."

Legolas watched him walk across the room, silver shadows from the full moon trailing him as he left and shut the door. As soon as the door was closed, Legolas sat up. He would sleep after he saved the old oak.

O

Thranduil sat in the throne room, glad to be able to do business while not being in the council chambers and with the board breathing down his neck overseeing every decision he made about his kingdom. But for this, no one could question him.

"What do you mean you found him a keeper?" Kasslad was angry. Of course he is. Thranduil had tasked him with finding Legolas a keeper weeks ago and the Crown Prince had failed. It would be humiliating for anyone, but because Kasslad was his son he had at least given him the news lovingly.

"Legolas can no longer be wandering the kingdom as he so chooses, ion nin," Thranduil said. "I gave you enough time, and now I have found him one. The man will be here any minute."

"Man?" Kasslad's normally golden pallor reddened.

As if on queue, the throne doors opened. However, instead of who Thranduil expected it was Pelorian, his archer and sniper commander . . . as well as another warrior, one he didn't know.

"What is wrong?" Thranduil demanded.

Pelorian and the other elf bowed to him and then Kasslad, who stood on his right.

"This is Yoneliel, one of my best snipers," Pelorian introduced the stocky elf.

Yoneliel had red hair, all of it pulled back in a single knot. The elf was thick with muscle, but his blue eyes were calm and kind. The sniper stood to attention at the introduction, stiff until Thranduil waved a hand before relaxing again.

"What of him?" Thranduil asked, feeling his blood begin to heat in anger for being bothered by something less than an emergency at this hour, especially when he was about to begin other business – business he took very seriously because it involved his elfling.

Kasslad rested a hand on his shoulder, reminding him to calm down. Thranduil took a measured breath through his nose.

"Your soldiers love Prince Legolas very much, Sire," Pelorian said. "He visits us often and has made friends out of almost the entire military. After what happened today at the courtyard, we all decided that the prince needed someone to be his keeper that could not only keep track of him but protect him. Because you will not allow Sard to fill this very important and dangerous job, we have elected Yoneliel and he has accepted pending your approval."

Thranduil leaned back in his throne. All anger vanished and he began to laugh. Pelorian and Yoneliel's brows quirked in confusion, but otherwise their expressions remained schooled.

"I am delighted that the kingdom military is so devoted and protective of my young son," Thranduil said. "Though I am softened by this gesture, it is not needed. I have found a keeper for Legolas already. He will be here shortly."

"Sire, with all due respect, Blaon had the position since Legolas's birth," Pelorian said. "Yet Blaon did not fulfill his responsibilities correctly. Legolas was hurt under his care more times than I can count, including by his own hand."

"It is Prince Legolas," Thranduil corrected, though lazily. He was still too amused by Pelorian to be angry with him. "I quite agree that Blaon was a terrible keeper. However, he was appointed by my late son Oroduil, so I hope you are not saying anything about his judgment."

Pelorian's neck colored and he shook his head.

"Never, Sire," Pelorian promised. "I only suggest that Yoneliel is willing and able."

"He would be better than any man," Kasslad muttered.

"Man?" Pelorian and Yoneliel echoed each other. Though they still kept their faces calm, both stiffened.

"His name is Indari," Thranduil explained. "He was a merchant guard almost his whole fifty-two years and was here when the dragon attacked. He lost his whole family that day and barely escaped with his life. He is devoted to this kingdom and keeping the royal family safe, for he does not want us to close our doors again and risk Dale suffering in consequence. I trust him, which means so should you."

Pelorian looked ready to argue and Thranduil watched him with amusement, daring the sniper commander to challenge him.

"I would like to meet him, Sire," he said instead, and whatever words he held back looked painful as he swallowed them.

"So you shall, whenever he shows up."

O

Legolas heard the soldiers in the courtyard and knew he might already be too late. He started running through the barrack halls, bare feet slapping the cold stones, his blue robe billowing behind him as he ripped around each corner. Finally he burst into the courtyard.

Indeed, there were many soldiers. Most whooped as others with axes and torches entered the courtyard from the other side, while some were dead-faced with icy eyes. Legolas shoved his way through the crowd, intent on reaching the old oak before anyone else. It scared him that these elves were so willing to kill something that had harmed him. Didn't they understand that he was dirty, that he deserved to be thrown?

"Stop!" one shout burst through the cheers.

"The prince," other elves cried.

The excited cries began to silence. Soldiers stepped out of Legolas's way once they saw him coming. After a few more hurried steps he positioned himself in front of the oak and turned to face the mob.

Crickets chirped. The wind whistled. Dying leaves rattled.

Legolas's mouth was dry. How could he come all this way with nothing planned for how he would make them stop? He didn't know what to say, but desperately sought the right words. The old oak behind him creaked and kept its thoughts to itself, for which he was glad.

"My prince," one soldier stepped forward, one Legolas recognized as a knight who worked often with Rugon. His name was Iros. "You look cold." It was then that Legolas saw the heavy black coat the knight held out to him. After a moment the soldier draped it over Legolas's shoulders, and it made him feel very small by how it dragged on the cobblestones and devoured his body. Iros grinned, one of his front teeth cracked, as if he was thrilled to be able to do something for him.

Flattered, Legolas granted him a smile and tucked the collar under his chin before facing the rest. Sard stood at the front of the crowd, now. His friend had his hands folded in front of him, black bushy brows hiding his eyes, but Legolas felt that Sard was glad to see him – as he always was.

The crowd waited.

Then he knew what to say, and his heart swelled with hope that they would listen.

"You are supposed to be in bed."

Legolas and the soldiers turned just as palace guards and a man entered the courtyard. Legolas was surprised to see a man here, especially since the kingdom was closed at night to those from Dale.

The man wasn't overly tall, but not short either. Nor was he thin or heavy. The man wore palace clothes; much like what Blaon wore which matched his status as Legolas's keeper. This human was donned in red silk robes, except worn differently than the style accustomed to elves. The robes were wrapped around his body as if to allow better movement, the long sleeves secured with black armguards just like his legs were covered in leather armor. A black tie showed his lean waist, keeping his expensive elven clothes from sweeping around him like a cloud.

The most striking feature about him was he had no hair. A pale scalp shone in the twitching red and orange torchlight. Legolas met his cold eyes, which were the color of muddy puddles that collect in gutters, surrounded by long black eyelashes that almost make him handsome. Big lips twisted up along his lined cheeks like heavily manipulated steel, and Legolas supposed it was meant to be a smile.

The man crouched, but he wasn't close. It was as if he knew to keep his distance while in the presence of this particular mob. Legolas felt Sard sneaking closer and felt secure.

"I am Indari, dear prince," the man said. "I am your new keeper, hired by King Thranduil. I saw you dodging your way out of the palace as I made my way in. It is good that I did too. Look at this mob. What would they have done to you had I and the palace guards not come just now?"

Legolas began to shake his head, a protest and explanation on his lips but suddenly hands lifted him into the air and he was held tight against a hard body. He turned and saw it was one of the palace guards, and by then the soldiers around him were already shouting and his chance to tell his new keeper the truth was gone. He turned in the guard's arms and searched for Sard, and found the magician trailing behind them as they left the barracks, dark eyes lost in shadow. For the first time, seeing Sard close didn't make him feel better.

At least the mob was turning away from the old oak. Perhaps his attempt at saving a life wasn't lost, then.

O

"Isn't he going to be a good keeper?" Thranduil asked.

Legolas watched Indari from his ada's arms, still wrapped in Iros's heavy jacket which he planned to return tomorrow. They had gathered in the throne room, both he and his ada, Kasslad, Pelorian and Yoneliel, Sard and this strange Indari. The soldiers were eyeing the human, but the retired merchant guard didn't seem to care. He stood before Thranduil, Kasslad and him with his hands behind his back and eyes following Legolas as Ada paced. Sard looked like he wanted to have a weapon in his white, shaking fists.

"I'd like to see you try to escape him, tithen pen," Ada laughed and rubbed warmth onto his back, hugging him closer.

"Shall I take him to his bed?" Indari asked. "It is past midnight now, and he will have studies tomorrow. It appears that he is well behind the level of education that he should be at now, and I intend to repair that."

Thranduil chuckled while Sard bristled. Legolas looked up at his ada with wide eyes, terrified of this human taking him to his chambers. The last time it had been Blaon. . . .

"Yes." Ada kissed him on the cheek and Kasslad ruffled his hair before he was set on his feet. "Sleep well and I will see you when I am done here."

Legolas searched his brother's face, hoping he might come with him, but Kasslad was already watching Pelorian and Yoneliel who began whispering to each other. A big, rough hand grabbed his and suddenly he was being steered to the doors. He saw the red clothes and black ties around the legs and right arm and struggled to get away. He didn't know Indari and didn't trust him. Indari's hold was sure though, and his struggles only earned fearful tears in his eyes.

Legolas looked over his shoulder and saw Sard following like a wraith behind them, and relaxed. Sard's dark blue eyes sought his and he nodded, as if intending to follow them all the way to his ada's chambers.

"Stay, Sard," Thranduil ordered. "You are not his keeper. How many times must I tell you?"

Legolas watched as Sard halted, big brows hiding his eyes now in shadow. Muscles jumped along his jaw and then Legolas was pulled around a corner and his magician was gone.

They walked in silence for a while, which Legolas was glad for. He fought his tears, the aching pain in his chest and tried to think of anything other than when Blaon carried him kicking and screaming to his room, how he had hit and kicked him-

"You are very cold," Indari interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

Legolas swallowed his sob of fear from that day and tried to take his hand out of Indari's again.

"Your father told me that you are fading," Indari said, as if Legolas's struggles went unnoticed. "He explained this is why you are silent and cold."

Legolas tried to stop walking. He was fading? He did not know. All he knew was that the past wouldn't leave his mind alone and he was getting lost in grief. His heart began to race and he lost his war with the tears again. They fell hot and fast. He didn't want to fade.

"I hope to help you with this," Indari said, his voice cool and collected like Sard's but less gentle. "It would be a tragedy for any elf to fade, in my opinion. Especially one so small."

They arrived to Ada's chambers and Indari stopped, finally letting him go to open the door. The man didn't attempt to go inside. Legolas stepped into the room and looked back at him. The man's big lips were clamped together like iron vices.

"Besides," Indari said, "fading sounds like such a cowardly way to go. That is no way for a prince to die when there are so many other, more interesting, ways."

Legolas's tears stopped and he gaped at the human.

Those steel lips twisted into a forced smile again.

"Goodnight. I look forward to our time together tomorrow." The man shut the door in Legolas's face with a thud, leaving him to stare at the white-painted wood in silence. Not that Legolas could hear the quiet night, not as he got lost in his newly stirred thoughts.

And so he stood there until Thranduil arrived an hour later and carried him to bed.

Coward, he kept thinking. No. He did not want to be that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Lament for the Dark Night**

_AN: Thank you for the wonderful response to this story, especially thanks for the wonderful reviews. I am thrilled that these drabbles, that are solely done as a writing exercise, have been met with so much enthusiasm. Your encouragement helps me understand what readers look for in a piece, so I urge all of you to review and let me know what you like or would like to see happen. Wishing you all the very best. Happy reading. –J._

The soldiers at the barracks were in an uproar. Sard stood against the old oak that Legolas had saved and watched the courtyard, breathing in the heavy torch smoke and decaying odor of fall as plants began to die before winter could smother them. The soldiers who couldn't fit outside were crowded in the open hallways and doorways leading to it, all shouting in outrage. Pelorian and his sniper Yoneliel had just broken the news to the warriors that it was true; a human was their favorite elfling's keeper. Sard studied the furious faces surrounding him and evaluated their shouts. They couldn't get too out of control unless they wanted Thranduil to come down on their heads.

"Our prince can't have a human as his keeper." Iros shoved to the front of the group to face Pelorian and Yoneliel. A few quieted to listen to the knight. "He won't be able to teach him elfish history or lessons, and he won't even live long enough to see Legolas grown. Our prince will need a new keeper before long and what then? What will Legolas do if he gets attached to a human and that human dies simply because of old age? How can we save him from that?"

Fierce guilt swarmed through Sard's chest and he turned away, not willing to listen to these soldiers' worries. Iros's words stalked him as he slipped between elleths and elves and back into the crowded hallway. There were too many to get out as quick as he needed and before long he began shoving his way towards the exit. The blood rushing in his ears kept questions or any other comments out of his head and away from his aching heart.

Finally fresh air engulfed his sweating face and it took him a moment before he realized what he frantically searched for. Legolas's window. The window that overlooked the little prince's new quarters which he shared with his ada. A window that was dark, which meant he was asleep and with the king, safe and warm. Though it was far away and a mere speck in the night against the pale granite palace, interwoven between the great Greenwood trees of old, it brought a menial bit of peace to his soul. His breathing began to even again.

"Sard."

Sard didn't turn to look at Pelorian, didn't care that the archer had followed; he just couldn't bring himself to look away from that window. It was a window that he sought often when he was unable to look at the prince himself at night, just so he could be comforted that he was still alive.

"It's my fault, Pel," Sard choked. "They worry about protecting him from grief, but that is where I have already failed."

"No one could have stopped the beast, you fool. How many times must you hear it?"

"I was with him that day!" Sard swung to pin Pelorian with a glare, breathing heavy, his heart racing. "You know as well as I that it was my fault."

"You couldn't have stopped the queen and crown prince from doing what they did to protect him."

"But he didn't have to see it! Legolas shouldn't have had to watch his naneth and brother eaten alive. If I had just moved faster-"

"Enough." Pelorian took a step back, face pale, green eyes bright with anger or tears – Sard couldn't tell which. "It is done. You can't go back and fix it. We must focus on what is happening right now and that is a cult of humans looking to kidnap our prince and take him to the dragon who has wanted him for years, as well as now worry about his new human keeper. I do not trust him. There is something about him that makes me ill to look at, but I can't place why."

Sard ran both hands down his face, wiping the sweat off his skin, before turning to look at Legolas's window again. He felt the same as Pelorian. Though Indari proclaimed he was a merchant guard, Sard could still see a killer in him . . . the type of killer that no merchant guard would become. Indari was more than a soldier, more than any sniper or knight. It was unnerving that he couldn't place what the man was and he wanted nothing more than to take Legolas as far away from him as possible, as soon as possible.

"I leave in five days to find out more about this dragon cult." Sard's voice came out dull, which for him showed his frustration. "I can't watch him like he needs to be watched."

"Then we have to get rid of Indari before you leave," Pelorian said.

O

Indari was holding his hand again the next morning. Legolas didn't like the human touching him with his calloused large palms and fingers. His grip was strong but not painful. Legolas simply had no hope to escape him and run to the barracks to see his friends and pester Sard to apprentice him. He was still determined to become a magician, to be just like Sard, and then this man would have no reason to stay around because he wouldn't need protecting. Then he could have a regular elf to teach him again, rather than watch out for more fiery arrows.

A shiver ran through him at the thought, remembering Rugon and even Blaon.

"Look up, young prince," Indari instructed, his voice calm as ever.

Legolas obeyed, willing to wash away the images of Rugon's dead eyes and an arrow in Blaon's face. He saw that Indari had walked him outside and along the line of human merchants as they did business in the streets with Mirkwood crafters and chefs. Though the rumbling chatter of voices and bargains continued, many humans watched as he and Indari walked. Legolas was on Indari's side facing the people, and the hundreds of eyes that seemed to follow him made him instantly lift his chin and square his shoulders. He would not cower under their scrutiny.

"Isn't he beautiful?" he heard some ask.

"He glitters like he is made of gold and crystal," said another.

Legolas crunched his face up at that and tried to find the source to correct them, that he wasn't but flesh and blood like the rest of the elves. However, there were too many humans staring, pointing or waving at him to tell which had compared him to precious metal and jewels. He scowled at them all, willing them to turn away and go about their business. Pelorian was right. They were filthy, in more ways than one. Some of the probing leers made him uneasy and he wanted nothing more than to leave these mortals far behind.

He tugged on Indari and opened his mouth to tell him he no longer wanted to walk down Common Street, but his keeper turned to face the staring crowd with no regard to him.

"Good morning to you," Indari greeted, his voice calm as it always was but now less hard. "As you have noticed, King Thranduil's famous youngest son is out for a walk today. I am Indari, Prince Legolas's new keeper. Please, go about your day and give the young royal some privacy. He is shy."

Legolas turned his scowl on Indari. He was not shy. Just as he was about to correct the man, familiar and more welcoming hands scooped him away from Indari and blocked him from the crowd. Instead of being swarmed with curious, dirty human faces, he was met with Pelorian's grinning, dimpled one. Legolas wrapped his arms around the archer commander's neck and his legs around his waist.

"We missed you at the barracks this morning, little sprig," Pelorian said to only him, his voice louder than a whisper but still soft enough to not be heard by the gossipy humans. "All the soldiers hope that we haven't lost our breakfast companion just because you got a new keeper."

"I thought it would be best if he would begin doing breakfast with his father instead," Indari said.

Pelorian looked at him as if he had spoken in another language.

"Crown Prince Kasslad was the one who encouraged Legolas to eat with his friends in the morning to give the king time to deal with early morning business." Pelorian raised a chestnut brow, indicating that Indari was lacking a great amount of intelligence. "If you spoke with the crown prince about this, he would have explained why and that we are his friends at the barracks. Do not take us away from him. It would be unwise for many purposes."

Indari didn't look impressed. The bald merchant guard returned the incredulous stare with emotionless eyes the color of dead leaves on the archer.

"Elves live long lives," Indari said. "One would think elves would learn over the years that things tend to change." With those scathing words, the keeper reached for Legolas. Legolas pulled away from Indari's rough hands and buried himself against Pelorian, begging the commander not to let him go.

"Let's get him away from these human eyes before you begin your lessons," Pelorian said, not giving Indari a chance to argue as he began to hurry back to the palace.

Legolas gave Indari a devious grin over the archer's shoulder. The keeper acted like he couldn't be challenged, but he was and it brought Legolas great joy to see it.

Indari didn't seem bothered like Blaon would have been by Legolas's smile. In fact, he wasn't sure if the man paid him any attention. The human's previously impassive gaze was now narrowed and sharp as he studied the flat rooftops lining Common Street. The man subtly scratched at the corner of his right eye, returning his gaze to Pelorian. A cold seed planted itself in Legolas's stomach and he hastily searched the rooftops. The smallest shift of movement drew his attention, or else he knew he would never have seen the person crouched behind one of the roof's raised outer walls dressed in white to blend in with the building's pale stucco. As it was, Legolas struggled to make heads or tails of where the person began and the building ended. Legolas was familiar enough with the kingdom's sniper to recognize one, but he didn't understand why there was one sniping on Common Street.

A sudden glint of a bolt caught in the sun and he realized that it the crossbow was aimed his way . . . or at Pelorian. In that moment the bolt was released and it flew with blurred swiftness.

The horror of having Rugon, Nana and Oroduil die because of him washed through his heart in a mighty wave. He would lose no one else. With nothing more than the desperate need to save his friend, Legolas grabbed a lock of Pelorian's hair and gave it a vicious yank, throwing his body into the pull. Roots snapped with faint pops and the archer gave a shocked shout. Pelorian had no choice but to turn in the direction of the fierce tug.

The archer's surprised cry turned to one of agony, pitching higher as he jerked away from a new, searing pain. Legolas tumbled from his arms, but rolled to his feet to see if the bolt had only scraped his friend.

The ugly, razor edge of the bolt stuck out of Pelorian's left shoulder. It looked very close to his heart. Too close. Legolas swayed at the sight of blood wetting his black uniform and the commander's dry, gray pallor. Pale green eyes found his, terror in them.

"Run, tithen las," Pelorian croaked. "Run."

Legolas's horror transformed into black rage and he turned to the rooftop where the sniper lay in wait, likely having already set another bolt in place to finish Pelorian's life. He didn't know what he was doing, but allowed instinct to wash over him, turning his vision dark. He lifted one hand and pointed a trembling fist in the sniper's direction. Cotton seemed to wrap around his body, his head, blocking out sound, smell, touch. All faded to the one spot on that roof, the red pulse of a heartbeat in the man's neck, his chest, under his arms and inside his thighs. Legolas saw through his camouflage as if he had the eyes of the Valar . . . or a dragon. He turned his fist and the man dropped his crossbow to clutch his chest. Legolas focused on that pulsing heart, the red glow that pinpointed his attention, and he imagined it in his fist, imagined squeezing the soft issue that it was made from, digging fingers and nails into the thin walls and holding it still.

Instead of having the satisfying sensation of it fluttering to an end beneath his grasp, the heart jumped as if experiencing new pain and hot blood flourished from the man's neck. A round, serrated throwing blade nested in his throat, robbing Legolas of defending Pelorian's life. The sniper fell to a heap on the roof and he had no choice but to come back to his senses.

The overwhelming darkness that had encompassed him receded and the white golden sunlight of morning nearly blinded him. He heard the trees and potted plants up and down Common Street flinch as his presence among them returned, and felt them cower under his attention. Legolas blinked and fear gripped his chest, taking his heart in its fist and squeezing it. He had almost killed someone. Would it have been murder?

He sought Pelorian, tears pooling in his eyes, muscles trembling and wanted nothing more than to find comfort in his friend. Instead, Pelorian lay on his side surrounded by palace guards and soldiers.

"He inherited his ada's dark temper," he heard one guard whisper.

"His is even darker . . . touched by the dragon's shadow, it is," said another, though less quiet as if not caring to hide the insult.

Legolas flinched like nature had at his return and he hated that he had any part of his ada's darkness, the darkness that only the royals were given to protect the kingdom. He had seen that spirit fight away Kagnirrok and he had been terrified to silence, scared of his own ada because of it. A sob crept up his throat and he watched as Pelorian was lifted and carried swiftly to the palace.

Was he dead?

A pool of blood was left behind and his sob became a wail at the sight of it.

"Easy, little one." Indari crouched in front of him, but did not attempt to comfort him. Those dirty brown eyes, so lifeless, so careless, bore into his. "Perhaps the dragon wants you for more than your gold and silver looks. That is quite the skill you have, one I'm sure these humans will gossip about more than how pretty you are."

Legolas blinked through his weeping heart's pain and the fear still coursing through his veins to take a closer look at Indari. The human held tucked away a round blade, the same that had killed the sniper. It had been Indari who stopped Legolas from killing him. He didn't know how to feel about that, and his mind was lost at sea with his roiling thoughts to allow him time to evaluate it.

Indari stood and held out a hand to him. Legolas's senses slowly returned and with them came the smell of Pelorian's blood, heavy with iron, the roar of conversation from the frightened humans and even elven merchants, and the concerned stares the military soldiers offered him. Many of the soldiers looked ready to snatch him and get him away from here, inspecting the other rooftops. He heard Sard's name mentioned, but through the chaos he couldn't decipher why.

He would like to go to Sard now. His last close friend. However, he knew Indari wouldn't let him out of his sight. The human was very good at keeping him right where he should be. But that would end. It had to. Fresh, hot tears broke from his eyes as he determined it was time to leave. He had been playing with the idea for a while since Rugon's death, but the old oak's disgust with him and now Pelorian's murder were the last nudge. For his family's sake, for his friends and kingdom, he had to leave. No one was safe with him near, and he would not stand for another to be hurt while defending him.

Resigned to his fate, he grasped Indari's still waiting hand and let the retired merchant guard take him back to the palace.

O

Thranduil didn't believe Indari or the palace guard who had witnessed the incident on Common Street this morning. Yes, he believed the sniper that Indari had killed wore a curling dragon pendant around his neck and was part of this dragon cult. However, he did not believe for one moment that his tithen pen had nearly killed the sniper.

"He has never shown signs of having the dark spirit of Oropher's line," Thranduil laughed. How absurd. He just couldn't imagine Legolas, who was six years old, displaying a dark spirit almost as great as his own. "It had been Oroduil who had the royal curse," he said. "Kasslad has a touch of it, but Chailiel and Legolas were blessed with bright souls, free from this scourge. If Legolas had even a hint of the affliction, it would have been obvious from birth. As you know, dark things are under the command of those who suffer from it which is why we can keep the shadow at bay from these borders and the trees follow us . . . out of fear. It is well known. I and no one else have seen Legolas banishing away little spiders, snakes or anything else that lives in darkness. He is a bright elfling, with such a glittering soul that a dragon covets him."

The palace guard, whose name Thranduil didn't care to remember, shifted and glanced at Indari who ignored him.

"I know what I saw, my king," the elf said, slender shoulders bowed with fright.

Thranduil pinned Indari with his gaze and raised a brow, demanding his son's keeper to finally speak.

"Shadows sprang from every corner of the street to him and the world shuddered," Indari said, impassive in his report. "They crawled on his body as he focused on the sniper, who proceeded to struggle for breath under the prince's focus. If I had not acted quickly, your young son would be asking for your judgment on whether or not he murdered the man or if it was in self defense. He is six years old, as you said. Since he is already fading, I came to the conclusion that this often unanswerable, age-old question would not be good for him."

Thranduil studied Indari, mulling over the man's words. Though he was grateful to the human for sparing his youngest from getting blood on his hands at such a tender age, the realization that Legolas had the royal blemish on his soul made his own temper begin to boil. He attempted to control the dark rage by staring out across the throne room where they had gathered. Midmorning sunlight danced between the shifting gossamer curtains on each side of the long hall, the stained glass windows opened to allow the rare warmth of the fall day. Birds chirped and wind whistled, and he smelled freshly baked bread from the vendors on Common Street and the pungent odor of crushed leaves and drying grass. Still, none of this helped him clam.

"Your council may ask you to close Mirkwood's gates to human trading again after today." Indari broke him from his thoughts. "Some may argue that Prince Legolas did better without the admiration of humans, their gossip that will one day reach the unwelcome ears of a dragon, and has brought the religious cult to steal him away and has now attacked the kingdom twice within the first month after opening the kingdom again. Would you abandon Dale to poverty another time to protect your precious elfling?"

Thranduil's fury mounted and he glared down at the new keeper. He was bold and fearless, which was partly why he had wanted him for the job. However, he was right. The council would press him to isolate the kingdom again to spare elven lives and cease this endless trauma to his son. But if what Indari and this cowering guard said was true about Legolas having the powerful royal plague, he needed to stop pampering him. Yes, he wanted nothing more than to keep his youngest with him at all times, protect him from all evils, but with that power he needed a firm hand instead of a gentle one. In his experience, if ever he and his son clashed in an argument it would not end well. He had seen as much when he and Oroduil would fight, and entire sections of the palace had needed to be rebuilt.

What scared him though . . . he was furious at Legolas and he did not understand why. He had been proud that the elfling didn't have the affliction, that he was perfect, wanted by all, which had inspired such protectiveness in him and others. Now . . . everything was going to change. He blamed himself for giving it to him, and blamed Legolas for having it at all.

"I will visit Pelorian in the Healing Ward and give you an answer to that question after conferring with the council." Thranduil waved for the two to leave him, watching them march back down the stretched hall with contempt for himself. His temper still boiled and he fisted his hands to smother it. He could not be angry when he faced Legolas. He needed to be a good example of how to control a temper fueled by the shadow and give him no reason to fall to its tempting clutches.

O

Legolas was finally alone. Indari had been summoned to report what had happened at the market and he was by himself in his ada's chambers. He shoved the last of his spare clothes into his satchel and then faced the foreboding red door between his old room and his ada's. Walking in there made his stomach clench, even if it was to escape the palace since no one would expect him to use its door to the hallway. All of the palace guards and servants knew he wouldn't go near his old room, not since what happened.

He forced himself to remember Pelorian's ashen face as the blood drained out of him through the bolt in his shoulder, so near his heart. Given the courage to face his fear and save those left to him, he stepped to the door. He hoped Ada, Kasslad and Sard would understand.

He snuck the way he had seen Sard and his magicians sneaked when they practiced their odd skills on the training field, surprising knights, snipers and warriors alike. It had been a fun game to watch, and he hoped by observing he had learned enough to evade everyone in the palace, especially the ever-watchful Indari.

With his satchel strapped to his back, traveling cloak secured at his throat and his softest, quietest boots on, he escaped. The shadows were especially helpful, as if jumping across hallways and beneath torches to give him shelter from prying eyes. He was immensely glad for this, especially since it was a bright day and not even afternoon yet. But he couldn't wait for nightfall. He was never alone.

Like a ghost, he slipped out of palace and into Dove Lane, which was as far away from the ever-crowded Common Street that he could get. It was also miles away from the military barracks where his friends, and likely Sard, would see him sneaking about and grab him. He inched his way through the shadows between homes and courtyards, dodging fountains and wagons. He hushed a braying donkey as he surprised it with his sudden appearance under his stall. The animal calmed under his urgent whispers and he was off again.

Mirkwood's back entrance was less grand than the one that the merchants and all other visitors used. It was a small, narrow path that led to the southern end of the forest. A pale archway hovered over the opened steel and iron gates. They had once been made of diamond, so strong that nothing could have hoped to break into the lower end of Mirkwood's city. However, Kagnirrok took those too and Ada hadn't wanted to display their wealthy so openly again.

Two sentinel warriors stood guard, one in the shadows behind the archway and the other standing alone in the middle of the path looking out into the tangled forest. Legolas knew them both. Enicroh and Konalso. Enicroh stood on the path, his slight shoulders and long, rat tail legs didn't look like much but Legolas had seen him train and knew he didn't have much of a chance. Enicroh was faster than a striking snake. If that wasn't discouraging enough, Konalso was a short elf, made like a barrel and was one of the strongest elves in the kingdom. Rugon used to call him the ox. Legolas had no hope of sneaking past him, either. With Enicroh's speed and Konalso's strength, he would be caught and taken back to the palace faster than he would know what happened.

Gritting his teeth, he looked up. Not many people looked up, so if he climbed the rocks beneath the narrow stone path and onto the wall, he could escape into one of the trees and to the ground. However, it was steep beneath the path and the trees would likely toss him like the old oak had. It wasn't a good idea.

A caw drew his attention to the ground beside him. Standing in the shadows with him was a giant raven . . . a white one. Blaon had taught him this was called albinism. It was rare. Moreover, ravens were usually spies for the growing shadow. He hissed and sent a kick at the bird, offended that it had bothered him.

But the bird only jumped back instead of leaving. The raven stared at him with eerie red eyes and opened its thick beak to crow at him again. Legolas hushed it, glancing back to his warrior friends to see if they noticed. They hadn't and he sent a prayer of thanks to the Valar.

The raven took flight and headed right toward Enicroh, flapping its giant wings and screaming. The warrior ducked out of the way, a shout of surprise erupting from his lips. Both he and Konalso followed it outside of the gates to throw rocks at it.

"Get out of here, you ugly demon!" Konalso shouted.

"Take your talons back to Mordor," Enicroh joined in.

Legolas studied the raven as it flew in circles over their heads, leading them farther and farther away from the gate and pathway out. He was shocked beyond belief that this bird wanted to help him. Normally creatures of the dark hated elves. With a wicked smile, he crept along the shadows and disappeared into the forest away from the bird and his warriors.

He had done it. Everyone was safe now.

O

Legolas didn't know how long he had wandered in the forest, navigating his way over mangled roots and squinting through the increasing darkness. This is the area of forest where Kagnirrok had come, dragging with him the shadow carrying spiders and other fouler things that he had only heard rumors about from the warriors at the barracks. He didn't want to be in this part of the forest, but he had to get as far away from Mirkwood as possible. It wouldn't take them long to discover that he was missing for real this time, rather than just visiting the barracks. He didn't want to know what Ada's throne room would be like when he realized this.

He didn't know how many hours he had journeyed into the depths of Mirkwood, the true area of Mirkwood, the part that had erased the name and grandeur of Greenwood the Great. However, he knew it had been a long time because he was hungry and angry at himself for forgetting food. He didn't know where he was going, and also berated himself for shoddy planning. The sun was beginning to lower and darkness began to creep through the sky.

A caw echoed behind him. He didn't bother looking back. The white raven had followed him ever since, and though he thanked it and tried to send it on its way – it refused to leave him.

Though this unnerved him, he admitted that the raven's presence was starting to be comforting. The creature made him feel less alone, and it only ever seemed to crow at him when the disgruntled trees began to complain about his nearness. The cawing blocked out the trees cruel mutterings, saving Legolas the pain of having to hear how dirty he was.

"Since you haven't left me yet," Legolas told the bird with a backward glance as it walked on the ground behind him, "I may have to name you. Perhaps you aren't like your dark brothers and you don't follow the shadow." He thought for a moment before it came to him. He turned to face the pale bird and crouched to look it better in its strange red eyes. "Ulaire. It means ghost."

Ulaire tilted his head at Legolas and fluttered his wings.

"I believe that the albino likes the name."

Legolas jumped and Ulaire took flight only to land on his head. Legolas was too scared to care and fumbled at his side for his dagger.

"Peace, young one." Indari.

How had his keeper found him? He was far from the inner city. Indari stood relaxed before him though, as if he hadn't raced to catch up with him.

"How did you find me?" Legolas asked.

"You are speaking again?" Indari raised a thin brow and his lips clamped together for a moment. "Perhaps Ulaire had magical powers and broke your silent spell. I shall have the king thank the ugly fowl when we return."

Ulaire crowed at Indari, white feathers ruffled, making the bird look like it was armored. Legolas looked down from inspecting the bird through his eyelashes as it nestled its claws into his hair. He felt that Indari insulted his ada, but he was still too surprised to pinpoint by the human's appearance to figure out where the insult lay.

"The king has dispatched the entire military to find you." Indari crouched in front of him, but kept his distance. In a way Legolas was glad that the human never grabbed for him like Blaon had. "How am I to teach you anything if you keep coming into trouble like this? Our first day together and already you have shown your true colors and ran away. It is good that I was able to find you so quickly, isn't it? Else I fear that you father would have my head."

"How did you find me?" Legolas repeated.

"You truly are talented, little one," Indari said. "I am impressed. It is no big wonder that you have always been able to escape so often in the past to visit your friends and steal honey cakes from the kitchens. However, you will have no such luck with me. I am not like anyone else you've ever known." As he said this, his lifeless eyes sparked to life and a yellow glow overtook them. As soon as the light appeared, it dimmed, returning his eyes to the unimpressive brown.

"What are you?" Legolas was afraid. Ulaire croaked in agreement.

"For now, I am your keeper and I intend to watch after you. Trust is not something you seem to give freely, but I hope to one day earn it, little prince. I may not be what I seem, but I am no threat to you."

Legolas took a step back. He was not what he seemed, that was true enough.

Indari gave him a dark look at the retreat, stood and held out his hand like he had that morning.

"Let us return you to your father before he loses more of his mind. I worry enough for you without his rages."

Also like this morning, Legolas took Indari's hand, resigned to his fate. The moment their palms touched, Ulaire leapt from his head and took off into the trees.

O

Indari had been right. Ada had dispatched the entire military. Though he now sat in his ada's chambers, the still packed satchel on the bed beside him, his ears still burned with embarrassment. On the way back with Indari, they had come across three patrols searching for him. The patrols had shouted and rejoiced when they saw him, tears on many of his friend's faces, before the joy morphed to confusion and hurt. Not a few had asked him why he would run away as they escorted him with Indari back to the palace. He had no words to answer them, and strangely it was Indari who silenced any further interrogations.

However, it had been when he met Sard that he was the most humiliated. His magician met the large group at the back gate where Legolas had escaped through. Instead of rushing to him like the other soldiers had, Sard didn't move, didn't smile, didn't give any indication that he was glad to see him. Sard's dark eyes remained hidden by his heavy brows, his jaw made of steel. As Indari led Legolas passed his closest friend, the one he had left hoping to protect, he felt waves of grief rolling off him. But then Indari had pulled him away and when he looked back, Sard still stood where he was, facing the forest, the collected patrols passing him in silence.

Legolas hadn't seen his father yet. Kasslad had given him a brief hug and told Indari to lock him in his ada's chambers while the king took care of the mess that was made in Legolas's absence. If all of that didn't burn him enough with shame, the fact that he failed in his mission did. He would just have to try again.

Next time he might need help, and he knew just who to call on. No one was more willing to get into trouble that the twins from Rivendell, and though it had been two years since he had seen them, he vividly remembered their friendship.

The chamber door slammed open and Legolas jumped, startled out of his future plans. He looked up as Thranduil stormed into the room, a vision of dark wrath in his swirling red silk robes and glowing white hair. Silver eyes flashed when they landed on his son. Legolas flinched at the aura of darkness in them.

Legolas struggled to open his mouth to apologize, to explain. Before he had the chance, his ada crossed the room in a blur and grabbed his upper right arm. The powerful grip yanked Legolas off the bed and a biting pain slammed through his head from the left. It took him a few moments to realize that his ada had punched him in the eye. He blinked, nauseated, terrified, and gasped as he saw the big fist coming down on him again.

The knuckles smacked the sensitive, soft flesh around his eye a second time. Legolas didn't hear the sound of the fist on his face. He didn't hear anything, in fact. Pain ruled everything, it blurred the world, silenced it. He couldn't breathe.

"Answer me!" Ada shook him so hard that his head whipped back and forth, hurting his neck.

Legolas swallowed hard, licking his bottom lip and the split in it. He couldn't tell if the wet warmth on his face were tears or blood, or both. He squinted to bring his ada into focus, but his left eye was useless. He could see nothing out of it. With his good eye, which was thankfully untouched, he saw that his ada was crying. In fact, he was sobbing.

"Answer me!" Thranduil shouted and shook him again. The hold he had on his arms was painful and Legolas suspected there would be bruises there tomorrow. He wanted Sard. He wanted Nana. "Why did you leave me?"

Legolas worked his tongue to speak, but his lip was too swollen and the pain choked him.

"Why did you leave me?" Thranduil knelt before him, taking his face in his hands.

Legolas gasped and discovered that he was sobbing too, just as hard as his ada. It took him a moment to collect himself enough to respond just so he would stop shaking him.

"I don't want anyone else to die," he cried. "I'm not worth it. I'm not worth it!"

Thranduil pulled Legolas to him, and Legolas flinched. His ada sobbed at that and rocked him back and forth. Legolas pushed at him, wanting to be free, but he was not strong enough.

"You are worth it," Thranduil whispered. "You are my precious ion nin. I love you."

Legolas started screaming. He couldn't help it. He was terrified and his face hurt, and so did his arms and neck. He didn't feel safe anymore with Ada, and that hurt the worst.

"Never again." Thranduil pulled away and turned, grabbing something from inside his robes. It was rope. Thin and elven made, so very strong. "You will not leave me again." He set Legolas on the bed and wiped his tears away before going about tying the rope to the bottom right bedpost and then the other end to Legolas's left ankle. Legolas squirmed but Ada was too strong. He clawed at the sheets to get away, screaming louder.

"Sleep, ion nin," Ada begged. "It will be better in the morning, and I will teach you how to be powerful. You have the dark mark of the royals, so you will be very strong one day."

Legolas wailed wordless cries, knowing no one who would have come running was alive to save him now. The thought of using the terrifying darkness from this morning made him sick, but Ada didn't seem to notice. Ada wasn't well. And for that he wept harder.

"It's okay," Thranduil promised, taking a step back to smile at him through his own tears. "It's going to be just fine."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter six: A Complication**

_A/N: Thank you for the wonderful reviews. Though I have the story planned out, I will always happily add any suggestions you might have. It means the world to me to read your comments, both positive and constructive. Looking forward to your feedback. Happy reading._

"It is a late hour to call for me, king." Indari sounded amused. "Or perhaps it is too early."

Thranduil watched the dark sky. It was nearly black, the moon having long since bowed to the approaching dawn even though it was still a good two hours away. A white raven circled the palace, as it had been doing all night. The feathered ghost glided on wings of silence and kept a good distance from the window that Thranduil had yet to leave since putting Legolas to bed . . . or tying him there so he would not escape and run from him again.

His heart pounded so painfully in his chest he wondered if it wasn't lined with thorns. The moment yesterday afternoon when he discovered that his precious son was missing had caused such an ugly, blinding fear that the black fist of terror still weighed down his stomach. He had lost himself to a "dragon rage" so fierce that almost the whole palace was in shambles by nightfall. The servants had scurried from him like rats before flames wherever he had gone. No one, not even the council, bothered him as he turned the kingdom upside-down for Legolas.

Not only had his young son, still just a babe, gone missing so soon after another attack from the cult, but Thranduil kept wondering if his disappearance had anything to do with the darkness on Legolas's soul that he had only learned about that day. It was a powerful thing . . . and something he feared had lured his son away from the safety of his father and into the clutches of darkness, if not the dragon himself.

"King Thranduil?" Indari still sounded amused.

Thranduil took a shaking breath and tore his gaze from the strange white raven as it made another circuit around the palace to instead stare at his trembling hands. The knuckles on his right fist were bruised and torn. He choked on a sob at the too-near memory of hitting Legolas, the child his wife and oldest son died protecting, the son he would do anything for. He hated himself for it. What was worse . . . he hadn't been able to stop his body from harming Legolas. It had taken a surge of his furious temper to break his hold on his son. The moment he backed away, placing space between them, did the force manipulating his body stop. By then his son had a rope around his ankle and there was blood on his face.

"There is sorcery about," Thranduil finally said, struggling to make his voice steady. It came out thin though, as if woven around a single thread.

"Sorcery?" Indari sounded like he held back a laugh. "You do not speak of your black magicians, do you?"

Thranduil didn't have the strength to shout at him for his mockery. Instead, he pointed at his bedroom door where he knew Legolas wasn't sleeping. He had listened to his son's plaintive sobs all night long. Only recently had they stopped, but no deep breathing of sleep had replaced them. If anything, Legolas lay awake, spent from crying and stared at the door wondering when his ada would return.

Indari kept silent as he crossed the room and poked his head into the bedchambers. Thranduil saw out of the corner of his eye how his son's keeper tensed. He wondered if Legolas was sitting up in bed, terrified and staring like a deer at Indari. The look in Legolas's giant silver eyes after hitting him the first time has been forever burned in his mind, the image of trust shattered. Thranduil was tempted to throw himself out the window and rid himself of this disgust. Oh how Ayanu would hate him now.

"What was done to him?" Indari had taken on his monotone voice again, no longer amused.

Thranduil threw him a sideways glance, eyes filled with burning tears, and saw that the door was closed and Indari stood in front of it like he fully intended to keep Legolas from further harm.

"By my own hands," Thranduil whispered and held the offending weapons up for the human to see the bruises and torn flesh.

"It is true then." Indari's face, made of hard angular planes over muscles of steel, was impassive. Yes, the retired merchant guard was less than happy. "The soldiers, even these stoic palace guards, have given utterance to doubt your sanity. They have wondered if their ill-tempered king has finally met his match in an equally ill-tempered snake. Is this just a delayed collapse, or have you been doing this to the kingdom's beloved elfling all along?"

"I love him," Thranduil shouted, and he heard a faint cry of fear in his bedroom. If possible, his heart beat more painfully, bleeding into his chest and he had to grip the windowsill to keep himself from falling to his knees. Though he kept from collapsing, his grasp on the cool stone did not stop the tears from snaking down his cheeks.

"I have never harmed him before," Thranduil said. "I could not stop myself. I tried, oh how I sobbed while I hurt him, but still I could not stop."

Indari studied him for a long moment with his cold eyes of corroded brass.

"This is the sorcery you mentioned," Indari said.

Thranduil sat in the window seat and nodded, golden hair falling to hide his face and his shame.

"Then why call for me?" Indari asked. "I am but your elfling's keeper, not one of your magicians, military commanders or council members. I am not even a part of this family. If anyone should be here listening to your claims of becoming someone's puppet, Crown Prince Kasslad should have been summoned and I should still be asleep in my bed."

"The moment anyone in the kingdom hears what I've done," Thranduil said, "they will riot. They will make Kasslad king and I will be executed. This action is forbidden in the realm. I will pay for it just like any other elf, if not more so because of their love for Legolas."

Indari raised an uncaring brow. Thranduil gritted his molars at his insolence, but knew he deserved much less than that.

"You believe I will help you hide this . . . incident? He cannot open his left eye, not to mention the bruises that cover half of his pretty face. How am I to hide that? Why would I want to?"

"This has something to do with the cult," Thranduil said.

"You have placed your magician commander . . . Sard, I believe his name is, to investigate this cult," Indari reminded. "If you wish to speak about the cult, you should have called for him. All I can tell you is that I don't believe it has anything to do with the cult. Why would they wish you to hurt their beautiful elf when they want nothing more than take him to the dragon that covets him? Kagnirrok will not suffer to have in his possession a beaten, sobbing elf. That would be unproductive."

Thranduil stared at him with his mouth partially open, tears still streaming from his eyes. Thranduil never remembered wearing such an expression, but try as he might – he could not get a hold of himself. Now that he was speaking with someone about the horrors of what happened, what unspeakable thing he had done, he could not understand why he called the human here to confide in him.

Indari stepped away from his post in front of the door, another amused grin playing at his rough lips.

"Somewhere inside your broken heart you know it wasn't the cult," Indari said. "If it was, I'm sure that the kingdom would be closed again and no one would have seen Legolas this way, especially me."

Thranduil felt nauseous. What was wrong with him? Of course he knew this. In his embarrassment he turned away from Indari and watched that strange white raven fly past his window again. It was a ghost in the night, and somehow it brought him more unease. Ravens were typically servants of the shadow. However, such servants would often be drawn to Mirkwood royalty, attracted by the darkness they were marred with to protect the realm from an even greater darkness that always fought to get in.

"Yes, I noticed the raven too," Indari said. "It found Legolas as he was trying to reach the south end of the forest, the poisoned part of the kingdom, and it has followed him since. More proof that he has this scourge, as you call it. Tell me, how did the royal family . . . a family of Valar-blessed elves, creatures of light, come to have this gift of darkness?"

Thranduil stood and turned on the human, suddenly wary.

"The version I heard," Indari said, "is that your father, Oropher, made a deal with a great serpent who called this forest home, that together they would protect each other. The serpent would live in peace, unbothered by the human hunters searching to cut off its head, and in turn the royal family would have a piece of the snake's powers to keep the realm protected from shadows greater than the slimy beast that lived among mud and roots."

Thranduil made certain that his features were calm. It was true, but no one except the royal family knew it. If any elf learned of this alliance, there would be war. Elves did not make treaties with creatures of evil, and if Thranduil had the choice of it – there would have never been an alliance.

"It came in handy when Kagnirrok visited, though," Indari said, as if hearing his thoughts. "Could it be so hard to imagine if this serpent, having spent much time in protected solitude, heard of this cult and wants to do all it can to keep its share of the bargain? A few bruises would help keep reaching hands from taking the youngling, keeping him safe for a little bit longer."

"You work for the snake," Thranduil hissed, revolted. How had this human come across the beast, and how had it fooled him so completely? Unless it had been controlling him all this time. . . .

Indari laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound, one that did not belong to a human. Thranduil pressed against the window. The raven flew by again, closer this time, its shadow passing through the study over his head as it soared beneath the stars.

"This is what happens when you deal with dragons," Indari said. "Dekriem only wishes to help. Hasn't he so far?"

Indari stepped closer and a spark of fire lit in his eyes, igniting a rich yellow glow in his irises. The flare lasted but a second before dying again. Thranduil stared at him in awe. Though his ada had only told him about Dekriem, he couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't the beast before him. . . But that was impossible. No amount of magic could morph a dragon into the shape of a man.

"I will take Legolas to see Sard, since he misses his friend and wishes to apologize for worrying him yesterday," Indari said. "I'm glad we had this talk. Dekriem only wishes you to understand that your ally is very close, and intends to stay until Kagnirrok is killed. Then he will be gone and life will return to how you like it. In the meantime, make sure Legolas does not try to run away again. How can he be safe from one dragon when he is nowhere near the other that wants him protected?"

Thranduil's anger began to mount as Indari walked back to the door and to Legolas. He didn't know what Indari was, if he was this Dekriem or some other kind of monster, but it wouldn't touch his son again.

Before he could stop the creature, realization hit him.

"Blaon," he breathed. "You forced him to hurt my son, didn't you? He never once hurt Legolas until that day. You've been planning on taking this position to get close to Legolas for some time."

Indari stopped at the door to smile at him, though it didn't touch his dreary brown eyes.

"My only regret is not doing it sooner," Indari said. "If I had been his keeper that day, perhaps his friend Rugon would still be here and he would not be fading."

"How did you get Blaon to hurt him though? He didn't have the scourge like I do."

"He was angry enough for Dekriem to manipulate him," Indari said. "It was an easy mind to bend. Now do not waste time worrying about Blaon. Dekriem wants you to make sure Legolas doesn't leave the kingdom again . . . ever." Indari disappeared into the room and Thranduil slowly lowered himself to sit on the window seat again.

He didn't know what to do. His hands began shaking again.

O

Sunlight kissed the sky to make it blush, casting the night away. Legolas didn't want to hold Indari's hand, but decided that perhaps it was a good thing. He couldn't see out of his left eye at all. As a result, he couldn't quite see where he stepped. The going was slow for that reason, even though Indari led him carefully around frosted dew that had pooled between cobblestones and rocks that could have tripped him. He held the jacket Iros had lent him the night he tried to save the old oak, intending to give it back to him finally, and was glad that Indari was taking him to the barracks. It was much earlier than he would have gone normally, before Indari started making him eat breakfast with Ada, but at least he could see Sard. He was haunted by his friend's dejected face when he was escorted back to the palace last night, and felt guilty for worrying him. He just hoped he wouldn't react like Ada had.

The thought made him shiver and he swallowed thickly to keep the tears from falling. At least Ada hadn't come back to his chambers, and hadn't been in his study when Indari brought him out. Legolas hoped he would never see Ada again, and the thought ripped at his heart. The tears fell anyway.

Torches were still lit from the night, though had burned to their bases. Their struggling flames went to war with the sun as it raised higher, the firelight waning in the red and golden morning. Birds chirped at him and Indari as they passed underneath their branches. Legolas looked up to watch the flitting robins and blue jays, but was struck by seeing one giant, silent raven watching him too. It was Ulaire.

Before he could decide how he felt about the albino having followed him home, Indari pulled him into the barracks.

"My prince!" Iros waved from down the colossal stone hall. He hurried to them, the sword strapped to his belt slapping against his thigh as he jogged.

Legolas managed a smile for him and held his coat out for him to reclaim.

Iros stopped short, however. His dove-gray eyes were ablaze and Legolas cowered from the anger that suddenly enslaved the knight.

As if noticing Legolas's sudden fright, Iros crouched and gently took the heavy black coat from him. The knight gave him a weak smile, his cracked front tooth easy to see.

"Tithen las," Iros whispered and choked. "Who did this to you? You say their name and I will avenge you."

"He will not avenge you alone." The second voice brought Legolas to look up at another warrior, though through his tears he had trouble recognizing him. By the bow strapped to his back, he assumed it was one of Pelorian's archers. Thinking of his friend, the bolt in his shoulder, forced his tears to fall with new ferocity and he ducked his head to hide them.

Legolas couldn't imagine admitting that it had been his ada who hit him. Shame flew through his heart by admitting it to himself. What would his friends think of him then? Would they hate him for forcing his ada to such pain by trying to run away? If only they understood he just wanted to protect them.

"He is here to see Sard," Indari spoke in the silence. "Lead us to him, Iros."

Instead of balking at being ordered around by a human, Iros stood and began to hurry down the hall. Legolas blinked to clear tears from his good eye and took a deep breath to keep any more from materializing. Crying hurt the bruises on his face. He focused on the pain to help steady his aching heart.

As the tears stopped blurring the hallway, he realized that soldiers began to stare at him as they walked into the main hall from adjoining halls or from rooms. Dozens saw him, fell silent and followed as Iros led him and Indari to the kitchens. Legolas was too scared to look back at the crowd shadowing them, too ashamed of the pulsing black marks to lift his face for the world to see.

The aroma of fresh bread, straight from the ovens, melting butter and juicy apples recently sliced made Legolas raise his good eye in search for the one person he wanted to see, to mend any harm he had done to a friendship that meant everything to him. Beside Fesove the cook sat Sard.

The magician slowly rose from his chair, for once his imposing brows not hiding his dark blue eyes. The brightness of the kitchens flushed his face and sent shadows cast from his lashes across his cheeks. He ran to Legolas but stopped short of pulling him into a hug. Legolas was relieved that there was no anger in his friend, only worry and fear. He saw how Sard's arms twitched, as if wanting to hold him. Legolas wished Sard would pick him up and protect him. He wanted Sard as his keeper, the only person he felt safe with now aside from Kasslad.

"What happened, Legolas?" Sard asked, choked.

Legolas felt the pressure of the crowd piling into the kitchen. He looked to Fesove, who would have shouted at them to sit down or get out. Instead, the giant cook stood silent with the rest of them, worry and anger fighting to take over his face.

"I'm sorry," Legolas whispered to Sard.

Furious whispers rippled through the kitchen. Indari let his hand go and Legolas took a wary step closer to his friend.

"Why are you sorry?" Sard reached out as if to touch his swollen eye, but didn't.

"I ran away," Legolas said. "I can't lose any of you. Pelorian . . . I left to protect all of you."

If it was possible, Sard looked even more hurt. The whispers were replaced by a few quiet, mournful cries.

"Our job is to protect you, tithen las," Sard said. "I only blame myself for not protecting you better. You should not feel this burden."

The weight on Legolas's heart lightened a bit and he fell into Sard's arms, desperate for comfort and to feel safe again. Sard wrapped his strong arms around Legolas in response, tightening his hold protectively.

"Now tell me who did this to you." Sard's voice was gentle, a welcome sound in his ears.

"A member from the dragon cult lay in wait in your king's chambers last night," Indari said.

Legolas snapped to look at him, eye wide at the lie.

"He tried to kidnap the young prince. There was a fight, and Legolas came by these hurts because he struggled to get away and his captor attempted to subdue him. Your king saved Legolas, and the human now sits in the dungeons."

Legolas wondered how Indari would support his fib, especially if anyone bothered to see if there was a human in the scarcely-used dungeons.

"Is this true, tithen pen?" Sard whispered in his ear.

Legolas looked up at him but didn't know what to say. Sard's eyes hardened as if he saw the truth in Legolas's beaten face. The magician kissed his forehead and began to rock him back and forth, humming a soft tune. Legolas picked at Sard's black uniform, content for the first time in days.

"Can you apprentice me?" Legolas's question was barely above the sound of a breath.

Sard leaned back and smiled at him, both sad and touched.

"I thought you wanted to be a knight," Sard said.

"I want to be like you."

"What if I want you to be like yourself?" Sard brushed locks of unbraided hair from Legolas's cheek, fingers tender on the bruises. "What if I want you to be a happy elfling with nothing to worry about except his studies and dreams of adventures?"

"I wish I didn't dream about adventures."

Sard closed his eyes as if Legolas's answer had physically hurt him.

"Then yes, my prince," Sard said. "As soon as I get back, you will be my personal apprentice. I will make you a magician, if that is what you wish."

Legolas smiled, though he felt that it was crooked because of the swelling in his eye. Just as he was about to thank his friend, the rest of the elf's words hit him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I have duties, young one," Sard said. "I won't be gone long."

Before Legolas could protest more, Sard reached into his robes and produced a red vial filled with liquid. He pressed it into Legolas's hands.

"In the meantime," he explained, "take this. As a magician, you must always have it with you. Use it at every meal or whenever you drink. Pour one drop into your glass and if the liquid foams, then you know not to drink it."

"Why?"

"Because then it is poisoned. Every magician uses this because we all have our enemies. Can you do this while I'm gone?"

Legolas nodded and clung to the vial, desperate to prove himself to Sard.

O

Legolas sat in his ada's study later that afternoon. Indari wanted to do his studies there, but had gone to get the books he needed. Though he had just begun learning how to read and write, Indari wanted to push his skills and force him to read easy texts on his grandfather, Oropher. He seemed especially interested in teaching Legolas about how Mirkwood was built.

However, as he sat alone, he couldn't help but think about the events from last night. The terror forced him to stand and pace in front of the empty fireplace. Sard didn't say how long he would be gone, but Legolas couldn't bear the thought of being without him nearby.

He remembered last night's determination to try running away again, but with help from the Rivendell twins. He didn't want to run away now, not with Sard's agreement to apprentice him, but perhaps the twins could be here with him while he waited for Sard to return.

Besides, maybe with them around his ada wouldn't hit him. He was terrified that the next time he saw his ada the anger would return in his eyes and. . . .

Legolas rushed to his ada's desk and grabbed a paper from the stack in the left corner. He stood in the chair and reached for the quill, uncapping the ink and dipping it in.

_Elrohir and Elladan,_

_ It has been too long._

Legolas paused. He studied the words, scrutinizing them to ensure they were spelled correctly. After he decided that they were, he thought about what to write next and how to spell those words. He didn't want to give them the impression that he was too young for them to visit, not when he felt like he needed them as badly as he did.

_I miss you. Will you come back tomorrow?_

_ Legolas_

He nodded. After carefully placing the quill back, and putting the lid over the ink again, he folded the letter up like he saw his ada do many times. After refolding it once or twice, he lit one of the candles and let the wax seal the paper shut. He watched the wax dry and poked at it to make sure it wouldn't stick to anything. Satisfied, he place it on the pile of other letters Ada had already written. One of the servants would be by later to take the stack and send them out with the messengers.

"To Rivendell?" Indari.

Legolas jumped at his voice and looked up at him.

"I just wanted to say hi to my friends," Legolas said.

Indari picked the letter up and studied "Rivendell" scrawled across the front. He smirked at Legolas and took it over to the fireplace.

Where there was once nothing but cold ashes, now there were flames. Legolas leapt off the chair and gaped at the orange and red tongues of fire. It was magic. He thought of Indari's glowing eyes in the forest when his keeper found him and shivered. Indari was definitely no man.

Whatever he was, he tossed Legolas's letter into the fire. Legolas watched the wax melt and the paper brown and begin to curl, devoured slowly by the heat.

"We will have no more mischief from you," Indari said. "Now let us sit and study about your grandfather, shall we?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Glorfindel**

_A/N: Thank you again for the wonderful reviews, follows and favorites. Please review some more and let me know your thoughts! Happy reading._

Cool golden light of an early autumn evening glittered through the thrown-open windows surrounding the royal healing ward. This part of the ward was a large domed hallway at the farthest end of the palace. It stood gazing at the three star-lit falls, each gentle cascade a whisper that echoed through the windows and into the ward. Legolas watched the waterfalls as they swept like silk cloaks over the gray cliffs, the mist rising and transforming into shattered sunlight.

He lay on top of one of the many beds, trying to let the serenity of the ward ease his anxiety. Sard had come to get him just before dinner, ending Indari's lessons for the day. Sard was leaving tomorrow, and he said he wanted to ensure that Legolas wasn't hurt more than what could be seen.

"I don't want to leave without knowing he is being taken care of," Sard had told Indari, excusing the creature. "I will bring him to the dinner," Sard insisted.

Surprisingly, Indari had left without a single word.

Legolas sat alone now. Sard had dropped him off with a kiss to the head and a promise to return shortly. So had the healer.

"Are you the prince?" a small voice asked, coming from the far end of the hall, back by the doors. Her question was almost lost even in the soft rush of water outside.

Before answering, he turned in search of who had spoken. Standing by alone in the wide, sweeping space between the beds was an elleth. She seemed to be his age, same height but a slighter build. Hair the color of cotton clouds rolled over tiny shoulders, wavy throughout and gently curled at the ends. Her deep green dress was partly covered by a white apron, which she fiddled with like she was nervous.

"I am," he said. "Who are you?"

"Lawae is my naneth," the elleth said.

Legolas smiled and felt how crooked it was because of his swollen eye. He liked Lawae, his healer today. She was the head healer for the kingdom and had taken close care of his family since Kagnirrok's raid.

"I'm Mala." The girl started walking briskly down the hall towards him, short legs making quick work of the space between them. Any shyness she had had vanished, though he didn't know how.

She came right up to his bed and grinned, big eyes bright. They were the strangest shade of green that he had ever seen. They were the same hue of pale river grass in an early frost. Her eyes reflected light in such a way that they looked as if there was ice in them. White lashes only added to the illusion, as did her brows. The only other color on her was the small blush in her large cheeks and the red bite to her lips. Overall, she looked frozen, as if she had been born from winter.

He thought she was the prettiest elleth he had ever seen.

"My nana told me to keep you company," Mala said. "She is still making the paste you need for the bruises."

Legolas tensed for a moment, afraid she would ask how he got them just as her naneth had. Instead, Mala crawled onto the bed and faced him. She pulled marbles out of one of her apron pockets and scattered them on the sheets.

"Do you know how to play stones?" she asked, her voice so sweet and chipper that he felt the tension melting right out of him.

He loved to play, but hadn't since Kagnirrok. Kasslad used to be the one who played with him, but no longer, not since he forgot how to be happy.

Legolas wasn't sure how long they played, but for the first time he forgot his hurts. She teased him as he continued to lose one game after the next, but he never minded. Her words were never mean, but rather pulled small laughs from him instead. It felt strange laughing, almost as if he was doing something wrong. How could he laugh when so many things were sad?

"Forgive me for taking so long, my prince," Lawae said as she burst into the hallway, a small bowl in hand and a towel. "I promise not to keep you too much longer."

Legolas looked outside and saw that the golden evening had turned into a cool blue twilight, the waterfall mist having morphed from specks of sunlight to an undulating sheet of silver. Mala scrambled to pick up the marbles, shoving them back into her apron pocket with small clacks. Legolas faced her to thank her for the company, but she had leaned too far forward. He saw her frosty green eyes, bright with mischief, and faintly smelled sugar plums just before she brushed a kiss against his cheek. He barely felt it, too shocked to understand what was happening. Before he had the chance to figure it out, she had slid off the bed and hurried out of the hall, her naneth's scolding shouts chasing her away. He listened to her scampering footfalls and touched his cheek, the bruised one.

Though he didn't know what really happened, other than a strange elleth trying to be his friend, warmth spread through his veins. For the first time in ages, the growing chill in his bones began to thaw.

Ularie quorked somewhere outside, his call grating, hollow and cold.

O

"You really think it was Thranduil?" Pelorian asked.

Sard frowned at him from his seat beside the bed and checked the Healing Ward again. It was mostly empty, aside from a few soldiers who were injured during one of the patrols to the sick part of the forest, but they were still unconscious. Regardless, he leaned on his knees and sent his friend a heavy glare through his bushy black brows.

Pelorian's left arm was in a sling, but he would survive the bolt to the shoulder. Though Sard was glad for this, the pain had done nothing except improve his friend's protectiveness over Legolas.

"I believe it was King Thranduil," Sard whispered. "His temper has grow, and our elfling was beaten the night he tried to run away. There is no human in the dungeons, either. If the king had the cult member killed, it would have been public."

Pelorian's complexion turned florid, color blossoming to his hairline.

"You are leaving at the wrong time," the archer commander growled. "At least take him with you."

"To investigate the cult that wants to steal him for the dragon?" Sard laughed. It was not an amused sound.

"You can't just leave him here with his mad father."

"Hush, or you will wake the dead with that talk," Sard snapped. "No one can know of this. We have no proof yet."

"We all know it, even if no one saw the king do it," Pelorian said. "His dragon rages have only been getting worse, and he is possessive of his children, especially Legolas. The violence of his possessiveness has been a worry of ours for too long."

"If this gets out," Sard warned, "the kingdom will execute Thranduil. Kasslad will be crowned. This will be done regardless if we are right or wrong. Even the hint of suspicion would be enough to topple Thranduil's reign."

"What's so wrong with that?"

"What if the snake returns? Thranduil scared the beast away. Without him, we are vulnerable."

Pelorian scowled and leaned back in his pillows. A wince creased his brow. Sard ignored it.

"I will return quickly, but stay close to Legolas," Sard said. "Keep an eye on Indari, too. He has a hand in this, somehow."

Sard stood and glanced out the window. Small brown spiders scurried across the sill and into the palace. He squinted at them. Usually creatures of the dark avoided coming near elves. . . .

"I don't guarantee that I will stay silent about this, mellon nin," Pelorian whispered.

Sard closed his eyes. He had feared this would be the case, but couldn't leave without expressing his concerns. Someone had to know them, especially if they turned out to be right.

"This smells wicked. Something is very wrong," Pelorian said.

"Then I will hurry back to stop you from saying anything," Sard said.

"You will be too late. As soon as I leave this ward. . . ."

Sard rested his gaze on Pelorian and took a deep draw on the fresh evening breeze. It smelled of wet dirt from the nearby falls.

"Do as you must," Sard said. "Consider what I said about Kagnirrok first. That's all I ask. Your words of speculation will only cause more pain for our elfling, and drop our home into chaos."

"At least Legolas will be safe."

"Will he?"

O

Thranduil watched the sun set outside. The feeling of unease had taken residence in his chest, wringing his lungs and muscles in its shaking hands.

"Ada." Kasslad.

Thranduil refused to turn. Though his son hadn't asked about Legolas's bruises, he suspected that the crown prince still knew. All day, Kasslad had been treading more lightly around him than usual. Though it would normally make Thranduil upset that Kasslad felt the need to be careful around him, as if he would hurt him, he didn't blame him anymore. In fact, he feared that even looking at one of his children would make the dragon rage return.

"Yes?" he asked.

"A large party of Lothlorien elves has arrived." Kasslad's voice was a hollow tune. "Lord Glorfindel from Rivendell is among them. He says he was in the Golden Wood visiting Arwen when the news of Mirkwood's open gates arrived. He is asking after Legolas."

Of course he was. Thranduil remembered when the legendary Glorfindel had last visited his kingdom, though in the presence of Lord Elrond and his twin sons, both of whom were still in shock from losing their mother. He had since heard that the twins were less jovial than they were then, their sadness being eaten by a furious anger.

The fact that Glorfindel was not with them told Thranduil how far gone the twins had become. Glorfindel had not traveled alone in millennia, not since finding home and family in Rivendell and Elrond's halls.

During his last visit, Glorfindel had scarce let go of Legolas. He had held the then tiny one-year-old in his arms for most of his stay.

"He is so small," Glorfindel had told both him and Ayanu. "Look how innocent he is." Thranduil had known then that the Balrog-slayer would protect Legolas as much as possible, and had been honored.

Now, it was a complication.

His anxiety twisted his insides even more fiercely.

"Have Glorfindel meet me here," Thranduil said. "I will speak with him before greeting the group from Lothlorien."

Kasslad left the study without a word, which broke Thranduil's heart. However, he forced himself to focus on what to tell the warrior about his son's bruises. There would be no hiding them, and it would be wise to explain things to Glorfindel before he saw them.

O

When Glorfindel arrived, Thranduil could see his confusion. The golden-haired warrior, almost as tall as the knight commander Naspen, and nearly as wide as Rugon had been, was an imposing figure to face . . . even for the Elvenking. At least, he was when knowing that his temper would soon be seen. Thranduil braced his hands before himself and inclined his head to Elrond's dearest friend.

"Where is the tithen prince?" It was obvious that Glorfindel was trying to ease the tension in the study.

Thranduil didn't give him an immediate answer. Instead, he held himself still and listened to an owl hoot outside. The open window at his back had grown dark, the wind growing stronger.

"Legolas is in the healing ward," he finally said.

Glorfindel's brow crooked.

Before he could ask, Thranduil raised his chin and felt his eyes go hard.

"I hit him," he said. "Beat him bloody and to sobs."

For a moment, Glorfindel looked stunned. Blue eyes went as wide as oak leaves and his mouth pressed thin and white. Thranduil tracked the elf's anger through the deep red heat lifting through his neckline and to his powerful, furious jaw. The veins in his eyes suddenly seemed more apparent as well.

Before he could cross the room and beat him bloody, Thranduil finished his tale. He described Indari, and he even confessed about his ada's alliance with Dekriem. If anyone could help him now, it would be the Balrog-slayer.

It was a gamble, but he really didn't have much choice. He would not allow Indari, whatever he was, control him.

By the end of his tale, Glorfindel had his sword hand on the pommel of Light Bringer, which was still strapped to his waist. In fact, he still wore his traveling clothes.

"I'm going to take the elfling," Glorfindel bit out between his teeth.

Thranduil felt himself grow angry at that. His hands fisted.

"Lord Elrond will raise the prince and once Elladan and Elrohir learn of what you've done, I will not stop them when they ride after you. They will cut you ribbons, king or no."

"It was not me who harmed my son," Thranduil shouted.

Glorfindel did not cower like all other elves would have. Instead, he rushed close to him, face to face, a billow of righteous rage.

"You have venom in your blood, is that what you're saying?" Glorfindel growled. "A piece of a dragon in you, made from a deal Oropher made with a lesser serpent? Your own people will hang you for it. You are tainted. It is driving you to madness. I will not let you give this to Legolas, or to Kasslad."

"You will kill Mirkwood's king, and kidnap its princes?" Thranduil laughed and it was cruel. "Armies will cut you down."

Glorfindel gripped the front of Thranduil's robes and shoved him into the desk behind him, fists trembling in fear or anger – Thranduil didn't know.

For a moment, Glorfindel said nothing.

"There is only one way to prove your madness." He released Thranduil and swept to the door.

Thranduil's mouth had gone dry.

Glorfindel was about to pick a fight with a dragon, or whatever creature a dragon sent to do its bidding.

O

The library was empty. Legolas didn't want to be here. Indari had intercepted him and Sard on their way to dinner, demanding that he had orders from the king to take the prince to his study first. Thranduil, apparently, had wanted to show up at the dinner with him and Kasslad.

Legolas shivered in fear. He hadn't seen his ada since. . . .

But this wasn't the study, either.

He waited by the door as Indari searched for books he would need for tomorrow's lessons, pulling at his fingers as he waited, trying to ignore his nervousness at the same time. He didn't want to see his ada.

The quick patter of running feet drew his attention to the door at his back. He turned to see it flung open. Though he wasn't sure who it would be, he still did not expect to see Mala. Her big cheeks were ruby from hurrying, white hair flung about her like a halo, frosted green eyes wide with panic. There was a mug between her pale hands, brown tea sloshing over the rims onto her fingers. It was half empty.

For a moment he feared Kagnirrok was back. He tensed as he listened for the rumble of the snake's voice. Instead, there was only Mala's shallow breathing.

"My naneth sent me to give this to your ada," she whispered, big eyes frantically searching around them. She stepped closer until he smelled sugar plums again and his heart quickened. "I went but heard him talking about the dragon. Legolas, he said your keeper is the beast, that he is a man only through some kind of sorcery. You have to get away from him."

Legolas stared blankly at her, but not for long. Remembering how Indari's eyes had lit to yellow flame in the forest, and Mala's fear now, was all he needed to believe her. He nodded and took her by the arm to turn her out of the library. They would run to the dining hall where Sard waited for him. Sard would know what to do. They just had to get to him before Indari discovered that anyone knew what he was.

"Who is your friend, little prince?" Indari.

Mala gasped and dropped the mug. Legolas watched as the blue ceramic hit the white marble and shattered with a fragile, short-lived scream. Tea poured across the colorless stone as if someone had emptied their bowels. Legolas shoved Mala through the door and away from Kagnirrok, the gory memory of his nana and brother being eaten alive flashing over his eyes. No one else. Not again.

Mala stumbled into a stranger who stepped into the library entrance. Legolas's heart sped, desperately hopeful that it was Sard. Instead, it was an elf the size of Naspen and as wide as Rugon caught the pretty elleth. Legolas stared up into the strange face, framed by long hair the same deep gold that his nana's had been. Intense blue eyes caught his and his sloping brow creased in worry.

The elf gently steadied Mala and shifted her so she was out of his way. He strode straight to Legolas and knelt. A mix of emotions swilled through his misty eyes and his hands hovered over Legolas's shoulders as if too afraid to touch him. Legolas knew what he saw, the bruises, swollen eye and growing fear of his keeper who stood too near. What any of this meant to the giant stranger, he didn't know.

"You don't remember me," the elf observed in a broken whisper.

"Lord Glorfindel," Indari greeted.

Legolas didn't recognize the name.

Glorfindel stood and turned on the keeper in a swirl of silk golden and pale blue robes, long hair whirling like a cloud. His great sword was in his hands and he stood in front of Legolas and Mala as if about to go to war in their defense. Before Legolas could understand why, the elf was on Indari faster than his eyes could follow. The white-silver blade snickered through the thick air, swift as blowing rain and as fierce as Kagnirrok's shuddering roar.

Legolas gaped as Glorfindel attacked Indari, quicker than any of the soldiers in his ada's barracks, angrier than Rugon or Pelorian had ever been. Watching him was like watching wind skip gracefully over a river, but still that bright weapon never touched the retired merchant guard. Indari slithered away from before each of Glorfindel's cuts, hands resting behind his back as he stepped around the graceful elf. There was a smile on his clamped lips, dull brown eyes creased with amusement instead of the shock of being assaulted.

Warm fingers entwined with his and drew him out of the library. He grasped the door before Mala could pull him away, too entranced to leave without understand why Glorfindel would go after his keeper. Could the whole kingdom already know that Indari was the snake?

"You are ugly and weak," Glorfindel shouted. "Show me what you are!"

Then the blade met its mark. Its razor edge sliced through the red sleeve on Indari's right arm, just below the shoulder. Legolas watched the tanned skin that was revealed as the fabric draped away from the wound, but there was no blood. The deep laceration in his flesh was as dry as if the skin were meant to open there, like the space between his fingers or toes.

Indari studied the wound. When he raised his eyes, there was fire in them again. His iron-hard lips peeled back to reveal rows and rows of blood-stained fangs.

Mala screamed, her fear making Legolas put himself in front of her and grip her hand harder. She clung to his arm as they watched the façade of a man melt away. His skin darkened, hardened, and his silk robes ripped. Legolas couldn't look away from his face, mesmerized as his mouth and nose merged and lengthened. The eyes of fire turned red and rose up along his head, ridges forming across the center of his bald scalp.

A deep hiss filled the library, bouncing between shelves as the beast lifted its thickly muscled neck to stare down at them.

It wasn't Kagnirrok.

This snake was much smaller, its body thin as if made of one complete slab of muscle. Willowy fore- and hind legs bowed as it lowered its belly onto the marble, its impressive tail twitching from side to side like an irritated feline. Its tail was three times as long as its body. Though it couldn't be more than ten feet tall, it was more than twenty feet long. Legolas could see that now as it unraveled itself.

Two brown wings stretched from between its undulating shoulder blades, reaching towards the vaulted ceiling and touching each end of the library. A deep drumming thrummed his bones and Legolas forced Mala to take a step back as he tried to retreat.

This beast was not as impressive as Kagnirrok, but it was still a dragon.

It was still terrifying.

Mala pulled at him again and broke Legolas from his horror. He fled with her, hands still grasping each other. He heard heavier footfalls and glanced over a shoulder in time to see Glorfindel race after them, sword still in hand and eyes bigger than before.

The serpent burst through the wide library doors, one wing making crumbs of the marble in its rush. An elleth screamed and he was back to that day Kagnirrok destroyed Greenwood the Great, all because of diamonds and him.

He smelled sulfur, smoke, fear. His heart rammed against his ribs and he screamed with the rest of them. The beast filled the hallway behind them, pale brown and glistening in the torchlight. Red eyes followed him.

Glorfindel must have seen how the beast watched him because he stopped, chest heaving. Legolas looked back and met his gaze, which turned to steel as he turned to face the beast.

"Dekriem," Glorfindel shouted.

The beast stopped its slithering to arch its thick neck and switch its heated, heavy gaze to the elf. Glorfindel lifted his sword as if he had any hope to fight the great snake.

The dragon lowered its head in one swift motion, crashing into Glorfindel and throwing him into the wall. Legolas thought he heard a sickening crunch as his head met marble. The elf slumped in a pile of silk and blond hair, his sword clattering like broken ice across the floor.

Glorfindel didn't get back up.

He didn't move at all.

Mala dragged Legolas around a corner. There were tears in her eyes, pale as melting snow. She pulled him to move faster, headed straight for the dining hall as if she knew Sard was there and would save them, though Legolas no longer knew how unless the black magician had a trick up his sleeve that he had never heard about. As much as he dreaded it, he knew that his ada was the only hope they had.

Legolas continued to risk looking over his shoulder for this Dekriem, as the elf had named him. However, the snake was never behind them. He feared where it could have gone, if it was trying to get ahead of them, because he knew from before that there was no way to outrun a dragon. Though Dekriem wasn't as large or powerful as Kagnirrok, it was still evil and still a dragon.

But then Mala shoved through some servants into the dining hall, dragging him behind her. The room was full. Sard was by the doors. Sharp concern made the magician straighten in an instant when he saw them. Legolas didn't stop to tell him what chased them, but instead searched for his ada.

Thranduil stood in all his majesty at the head of the table. Legolas heard the spreading silence at his and Mala's abrupt and frantic entrance. Mala froze at the attention, tears still spilling from her frosty eyes. Legolas pulled her into a run for his ada then, hope igniting in his heart that his ada would make this lesser serpent flee just as he had made Kagnirrok flee.

Thranduil must have seen their fear like Sard had, because he left his spot at the table to rush towards them. He knelt before Legolas, catching him.

"Dragon," Legolas breathed.

Though he spoke just above a whisper, the whole room gasped and screamed. Elves raced through doors opposite from where Legolas and Mala had entered.

He felt Sard's commanding, comforting presence suddenly appear behind him. Other soldiers melted seemingly from the walls, weapons in hand as the guests rushed to escape.

His ada didn't seem surprised, but rather disgusted. He turned his head to the side as if to spit, and drew Legolas into his arms.

"We need to fight this beast before it comes for him." Kasslad had a sword in hand like the other soldiers, so like Oroduil in that instant that it was painful to look at him.

"Of what beast do you speak?"

Mala forgot her fear and clutched at the king and Legolas met her terrified gaze over his ada's sheltering arms. Thranduil stood, lifting him and turning his body as if to shield him from the dragon who was now just a man once more.

Indari strode forward, hands behind his back as if he sauntered through a garden, bald scalp bright under the torchlight, dull brown eyes wrinkled with false concern.

"My son says there is a dragon in these halls," Thranduil said. "Is this true?"

"I fear that he was reading a book on Kagnirrok before this," Indari lied, so easily. "It is my fault. I took him to the library to collect texts he would need to study tomorrow. While he waited for me, he found a book on the beast and must have dozed off. His nightmares are terrible things, are they not?"

Legolas tore his gaze from the man who was not a man and saw a large group of silver elves he had never seen before. They stared at him in horror, confused but also hadn't run like the Mirkwood elves had. He realized then that they were visitors, though couldn't be from Rivendell. They were too fair.

Shouts filled the halls behind Indari. Tension returned as swift as an ocean wave.

"Lord Glorfindel!" someone screamed. "Where is Lawae? He needs her."

The silver elves hesitated, but then all rushed toward the door. They kept well away from Indari. Legolas watched them go, horrified that perhaps the elf was already dead.

"Aren't we going to eat?" Indari asked, uncaring about the panic trailing behind him. "Where have the guests gone?"

O

Legolas stood in his ada's study, hungry, cold and scared. He hadn't eaten, and the dinner didn't last long. Hardly anyone ate, except for Indari. Legolas had watched the snake in its human flesh suit and saw his serpentine, elegant movements for what they were now. He wondered how he could disguise himself so well.

Mala had been taken away by servants to her mother in the healing ward. Legolas and her stared at each other as she was led out of the dining hall, and he wished that someone had asked for her story instead of writing off his fear as a dream. It was as if no one noticed that she was just as scared as him. Of course, she wasn't royalty. She wasn't anything to them and he hated that.

"You should not have sent the Balrog-slayer to force the matter," Indari's monotone voice sounded outside the study. Legolas froze. "Do you not understand that I am helping? It is as your father wanted."

"He would not want this." Thranduil was angry. Legolas's palms began to sweat. He listened as they came closer to the door.

"You will be rid of me when Kagnirrok is dead and the kingdom safe again." The door opened. "Until then, it seems I must teach you not to get in my way again."

Legolas looked up as his keeper entered, graceful and threatening as ever. Legolas backed away from him, but Indari never even looked at him.

"Thranduil," Indari called.

"You will not do this!" Thranduil was close to one of his dragon rages. Legolas could hear it in his voice, and began to tremble. "He is my son!"

Indari lifted one dark brow and his ada entered the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle a painting of the sea next to it. Legolas took another scared step back. Thranduil's cold blue eyes landed on his and suddenly he was there again, just like the night before last when he had tried to run away.

Legolas screamed as the fist fell against his face. The hit was hard enough to split skin. Legolas felt the numbness through his already bruised eye, and a liquid of heat stream down his cheek to his chin. He stumbled into the desk drawers, wooden handles pushing against his back. He tried to force his way past them to hide under the desk, but his ada grabbed hold of his hair and lifted him into the air. Suddenly he was flying, having been tossed across the room.

The wall cracked against his head.

The darkness receded and he blinked blearily up at his ada as he strode over to him, tears running down his face. Indari watched impassively, hands still behind his back as if he were a perfect human gentleman from the stories his nana liked.

It was then that Legolas understood. Indari was controlling Ada.

"They will notice the elleth who saw you," Thranduil said, stopping short in front of Legolas as if by will alone. His whole body shook from the effort. "They will notice that she is missing."

"I wouldn't have had to eat her if you hadn't told Glorfindel anything," Indari said. "Not even the Balrog-slayer can help you, but how many times must I remind you that I am not Kagnirrok? I am no enemy of yours."

Ada's boot flashed out and Legolas got the wind knocked out of him. He saw dancing dark spots. Ada kicked him in the chest again and something broke, shoving another scream from his throat.

"I am helping you save your son," Indari said.

O

Sard left the healing ward, more troubled now than before. He didn't want to leave on the morrow to investigate the cult when the healer's daughter, Mala, told him that the prince's keeper was a dragon, that she had seen the snake shed its human costume before it flung the Balrog-slayer into a wall. Lord Glorfindel was in a deep sleep, one that Lawae told his Lothlorien companions that he may never wake from. She had seen it before, when elves were hit too hard on the head. She called it a "coma."

Pelorian had listened to Mala's tale, as well. The archer commander was in a rage and Sard knew that his friend would not stay the night in his bed. He would reach the barracks and spread word that a dragon was taking care of their elfling prince and that the king was responsible for beating him bloody.

There was no stopping it.

No matter how much he tried to reason with Pelorian, to first discover why Thranduil would hire a dragon to protect his precious son before letting the whole kingdom know the little that they did, it was to no avail. Pelorian was blind in his fury.

Sard knew that if he left, by the time he returned a mere two weeks later he would find his home in shambles. If the military rose in riot against the king, there was no telling where the dragon would fit into the fight. The only one who could scare the beast away was the king, and if they got rid of him. . .

He marched towards Thranduil's study, knowing that Legolas would likely be asleep by now and the king would be awake for some time still as he read and signed documents submitted to him from the council.

As he neared, he heard someone pounding on the study door. Concern twisted into fear and he ran around the corner. Kasslad and a guard were trying to force their way into the study, but the door was barred.

"Crown prince!" Sard shouted.

Kasslad abandoned his hysterical pounding to turn to him, golden eyes stretched wide in horror and fear.

"Legolas," he nearly cried to the magician. "Get to Legolas now!"

Then Sard heard it. The elfling screamed. It broke his heart immediately, sending it in pieces throughout his chest. The shriek was filled with agony and terror.

Sard turned to the prince's old bedroom door. He tried the handle, already knowing it would be locked. Filled with the same frantic rage that grasped the crown prince and the guard, who slammed his spear repeatedly into the study door, Sard forced himself to measure his breathing and clear his head. He was a magician. He didn't need to force a door open.

He reached into his tunic and withdrew two thin steel tools. He crouched before the lock and thrust them inside, closing his eyes to feel through the rods as they manipulated the mechanisms within. After mere seconds, a click reached his ears and he opened the door.

Sard crossed Legolas's bedroom in three strides, putting his shoulder to the red door that separated him from his elfling. It opened without protest.

The scene inside took his breath away. Thranduil stood over the tiny bundle that was his six-year-old son kicking away as if Legolas were nothing more than a mound of dirt. The elfling's eyes were shut and Sard could tell that he had fallen unconscious. Blood sagged down one side of his already bruised face from a wound to his temple, matting his bright hair a sickening crimson.

Sard rushed forward, ready to kill the king himself, when Indari slid forward to block his path.

"Get out of my way." Sard reached forward to squeeze a pressure point on Indari's neck that would have made him fall unconscious to the floor, but the human impostor was faster.

"You should leave tonight to investigate Kagnirrok's cult." Indari grasped Sard's reaching hand. "Look in Dale's sewers for your answers. Legolas is safe with me."

"The kingdom is about to riot." Sard let a blade up his sleeve drop into his fingers. "I won't let that happen because of you, snake."

Indari's eyes lit with yellow flame.

"So long as I am obeyed, none will rise against the king." Indari was faster than him again, reaching his other hand out to Sard's neck. The quick squeeze sent him into oblivion.

O

Legolas watched Glorfindel as he slept on the other side of the royal healing ward. He was himself was lounged in a bed positioned to see the three star-lit falls, but he was in too much pain to care how beautiful they were. He stared at the Balrog-slayer and his accompanying crowd of worried Lothlorien elves. Lothlorien. He thought of his sister for the first time in ages, but had already forgotten her face. She was there. He wondered if he could join her, and if she didn't blame him too much for losing their mother and oldest brother.

Kasslad sat next to him with his head in his hands. A guard stood behind him with a strained expression; as if he wanted to run off somewhere to either kill someone or shout information that was eating him up inside.

"It wasn't ada," Legolas croaked to Kasslad. His brother hadn't left his side since he woke in the healing ward, which had been three days ago. Still, Lawae had told him he had been asleep for an entire week. Sard was already gone.

Kasslad didn't move.

Legolas studied his white hair that tumbled over his hands and broad, powerful shoulders. Though his brother had been with him without once leaving, he still hadn't said a word. Kasslad had instead washed him when he needed washing, fed him when he refused to eat, and brushed and braided his hair in the mornings and brushed and unbraided his hair in the evenings. Other than his tender care, not a sound passed his lips.

"Kass," Legolas urged, his own voice weak from disuse. "Please. Don't be mad at him. It is Indari, the dragon. Glorfindel named him Dekriem."

Kasslad lifted his head and wiped his golden eyes. Tears stuck to his long, strong fingers. Those bright yellow eyes found his, so broken and confused that Legolas didn't know what to say. How could he comfort him? He was in too much pain to touch his arm or hug him. The best he could do was smile.

"I should have taken better care of you after they died," Kasslad finally said, his voice just as rusty as Legolas's. "I should have watched after you. We used to be so close and I abandoned you when they died. I blamed you and you didn't even know why I put stopped being there for you."

"Kass," Legolas began, not wanting to hear this diatribe of pity. He blamed Kasslad for nothing. All he wanted was his brother back, and he had a feeling that he was on his way.

"Don't try to make me feel better about this," Kasslad begged. "I am the older brother, I am meant to protect and comfort you. This should never have happened." His hand brushed ever so gently over the expansive bruise covering the left side of Legolas's face, where his eye was still swollen shut.

Legolas caught his hand and smiled his very best.

"You need to help Ada," Legolas said. "Indari is controlling him. We need to find a way to break him free."

Kasslad's hand dropped and he shook his head.

"Dekriem, as cruel and terrible as he is, is fulfilling a debt to this family," Kasslad muttered. "Without him, Kagnirrok would have taken you when he came before. Ada's dragon rages are aptly named. Dekriem shares his powers and he knows that Kagnirrok is stirring again, though is most concerned with this cult. He just needed to make Ada learn to work with him, obey him when needed, and that is it. It was an ugly, vicious lesson and I hate them both for it. I will not go near either of them. I will stay with you. I will protect you from them both and make sure that Ada will not repeat his mistakes. I cannot bear to see you like this again."

Legolas glanced at the guard who hovered. The elf's expression had softened, but his shoulders were still stiff.

Movement near the end of the hall drew his attention. When he turned, he saw Mala watching him. It was the first time he had seen her since Ada had her escorted away after Indari, or Dekriem, had attacked Glorfindel. She gave him a tiny smile and wave. He felt a little warmer in return.

O

He wasn't allowed out of the healing ward for another two days. Kasslad walked with him toward the dining hall for the feast they were meant to have almost a week and a half ago to celebrate the visit from the Lothlorien elves. Legolas walked stiffly. He still had three broken ribs, a hairline fracture in his skull and the bruise on the left side of his face had started turning ugly green and purple shades. The cut under his eye was swollen, so he still couldn't open it.

Kasslad held his hand and walked at a snail's pace with him, four guards trailing behind. All of the guards were soldiers from the barracks rather than the usual palace guards that he didn't know very well. One of the guards was Iros, and he refused to look at Legolas. Legolas didn't understand why and didn't like how the soldiers moved as if they had broken ribs too, all grime and tense as if ready for battle.

As they inched closer towards the door to the dining hall, Legolas spotted Indari waiting for them. He hadn't seen the creature since falling unconscious in Ada's study as he watched him be thrown and beaten. He stopped walking when he saw the dragon-man.

"I know," Kasslad mumbled to him and squeezed his hand. "We will walk right past him. Together."

Legolas nodded and put his trust in Kasslad that it would be okay. Iros picked up his pace until he marched on Legolas's other side. Indari smiled at Legolas and led them into the hall, but did nothing else. Legolas heaved a wincing, painful sigh of relief.

They continued their arduous journey to the head of the table where Ada already sat. Kasslad took the seat to his right and helped Legolas into the seat next to him. Legolas noticed that Kasslad didn't even look at their ada.

"Hi Ada," Legolas called.

Thranduil turned sad, haunted eyes on him. It looked as though he hadn't slept since he beat him, and Legolas wondered where had been since he had never visited him in the healing ward.

"Tithen pen," Thranduil whispered and tears gathered in his eyes. He smiled anyway, something shaky and uncertain. "I am glad to see you." He lifted a hand as if he could reach across the space between them and stoke his cheek, but lowered it on the table by his wineglass and tears fell from his eyes instead.

Legolas slid from his chair. Kasslad's hands were quick to help and steady him, muttering protests the whole time. Legolas ignored them and forced himself around his brother's chair to face his father. Thranduil's head was bowed, white-gold hair hiding his face.

Legolas glanced around the room and saw that the Lothlorien elves were quiet, with forlorn faces. He was sure their thoughts were on Glorfindel, who still slept.

The rest in the hall spoke quietly as food was brought out. Many glanced his way with looks of pity. Others glared openly at the king.

Angered by this, Legolas reached his arms to his ada. Thranduil hesitated, but then obeyed his silent request and picked him up. Thranduil was careful, as if Legolas was made of glass, had been broken and recently glued back together. Legolas whimpered as he was moved and slowly settled on his ada's knee. When the dizziness passed, he smiled at his ada and thumbed his tears away.

A sniff made him look at Kasslad, and he saw that he was crying too.

"I am not dead," Legolas said firmly to them both. "We will be fine. We are together."

A choked sob burst from Thranduil's lips and he laughed, though it still sounded sad. He then pressed a loving kiss to Legolas's cracked head, careful of the bandaged wound.

Kasslad wiped at his tears and asked Ada something about kingdom business, but now that the ice had begun to thaw Legolas turned his faltering attention elsewhere. One of the soldiers poured wine into Ada's goblet.

Sometimes Thranduil allowed him a sip, and when he asked his ada nodded.

"Just one tiny sip, though," he said, a hand brushing the bandage wrapped around his head.

Legolas reached into his silver tunic and pulled out the red vial that Sard had given him. A magician used it whenever he ate and drank. He dutifully poured two drops into the wine and waited. No foam.

He tucked the vial back into his robes and then picked the crystal glass up with both hands, careful not to spill. He took the tiny sip he was permitted and scrunched his nose at its bitterness.

"No tithen pen!" Iros screamed.

Legolas jumped at the shout and the goblet slipped from his hold, smashing into the floor. He caught Iros's fearful face and looked down at the scattered crystal and wine.

The liquid was foaming.

Thranduil was shouting, his dragon fury rising, but Legolas just watched that pink and white foam. Bubbles rose and popped and he just kept thinking that it had been meant for his ada. Iros had tried to kill the king.

Numbness spread through his face, arms and legs. All he knew was his ada's strong arms as he fell back against his chest. When he managed to look up, Indari was in front of him with fire in his eyes again. Instead of the impassive, amused or angry expressions Legolas was used to seeing, the dragon looked afraid.

He didn't know dragons could ever be afraid.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: No Longer Safe**

"Look at him." The voice sounded far away. It was distorted, as if the speaker was underwater. "He looks dead. How are we going to get him to Ada like this? You know with these wounds it is important not to move them."

Legolas drifted. Agony grabbed hold of his insides and squeezed. The pain was so unbearable he lost track of the world again.

Time no longer mattered. He floated. It was impossible to say how long he had been separated from the world and his family, but it felt like a long time. Once in a while he heard someone crying, who might have been Ada or Kasslad, or both. Sometimes he heard people speaking angrily, and once it even sounded like Pelorian but that was absurd. Pelorian was shot with a bolt and Legolas didn't know if he was alive or not, but he knew better than to hope.

"We should have taken him with us." That voice was familiar, but Legolas couldn't place it. It was too difficult to track what was happening around him when his body was too weak to move, even his eyelids. "After that dragon was scared away, we should have brought him to Rivendell. We are his friends, Elrohir. I know he is young, but Ada said the three of us would become like brothers one day. What kind of brother am I to turn my back on him? Look what has happened to him with us gone!"

"Hush, Elladan," came an identical voice. "He won't blame us. Our mother had sailed and we were lost. Glorfindel was right when he left us. Either we will die in our rage, or something will happen horrible enough to wake us."

"This is too horrible, Elrohir," Elladan moaned, tears in his voice. "Glorfindel might die and if what we heard about Mirkwood is true than Legolas is in more danger than before. He has enemies from every side, and even his own friends tried to kill him!"

"Tried to kill his father who beat him bloody," Elrohir snapped. "The soldiers were trying to save Legolas and crown Kasslad king. I don't blame them for trying. It's been a month since he was beaten last and look at him. He is healing too slowly. They say he's fading."

"We came to save Glorfindel. . . ." Elladan said.

"But we can't bring him with us," Elrohir finished, "so we can take Legolas. You know Glorfindel would have done the same."

Legolas wanted to laugh. It was a nice dream to think his trouble-making friends had come to help him, had called him a brother even. He idolized them, especially after they visited as they hunted a pack of orcs that had traveled through the forest. They were fierce and legendary in his eyes, so removed from all else but what they wanted. In this dream of his though, it was nice to believe they wanted to protect him. He wished he had known that this Glorfindel was a friend of theirs. Though he didn't know what he could have done in the brief minutes he had had with the Balrog-slayer, it would have been nice to know anyway. But then, it was just a dream.

He continued to float in and out of consciousness. Darkness lolled around him like a velvet blanket and he welcomed its numb embrace. It made him forget the pain, the dragons and that his friends at the barracks had tried to kill his ada. He was glad he had sipped the wine first. He was glad it was him and not Thranduil. Losing him would have been too much. His friends would have killed them both if that had happened.

A shiver coursed through him and he turned against the nearest warmth, which felt like Sard. A muscled chest met his face and the world swayed as if he rode a horse that was moving quickly.

"Should we be afraid of the military coming after us?" Elladan's voice again. Legolas wished he was truly with him. "El, what have we done? He is a prince. He is loved by everyone in Mirkwood, especially those mad soldiers who almost killed him. They will not stop until they find him and flay the ones who stole him. Not to mention his venomous ada. Will the dragon he is aligned with find us first?"

"Stop it." Elrohir had always been the short tempered of the two. "Just keep riding. We must be swift. There is no turning back now."

Legolas shivered again. An arm wrapped around him, protective, scared and concerned. He fell into the shadows and heard Ularie crow for him, but all he saw were Dekriem's red dragon eyes. He wondered how long until he died. It was not an unwelcome thought. He knew too many who would be waiting for him, and it would be a place that no dragon could follow.

The shivering intensified. He thought he heard his teeth chatter, but then the black cotton shrouded him once more.

O

Thranduil stood staring at Legolas's empty bed. The hallway outside of the royal healing ward was in chaos. Elves shouted and he heard an elleth sobbing. But he just stared at that bed, the rumpled blankets, the dimple in the pillow where his son had rested his head. With a shaking hand, Thranduil touched that spot in the pillow and a single strand of shimmering gold hair that had been left behind. Tears blurred the world and his shaking intensified.

Someone had stolen his elfling.

Someone would die for this.

If it was the cult, then Legolas was already on his way to Kagnirrok. Whoever had taken him didn't understand that the elfling was seriously ill. If not for the dragon, he would already be dead. Legolas could not be separated from Indari now. He would die.

"FIND HIM," he bellowed, tears streaming from his eyes. He didn't bother to wipe them. "FIND MY SON."

The hall trembled with his rage, bed frames rattled and screams of fear erupted nearby. He heard Kasslad shouting orders, heard the franticness in his tone and the quivering fear. This could not be happening. Not after everything. Not when he had still not made it right with Legolas for hitting him, for breaking his bones and his head, for making him afraid of him. It didn't matter that Legolas had shown forgiveness at the feast, because Thranduil had still allowed him a sip of wine, a dose of poison meant for him.

He needed to grovel to his elfling, plead forgiveness, and then never let anyone near his son again. He needed Legolas home safe and sound before shutting the kingdom up once more. He needed Legolas.

The world would burn if he did not return.

Indari's presence hauled him from his reverie. Thranduil glared at him and saw in his fiery eyes that Indari shared his dragon rage. This cruel, wicked beast would find Legolas and bring him back.

Indari said not a word. The false human turned toward the sweeping windows at the end of the hall and the evening light shimmered as he changed shape. Thranduil watched in amazement as the beast grew before him and the world, pale brown wings stretching up to the faraway rafters, his tale one powerful mass of muscle. The rumbling, bone-strumming growl of a great snake filled the hall and quieted the chaos.

Dekriem looked over one powerful shoulder and along the ridges on his back to Thranduil. Small red eyes held a promise.

"Your father kept his bargain. I will keep mine." Dekriem's voice was nothing like Kagnirrok's. It didn't grate against the ears. Instead it was as black as wet charcoal, smoother than creamed butter, and deeper than thunder. It sounded like the voice of a god.

Thranduil stared in amazement as Dekriem climbed through one of the opened windows, his slender body slithering through easily enough. But his wings sliced through the white marble as if the stone were nothing more than sand. The great wings stretched and Thranduil saw his magnificence then. Indeed, dragons were creatures to fall down on your knees before.

Dekriem disappeared into the sky. Screams echoed through the kingdom when they saw him. Thranduil stared at the ruins the beast left behind and suddenly felt alone.

O


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Torn and Far Away**

_"Nana!" Oroduil's cry made Legolas try to sit up out of Sard's jacket and supporting arm. Sard held him still in an iron embrace. "Nana, the snake is headed this way." Legolas heard Oroduil run across the study to reach her. "Have you found him? Where is Legolas?"_

_Legolas reached an arm out of Sard's jacket and felt his brother's desperate grasp. Oroduil grabbed his outstretched hand with both of his large ones and squeezed his fingers. Legolas felt lips on his palms. There were tears on his brother's chin, still warm too. A wrenching sob tore out of his brother's mouth against Legolas's hand. It was a sound Legolas had never heard from brave Oroduil before and one he never wanted to hear again._

_ Sard stepped away before Legolas could find words of comfort for his brother, breaking their hold on each other. Legolas was still too shocked by Oroduil's sob to stop Sard from tucking his arm back into his jacket. After a moment, he curled tighter against his magician._

_ The world rumbled again. Kagnirrok's grating voice was closer, as if he stalked just down the hall._

_ "We have to move." Sard used his commander voice, the one Legolas could hear from the windows in Ada's study when the magician and his warriors trained on the field below. Sard had told him that a clear and calm battle voice was just as important as any sword or bow. It could steady an elf's heart and rally them back to fight, and it could keep order when chaos fought for control. Legolas let Sard's voice ease his fears, letting it rumble against his ear that rested on his chest. Sard would get them to safety._

_ "Across the hall is an escape tunnel," Oroduil said. "Some of the warriors are waiting for us there."_

_ Legolas felt Sard break into a run. He jostled only a little, held secure by Sard's arm. Legolas wasn't sure when they left the room, but the rumbling had grown louder. Screams erupted from Nana somewhere to his left and Oroduil was shouting. Legolas buried his face against Sard, trembling, breathing in his leather smell, desperate to ignore the sulfur and smoke that threatened to suffocate him. His eyes watered from their sting._

_ "Prince Oroduil." That voice was hard as crumbling stone. It hurt Legolas's ears and he smashed his hands over them to block out the horrid sound. A snake should not speak. It should never have been given the gift to speak. "Where is your youngest brother, I wonder?"_

_ "Nana, keep going," Oroduil shouted. "I will give you time to escape."_

_ "NO!" Nana screamed a heartbroken and wretched sound that made Legolas cry. "I will not leave you!"_

_ "Queen Ayanu," Sard commanded. "Quickly."_

_ Legolas heard the dragon laugh. It sounded worse than its voice. Suddenly Sard's hands were pulling him from his jacket and setting him just in a corner to another room, the one across the hall from Ada's study that they had just left. Legolas looked up into Sard's dark blue eyes which held a world of sorrow beneath his heavy black brows. Then Sard was gone, back through that door, with a bastard sword in his hand – one that was smaller than Rugon's great sword, but still larger than a dagger._

_ Legolas moved on numb legs to the doorway and peeked around it._

_ Kagnirrok was as large as a mountain. The massive hallway crumbled to dust as the colossal snake moved. The ceiling had already disappeared and the walls were falling like piles of stacked sugar. The beast was as black as volcanic stone, its muscled wings streaked with glittering crimson. Glowing amber eyes glared down a narrow snout to Oroduil, who stood like an angel from the Valar beneath the beast with a great sword in both hands._

_ Legolas tried to take hope from the sight, because Oroduil was a knight after all and could beat Rugon senseless on the training field, but the winged snake was larger than the Halls of Mandos itself it seemed. The beast was dark like the Balrog's from the stories and more terrifying. Oroduil looked like a speck of white dust at its clawed feet._

_ Kagnirrok bent its neck, which was thicker around than the hallway in the barracks. Its maw opened to six rows of curved white and brown fangs seeded in red gums. It could swallow Ada's throne whole, it was so large._

_ That mouth went down on Oroduil, who lashed out with his great sword. Legolas heard the steel deflect off the snake's fangs. Venom oozed from their tips, splashing on the ash-coated marble with muffled drips. One of the sulfur-yellow drops landed on Oroduil's head. His scream filled the hall, followed by Nana who Sard held from running forward._

_ Legolas didn't know what he would do, just knew that he had to help his brother and stop those screams. He moved to rush into the hall, but powerful hands held him still. He snapped to look over one shoulder and saw Naspen, Rugon's second in command over the knights. There were half a dozen other knights behind the willowy elf, all pale-faced and determined. Legolas saw behind them a doorway in the wall where a mirror once hung._

_ Oroduil's screams pitched higher. Legolas turned in time to watch as his brother swung away from the dripping venom. Naspen's hand clamped over Legolas's mouth before he could add his screams to the echoes in the hall. Half of Oroduil's face had melted off, revealing white bone and an unlidded eye that rolled madly in its socket. His ivory hair had half singed off his sizzling scalp, robes burning away from his sword arm and torso._

_ Legolas smelled the foul stench of burning flesh and hair and struggled against Naspen. It happened too fast for the knight to drag him away as Kagnirrok's maw jetted down on Oroduil. Though the beast could have eaten him whole, the snake only gripped from at the waist before lifting him into the air and tossing him. Oroduil was still alive and screaming as his broken, bleeding body flipped up._

_ Kagnirrok lifted its massive neck, jaws opened once more and caught Oroduil. In one deafening crunch, Oroduil's screams cut short._

_ Nana's replaced them. She screamed and Legolas kicked. He watched as Nana broke free of Sard, who was trying to drag her to the waiting soldiers hidden in the room. Nana ran at the dragon in a fit of madness, dark golden hair whirling about her._

_ "Ayanu!" Sard shouted but didn't follow. Kagnirrok was already moving, sweeping its head to the ground to catch her._

_ Legolas stopped struggling. He watched as his naneth had both reaching arms torn from their sockets. She stood screaming as blood poured from gory holes on either side of her breasts, her gown doused in blackish-crimson. Kagnirrok knocked her over with the swipe of one claw, pinning her to the marble ground. His maw opened again and he clamped his jaws over her head._

_ Legolas struggled again. It didn't seem as though Kagnirrok made any effort as he lifted his head once more, pieces of her golden hair hanging from between his scaled lips, her head balanced between fangs._

_ Naspen dragged him backwards then just as Sard reached them. Legolas bit down on Naspen's hand and kicked him hard in the groin. Legolas's scream broke the silence in the hall and he screamed for all he was worth._

O

"Why won't he stop screaming?" Elrohir demanded his twin.

Legolas had broken into a fit during their frantic ride from Mirkwood. They were still in the kingdom after ten hours of swift riding, but were gratefully at the farthest reaches of the forest. They were almost away from patrols and whoever else was in search for the beloved prince.

Elladan held Legolas close to him, desperately trying to wake him from his nightmare but the poison he had ingested more than a month ago still hadn't allowed him to wake once, so he wasn't surprised that it wouldn't let him coax his small friend to life now.

He looked up at Elrohir who was torn between wanting to comfort Legolas and keep an eye out for patrols.

"He is making too much noise," Elrohir snapped. "We have been followed for days. Whoever is on our tail will hear him and come running. It sounds like he's being tortured."

"He is sick, Elrohir," Elladan snapped back. "Perhaps we should return him."

"To his ada who will beat him half to death again?" Elrohir demanded. "Take him back to the dragons that want him, to an army that poisoned him? Our ada will cure him. We just need to make haste to Rivendell. He will be saved there."

"No he won't."

Elladan snapped to look up at the little voice. Elrohir swung his sword out of its scabbard to face their foe.

But it was just a small elleth.

She was a pretty thing, with lily-white hair, red lips and cheeks. She had mesmerizing eyes for an elleth so young. They were a frosty green. She looked like a snow flower.

"My nana is the head healer at the palace." The girl stepped forward, dressed in a boy's breeches and tunic. A dove-gray traveling cloak draped around her tiny body. "The only reason he isn't dead yet is because of his keeper, Indari. Though he is a dragon, he has been keeping Legolas alive and guiding him out of the darkness that the poison threw him into. If you don't take him back, not even Lord Elrond can help him."

Elladan didn't like the sound of that. He looked down at Legolas and brushed sweating strands of hair from his still-bruised face. They took him to save him, not kill him.

"We should take him back," he decided.

"How long have you been following us?" Elrohir demanded the elleth.

She sent him a cool glare that turned her eyes to frozen jade.

"I saw you take him from the healing ward," she said with a voice as icy as her hair. It amazed Elladan that an elleth so little could cow his brother, who lowered his sword and snorted.

"She is right, brother," Elladan insisted. "Look at him."

Legolas let out another broken scream, back arching in his arms.

Elrohir sheathed his blade and rushed to the prince. He grabbed him out of Elladan's arms and went to his horse.

"Do you see reason now?" the elleth asked, then whistled. An old mare plodded out of the trees behind her, black as a dragon's hide but for the streak of white between its eyes.

"I have faith in the Valar that he will live." Elrohir turned his stallion back towards the edge of Mirkwood's boundaries and spurred it forward into a quick trot.

Elladan cursed and the elleth swung up onto her horse that looked like she needed a good brush and two years of sleep. The mare's forelock hung long in her face and covered her eyes.

"At least you aren't as stupid as your brother," the girl snapped.

Elladan swore again and mounted his stallion, swinging the brown beast to follow his brother.

"Not quite," he muttered. "You have to understand though, we don't take well to death. We lost our naneth when she sailed. It has been a struggle to find normalcy ever since. I promise, this is not like us."

"Do you know who he has lost?" she bristled. "He saw his naneth and brother torn apart, his kingdom overshadowed, his keeper shot in the face and a friend who died to save his life, and another attacked and nearly killed. He hasn't lost his mind."

Elladan studied her and knew she was right, just as Glorfindel and Ada had been when it came to their grief and anger. But Elrohir was sensitive. He was not ready to retreat from his grief, which he had now focused wholly on Legolas. It would be a war to make him see reason, but one that he might need to wage. Pandering to his twin's grief was no longer an option if Legolas's life hung on the line.

"Then Legolas is better than both of us," Elladan said. "Elrohir! Stop!"

A raven croaked in the canopy overhead.

O

Thranduil watched the council convene in his throne room. Kasslad stood at his right shoulder, as pensive as him. The room was already filled with soldiers, all armed and ready for war.

"We have taken a vote," said councilwoman, Lady Inamgia.

"What did you vote on that required such a crowd?" Thranduil buried his wariness beneath a veneer of authority, lounging in his throne as if Legolas were with Sard, Rugon and Pelorian at the barracks with Blaon running around trying to find him, Oroduil in his study with Ayanu going over papers but really talking about Oroduil's girlfriend. Thranduil's fears stopped when he thought about that. He had forgotten that Oroduil had had a girlfriend when Kagnirrok came. In fact, he couldn't even remember her name. He wondered if she was still in the kingdom or if she had faded, and scolded himself for not knowing.

"We are putting you to trial," Lady Inamgia announced.

The throne room was silent.

Thranduil leaned forward, hair tumbling across his shoulders and into his lap.

"Trial for what, exactly?" he asked, voice cold and steady.

"Abuse of a child," she said, not at all threatened by him as most were, "and conspiring with a creature of evil."

Thranduil went numb, but he should have known this was coming. Ever since Legolas drank poison meant for him, the council had not called for him to join any of their meetings, soldiers no longer bowed, and he was left utterly alone aside from Kasslad and Indari. He had known what the kingdom had been plotting, which was why he had done a little of it himself thanks for Indari's help. The dragon had set up a defense should the kingdom riot in his absence while he searched for Legolas. Thranduil only hoped it would work well enough to diffuse this tension long enough for him to get his elfling back.

"This is not the time," Kasslad stated, collected as a crown prince should be. Thranduil was proud. "Prince Legolas is still missing. We should be putting all of our resources into finding him. Once he is returned home safely, then we can discuss this matter again."

"Over half the army is searching for the prince," Lady Inamgia said. "The council can do nothing more than wait, and that time will be used to deal with this matter now."

Inamgia lifted a hand and Pelorian and Naspen moved forward with two dozen of their archers and knights. Thranduil stood as they approached and Kasslad stepped in front of him.

"You can't do this," Kasslad shouted, losing all form of composure. "Legolas would not want it!"

"Prince Legolas is not here to protest," Inamgia said, "and even if he were, would he be protesting under duress?"

Kasslad snarled and Thranduil met Naspen's gaze. The knight commander nodded. As Pelorian and his archers stepped forward, Naspen made a motion with his hand. His knights rushed forward and surrounded Thranduil. Together they turned on Pelorian and his archers, who froze.

"What is this?" Pelorian turned raging eyes on Naspen. "You betray the council? You betray Prince Legolas to this dragon lover?"

Naspen raised a calm, caustic brow and his smirk seemed to enrage the archer commander.

"There are those who will not betray the king," Naspen said calmly.

Pelorian swung his long bow from across his back, notching an arrow in place before Thranduil could shout a warning. His archers followed suit. However, before arrows could fly, other knights in the room had moved forward.

Sword blades erupted from each archer chest, straight through their hearts. Blood seeped into their black uniforms and arrows and bows clattered useless to the floor. Pelorian watched Thranduil, pale eyes flickering between pain and failure.

Screams filled the throne room and the council fled. More than a few soldiers followed.

Pelorian fell to his knees, shoulders sagged, and he swayed.

"It's good to see that you remember your place." Naspen placed a boot against the archer's stomach and pushed him backwards. Pelorian toppled to the floor and he did not move.

Another knight grasped Thranduil and led him through a back door with Kasslad. He let them guide him, numb and his mind spinning. Indari didn't mention that anyone would die if the council revolted against him. He did not want any of his people to die.

"We seem to be at war, my king," Naspen's monotone voice followed him. "We are at war with ourselves."

O

_Naspen dragged him backwards then just as Sard reached them. Legolas bit down on Naspen's hand and kicked him hard in the groin. Legolas's scream broke the silence in the hall and he screamed for all he was worth._

_ A darkness punched him in the chest and he quieted. Sard knelt next to him, hands reaching for his shoulders, but Legolas turned to face the new evil out in the hallway._

_ His ada marched towards Kagnirrok, an image of dark power, his aura blacker than midnight. His face was a storm of fury, eyes bright with yellow flame. Kagnirrok growled, so low and deep that Legolas's stomach hurt._

_ "What is this?" Kagnirrok asked._

_ Legolas wanted to warn his ada to run, that the beast had eaten Nana and Oroduil, but the Elvenking kept coming and Legolas couldn't find the courage to speak._

_ "An elf with the power of a dragon?"_

_ Legolas studied his ada as Sard's hands finally grasped him and picked him up. Thranduil was changing. Red eyes replaced the yellow fire and Dekriem turned away from Kagnirrok to instead face him just as Sard rushed him towards the secret tunnel._

_ "Where are you, little prince?" Dekriem asked._

_ Legolas hated the beast, hated that the dragon was there at all, but as the snake slithered closer he started to feel stronger._

_ "Where are you?"_

Legolas opened his eyes. That isn't how his nightmares usually went. Dekriem had never made an appearance. He usually would relive watching his ada fling shadows at Kagnirrok before Sard smuggled him out of the palace.

A raven quorked at him. He blinked up at a clear starlit sky and brush dew from his face with a trembling hand. When he looked to his left, he saw Ulaire. His albino raven tilted its head and blinked red eyes at him.

"He's been with you since we left Mirkwood," a familiar voice said.

"Mala?" Legolas turned and saw the winter girl sitting on his other side, one of his hands in hers. Her smile was warm, despite her cool eyes.

"I knew he would wake," came another voice.

Ulaire fluttered out of the way as an elf with long black hair knelt next to him. It was Elrohir. Elladan stood smiling behind him.

"Why are you here?" Legolas grinned and wondered if he was still dreaming.

"We came to find where Glorfindel had run off to, but found you instead," Elladan said. "We are taking you to Rivendell, much to my protest. Tell me, how did you wake? Your snow flower friend said you would die without your keeper, Indari."

Legolas frowned and looked back to Ulaire.

"It was the Valar," Elrohir announced. "I told you to have faith."

Ulaire croaked and Legolas thought back to Dekriem, who had stopped his nightmare to ask him where he was.

"Why did you take me?" Legolas demanded and tried to sit up, but his arms were still too weak and he fell back to the blanket beneath him and shivered. Mala put a hand on his shoulder, telling him to stay lying down.

"You were not safe," Elrohir said as he stoked a small fire nearby. "Were you not aware that your keeper was a dragon?"

"My family is still there." Legolas tried to sit up again but failed a second time. Mala huffed at his efforts. "I need to go back. My friends . . . they need to understand that my ada didn't mean to hurt me."

Elrohir glared at him and Elladan shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"I told you we should take him back," Elladan said.

"Let our ada decide," Elrohir snapped.

"Take me back," Legolas demanded.

"The dragon has influenced you, it seems," Elrohir said. "No elf in their right mind would want to be near one."

"My family!"

Elrohir said nothing else.

Legolas looked up at Elladan, who smiled and knelt.

"Sleep, tithen las," he said. "I promise, when you are better we will take you back to your brother and ada."

"You are my friends," Legolas reasoned, "take me back now."

"No!" Elrohir threw a stick into the flames, sending red hot ashes into the night. "I will not lose you! I will not lose anyone else!"

Legolas flinched at the shout and saw then what was happening. His friends were still locked in grief over their naneth who had sailed after being attacked and raped by orcs, and they still only cared for what they wanted. That now seemed to be him.

Though this was what he wanted before, it is not what he wanted now. He would not run away when people in his kingdom blamed his ada for hurting him. He would return and set them all straight, and the longer he waited the more danger Thranduil was in.

He caught Mala's worried gaze and nodded. When he was better, they would escape. The thought of traveling the distance from Rivendell to Mirkwood made him woozy. He had never been to Rivendell before. As he tried to imagine the maps in his ada's study, the pain in his bones grew worse and he let his eyes close again. Dekriem was waiting for him in the darkness of sleep.

"Where are you?" he asked, red eyes glowing in the shadows. "I am coming."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: The Elfling War**

_A/N: THANK YOU for the wonderful reviews. You are starting to spoil me. Please continue to let me know what your thoughts are on the story and where you would like to see it go. Hopefully questions can be answered soon. Happy reading._

Legolas floated in and out of consciousness as they made their way through the wilds to Rivendell. Sometimes he was aware of riding with one of the twins, held secure against their chests with one arm but still jostled by the almost-running stallion beneath him. When he was awake, he could tell how much ground they were making by how the stars changed. Instead of the constellations he had been taught by Blaon, he began to see new ones. It became discomforting to look at the glittering strangers; at least until Mala would take his hand or put his head in her lap when they weren't riding anymore. Then he would feel warm again, and gazing at odd stars became less frightening.

Dekriem stalked him in his dreams, and each visit would make him feel stronger, as if the dragon were pushing away the residual poison flowing in his bloodstream. But with each visit from the beast, Legolas knew he was pinpointing where he was even though he never answered the snake's repeated question, "Where are you?"

"Is he still not awake?" Elrohir. He was the one with the bitterness to his voice.

"He is sick, El!" Elladan's voice sounded closer, much close – as if he knelt directly above him. "I told you that he needs to go home! He is dying!"

No he wasn't. Legolas focused on his body. Though it still hurt to move, he could tell that he was getting stronger. Soon he would be strong enough to stay awake long enough to speak again, like he did when he first realized he had been kidnapped. Dekriem was lending him strength and healing him slowly.

"Look at his fea." Elladan sounded frantic. "He is fading."

"He has been fading for a long time." Mala. "What you're doing to him is making it worse."

Elrohir made an ugly sound at Mala, and Legolas heard something begin to boil. Likely soup. They must have stopped for the night. He focused on the cool air pressing against his face and felt dampness. It must be raining, if only a little. He smelled wet dirt, too.

"Why is he in charge?" Mala hissed at Elladan. "You know as well as I that this is wrong."

Elladan didn't answer. Legolas heard him get up and walk away through the grass.

"We are almost there," Elrohir almost sounded happy, but it was strained. "Ada will know what to do, and there won't be any dragons or mad elves to harm him again."

Mala's warm hands brushed his face, removing the traces of rain from his chilled skin. She gasped, as if noticing how cold he was, and another cloak was draped across him. He felt its added weight and warmth, but the chill was inside of him so it didn't do much. Soft lips pressed against his forehead, leaving a burning mark in its wake.

"We are almost to Rivendell," she whispered against his hair. "Hold on."

O

Thranduil stared up at the stars through the windows of his study, pressed into the white winged chair that he had often sat in with Legolas after he had another nightmare. His arms felt achingly empty now and he wondered how far the cult had taken his precious elfling from him. He closed his eyes and tried to feel where Legolas was, but there was no link between them like those who were bonded. Still, he felt that his elfling was in danger. It was an unexplainable feeling, one that wasn't rooted in any fact or knowledge, but the anxiety of knowing this anyway made it impossible for him to sleep, relax, or focus on the war brewing in his kingdom.

"The fighting in the streets has ended." Naspen's voice was monotone as always, but cool and soft as if he knew Thranduil couldn't bear anything louder.

Thranduil turned in his chair to put his back on the stars. He studied his knight commander, imposing and dark for an elf, though not as much as Sard who still hadn't returned from his investigation on the cult that had only meant to be for two weeks. It had almost been two months.

"How much of the kingdom does the council have now?" Thranduil asked. "How many of my people?

Naspen kept his hand folded behind his back, hooded eyes dark.

"Everything," he said, "but the palace and inner city. The forest and the entire kingdom surrounding us is theirs. The elves did not fight them when they heard what you did to Legolas and that you made an alliance with a dragon. They think you're mad, and are desperate to string you up, cut you open and crown Kasslad as Elvenking."

Thranduil lowered his head, gold-silver hair falling around him and into his empty hands. If his ada could see him now, he would be bitterly disappointed.

"The military is against you," Naspen added.

Thranduil glanced up at him, eyes narrowed.

"I know the black magicians, archers and warriors are," he allowed, "but the knights are mine."

Naspen raised his head a little, light filtering into his cold blue eyes. They were made of ice; there was nothing warm in them.

The study door opened then and the tension faded, but slowly. Thranduil kept his eyes on Naspen, suddenly wary.

"Ada." Kasslad had entered. He was dressed for war, all silken robes discarded for armor and light clothing that didn't hinder his movements. His great sword was strapped to his back, a long knife sheathed on each hip. His white hair was pulled back into intricate braids to keep it out of his serious face, carved and shadowed and beautiful. So like Oroduil, and even less like the one Thranduil had recognized as Kasslad's. There was no smile, no hint of amusement in those golden eyes, no relaxed air about how he stood. He was a soldier and a crown prince defending the king and the kingdom. Kasslad was gone.

If it was possible, his heart broke even more.

"The elves housed in the inner city have been passing messages with the council beyond the palace walls," Kasslad said.

Thranduil stiffened.

"The council and the elves still in our control want you to meet with Council Lady Inamgia," Kasslad said.

"To be arrested or executed?" Thranduil asked.

"To form a treaty," Kasslad said. "No one wants more elven blood shed."

Thranduil winced at how emotionless Kasslad was. A part of him was almost glad that Legolas wasn't here to see the rest of his brother disappear.

"Where does the council lady wish to meet?" he asked. Kasslad's amber gaze softened for half a moment, meeting his stare. Both knew this would not end well.

"Ada," Kasslad began to protest.

"I will have no more elven blood shed over my mistakes," Thranduil decided and stood from his chair with any remaining dignity that he held. "We will make peace."

Kasslad hesitated, but then nodded. He turned on his heel and headed back into the hallway with his knights who guarded him night and day. Naspen smiled.

O

Legolas woke up. His sight was blurred and it hurt to hold up his head, but he was strong enough to deal with the pain now. He smelled the cool exoskeleton of bugs crawling along the branches they passed, the stallion's sweat beneath him, and knew he had gained more power from Dekriem. But he didn't resent it, or even fear it . . . even if he felt like he was half dragon now. It was the strength he needed to deal with the poison still inside of him, and it was past time to put the twins in their places and return home. He could feel that he was needed.

He leaned against the powerful chest behind him and tried to decide which twin he was being held captive by. The strong arm wrapped like a snake around his stomach, holding him in place. He lifted one hand, fighting for each inch. Pain rattled through his muscles and they began to shake.

"Tithen las?" It was Elrohir.

The stallion stopped running with a breathy snort and Legolas stared down the wooded path between the horse's brown ears that twisted to and fro.

Elrohir tilted Legolas back to look into his face. Legolas obeyed like a flopping fish, and glared once the twin's blue eyes found his. Elrohir's brow was cinched with worry.

"We are here." Elrohir ran a trembling hand down the side of Legolas's sweating face. He pointed to their left. Legolas fought to move his head to see what the twin wanted him to look at.

A city carved from honey-colored stone stood nestled between forested cliffs and white rumbling waterfalls. It was small. It was Rivendell.

O

It still took an hour before they reached the gates and courtyard to the elven realm. Legolas managed to stay conscious for the trip, listened to Elladan and Elrohir bicker – though not as lighthearted as they did when he first met them in Mirkwood, and answered as many of Mala's questions as he could. His friend rode directly behind him and Elrohir, her gentle voice easily heard beneath the sharp words passed between the twins. Elladan seemed concerned that Legolas hadn't eaten anything in too long, while Elrohir was verging on frantic just to get him to Lord Elrond. Mala told him all she had learned about Rivendell from the Elladan during their month-long trip.

A month. It had been a month since they kidnapped him. He hoped Sard would find him soon, before Dekriem did.

The dragon was close. He could feel the snake's burning presence in the back of his mind, lending him strength, giving him power. He shivered at the thought of becoming more like the beast. Elrohir felt the tremor and kissed the top of his head. Legolas wanted to kick him.

The horses rushed into the courtyard, heaving heavy sighs as if they knew they had finally made it home and looked forward to resting in their stalls. Before Legolas had a chance to take in Rivendell up close, Elrohir slid from the stallion and dragged him along, swinging him into his arms and carrying him like an infant. Legolas glared at him, but the pain was too great to do much else.

"Where is our ada?" Elrohir shouted and broke into a run.

Legolas heard Elladan and Mala follow, but their footfalls soon fell behind. He watched as shafts of light passed overhead through archways and windows, the setting sun a brilliant orange.

"Ada!" Elrohir called.

"Did you find Glorfin-." Elrond's voice cut short. Legolas wanted to lift his head and see the Rivendell lord, to beg him to let him go home, but the pain was too much, weakening his muscles to jelly.

So he watched Elrohir's face instead. He was not much like Kasslad or Oroduil, but more like Elrond with his long, straight black hair that hung loose around his pale, oval face. He had high cheekbones that cast blue shadows across his cheeks, and a strong, bold nose that made him seem powerful and perhaps handsome to some. His lips were pressed into a white crease, brows curved into worried lines across his forehead. Gray eyes were almost buried beneath the curl of his black lashes, the light in them retreated and filled with fear.

Elrohir's stern, terrified face became farther away as he was lowered onto a bed. It was soft, and his body relaxed as if it recognized not having been comfortable since being kidnapped, even if he was unconscious for most of it. He let his eyes fall closed in response. Warm hands cupped his face and thumbs ran under his eyes, urging him awake. He responded, wishing for nothing else but to see his ada, Kasslad or Sard.

Elrond gazed down at him, his face much softer than his son's and his hair longer and braided back.

"Tithen las," he whispered. "Look at you."

Legolas couldn't, so he let his eyes close again. A hand took his and squeezed. He thought it might be Elrohir. The rest faded back to the dark swirl of slumber.

O

Elladan carried Mala the rest of their hurried way to the healing wing. He burst into the doors, rushing to one of the bedrooms usually reserved for the lord's family or special guests. One of the doors was open and he plowed inside. Lord Elrond was quickly mixing some kind of concoction, while Elrohir stroked sweaty strands of hair from Legolas's pale brow. Mala tensed in his arms when she saw him. Elladan took a calming breath at the sight. Ada could fix this.

He crossed to the large bed in four strides, setting Mala on her feet. The beautiful little elleth climbed onto the bed and rested a hand on one of Legolas's knees. Elrohir didn't even look up, focused entirely on the small prince who seemed to have one foot in the grave and one out. Elladan just didn't know which way Legolas was going.

"Elladan," Ada called.

He turned and walked on stiff legs to Elrond, who still mixed some herbs in a bowl. His ada smiled weakly at him, but shook his head.

"You left to find a missing Glorfindel," Ada muttered, reaching for a jar with dried leaves. Elladan's head was still spinning too much from their panicked, rushed journey to notice what kind they were. "Why did you return with the beloved prince of Mirkwood instead?"

"Glorfindel was attacked by a dragon," Elladan whispered, throat catching on whatever else he had wanted to say.

Elrond froze and his gaze snapped up to find his.

"Kagnirrok? Is Glorfindel. . . ?"

Elladan could only shake his head, which eased Elrond's worry.

"This was a dragon that Thranduil made a deal with, some lower woodland snake named Dekriem," he said. "Glorfindel is in a coma. We could not move him."

"And how did Legolas get poisoned?"

It amazed Elladan that his ada didn't address what he had just said. Elrond's face remained soft and worried, but not overly so, not how Elladan knew his face looked when he discovered what happened or even how his heart fluttered now in horror at the old news.

"The dragon is controlling Thranduil," Elladan said. "Thranduil was fighting against him and to teach the king a lesson, the beast forced him to beat Legolas near to death."

"That explains the bruises." Elrond went back to his jar and untied the string keeping the thick, oiled cloth covering the top. A sharp odor escaped the container and made Elladan turn away.

"The kingdom discovered this and tried to kill him," he continued. "Legolas intercepted the poison somehow."

"And how did he come to be in Rivendell? Something tells me that the over-protective, ill-tempered King Thranduil didn't send you off in the night with his dying elfling to keep him from elves that love him?" Elrond shook leaves out of the jar and into his bowl. Long fingers reached in and began to crumble them with dry snaps.

"We couldn't leave him there, not with a dragon and a half-mad father," Elladan argued. Heat flared up his cheeks and he pushed away from the table. "He is just an elfling! Hasn't he been through enough? We wanted to save him, be there for him since we have never been able to before!"

"Be careful of that anger, ion nin," Elrond said. "Are you sure it was to help Legolas and not yourselves?"

"You know nothing," Elrohir growled from the bed. "You barely wept for our naneth when she sailed. You never followed, you never faded, you never acted like you cared! Arwen fled to Lothlorien, and Elladan and I-" he couldn't finish, shutting his mouth with a pulse of muscle along his jaw.

Elladan swallowed hard and looked at Elrond, who still kept his emotions buried beneath his raised brows and soft eyes. He turned back to his brother and saw Mala's big, frosty green eyes watching the exchange with horror. Legolas was still asleep, his fea fading even as they argued.

"Not here," Elladan breathed to Elrohir. "We must save Legolas before we finally say these words to each other."

Elrohir and Elrond stared at each other for a moment longer before Elrohir snarled and jolted to his feet, marching to the door and out of sight. Elrond turned back to his bowl of herbs.

"Can you save him?" Elladan asked, but didn't just mean Legolas.

Elrond hesitated.

"Time can only say," Elrond whispered. Elladan saw the sharp glint of a tear fall from his cheek, sparking in the dying sun. It splashed into his bowl of mixes, sending the dust of a hopeful cure into the air.

O

Thranduil met with Lady Inamgia in the throne room. He wore his mithril crown, the one he wore to war, the one he had worn since Kagnirrok visited. He sat in his throne and watched as the sun set beyond the windows to the west. The glass shivered in the bleeding orange and he wondered if his youngest was watching it too, and prayed to the Valar that the light didn't touch a broken, fading body but one that was on its way back home. Kasslad stood to his right, still donned in his armor and looking like Oroduil's ghost. Naspen stood off to his left with his loyal knights behind him and scattered throughout the room.

Lady Inamgia marched towards Thranduil with two others from the council. The first was Lord Sallar, an ancient elf close to six thousand years old. He had gray-blond hair that was spun into a single coil down his narrow, fragile back. A piercing and pinched face shone from beneath the tightly pulled-back hairline. Gray robes shimmered in the orange light of the setting sun, making him look faded amid the fiery light.

The other council member was Lady Bearil, an elleth almost more beautiful than Lady Inamgia. Instead of hair the color of flowing honey, Bearil had rich blonde hair done in dozens of intricate braids. She was young, a follower, with hardly any time to form a mind of her own. It was a shame, really. She could have been something had she the fire in her to be independent. Instead, her small shoulders rolled forward, head down and blue eyes hidden beneath fluttering lids. Her pretty figure was almost drowned in pale yellow robes that made her look washed-out. Thranduil almost pitied her.

That is, until he met Lady Inamgia's dark, smoldering green eyes. The elleth was mad to think she had any chance to cow him into meeting her demands. She started this war, which was apparent by the soldiers who followed in her wake. There were archers and magicians. Thranduil didn't know who replaced Pelorian, and didn't have time to search for his second-in-command, whoever that had been. He scolded himself for not knowing. Legolas would have.

It felt like a spear went through his heart, then. Legolas had been very close with Pelorian. The archer's death would be hard for his young shoulders to carry, if not too much. He had been fading when he was kidnapped. . . .

"It is wise of you to meet with me to end this unneeded elven bloodshed," Inamgia said, her sharp voice cutting the silence.

Kasslad bristled, his steel armor clinking.

"A king will do anything to save his people, even meet with the witch who lied to them," Thranduil snarled, unable to hold back his temper. Thinking of Legolas's heartache had brought him to the brink of another dragon rage. Inamgia had best tread carefully.

Inamgia stopped. The crowd surrounding her followed suit. She smiled sickly-sweet at him, big red lips dark against her pale face.

"That was the wrong thing to say," she told him.

The cool tip of a blade pushed against his throat. He held still.

"Of course," she said, "I didn't think negotiations today would end well. You need more time to realize that you may still wear the crown, but your people are no longer yours."

"Traitors!" Kasslad's furious, broken shout made Thranduil boil.

"What would you have me do, my queen?" Naspen asked, his monotone voice next to Thranduil's ear.

"How much did you promise you?" Thranduil demanded the knight. "I thought you wouldn't betray your king."

Naspen didn't respond.

"Throw him into the dungeons," Inamgia said. "Kasslad will be king."

"I will not!" Kasslad screamed.

Thranduil risked the blade against his throat to look at his son. Kasslad was being restrained by four knights, all of his weapons having been taken from him. His son was furious, but tears trailed down his cheeks.

Inamgia waved a hand and rough hands took Thranduil by his arms. The blade was removed and a quick hand took his crown.

O


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: A Taste of Death**

Birds were singing. It felt like spring. Legolas opened his eyes, eager for it all to have been a dream and that he would dress, run to the barracks and find Rugon, Pelorian and Sard waiting for him. He would even hug Blaon once he saw him.

Instead of his room's vaulted ceiling and billowing green and white curtains on the south-facing wall, he saw a curved ceiling carved from honey stone. Instead of the gentle gold and green light of Mirkwood, he blinked against the harsh white glare of Rivendell. It smelled of herbs and wet stone. It smelled strange and foreign, and drove a spike through his heart. He had wanted to be home.

"Good afternoon, Prince Legolas," came a soft, soothing voice.

Elrond.

Legolas looked to his right and saw the Rivendell lord sitting forward in a wooden chair that had a tall, sweeping back. Elrond's black hair was dry and a bit unkempt, his deep blue robes rumpled.

"How long have you been awake?" Legolas didn't like how weak his voice sounded. He cleared it and swallowed.

Elrond smiled, which only made the bags under his blue eyes darker, and twined his fingers beneath his chin.

"Most of my patients want to know how long they have been asleep, not how long I have been awake," he said.

Legolas didn't smile with him.

"You have been here for two weeks, young one," Elrond said. "I was not sure if you would wake again."

Legolas nodded. At least he had not been asleep for another month. Two months and two weeks was more than enough time away from home, and none of it needed or wanted.

"Will you let me go now?" Legolas asked.

Elrond's brows rose and his eyes grew sadder, if that were possible. He had the gentlest face Legolas had ever seen. Elrond reached out and wiped a hand down the side of Legolas's cheek.

"That would depend," Elrond whispered. "I need you to tell me everything that has happened."

"I can tell you on the way back," Legolas said. "You can come and make Glorfindel better, too."

Elrond closed his eyes at the name of his friend.

"That may be," Elrond allowed, "but you come first now. If my sons are correct, it sounds as if Rivendell should be your home. If my sons are correct, you will not be let go until you are of age."

Legolas leaned away from him.

"I do not mean this to be cruel," Elrond said. "I speak only of your safety. No elfling should think that what you may or may not have been through is normal. I am your friend, Legolas, just as I am your father's friend."

"Then don't do this to him," Legolas begged.

"You must tell me why I shouldn't."

O

"I've searched the whole place out," Mala whispered as she led him quietly around another corner. She held his hand, moving slowly since he was still weak though on the mend.

It had been close to another month since they had been away from home, and since they arrived in Rivendell. Though he had told Elrond what he wanted to know over the weeks he stayed at the elven realm, the lord had made no comment or judgment on any of it. Legolas was not sure if he was still being held captive, or if he was being watched as he continued to recover from the poison.

Legolas had been allowed out of bed a few days ago, and Mala showed him Rivendell with caution. Neither of them felt safe. Today she led him near the kitchens, following their noses. The aroma of fresh bread and mixed frosting led them down another crowded hallway. Mala had told him that the kitchens were a marvelous place to be, especially since the cooks were nothing like the ones back home in Mirkwood or even Fesove at the barracks. These cooks gave sweets away like they were nothing.

They stayed close to the walls, keeping out of everyone's way. Most elves looked at them and smiled like the human merchants had back home, waving and cooing – especially at him. The elves treated him like some kind of broken thing, and he hated it.

Though he was still pale, he was able to walk now. Though he was still shaky, he no longer passed out. Mala had braided his hair away from his face for their adventure today, and he almost looked like his normal self. Aside, of course, the tremors and being as white as bone.

Mala kept a close eye on him, peering back at him often over a shoulder. Her wintry green eyes were soft like fresh snow, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip.

Legolas ignored her worry. He was fine. Elrond had identified the poison, said he could be saved since – by some miracle – he hadn't died yet. Most that ingest dregs of the tangleroot weed die within seconds, even though there is a cure. Elrond was convinced that Indari was feeding him the cure in secret. Legolas wasn't so sure.

"I think it is time to go home." Legolas pulled back on Mala's hand. She stopped to look at him, white brows tight and eyes narrowed.

"You are still getting better." She came closer with a wary glance at the watching elves that passed.

"Elrond is no longer giving me the cure, I don't need it," Legolas argued. They were so close now this breath moved her cotton-white hair away from her forehead. "I feel that we must go home. Something is wrong."

Mala studied him.

"Why do the elflings look so serious?"

Both jumped. Erestor, Lord Elrond's advisor, stood next to them. Mala pressed her shoulder against Legolas's, their hands tightening around each others.

"We were going to the kitchens," Legolas said. Mala stomped on his foot.

Erestor's concerned frown eased and he winked.

"Best hurry off then, before Elladan and Elrohir take them all," he said.

It was Legolas's turn to frown.

"Elladan and Elrohir are either looking for me or are barricaded in my room waiting for me to get back," he said. It was the truth, too. The twins had shadowed and babied him since he arrived, both alarmed by his nightmares. Since they learned he had them, they camped on the floor of his room to reach him all the faster. Neither had been their jovial selves, the ones that Legolas remembered – which, according to Elrond, was not as jovial as they truly were. When Legolas met them, they were still in their grief, though it hadn't consumed them yet.

The lines on Erestor's face deepened again. He readjusted his hold on some thick tomes, gave a short nod and retreated down the hallway. Legolas felt guilty. Perhaps he hadn't said anything.

"Okay," Mala said and pulled him back towards the kitchens. "We will go. First, we need to find out how we can get out of here without so many elves seeing us."

O

It was the first dinner Legolas attended that night. He dressed in some of Elladan and Elrohir's old elfling clothes, which were too big on him since he had lost weight – according to Elrond. Mala wore some of Arwen's. They walked hand-in-hand towards the dining hall, led by the twins amid a sea of hungry elves. Legolas walked carefully in the dark blue robes, not wishing to trip. Mala picked up the hem of her white dress, looking much more graceful than he could hope to be. She seemed like a snowflake floating down the hall.

The twins led them through double doors into an elegant, intricate wing. Tables adorned the open space, made from pale wood and draped with silk runners. The twins led Legolas and Mala to a table at the head of the hall, seating them on one side of a large, cushioned chair.

Elrond sat there. Legolas watched as he took his place and waved for food to be served.

Legolas fidgeted as they waited. He tried not to kick his feet, tried to keep his hands folded nicely in his lap the way Nana taught him, and tried not to keep his eyes from wandering to the other tables to watch the dark-haired elves.

"It is good to see you getting better, tithen las," Elrond said over the rim of a golden goblet, eyes amused. Legolas noticed that the twins were silent and still on the lord's other side, neither speaking. He glanced at Mala and saw her playing with her fork.

"I gather you are anxious to get home," Elrond said.

Those words made Legolas sit still. Elrond's hand smoothed Legolas's hair and cupped the back of his head.

"You need not plan an escape," Elrond sounded amused.

Mala stopped playing with her fork.

"A Rivendell escort will see you home," Elrond laughed, eyes gentle but sad. "I will come as well. Perhaps I can help Glorfindel. . . Perhaps I can help your ada. The Valar know how long it has been since Rivendell has been needed to help Mirkwood and hasn't. It is time to rid our blind eye and see again. Your troubles will soon be ours, for you are our kin."

Legolas blinked up at the lord in astonishment. After a moment of shock, he turned a grin of hope on Mala. They were going home.

O

The dungeons were cold and dank. Thranduil leaned his head on the bars and tried to gaze up the deep cavern to the stars, but could see nothing but more stone. He shivered and wondered when he had become so frozen, as if being warm had become a distant dream. He thought of his warm elfling, before Legolas began to fade, of how Ayanu had warmed his bed and the soft light of sun against his skin as he watched Oroduil and Kasslad spar on the field as he, Ayanu and Legolas had sat on the grass with their lunch.

Another life. A foreign life. All of it stolen from him by both dragon claws and teeth, greedy human hands, and hurt and betrayed elven hearts.

He had to face that he would never get any of it back, except for Kasslad and Legolas, except for his throne. It had been his father's, and it would not be ripped from him. The world shook as a new dragon rage found him, but faded before it could free him from his cell. He had not the heart to force his kingdom to bow to him. His heart fluttered, weak and sad.

"Good evening, Thranduil." Inamgia.

Thranduil eased away from the icy bars and leaned back against the wall. The council lady had come to see him every day during his month and a half long incarceration. She didn't say much, just told him how the people are being prepared to make Kasslad king and execute Thranduil. Her visits were terrible and tedious. They kept him cold.

The council lady stepped into view, dressed in sweeping golden robes. Dark green eyes found his and her red mouth curled into a grin.

"I have good news for you today," she said.

Thranduil dreaded it and sought his dragon rage. He wished for Dekriem now more than ever, just to see the snake rip out this elleth's black heart.

"I am offering you freedom," she said.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe her for a second.

"If you make me your advisor, you will be released," she said. "But you must always do as I say."

Thranduil laughed. It was almost as cold as he felt.

"You have set the kingdom up to hate me," Thranduil argued. "They will never allow you to set me free and reclaim my rightful seat as king. They would see me dead first."

"That can be easily fixed." Inamgia raised a caustic brow at his wicked smirk. "People would more easily believe that Kasslad hurt Legolas."

Thranduil rushed at the bars, wrapping powerful fingers around the iron, wishing to harm her, stop her.

"Kasslad has changed so much since Kagnirrok visited," she continued. "He has lost his spirit, his joy. When once he could always be found with the beloved, beautiful elfling, he no longer can. Kasslad has become a ghost of his former self. Elves would understand if he blamed Legolas for the loss of his naneth and elder brother. For it was the elfling's fault, was it not?"

"They would not believe you," Thranduil growled. "Kasslad has a broken heart, they understand that. He would harm no one!"

"As for this pesky problem with you and the dragon, Dekriem," she went on like he said nothing, "it was Oropher who made the deal, not you. With my help, you would come out the victim on each count. The elves would accept your dragon curse, begrudgingly of course, but would understand that you did not choose this. Even so, it has become handy just in case Kagnirrok comes back."

"This would never work." Thranduil hit the bars, but they did not break like he had desperately envisioned.

"Of course, the kingdom will be told that you initially took the blame to protect your father's honor and keep Kasslad from persecution."

Thranduil said nothing more. She was not listening to him.

"What say you?" She smiled.

"Let me speak to Kasslad," he said.

O

Kasslad came not thirty minutes later. Thranduil pressed against the bars to be closer to his son. They had not treated him well. Thranduil could see how his armor had been removed so roughly that his green and black clothes beneath had been torn. He must not have been allowed to change, even these long weeks. His white hair was a mess and his eyes had dark smears beneath them. His lower lip trembled as he broke free of his escort, one of whom was Naspen, and hurled himself at the bars.

"Ada," Kasslad shouted.

Thranduil reached his fingers through the small spaces between the iron. Kasslad clutched at them the best he could, tears in his dim golden eyes.

"Ada, forgive me," he said. "It was my idea. I refused to be king. She told me I had to come up with a solution to free you, if that were to be the case."

"Take the throne, ion nin," Thranduil whispered, longing to wipe the tears that spilled from Kasslad's eyes, clinging to his long ivory lashes. "Do not throw your life away. You are not yet five-hundred. You are too young, while I have lived many a millennia."

Kasslad shook his head and a sob shook free, knocking his knees to the stone. Thranduil fell with him, desperate to keep what little hold he had on his son's fingers, lending his strength to him that he could.

"You will be a great king," Thranduil encouraged. "You will find a way to break the council's hold on this kingdom and restore it to what it was before."

"What of Legolas?" Kasslad raised his swimming eyes, as lost and broken as he had been after Kagnirrok ruined their world. "I want to be out there searching for him. I should be out there! He is my brother. He is six years old. He needs me to find him."

Thranduil bowed his head, letting white-gold hair fall around his face to hide his agony. It had been two months since the elfling was stolen. He could be anywhere and as far as Rohan now, for all he knew.

"Take her offer, ada," Kasslad begged. "I have a way to escape. I will go after Legolas. Please, it will work."

"How?" Thranduil asked, looking at him again.

"Trust me."

O

Legolas and Mala walked with Elladan back to their rooms, excited and, for once, at peace. Rivendell did not seem as frightening as it had when they arrived, especially since they were no longer prisoners. At least, they didn't feel like captives now.

Elladan smiled softly as both elflings told him of home. Legolas tried to get him to understand how wonderful Sard was, but the twin merely smiled, hands behind his back, gray eyes sad and lost beneath his black lashes.

Legolas looked back towards the dining hall they had left. Elrohir had been drinking too much, and had gotten angry and started yelling. Erestor and Elrond had dismissed most of the elves as they tried to calm him. From the way the other elves left without argument or staring, Legolas knew it happened often when the twins were home.

Elladan had watched his brother with sadness, his fea growing dimmer and dimmer. Legolas remembered the smile he used to always wear, the laughter that had once come easily, even when he was still grieving. In fact, he reminded Legolas of Kasslad.

Perhaps . . . perhaps if he got Elladan to be happy again, he would know how to bring Kasslad's joy back.

"Do you know how to play stones?" Legolas asked him.

Elladan's eyes lit for a moment.

"I do," he asked. "But it is too late to play them."

"It's never too late," Mala said and ran to her room. Legolas smiled after her, having known she had brought them. She loved to play stones.

Elladan signed and shrugged one shoulder, as if too distracted by a drunk Elrohir to care. Legolas grabbed the edge of his green tunic and hauled the twin to his room. Elladan sat on the floor where he and Elrohir camped out to be close to Legolas, to wake him from his nightmares. Legolas threw pillows off the bed and joined him just as Mala ran in with her hands full of marbles.

Mala dumped them on the blankets and sat cross-legged next to Legolas, grinning like a blinding winter morning at Elladan. The twin's smile brightened for a moment and he scooped his share of marbles, rolling them toward him.

They played for hours, until first Mala fell asleep and then Legolas. He had merely rested his head in Elladan's lap for a brief minute, when the next he knew he was blinking his eyes open, the taste of sleep on his tongue. He widened his eyes against the darkness of his room. It was early in the morning, too early to be awake.

So he tried to find out why he had woken. Elladan was lying back against a mountain of pillows, head fallen back in sleep, so he hadn't woken him from any nightmares. Mala was curled like up like a fox beneath some blankets, face tucked away beneath her mane of white hair. Legolas stretched and sat up from Elladan's side, and from beneath his protective arm.

He sniffed. There was smoke in the air. A lot of it.

Too much of it.

That was what woke him.

He stood and a hand went over his mouth. Panic grasped him by the lungs and he tried to scream. It was muffled beneath the strong fingers. He turned and saw that Elladan had risen, gray eyes sharp and worried in the dim light filtering through the curtains. It was a red and orange light.

Elladan turned toward the windows, Legolas not far behind. The twin pulled back the curtains and Legolas gasped. All of Rivendell was alight with flame.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Weep and Trust**

_A/N: A big thank you to __**alebk**__ for becoming my 50th follower! It is an honor. I want to take a moment and thank Cara, my reliable guest reviewer. I do try to send private messages to those who post comments, but since Cara has no account I would like to thank her/him here. I encourage all of those who read, even the sleepers who read but do not post, to comment. The story is taking a big turn here, putting it on a dark path, but I hope you still enjoy the story and continue to follow with me to the end. Thank you again, and happy reading._

Orange, red, green and white. That is what Legolas saw. The wicked lights of a Balrog, the hellfire of a demon. He watched through his bedroom window as these brilliant fingers of flame wrapped Rivendell in its grasp and broke it. Trees screamed on the flame-whipped wind. Elves shrieked and ran, some with fire in their dark hair, others with robes alight and fanning behind them as they skirted down the narrow, sweeping streets. Stone groaned. Wood snapped and fell, sending up a shower of red ash that snapped in the wind to catch another roof on fire. It smelled of ash, of flesh, of death. It stung his nose and his eyes watered.

A weak, childish sob crept up his throat and past his lips. He felt small, like he was four again and watching through the window in his Ada's study, except then it had been morning. This was the dead of night.

A powerful hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to find the strong profile of Lord Elrond's son. Elladan's jaw was clenched, his nose bold and kingly in the light of fire. Dark, shadowy hair fluttered behind him as the flamed wind breezed through the stone window, hot and heady with ash and screams. Oh those screams. The shrills shrieks of elleths and elflings, ellons too. Legolas sobbed again and another hand gripped his. He turned and saw Mala. Her white hair breathed like Elladan's, but her face was less brave. It was strange looking at firelight dance on her winter face.

"He's found me," Legolas told Elladan. He wanted to take strength from the twin, but Sard and Oroduil had been with him before and still. . . . "Kagnirrok."

"Or Dekriem," Mala whispered.

Legolas wanted to argue that Dekriem wouldn't do this, but then the image of Glorfindel being hurled headfirst into a marble wall crossed his vision and he kept his mouth shut.

Elladan shoved the heavy drapes closed and everything jerked into motion. His strong hands swept Legolas into the air and then against his side, a muscular arm keeping him close and protected. He rushed to the other side of the room in two strides, snatching his sword and jerking it free of its scabbard. The black sheath thunked onto the rugs, revealing a bright steel blade that shone even in the pale red light of the room. Mala followed on bare feet, breathless.

"You can't kill a dragon with a blade," Mala said.

"I don't mean to kill it." Elladan's voice cut through the muffled screams that swirled around them. "I mean to get you both to my ada. He has a magic ring that will keep even the vilest of beasts away. He will kill the dragon."

Legolas was shaking his head and clutched frantically at the twin's dark robes. "Please," he begged, "don't let Lord Elrond face Kagnirrok." Tears burst from his eyes and his whole body trembled. A fierce sob ripped from his lungs, threatening to turn into a wail. "A ring is no match for the snake. Please, don't let him die. Let us run."

Elladan hurried to the door and hesitated, listening. There was screaming in the hall. Whatever had gone through the realm was now inside the last homely house, and it was headed their way.

"Let us run!" Legolas pleaded.

Elladan threw open the door.

"El," Legolas screamed, "no! NO!"

O

The throne room was quiet. Thranduil had wanted to spend the rest of the night speaking with Kasslad about this folly plan, but Lady Inamgia had other ideas. The council had been summoned and the kingdom risen from its bed. Elleth, ellons and elflings crowded the throne room, all wearing various faces of distrust and anger. All also searched for someone that wasn't there.

Legolas.

Thranduil closed his eyes at the thought of his precious elfling.

He looked sidelong at the last son left to him. Kasslad still wore his ripped battle clothes, white hair rumpled and his golden eyes held up by black smears of exhaustion. Did Thranduil trust him? That is what it came down to. At least, that is what Kasslad told him, begged him, with tears in his eyes and a tremor in his voice.

"Trust me and I will bring Legolas home," Kasslad had said.

So Thranduil did, much to his own disgust.

"I reclaim my crown and throne," Thranduil said. "I have . . . tried to protect Kasslad for his crimes."

And so he lied. He told his kingdom that everything Dekriem had made him do had actually been done by Kasslad. The elves in the room bristled. Some wept. Thranduil chose to ignore them all. When he finished with his numb words, Inamgia placed the mithril crown back on his brow. The crown of war. No one from the council or kingdom spoke. No one moved.

All was silent.

It was deafening.

The elves who didn't know that this was a trick were shocked. Kagnirrok had done this. This was his fault alone.

Thranduil stood with the lies tasting bitter on his tongue, with the weight of an undeserved crown on his head and stared at the few kingdom elves that could fit into the room. He fought his own tears. Oh how Legolas would have cried if he were here to see this.

Inamgia turned and nodded to Naspen, who moved forward with other knights. Chains clinked loud like a dragon's snapping jaws in the silence. Kasslad kept his face blank, empty as the air, stiff as the stone that surrounded them. Naspen was not gentle as he pulled the crown prince's hands behind his back.

"The council removes your title as crown prince," Inamgia said as the chains were wrapped around the prince's wrists. "You will be housed in the dungeons until your trial ends. The council will decide your fate."

Thranduil wanted to slide a blade through her scheming heart. He watched as Kasslad was jerked away and through a door. He went to follow, but Inamgia's hand on his arm stopped him.

"In the midst of these trying times," the vile elleth told the room, "a queen is needed to help right this kingdom again. King Thranduil and I will be wed in a fortnight."

Elves wiped their eyes and concerned whispers swirled through the torch lit room, bouncing off the black windows and grayed walls. Thranduil stared down at her, the bitterness in his mouth spreading through his body. He made to throw her hand off his arm, but other knights took him by the shoulders and led him through the same door Kasslad had gone.

Thranduil moved on feet that did not feel like his own, at least until a door shut and he found himself alone in his study. He looked around the familiar desk and chairs, bookcases and the red door to his elflings empty bedchambers.

Then the fury gripped him. The writhing anger that had eluded him all this time returned with a vengeance and the kingdom trembled beneath the dark scourge on his soul. He let out a feral shout and shoved all the papers, books, inkpots and quills off his desk, scattering them onto the floor and rugs. Next he grabbed his desk chair, lifted it by its legs and hurled it across the room. The well-crafted wood splinted against the red door. He screamed again and a deep crack split the stone floor.

The door opened.

The room creaked.

Thranduil watched Inamgia stand in the doorway, Naspen and other knights behind her. Dark green eyes flashed with fear.

"I know this is not normal," she said, "but blaming Kasslad with your sins is not enough to make the kingdom trust you again. You need me to help you. If you stand alone after all that has happened, this realm will dissolve, and that can't happen. These elves need you, especially if Kagnirrok returns. And after all that has happened, someone must be punished."

Thranduil took a step toward her, mad fury bubbling in his veins. She retreated into the elves behind her and the study door slammed shut. Thranduil tried the handle. It would not budge. He was still a prisoner.

The palace trembled one last time and the dragon rage fell apart again as grief laid claim on his heart, stilling its racing plunder. He sagged against the door and his tears fell. They slipped from his eyes hot and fast and he swore to kill Inamgia and every member of his military. He would build Mirkwood anew, and then truly it would be a dark place to live for he would never trust another soul again.

O

Elladan ran, careful to keep Mala behind him. Legolas wept in his arms, the beautiful elfling a glimmer of grief, his golden and diamond-white light diminishing with each footfall he took towards his ada's library. Legolas's big silver eyes searched in every direction, his hands clenched in fists at his chest, careful not to touch Elladan. It was as if Elladan had become as terrifying as the dragon itself. His heart broke because he knew, in truth, that Legolas was simply terrified that it was happening again and he would die as Oroduil and Ayanu had. Mala scampered close, calling up to Legolas in sweet whispering tones, but none of her melodic words calmed his tears or the nightmare being relived before his child eyes.

Elladan ran faster.

Vilya would vanquish the beast. The ring was powerful. Kagnirrok would not stand a chance before his ada.

He stopped at another corner, back pressed against the cool stone which was welcome compared to the stifling heat that pressed down on his skin, making it a struggle to breathe. As it was, he was surprised that a dragon had even breached the realm's boarders. Vilya protected Rivendell, keeping it a safe haven for all who sought refuge – especially for little tortured elflings like Legolas. He clenched his jaw, suddenly furious. He and Elrohir did not kidnap the elfling to expose him to his dreaded enemy.

Elrohir. Elladan quickly searched the empty hall for his twin, sickened that he had forgotten about him until now. Of course, Elrohir wasn't in the hall. Elladan just hoped he was safe because he would not risk Legolas to search for his drunken brother until he knew Ada would keep the elflings safe. Then he would go after Elrohir.

A new sound reached his sensitive ears. He froze and so did Legolas, his crying stilled for a brief moment. Even Mala stopped her desperate whispering.

The screams still filled the house, but now there were other shouts. They almost sounded like . . . war cries.

They were the shouts of men.

That made no sense. Why would men attack the realm and set it aflame?

"The cult," Legolas choked, coming to, his nightmare melting away in the face of something new. "The dragon isn't here." He turned panicked silver eyes on Elladan, and a different nightmare took hold of whatever he saw. "They killed Rugon and Pelorian," he sobbed. Fresh tears came and he clung to Elladan.

"A cult?" Elladan shook his head. He had not heard about this.

Before he could sort it out, a heavy footstep sounded nearby – as if just around the corner where they hid. He lifted his sword in time to meet the great blade of a giant human. The man towered over Elladan, barreled with muscle and bare-chested. A large tattoo of a spindly dragon stretched across his hairy, sweaty chest, and Elladan understood a little more. These men wanted Legolas to bring him to Kagnirrok.

That terrified him in a whole new way.

Their blades clashed and Mala screamed. Legolas ducked against Elladan's shoulder. Before Elladan could lift his sword again to challenge the filthy human, Mala's scream pitched higher and a bag was shoved over his head. He struggled, blinded. Legolas kicked and shouted, and suddenly he was ripped from his arms. Elladan swung his sword, knowing it was stupid, knowing he could hit one of the elflings, but praying to Valar that he hit one of the humans.

Something slammed into the back of his head. He collapsed, knees cracking against the granite floor and swayed.

"Don't bother killing him," came a hard, distracted voice. "We have no time!"

Elladan blinked against the darkness of the bag. Something hit him in the head again.

O

"We now know some of the pain that Mirkwood has suffered," Elrond said.

Elrohir ground his teeth loud enough that he hoped his ada heard. He did not care about sharing some of Mirkwood's pain, he wanted to know where Elladan was. Since dawn broke and the humans fled, no one could find his brother, Legolas or even Mala. Elladan was either dead, or taken with the elflings.

Elrond had sent a contingent of soldiers after them, but there were not many. Rivendell did not have a large army since there had never been a threat before. These soldiers were mere guards, inexperienced and now distracted by the destruction of their home and the deaths of their loved ones. Even once they found the army, they had no hope to wage an attack. They would only follow until help from Mirkwood and Lothlorien came, sending birds back with coordinates to the army's location and where they were headed. Even so, they could be spotted and killed before help ever came.

"What would humans want with them." Elrohir was fiercely determined that his brother was taken with them. He could not be dead.

Besides, there would be a body.

He shuddered at the thought. The same rage that took him when their naneth sailed threatened to blind him again. He fought against it, determined to go after his brother. He had to keep his head clear in order to do that, but it would be a dear struggle.

"I do not know." Elrond leaned against a doorway leading to naneth's garden, or what remained of it. Where roses had once bloomed and trees that had once stood tall and proud, now there was only ash and skeletons. The air was rank with death. Elrohir was no wood elf, but he heard the silence of the trees, the plants. That silence, that absence of life, sounded like the earth wept.

The fires that the humans set had devoured every green thing in the realm. Forests had burned until the afternoon before Vilya quieted them. Over fifty elves had died.

Over one-hundred humans were killed, but compared to an immortal life that was nothing.

"I will write Thranduil about this," Elrond whispered, thin and drawn.

Elrohir gripped his arm, suddenly terrified that this was too much even for his ada. He scolded himself for his uncaring words when he first arrived home. . . His anger would be the death of him. He needed to find a way to control it before it did too much damage to the ones he loved.

"An army." Elrond turned haunted, withdrawn gray eyes on him, seeing something else than his son. Elrohir gripped his arm tighter. "We were attacked by an army of close to one-thousand men, all bearing the sigil of a dragon and when they stop the attack the only ones missing are three elves, two of which were likely with the one that has had the most history with dragons among all of us. They came for Legolas, Elrohir. I guarantee it."

"But they are humans," Elrohir argued. "What business have they with dragons?"

"We are gods to them."

Elrond and Elrohir jumped at the monotone, dry voice. From behind one scorched, thin column appeared a man in red silk robes bound by black sashes. His head was bald and his brown eyes dull.

Elrohir let his ada go and drew his sword, ready to kill the filthy man. Had he stayed behind to assassinate the lord of Imladris?

The man merely raised a brow at this.

"My name is Indari," he began.

Elrohir's hand tightened on the hilt.

"You are Dekriem," Elrohir shouted. "You are a dragon!"

Elrond took a breath and stood, Vilya shinning like a star on his left hand. Pure power pulsated from it and Elrohir eased his hold, forced his muscles to relax. He had never fought a dragon before, but beside his ada he could do anything, especially with Vilya with them.

Indari smiled a venomous grin, iron-hard lips curling like the body of a snake.

"You think I came to harm you?" Indari laughed, but it sounded like nothing that would pass from a human's lips. "I have come too late, it seems. I have been searching for the elfling, to bring him home again, but he has too much of my own power I think. His fear of me alone kept me from knowing where he was. It is a shame. Had I found him sooner, the cult would never have attacked. Even worse, had I been here just last night I could have defended all of you and our precious elflings." Those brown eyes lit with yellow fire and he eyed Vilya and Elladan's sword. "Am I that hideous to you, that you blame me for all the vile acts of my kind?"

Elrond hesitated, but then lowered his hand and Vilya glinted but the power pouring from it ceased. Elrohir didn't lower his sword.

"What do you want from us?" Elrond asked. "You search for someone who is no longer here."

"Perhaps it is because I had loved Oropher," Indari pondered, "or perhaps it is because I have been among elves long enough to wish that they would no longer hate me. I came to you because it is said you are wiser than the wood elves. Oropher saw my value. Will you not?"

Elrohir watched as the dragon-man and Elrond stared at each other, the air tight. Finally Elrond took a step back and Elrohir took it as a sign to step forward, blade ready to spill the beast's blood.

"Ion nin," Elrond called.

Elrohir stopped again.

"Let him go," Elrond said. "He speaks the truth. He is no enemy of ours."

Indari's answering smile was the first genuine thing that Elrohir had seen from the beast, in the little time he had laid eyes on him. It didn't look forced or hard, but rather easy and . . . kind.

"I will save Legolas," Indari said. "And for your trust, I will return your son."

Elrond nodded, a weighty thing, filled with the acceptance of a promise. Indari nodded in return, laughed his strange, drumming laugh again and turned to leave. Elrohir didn't know what possessed him, but he hurried forward.

"Wait," he called.

Indari stopped, his shoulders stiff, but didn't turn around.

"I will come with you," Elrohir said.

"No," Elrond snapped.

"He is my brother," Elrohir persisted. "Please. I can be of aid. I can track them easily, while Legolas's fear of you will only make finding them all the more difficult."

Indari looked back at him then. Brown eyes were on fire.

"You would travel with a dragon?" he asked.

"Aye" Elrohir lowered his sword and Elrond made a noise halfway between sob and furious shout. "I would."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: To Save a Kingdom**

_A/N: Thank you to my wonderful reviewers and all of my new followers/favorites. To Christians I wish you a Happy Easter, and to Jews I wish you a happy Passover and hope you had a wonderful Seder Dinner. To all the rest, enjoy your weekend and please post your comments to this new chapter. Happy reading._

The man's name was Ciruclo. He was fat and his breath stank of rotten meat, his teeth half gone and the rest almost rotted away. Wispy white hair floated just above his spotted scalp, and his jowls trembled when he spoke and rippled when he laughed. He was pasty, from his pasty white skin to his pasty blue eyes. It was like he was halfway between ghost and man, rather than the leader of the cult.

Legolas hated him, hated the way his pudgy soft hands would touch his arms and face, hated how his eyes lingered on him. The humans had dressed him from the silk tunic and leggings he had worn in Rivendell to brown woolens and a bright blue cotton jacket with the spindly needlework of a dragon on his back. He hated that too, and hated how the clothes made his skin itch.

He now sat with Ciruclo in his massive evening tent, the army that guarded him and imprisoned Legolas surrounding them outside. The smoke from cook fires wandered in through the loose tent flap, the white cloth fanning in the cool spring breeze. From the smell of it, Legolas could tell that the soldiers were eating rabbit and deer. He looked at what Ciruclo was eating and swallowed back his revulsion. Ciruclo sat before a long table packed with honeyed ham, seasoned chicken, wine jugs and endless plates of flaky pastries. Ciruclo enjoyed his sweets. Ciruclo enjoyed simply satisfying the wants of his flesh, which Legolas could tell by the amounts he drank and the barrels of food he consumed without sharing them with his loyal servants or men.

Legolas sat at the far end of the table, wrists tied to the armrests and a gag in his mouth. He had been trussed as such since being kidnapped. That isn't what bothered him.

His eyes shifted to two figures resting against the tent's center pole, tied together with rope that made their flesh bleed.

Frosted green eyes found his. Mala always watched him, the fear boiling into terror as the days passed and Elladan still remain unconscious. Half his face was crusted in blood and his head lolled when he was dragged and thrown over the back of a horse when they rode out in the mornings. Legolas longed to see to him, to help him, but he didn't know how that could be done. It had been four days already and just kept thinking about Glorfindel.

"Kagnirrok will reward us splendidly when we bring him to you," Ciruclo said, his droning voice muffled and broken as he chewed on a lemon pastry. Flakes covered the unkempt whiskers on his face. Legolas's stomach rolled. There was something wrong with Ciruclo, something more than with these other humans.

"You are a pretty one," Ciruclo said. "I can see why the beast wants you. Though, from what I hear, Kagnirrok is too big to enjoy you. What else would he want with you then, I wonder?"

Mala made a choking noise and Legolas longed to look at her, but he was too afraid to take his eyes off Ciruclo. The fat man shoved the rest of his pastry into his mouth and shifted his weight as he stood, the chair scraping the carpets laid down. Legolas pushed back into his chair as Ciruclo took a waddling step his way, those watery blue eyes hungry as they studied him. Legolas wished he would turn back to his abundance of food and leave him be, though he didn't know what Ciruclo could do to him that was worse than what Dekriem had made Ada do. Still, something told him he could and he didn't want to find out what that was.

A moan came from the other side of the tent. Legolas watched as Ciruclo turned. Once his sickly eyes were off him, Legolas followed the noise as well.

Elladan's head rocked to the left and his gray eyes fluttered open. Mala sat up and leaned toward him, struggling against her bonds.

"Elladan?" she whispered.

Ciruclo laughed and turned back to his table. The man grabbed one of the clay jugs of wine, and in a flourish threw the contents on Elrond's son. The thick red liquid woke him the rest of the way, and the stink of rotten grapes filled the tent.

Elladan spluttered and shook his hair, sending wine flying. Mala's hair got some of the spray, turning it pink in spots.

"Welcome back, elf," Ciruclo greeted.

Elladan blinked hard a few times and then his jaw tightened and his body stiffened. Legolas tried to call his name, but it came out senseless from around the gag.

Still, it was enough for the elf's keen ears. Stormy eyes found his and the blurriness faded.

"Let him go," Elladan said, but then caught sight of Mala at his side. "What do you want with us?"

"Kagnirrok wants this one." Ciruclo waddled the rest of the way to Legolas, who winced away from his reaching hands. Legolas sought out Elladan's eyes again as Ciruclo smoothed his hair and gathered it in his fingers, stroking the side of his neck once in a while.

This made Elladan turn red.

"Get your hands off him!" Elladan jerked against his bonds, but the effort must have been too much because he drooped against the pole again, chest heaving. "And what of us?"

"The girl is pretty too," Ciruclo said. "She will be sold to a whore house."

Mala's eyes filled with tears and Legolas shouted against his gag. Elladan went from red to purple.

"As for you, a grown elf," Ciruclo's hands rested on Legolas's shoulders, squeezing them and rubbing as if to comfort him. "Perhaps we can ransom you back to Rivendell."

"They would never meet your demands," Elladan snarled. "They would kill you first."

"Then perhaps we should kill you first," Ciruclo said.

Mala started crying. Still, she said nothing. Elladan didn't either.

Ciruclo laughed and Legolas tried to lean away from his protruding, shaking stomach.

"I see how this little one looks at the two of you," Ciruclo said. "You will both be held until we give him to the dragon. If this small one gives trouble, or doesn't do as he is told, than you two will be who suffers. It isn't as if we could punish him, now could we? He must be handed to Kagnirrok without blemish."

"You are sick," Elladan snarled. "What do you hope to gain in return for this? A dragon does not deal fairly, nor does it care for favors."

"It wants a little elf," Ciruclo said. "Perhaps it will want a people to lead, as well."

"If you are to bring him unharmed, you must also bring him to the beast untouched," Elladan said. "Now take your hands off him."

Ciruclo did. Legolas still didn't breathe easy. The man stood too close for that.

"I had no plans to," Ciruclo said. "I simply admire. However, there is one thing we will do to him."

Elladan's eyes narrowed and Mala closed her eyes. Legolas held his breath now.

"Leb," Ciruclo called. "I want this done tonight, you daft half-wit!"

Legolas watched the waving tent flap, listened to the crunch of grass and dirt outside as a man neared.

"Aye, sir," came a young, trembling voice. Then a young man appeared, still too young to grow a beard. He was tall and lanky, pocked with pimples and his black hair was greasy. He carried a large red box in hand and deposited it with a thunk on an unoccupied table corner. Plates clattered.

Leb met Legolas's staring gaze, and he almost looked sorry. At least, he wasn't sorry enough because he still opened the leather box and Legolas caught full sight of hideous silver tools inside. They were sharp. They were tools of torture.

"What are you doing?" Elladan demanded.

Ciruclo came around to Leb and looked at the tools with a smug grin.

"What are you going to do?" Elladan struggled to get free again, black hair swinging around his wine-soaked, blood-streaked face. "He is an elfling! Don't touch him, you filthy humans!"

O

Thranduil glared at Lady Inamgia. It was time for their wedding.

She was dressed for the occasion, donned in white flowing silk, her honey hair falling down her back in jeweled tresses. Thranduil glared at her and the robes she had brought with her for him to wear. He longed to get his hands around her throat, if not for Naspen who hovered nearby.

"I do not expect us to be intimate," she said, smoothing a miniscule crease from her lace sleeve. "I expect to share your power as ruler of this realm, and guide you since you have obviously lost your way. You need me to help you regain the people's trust, and you know it."

"I can do that without you," Thranduil growled.

Inamgia studied him with impassive deep green eyes, her full lips quirked in a smirk. She raised a disbelieving brow and headed for the door, where she stopped and looked over a petite shoulder.

"You will thank me one day," she said, and left.

Naspen stayed.

Thranduil sent him a withering glare.

"Can I not have privacy?" Thranduil demanded, and sought for his dragon rage again for the thousandth time. Still, his grief over Kasslad and Legolas was too near and it crippled him.

Naspen held his gaze for a moment and then turned away, but not to leave. Thranduil watched him head to the corner where a small bookcase stood. The knight placed his hands on either side of the heavy wooden furniture and inch by inch began to shift it aside.

"What are you doing?" Thranduil fisted his hands, ready for a fight, not sure what to expect. Behind that bookcase was one of many escape tunnels, none of which he had been able to access because they had all been blocked. He had tried them all already.

The bookcase was moved and there stood the wooden door. Naspen opened it, but instead of the piled boulders that Thranduil had discovered . . . stood Sard.

Thranduil didn't believe that the black magician stood before him, having been out gathering information about the cult for the past two or so months. Thranduil had thought him dead, or that he had caught wind of what happened to his elfling and gone after him.

Sard rushed into the room, black hair whirling around him like a furious demon. Dark blue eyes found his, but then he was moving through the study, silent and wrathful.

"My king," Naspen bowed, dropping to one knee. "Forgive me. I acted on orders from the magician."

Thranduil snarled at the knight and spun to face Sard.

"How long have you been back, witch?" Thranduil demanded. "Why are you coming forward now?"

Sard turned a cold frown on him.

"I did not return in time to keep Legolas from being kidnapped," Sard said. "I returned in time to keep Kasslad from killing every member of your council and restarting the war that broke out in Mirkwood while I was gone."

"Kasslad is being held for crimes I committed," Thranduil said. "Was that your plan?"

"Aye," Sard growled. "It was. I needed to get you out of the dungeons without letting Inamgia know that you still had the knights on your side."

"What of Kasslad?" Thranduil demanded.

"He told you what you needed to hear in order to get to where you are now," Sard said. "He understood that trading places with you in the dungeons would mean he would never escape."

Thranduil's rage reared its head and he grabbed the magician by the front of his black uniform, shoving him against the wall.

"So you've killed him, then," Thranduil shouted. "You killed my son! They will execute him!"

Sard grasped Thranduil's wrists and squeezed. It wasn't a strong grip, but whatever pressure points he touched made the king release him. Sard's heavy black brows hid whatever emotions raged in his eyes, for his expression showed none of whatever he felt.

"You are going to leave," Sard said. "With you absent, they will never dare execute Kasslad. He has part of the scourge, and they fear Kagnirrok's return even with Legolas gone. Only Kasslad would have a chance to save the kingdom and drive the beast away. He is safe so long as you are not here."

Thranduil stared at him and then looked at Naspen, who had stood again but kept his head bowed. This was a dream.

"Why would I leave?" Thranduil asked.

"Why?" Sard let out a dry laugh then, as if the king was stupid. "You are surrounded by enemies, by elves who do not understand what is going on. Inamgia just told you that you need to regain the people's trust. She is right."

Thranduil turned away from him with a snarl.

"I was away for more than two weeks because I found where the cult thinks Kagnirrok's lair is," Sard said. "When I reentered Mirkwood's borders, the wood elves at the far reaches of the realm told me of war in the inner city. These elves are old, Thranduil. They knew your father, and one even knew Dekriem. They are willing to rise behind you and reclaim the heart of the kingdom and replace the council. You must show these elves here that even the wild tree elves support you, and one can even explain why because he was with Oropher when he made the deal with Dekriem. Reclaim trust with reason, not marriage and not force."

Thranduil studied the dark tunnel burrowed in the pale wall. He had not lived outside of the palace for years, not since he ran patrols when he was still crown prince. The idea to live in the trees with his wife's people, with wildlings, both excited and frightened him.

"If I leave," Thranduil said, "I must first find my son. I can't focus on anything else but that."

Sard's boots marched across the stone floor and stopped just behind him.

"I will find him," Sard promised. "I know where they are taking him. I moved as quickly as I could to help you. Once this is done, I will catch up to Legolas."

Thranduil turned to him, and fought the tears in his eyes. Oh, what could they be doing to his elfling right now?

"Bring him back to me, Sard," Thranduil whispered.

Sard's dark eyes were serious, and there were tears in them too.

"I will," Sard's voice thin but steady, "and if I come across Dekriem on the way, I will also bring you back the dragon's head."

O

Legolas screamed. He was tied to the table, plates with pastries shoved to make room for his small body. They had taken off his jacket and tunic to give him a tattoo. Ciruclo said it would be the image of Kagnirrok, the same spindly dragon image they all wore either on pendants or their clothing.

Leb's needle was sharp and the ink he injected was burning. Legolas sobbed and kept Mala and Elladan in his sights as the needle tripped over his skin, branding Kagnirrok under his flesh.

"You are his now," Ciruclo's droning voice said. "He will see his image on you and be pleased."

Mala had her face in Elladan's bloodied tunic, while the twin kept his gaze even though he also wept.

"I'm sorry," Leb whispered. "Please, I'm sorry. We are almost done. I know it hurts."

"Pain is nothing," Ciruclo announced. "Pain will transform you into something better."

Legolas just kept screaming, and he hoped Ada heard him. He wanted his ada to burst through the tent flap with his long sword in hand, spinning and furious as he hacked these smelly humans to bits. But he hoped that Nana and Oroduil didn't hear him scream. He hoped no one in Mandos heard. A tattoo. He was dirty now too, just like the humans. There was no undoing this.

Elladan knew it. Legolas saw it in his trembling lips, endless tears and the light of vengeance in his darkening sea-gray eyes.

O

Elrohir rode beside Indari. And he stared.

"You have been watching me very closely since we left Rivendell, elf," Indari said, dull brown eyes narrowed against the rising sun. They had ridden non-stop since departing Imladris, resting every few hours. Elrohir was exhausted, but the thought of his twin being hurt by those humans was enough to keep him from complaining.

"I am just curious," Elrohir said. "How is it that a dragon needs to ride a horse? I find it odd, and can you blame me?"

Indari actually smiled.

"Would you rather I flew?" he asked. "Would I go unnoticed by other travelers, or hamlets? Would you even like me to carry you as we are pursued by hordes of angry humans with pitchforks and torches, and their iron arrows?"

Elrohir laughed.

"I suppose not," he said. "But how are you even in the form of a man? I hear dragons are vain. Are you supposed to bury yourself in gold and call yourself beautiful?"

Indari pulled the reins back, stopped the chestnut mare that he rode. Elrohir followed his example, heart quickening. Had he offended the beast?

"Some dragons are that way," Indari said with a curled lip. "Yet, so are some elves. Should I judge you all from the few that I have met? The fair race, they call you. You all look like women to me."

Elrohir inhaled to calm his fiery retort.

"You know nothing," Elrohir snapped instead.

"If you persist in making obvious observations about a dragon on a horse, or when I will lavish in my own reflection at the nearest pond, I will persist on telling everyone we meet that you are indeed a woman," Indari said. "I will even call you Arwen, as is your sister's name."

"You don't want to start this with me," Elrohir growled.

Indari's eyes flamed and Elrohir pulled his stallion back a few quick paces.

"Remember I am a dragon," Indari said, "and if I get hungry I can eat you. If nothing else, let that hold your tongue. Though you are an elf, even you need sleep. I do not, at least I don't need to for much longer than you. And while you rest, in the quiet night, I can hear your heart beat, the blood in your veins creep and just imagine the warm taste of your flesh between my teeth."

Elrohir studied him for a moment and tilted his head.

"You're a poet," Elrohir decided. "A dragon that rides a horse, and writes poetry. You're nothing but a bard."

He spurred his horse forward, eager to get away from Indari. In fact, it terrified him what the beast had said but he would never admit it. After a moment, he looked back. Indari hadn't moved.

"What is it?" Elrohir called back, drawing up on the reins again.

"Do you smell it?" Indari asked.

Elrohir stayed silent. He might have elven hearing, but he did not have the nose of a dog . . . or dragon.

"I smell blood."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

**Funeral Song**

**Part 1**

_A/N: Special thanks to __**Cara**__ who was my 50th reviewer! I am beyond happy and honored that so many of you are enjoying the story. I apologize for the time it has taken to update. Unfortunately, I have been quite sick. In fact, I am going in for a small surgery on Wednesday, so please wish me luck. Hopefully it won't take long to update again before then. I cut this original chapter in half due to its length. Looking forward to more of your reviews. Happy reading._

The blood weighed heavy on the air. Elrohir finally smelled it as he followed Indari away from the trail that the human caravan left, miles and miles away from it to a tiny human hamlet. He smelled the blood before he saw the slated rooftops above the trees. Thatching shone black against the setting sun, the sky beyond nothing but a vast canvas of red. It was fitting, since that is all he could smell. Red. The iron that turned blood crimson. So thick, so heavy, he tasted it. The rawness of day-old blood coated the back of his tongue. It made him gag.

The horses flipped their heads at the stench, though Indari seemed unbothered. The hamlet emerged through the darkening trees and Elrohir saw the bodies. He and his stallion passed a boy, no older than Legolas. His throat had been ripped out, as had his eyes and tongue. He had also been eviscerated. Intestines lay strewn about him, half eaten. Elrohir choked back a sob and continued to follow the dragon into the tiny town.

Bodies everywhere. The dirt had been churned to mud with the blood spilt.

"Orcs," Elrohir hissed, breathing out heavily to rid his nose and lungs of the pungent odor. Tears sprang to his eyes. They were still not far from Rivendell. This could be the band of orcs that came upon his naneth's traveling party, slaughtering all but her. He and Elladan had hunted those orcs, but never could they be found. This was the closest he had ever come to their trail. "I know of the orcs that did this. I have a vendetta against them. They can't be far. We can find them. We must kill them all."

Indari swung down from his mare as she sidestepped away from the closest corpses, nostrils wide in panic. Indari ignored her fear and squelched through the bloodied mud towards a woman who was sprawled half naked in front of what must have been her house. Elrohir couldn't look closely, he refused. He thought of his nana and the tears threatened to spill. Revenge grasped his heart and he pressed a trembling fist against his mouth.

"We must find them before they get to far," Elrohir choked, his words stilted with fury and grief. The image of that little boy he passed . . . these orcs had to be beheaded and burned. They were the scourge of the world. For the boy, for his nana, they had to die.

Indari crouched beside the woman's corpse. Elrohir watched him from the corner of his eye, intent on witnessing the sun relinquish its hold on the land, handing it off to the silvery moon and stars.

"How tragic is this," Indari whispered, reaching out to brush the woman's brown hair from her mangled face. "Tragic for the undeserving humans. Tragic for the orcs who had once been elves. This is an unfair world, is it not?"

"I will not wait for you to join me to hunt them down," Elrohir growled. "What say you?"

Indari looked up and his dull muddy eyes were almost sad.

"How long have you been sick with this fever?" Indari asked.

"Elves do not fall ill," Elrohir snapped, wanting only his yes or no answer and not caring for anything else he said.

"Revenge is a sickness, elf," Indari snapped back. "And what of your brother? Are you so changed by the smell of blood spilled by orcs that you chase after them to . . . what? Save a ghost? Your mother is gone. You can't bring her back."

"How do you know?" Elrohir realized he held his sword, though didn't know when he drew it or what he planned on doing with it. Indari was a dragon. Swords were useless against the beast.

Indari stood with a casually raised brow, as if he wondered the same.

"It was a guess," Indari admitted with a grin. "Your mother was not in Rivendell when I arrived, but you would still put her ghost before the flesh and blood of a kidnapped brother?"

"It would not take us long to hunt these orcs down," Elrohir said. "With your help, we could kill them before the night is done. Elladan and the elflings are with humans. They will last."

"Humans should not be underestimated." Indari's amusement vanished.

"Orcs are evil. Humans are simply mortal and plagued with follies. It will not be hard to catch up with them and save my brother and the young ones. I can't let this opportunity to kill these orcs go unheeded." Elrohir sheathed his sword again. The fire to slaughter those monsters made his heart race. He was frantic with the need to hunt them. All the pain of these past centuries flooded his soul and the tears fell. They fell hot and fast and he didn't try to stop them. His family had been torn to shreds because of these foul creatures, and he would see vengeance before he found peace. He knew his ada did not sleep well knowing that those who hurt his wife wandered the world alive. Being able to tell his ada that they were now dead would help him heal, even if he hardly showed his grief.

Indari frowned at him, eyes dull and emotionless as always.

"You are still young," Indari said. "You are not wise yet, so let me help you. Would you rather run after these mindless orcs to avenge your mother who is no longer even here, or save what remains of your family from wicked men?" He gazed at the bodies surrounding them. "While you decide, I will pretend not to notice how you seem to not care about these people lying in pieces around you."

Elrohir not only smelled red, but he saw it now too. Pink and blue twilight settled around them and his heart raced, about to burst.

"How dare you!" Elrohir screamed. "How dare you act like you're better than me! How dare you speak to me of wisdom and a soft heart when you have tortured Mirkwood's royal family! You forced Thranduil to beat his youngest son, his beloved Legolas, who is no more than six years old! You are the monster, not I!"

Indari nodded, which was not the reaction Elrohir expected. It knocked him off his rampage long enough for the dragon to speak.

"You have seen only a small piece of the whole picture," Indari said. "You see only despicable actions from a dragon, while in truth these are the products of a promise from a friend. Oropher asked me to protect his kin before he went off to battle, should he die. He told me to protect his family and kingdom no matter the price. If that is to abuse a child, a family, to get the result that is needed to save them, then so be it."

Elrohir fumed. He focused on breathing evenly before speaking.

"You are not justified like you believe," Elrohir snarled.

"You do not understand." Indari walked back to his horse, but paused before mounting again. "Oropher was the only friend I have ever had. I loved him for his kindness, for his trust." Indari looked up at him, eyes bright with yellow flame, brow cinched with . . . was it grief? "I want nothing more than to repay those long years of friendship." He blinked the fire from his eyes and Elrohir could only stare. He did not know what to think of this beast.

"Meet me back at the trail we left," Indari said, "or go chase your orcs. I will continue after Prince Legolas, but only after I put these souls to rest. Oropher would have. I strive to follow his example."

"There is not time to bury them all," Elrohir whispered, still unsure of what he should do.

"I will burn them."

O

Thranduil watched as the stars of midnight blinked down on him through the black branches. He was free. He huddled deeper into his cloak and continued on foot after Sard and Naspen. The palace and city had been left far behind. The escape tunnel that Sard had led them down deposited them outside of the city walls. The black magician now led them towards the farthest reaches of the kingdom to the north, nestled deep within mountain foothills where snow still nestled beneath the imposing forest canopy. Thranduil's tooled leather boots crunched lightly over the fragile ice that encased the patches of white.

"Where are we going?" Thranduil asked and glanced around. Other knights followed, but none came close enough for him to recognize. "You said that you will leave me with elves, and one who even knew my adar and Dekriem, but there is no one this far away from the protection of patrols."

"This is a peaceful part of your kingdom," Sard agreed. "It is a shame you don't know some of your most loyal people live here."

Thranduil gazed mournfully ahead. He knew what waited for him, but he refused to believe that elves had moved back to the ruins of the once mighty Sindarian city of Doriath. It had been attacked by dwarves many millennia ago. He and his ada had barely escaped. The attack had killed his naneth and many other family and friends. The city had fallen to flame and death, and was so filled with ghosts for him that he never wished to return.

He could soon see the Doriath ruins as black, towering fingers against the moonlit sky. Chatter filtered through the trees to his ears and firelight began to push against the night.

Sard stepped out of the way as Thranduil approached the crumbled city gates. On the massive, fire-stroked blocks were dozens of elves. Their clothing was dark and loose, nothing like how even the Silvan dressed. Beyond the gates he saw more elves. In fact, there were hundreds of them.

"Where have all these people come from?" Thranduil asked.

"The Silvan made home in the ruins first," came a voice to his left. "The Kindi soon joined them. Their realm in your kingdom has been here for thousands of years. They live in peace."

The Kindi? That was one of the Avari tribes, and the Avari elves were the most dangerous and unwise of them all. They had been frowned on by the Eldar for teaching humans how to make fire and build the wheel, how to simply survive. Thranduil took a closer look at the few elves that had gathered to greet him at the gates. They looked as any other Silvan, with fiery red hair, vivid green or blue eyes, and mischievous smiles on all of them.

"We are glad you have finally come to visit us, King Thranduil," the voice said.

Thranduil turned in a daze to greet this speaker. It was a Sindarian elf with a face so familiar he thought for a moment he had died.

"Maronellian," Thranduil breathed.

It was his uncle.

O

The wraps that protected the tattoo on his back were carefully peeled away. Legolas sat motionless in Ciruclo's tent, crying silently. Not because of the pain, which was still excruciating, but because he felt farther away from nature and who he used to think he was than ever before. No tree would ever let him climb its branches again, no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin.

The spindly dragon tattoo stretched from the base of his neck to the small of his back. It curled around his spine, but stayed nestled between his shoulder blades. It was the same one that everyone in the cult bore, either on their clothing or medallions around their necks. But none had it tattooed. That had been saved just for him, because he was special. He "belonged" to Kagnirrok.

"The pain will fade," Leb said, the dirty human that had given him the marking. "I promise. It is worse because you are young. It will grow with you as you get older, so you will get used to it."

Legolas didn't respond, too disgusted by the human to even acknowledge that he had said a single word. Leb didn't seem offended, but Ciruclo was.

The fat cult leader stepped on Mala's left ankle, making her scream. Legolas glared up at the greasy mortal and his rippling jowls. Dandruff flaked off his scalp and onto his black coat that bulged at the buttons.

"Do not show us disrespect, elfling." Ciruclo's monotone voice barely filled the large tent.

Legolas didn't know how silence disrespected anyone, and didn't know how voicing his thoughts would make Ciruclo happier, so he persisted in keeping his jaw clamped shut and letting the tears stream down his cheeks.

Ciruclo stomped on Mala's ankle again and she screamed louder. Elladan strained against his bonds, tied again to the center pole beside her.

"Why must you torture the young ones?" Elladan snarled. "I am more than willing to take whatever punishment you wish to give."

Ciruclo laughed. It was monotone too, and sent a sickness through Legolas's stomach. Mala's frosted green eyes found his and she gave him a shaky smile, as if to comfort him. It didn't work.

"We must travel slowly until you are better, prince." Ciruclo walked over to where he sat backwards on a chair, leaning forward against the back of his, clutching the wood with white-knuckled fingers. Legolas tracked his movements with fear and flinched when the man reached out to trace one of the tear tracks on his face.

"Don't touch him," Elladan growled, glaring at the mortal with murder in his steely gaze.

"I must find a way to entertain you while we wait for you to adjust to the mark on your back, since we will camp earlier to let you rest," Ciruclo said, and finally turned to look at Elladan from down his giant, bulging nose. "We will have you fight some of our warriors every evening. If you die, you die. If you don't, you don't, but won't it be fun to watch?"

Legolas grabbed Ciruclo's hand and squeezed it, begging.

"Please don't," Legolas pleaded. "I will do anything, just don't make him fight."

Ciruclo's sickly eyes found his and he grinned, delighted that Legolas was holding onto him. Legolas's stomach wrenched but he didn't let go.

"Legolas," Elladan warned.

Legolas ignored him and continued staring up into the man's face, searching for any mercy in it.

"Then I have no choice but to sit with you as your friend fights." Ciruclo used his other hand to stroke Legolas's hair, making him cringe. "I must comfort you."

Legolas released his hand and met Elladan's furious stare, which melted when he returned the attention. Elladan's hard eyes unsheathed to show Legolas his sorrow. Legolas bowed his head, heartbroken and feeling very far from home.

O

Thranduil emerged from the hovel he had been assigned to live in during his stay. It wasn't much, having once been the throne room of Doriath – or what remained of it. He had slept in the farthest corner where there was still a part of the domed roof remaining. The Kindi and Silvan elves draped gossamer and cotton sheets from the roof to give him privacy. Through the white stripes of cloth he had seen the setting of his nightmares lit by stars. The black and green marble had been dulled by long-cold fires and nicked with battle axes from the dwarves. He had last seen this throne room the night those dwarves raided the kingdom to steal their gold, which his adar gave freely – anything to keep them from killing more of his people. It hadn't mattered. The screams of the past kept him awake all night. He wasn't sure if these wild elves had given him this spot to sleep to honor his royal blood or to punish him for never returning again.

"How did you sleep?" It was his uncle.

Thranduil had wondered if seeing Maronellian was just another haunting from the past. Apparently he wasn't. He started at his uncle's deep voice and turned to face him. Maronellian sat on the steep steps that led to the palace, the morning breeze ruffling his intricately braided white hair. He had Oropher's face, the curved brow, pointed chin, pinched cheekbones, all of which gave him the air of indifference. Instead of holding an impassive expression, like one that Oropher often wore, Maronellian smiled. His face was open and soft, his intense blue eyes like mirrors to a bright sky on a clear day. His clothes were simple, being the same as what the Silvan and Kindi wore, which were dark green leggings and black boots, and green tunics slashed with white, blue, or brown. In Maronellian's case, it was yellow. What amazed Thranduil the most were the blue jay feathers woven throughout his hair. Though he was Sindarian and once a prince, he had gone native.

"How did I sleep?" Thranduil demanded. "I am in the ruins of a home from another life, one that I left behind long ago and where I lost nearly everyone I loved, yourself included."

Maronellian kept smiling. Thranduil couldn't believe his audacity and felt one of his dragon rages charge to the surface. He contained it by tilting his head back.

"You sacrificed yourself to save your brother and me, telling us to run," Thranduil said. "You died."

"Apparently I did not," Maronellian said, still grinning.

"Why?" Thranduil hissed. "Why then did you never join us at the Mirkwood palace? Why did you let your own brother believe you to be dead?"

"I had no wish to be treated as royalty," Maronellian said and stood. He was taller than Thranduil, making the king feel suddenly young and small again. He did not like it. Maronellian draped an arm around Thranduil's shoulders, still smiling, though softer now. "There is someone I want you to meet."

Thranduil allowed Maronellian to guide him down the countless stairs to the charred courtyard below. Naspen and other knights emerged from surrounding buildings to flank them in silence. Thranduil searched for Sard but could not find him. He hoped the magician hurried on to find Legolas.

Maronellian led him through Doriath. Though these elves had not returned it to its former mighty glory, where almost every building was coated in gold, making it shine in the forest like a city from Mandos, they had made it comfortable. Thranduil studied the bustling marketplace that had filled the spacious courtyards and streets, listened to elflings laugh and watched them run freely from homes to pester blacksmiths as they hammered out steel armor and swords, breathed in breakfast that consisted of sliced hams and chicken, of churned cream and cool juice. It was a realm like Rivendell, surrounded by age-long history. It wasn't as rich as Rivendell, but it was full of life anyway and graced by a cheery sun.

"How can these people still be loyal to me if I have never been here to see them, or even protect them with patrols?" Thranduil wondered more to himself than the ghost with his arm still around his shoulders.

"Many fought with Oropher's armies when the city fell," Maronellian said, his voice so familiar and welcome that it hurt. "They love the royal family more than you can know."

"But why?" Thranduil studied the face he never believed he would see again, a face he never wanted to look away from. "I have avoided this place like it was Mordor. . . ."

"They knew you needed time to heal," Maronellian said, a spark of understanding in his joyful, gentle eyes. "Just as many of us needed time to let go of our hate for dwarves, our nightmares of fire and stolen gold."

"Ada!" a little girl squealed.

Thranduil was released as Maronellian bent to catch a little elleth. She had vibrant red hair, as bright as flames, and beautiful silver eyes.

"Luria," Maronellian sang. "Little Luria! What trouble have you caused so far today?"

Luria whispered something into Maronellian's ear that made him roar with laughter. Thranduil watched with awe, turning to see a small hovel built from pine logs with a thatched roof. A chimney smoked pleasantly and tiny mountain flowers bloomed purple and pink in the windowsills. It was a humble home.

A woman with deep honey-colored hair, glittering red and gold in the sun, emerged with a huge smile. Elflings ran everywhere and two grown elves poked their heads out of windows to greet his uncle.

"Maron," the woman said before giving him a kiss. "I didn't know if you would make it for breakfast."

"This one did almost sleep the day half away," Maronellian smiled at Thranduil.

"The problem is I didn't sleep," Thranduil corrected.

His uncle widened his eyes.

"Thranduil," Maronellian said, "this is Kova, my wife."

"And all these children?"

"They are ours," Kova said, eyeing him warily.

"How many are there?" Thranduil tried not to gape but knew he failed miserably.

"Luria is our youngest, about Legolas's age I believe," Maronellian said. "She is our twentieth."

Thranduil needed to sit down. Kova laughed, as if understanding his shock, and took his arm to lead him inside the house. Though it looked small from the outside, it was beautiful inside with just enough room for everyone. An enormous oak table took up most of the space in the kitchen, and was the focus of most of the children still running around. They fought for their seats. Kova sat Thranduil next to one of the grown children, a handsome ellon who looked strikingly like his naneth. The same electric green eyes met his, filled with life and laughter, so unlike Kasslad that it made his heart skip and he clutched at his chest.

"It is good to finally meet you," the ellon greeted. "Ada always tells us stories of the trouble you would cause when you were young."

Thranduil felt his ears go red and he glared at his uncle as he sat down at the head of the table with little Luria in his lap, singing with her some little tune about ponies.

"What is your name?" Thranduil chose to ignore whatever stories his uncle told him.

"Thranellian," the ellon said.

Thranduil's eyes widened. The child was named after both him and his uncle.

"He is our oldest," Kova said as she leaned between them to place plates packed with fruit and meat in front of them.

Thranduil turned away and closed his eyes. This was almost too much. Their laughter, their joy, the fact that they were alive and his family, made him dizzy. Legolas would have loved them all, which made his heart skip another beat. He winced at the pain of everything Legolas and Kasslad have missed by not knowing they had more family and sharing in on these songs and jokes passed between their cousins. Oroduil and Ayanu had never had the chance to know, either. And what if Legolas never got the chance either? Tears burned at his eyes, threatening to fall.

"Kova saved me," Maronellian called to him from down the table, quieting most of the children. "When I told you and your ada to run, I would have died if not for her."

"The Kindi and Silvan arrived in time to save what Sindarian elves remained," Kova said, taking a seat between some of the smaller elflings. Almost all of them looked like her. "We drove the dwarves out, but could not save the city. We tried to restore it, but love what Doriath has become. It is home to all of us now."

Thranduil let her words melt into him, but he couldn't digest them. He stared at her for a moment, felt all of the children watching him, and then turned to Maronellian, numb and overwhelmed. He wondered where Naspen and his knights were and if they could get him out of here.

"You have a large, beautiful family," Thranduil whispered. The rest of the children's chatter quieted. Tears escaped his lashes. "Why didn't you come forward to let them meet their cousins, at the very least? Even if you didn't want to be treated like royalty, we could have raised our families together. Why did you hide? Did you not want to even meet your great nephews?"

Maronellian's face clouded and suddenly he did look like Oropher. Thranduil shivered.

"Why have you never ventured this far into your kingdom?" his uncle demanded, cold and irate. "If you had faced your ghosts, you would have found me then, but no – you wanted to stay in your palace with your mithril crown. That is not the nephew I knew, so why would I care about his sons?"

O

Legolas watched Elladan duel another human. It had been two months since he had received the tattoo and it was healed, the burning having long since gone. But that didn't stop Ciruclo from continuing the "entertainment."

Elladan deflected a blow from the giant man's axe. The blow was hard enough to clatter the iron chains around Elladan's wrists, connected to the ones around his ankles with an even heavier steel shackle. Elladan was covered in sweat, wearing only his breeches. Black hair stuck to his shoulders and face, getting into his eyes and caught between his teeth. He had suffered only three wounds since the duels began, but he had been too exhausted for them too fully heal. The strain of fighting the mountain of a man tonight had reopened all of them. The first was a gash on his left calf that had never been stitched in the first place. The second was a spot in the middle of his back where he had been knocked down and landed on a boulder, scraping his flesh and filling the wounds with dirt and pebbles. The third was a stab wound in the right shoulder, which was the most recent and bled the heaviest.

Legolas turned to the giant tent where Mala was tied up. Luckily she didn't have to see this, but she always did see how more tired and wounded their friend was when it was done. She would be horrified to see all of his wounds worse-off than they were this morning.

Legolas took a deep breath and glanced at Ciruclo who sat at his left, a "comforting" hand on his knee.

"Make it stop," Legolas said to him. "Please, Elladan is injured."

Ciruclo laughed, ignoring him.

The soldiers surrounding them and the duel cheered. Legolas hurried to look back, anxious to see if Elladan was okay. He was. At least, he wasn't dead. The giant was. Elladan pulled his sword out of the mortal's chest, letting his body fall into the sand. The elf's face was gaunt, shadowed and hollow from killing men every day for so long.

The wind picked up, slapping Legolas's face with sand. They had traveled far beyond the southern mountains and had recently entered the dessert. According to Ciruclo, they were close to Kagnirrok's lair.

The sun was setting, casting a deep crimson stain across the flat horizon. It was always a red sunset here. Smoke made the air hazy, being spat up by a cone-shaped mountain in the far distance. It was a volcano, alive and angry as most of them were.

More shouts and screams erupted from the far end of the watching crowd, making Legolas tense and Elladan look up.

"The barbarians!" one soldier ran forward to Ciruclo. "The sand men, they are raiding us!"

Ciruclo swept Legolas into his arms and hurried for the tent. Elladan shouted and Legolas heard his manacles clink as he tried to follow.

"Kill the heathens," Ciruclo ordered. "Don't let them near this tent."

Legolas struggled to get a glance at these barbarians that he had heard so much about since they entered the dessert, but all he saw were more of Ciruclo's soldiers milling about, organizing for a fight.

Ciruclo scurried into the tent. Mala sat up from where she was trussed against the center pole, as always. Her eyes were big and ringed with tears. She tensed when she saw them.

Legolas smiled at her, to let her know Elladan wasn't dead, when new shrieks tore through the camp. Ciruclo held him tighter.

"What is happening?" Ciruclo shouted.

Soldiers dragging Elladan appeared.

"Sir." It was Leb. He looked at Legolas, eyes big. "The bandits have us surrounded. I have never seen so many people in one place. Sir, they are here for him. They are telling us to give him up or else we will all be killed."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

**Funeral Song**

**Part 2**

_A/N: Thank you again for all of the wonderful reviews! Also, thank you for the well-wishes. The surgery went well and all seems to be on the up. This is also just part 2 of 3. Expect a very large chapter next. I hope you enjoy the second part of the build-up. Happy reading._

Legolas listened to the screams outside the tent, the sharp crack of steel blades against each other, shrieking horses and the wind as it whipped needle-sharp specks of sand against all of them. The sand pelted the tent, sounding like a fierce rain, all while the tan canvas melted red in the setting sun. He also listened to Ciruclo breathe, which was a sick, wheezing noise against his neck. Hot spittle flecked his skin and he tried twisting farther away from him, at least as far from him as he could get while being held in his arms.

"Sir," Leb broke the relative silence. "What should we do?"

"Why do they want him?" Ciruclo asked, monotone even now.

Elladan's stormy eyes were pale, the sweat on his stressed body collecting the pale dust flying through the air, having somehow made its way through the tent flap. His fea was a mere glimmer. Legolas glared at his shackles and wished that none of this had happened, that they were all still at home where they belonged.

"It's not just him," one of the soldiers on Elladan's other side said. He was a tall black man with a gold ring through his bottom lip.

"What do you mean?" Ciruclo demanded. "You said they wanted Legolas?"

"They do, but they must have been watching us for some time," the man said. "They want all three elves."

Ciruclo mulled this over, all while the screams outside drew closer. He was unfazed, watery eyes half-lidded and blank.

"Why?" Ciruclo finally asked.

"What does it matter?" Leb shifted nervously, anxiously. "We should give them over!"

"These bandits will kill us anyway if we do," Ciruclo decided. "We need to escape while these sand rats are distracted."

"We are surrounded," Leb shouted, pocked face red and brow curled with fury and dismay. "There is no escape!"

"Then we must call for help." Ciruclo turned to the table taking up most of the space in the tent, packed once more with his lust for pastries and meats.

"Call for who?" Leb demanded.

"Kagnirrok." Ciruclo reached out with the arm that wasn't holding Legolas and shoved plates, platters, goblets and jugs to the floor. Food and wine spread and crashed. He sat Legolas on the cleared end of the table and stroked his left cheek with a thumb. "The dragon will come for him."

O

It had taken Sard too long to reach this place. He looked up at Dol Guldur, which was Hill of Sorcery in Sindarian, and suppressed a shiver. This was the last place he ever believed he would turn for help. As he studied the black, diseased ruins that housed the deepest evil near Mirkwood, he reminded himself why he had spent two months rushing towards it.

After Indari knocked him unconscious while Thranduil kicked and beat Legolas in the king's study, Sard had awoken within these ruins. When he opened his eyes he found the witch, Qangmir: a decrepit, sick woman who had outlived her mortal years, and yet clung to an odd semblance of beauty and with a mind sharper than worked steel.

Qangmir had told him where to find the cult's whereabouts in Dale. Without her guidance, it would have taken him longer to find the lair and by then the king or his son, Kasslad, could have been killed or worse – the kingdom could have descended back into war and bloodshed. Still, he had left Qangmir with the mind to return and slay her, but before he left she had said a curious thing, something that has brought him back today.

"I could help you save the elfling prince," she had said. "You will have no chance against the dragons without me."

Now Sard understood what she meant. Thranduil told him that he had sent Indari, or Dekriem, after Legolas and Sard had every intention to get to the elfling first and slay the beast for his crimes against the kingdom, the royal family, and the little one . . . especially the little one.

He climbed his way towards the stone bridge that led into Dol Guldur, leaving his horse to whinny and paw the dirt at the forest's edge.

The ruins were sick, housing a great evil that his fea screamed he escape immediately. Ignoring his instinct, Sard pressed on into the dark, shadow-ridden stone towers and courtyards.

"Qangmir," Sard called, "I have remembered your words. Where do you hide?"

"I do not hide, magician." Qangmir's voice was deep and melodic, smooth and yet ancient at the same time. He fought against its allure and turned to see her standing over a raised basin filled with water swirling in light. It lit her pale complexion, highlighting her silvery gray hair and rich brown eyes. Wrinkles lined those eyes, but not much yet to ruin their beauty.

"You must head for the great ice desert to the east," she said without looking at him, mesmerized by whatever she saw in the undulating light. "That is where he and Mala will be found once they escape the cult. Without your help, they will never return home, for they cannot do it on their own."

"East?" Sard shook his head, hand still on the pommel of his sword, one he rarely ever strapped to his waist. "The cult is taking them south. Thanks to your guidance I found their lair in Dale and learned where they believe Kagnirrok is resting. That is far south, not east."

"If you leave now, you will arrive at the ice plains as they do," Qangmir said. "And you should not wait long, or else both you and the prince will suffer for the rest of your immortal lives."

Sard's head spun and he steadied himself against a wall, still far from her.

"I don't understand," he said. "Why are would they ever go east?"

"You will understand in time," she said and stepped away from the basin. As she did, the light in the water faded. The courtyard around them grew darker. The witch stepped closer, graceful as ever. Her red silk gown and the black robe she wore over it billowed around her to some unfelt breeze. She lifted her hands to him, and he saw that a large knife had appeared in those delicate fingers.

He studied the blade, which was made of yellowed, old bone. Its handle was wrapped in frayed leather straps.

"What is this?" he asked.

"To kill a dragon," she said, "you must use a dragon bone. You do not have the time or means to kill a dragon any other way."

He gazed down at her, clenching his jaw. Those black eyes were intense and held his stare, though he could not read what was in them.

"Dekriem sent me to you," he growled. "Why would you help me kill him if you are allies?"

She raised an old, silver brow.

"Why do you assume it is to kill Dekriem?" she asked. "Is Kagnirrok not a part of this?"

Sard still didn't touch the blade. Suspicion flared through his chest and he cursed himself for ever returning to her, for ever allowing her haunting words about Legolas brew for so long in his mind.

"Why are you helping me?" he demanded. "What do you expect in return?"

Her smile made him uneasy. He saw something wicked in it.

O

"How can we call to the dragon when he is still so far away?" Leb asked, stepping closer quickly. Legolas watched him from around fat man Ciruclo. He could feel Mala's terrified eyes on him, and Elladan strained against his chains, held back by the other soldier Legolas didn't know.

"Kagnirrok loves the little prince," Ciruclo said, watery eyes scanning Legolas who eyed the tent entrance. He would have kicked Ciruclo in the groin, leapt off the table and run if not for Mala still tied to the center tent pole and Elladan in chains. He cursed his luck and wished he was a magician like Sard. Sard would have some trick up his sleeve. He always did.

"If we make him scream loud enough," Ciruclo breathed, the heavy folds of his face flushed like he had a fever, "then Kagnirrok will come."

All color in Leb's cheeks and neck drained. Elladan screamed something in Noldor, but the sudden ringing in Legolas's ears kept him from understanding what it was. However, he knew what Mala was shrieking in the common tongue over and over again.

"NO!" she cried. "NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Ciruclo reached for a large meat cutting knife from the table and slashed at Legolas before he or anyone knew what was happening. Legolas flinched away, but the biting sand and heat on his chest made him look down, hands shaking and vision blurry with fear. His white shirt was sliced open. A thin red cut trailed from his collarbone to his naval, tickling bright blood onto his brown breeches.

"We just have to make him scream," Ciruclo said.

O

"I have given you all the keys to save what you love most," Qangmir said, leaning closer to Sard and gripping the dragon blade by the handle.

Sard felt the tip press against his stomach.

" In return," she said, "I search for my own loved ones who have gone beyond the veil." She moved the blade down, took his left hand and wrapped his fingers around the handle. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were brown once more and impossibly hollowed by grief. "No matter how much of myself I give to the darkness to help me find just one lost soul, I am not enough. But an elf could do what I cannot. I ask you to become a link between Middle Earth and the veil where my loved one wanders. He is weak. I only ask that you bring him back to me. Once that is done, I will sever all ties you have with the dead. A fair trade, is it not?"

"A trade that could cost me my sanity," Sard guessed. "A trade that could put a scourge on my soul."

"We would both be saving people," she said. "Is that not noble?"

"The dead are in the hands of the Valar," he said. "They are no longer our responsibility to care for."

"This one soul," she whispered, taking a step back with tears in her eyes, "he is trapped in the veil. If the gods lack the will to save a mortal soul, to give it peace, then I will reach out and pull him back to join the living."

"For him only to become a ghost?" Sard asked.

"No." The tears fell onto her cheeks. "He is already a ghost. Will you not help bring peace to more than just other elves?"

"I am wary of why a witch would want to save anyone," Sard said. "Can I be blamed for that?"

"You love your wizards," she said. "Am I so different?"

Sard bowed his head. Wizards were supposed to be the Valar reincarnate, essentially. Witches, though . . . no one ever said what they were. He looked down at the blade in his fist, knuckles white around the handle. She had helped. He could save Legolas now, and he believed her when she said there was no time to wait.

"What must I do?" he asked.

O

Legolas did scream. Ciruclo held him down with one hand and sliced at him with the other that held the knife. Legolas kicked and writhed, but nothing could make the madman stop.

Ciruclo dug the blade's tip into his stomach, twisting it but not pushing it in.

"Louder," Ciruclo bent over him to whisper in his ear. "Scream for me."

Legolas fought the tears that came at the man's nearness. In his pain, he couldn't hear if Mala and Elladan still shouted or even what Leb and the other soldier were doing. His world had become filled with Ciruclo and his knife.

A deep-throated roar broke through his blurred haze, make his blood congeal and his bones tremble. Ciruclo straightened and backed away, holding the bloody knife with a lopsided, crazed smile on his greased face. The roar filled the air again, so fierce it made the tent shake. The sounds of battle outside stopped.

"It worked," Leb breathed. Then he laughed. "It worked!"

"But look at him, you idiots," Elladan snarled. "You have said it this whole time, the dragon won't want a beaten, bloodied elfling. Kagnirrok will kill you for what you've done."

Ciruclo turned from Elladan to Legolas, pale eyes wide with horror. Legolas tried to pull himself away from the man, but dropped onto his back again, the shallow wounds still too painful. This was a nightmare. Kagnirrok was here.

The beast was here.

Legolas sobbed, but thought of how Sard kept level-headed even when the snake had torn Oroduil and Nana to shreds. He had to be like a magician or he would never escape again. A darkness filled him, the scourge as his ada called it. He let it wrap through his muscles and then looked up at Ciruclo again.

Fire exploded outside, lighting the night in red and green flame. Screaming returned from the men surrounding the tent, but instead of being war cries – these were shrieks of terror.

Kagnirrok was going to kill all of them. Legolas trembled, but kept his gaze on Ciruclo. He would get Mala and Elladan away from here. No one else that he loved would die.

O

Sard watched as his blood dripped from the slice across his palm into the basin where the witch has supposedly seen the future. The red droplets smoked as they hit the clear surface. Qangmir then held out her cut hand and let blood fall. Instead of red though, it was black.

The witch spoke in the ugly tongue of Mordor, then waved for him to finish the spell. She had told him he must drink from the seeing waters where both had spilt their blood. Her soul was already bound to the darkness, and by drinking her blood he would share in the sealing.

She ensured that this way, his ties to the shadows could be broken.

Knowing he needed to hurry in order to save Legolas, he picked up the bowl and stared at the darkening waters. He only allowed himself a moment of hesitation before tipping its cool edge against his lips and sipping the foul liquid. It tasted burned and bitter. As it ran down his throat and into his stomach, he set the bowl back down and then clutched at the stone dais that held it. His insides twisted in protest and he fought the urge to retch.

The world spun and the darkness stretched. He thought he heard Qangmir laugh, but then she was there holding him up as he fell.

"Breathe," she instructed. "It will pass."

He blinked up at her, and squinted when he saw a pale, transparent figure standing over her. It looked very much like Kasslad, and he looked mournful.

It couldn't be. He could see the dead.

And this wasn't Kasslad, but Oropher the Great King.

"The ghost I want you to find in the veil," Qangmir said, "his name is Marion."

Whoever Marion was, just the mention of him sent Oropher fleeing. It was the last thing Sard saw before the darkness encased him.

O

"Perhaps now we can run," Ciruclo breathed. "Everyone is running."

"The dragon will not let you escape," Elladan said. "He will not let Legolas escape."

Ciruclo looked around at Leb and the other soldier. "Kagnirrok will favor us," Ciruclo said, almost as if he was trying to convince them along with himself. "The great serpent is being given the elfling. We will be made lords in his court."

"Dragons do not have courts," Elladan shouted now. "Dragons do not have kingdoms! They are lone creatures who covet treasure. Kagnirrok will want nothing to do with you."

It was as if Ciruclo didn't hear him. The man dropped his knife and went to snatch Legolas. Legolas sat up and met his terrified gaze. Whatever Ciruclo saw in his face prevented him from touching him.

"What is wrong with you?" Ciruclo whispered.

Legolas lifted one hand and pointed a trembling fist at the man. Cotton seemed to wrap around Legolas's body, his head, blocking out sound, smell, touch, just as it had that day on Common Street after Pelorian had been shot by the cult's sniper. All faded around Ciruclo in Legolas's mind now, the red pulse of a heartbeat in the man's neck, his chest, under his arms and inside his thighs. Legolas saw through his skin just as a dragon could. He turned his fist and Ciruclo dropped to the rugs on the tent floor, clutching his chest. Legolas focused on that pulsing heart, the red glow that pinpointed his attention, and he imagined it in his fist, imagined squeezing the soft issue that it was made from, digging fingers and nails into the thin walls and holding it still.

There was no Indari to save him from killing now.

Ciruclo's heart was punctured and blood filled his chest. The man collapsed in a heap. Legolas blinked until his vision returned to his own and watched as blood sagged past the man's fat lips.

He was dead.

Legolas looked up at Leb and the soldier. Both backed away from him through the tent flap, joining the hordes of soldiers and bandits as they all fled.

Elladan stood with his mouth open and eyes wide. Legolas turned to Mala and she had her face covered. Her whole body trembled.

Legolas blinked harder and let the scourge go. In its wake his own body began to quiver. Tears returned to his eyes.

Whatever plans he had to get Mala and Elladan out of there vanished as he heard something large step beside the tent near the back. Not a second later deep breathing rattled out of giant lungs just outside of the tent's opening.

Kagnirrok had found him.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

**Funeral Song**

**Part 3**

_A/N: I apologize for the extended delay in posting a new chapter! Unfortunately the surgery from a while back was not enough. I have been very sick, and go in this Tuesday for an intensive treatment, so I'm not sure when I will be able to post again. Hopefully you won't have to wait very long! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and who knows – maybe comments will miraculously make me better ;) Before you begin, two things. The first: this chapter takes the story across a large span of time and circumstance. Things have become worse for our favorite elfling. Second, I would like to plug another story which is quite amazing. Check out __**Horsegirl01's story "Dear Ada."**__ Thanks again for reading. Enjoy!_

Legolas wasn't sure how, but the scourge took over. It was like it had a mind of its own. It encompassed him completely, filling his head with silence, his heart with ice and his blood with shadow. He saw Elladan's widened eyes and opened mouth, the caked blood on his forehead, which stood out in stark contrast against his ashen skin.

_A darkness punched him in the chest and he quieted. Sard knelt next to him, hands reaching for his shoulders, but Legolas turned to face the new evil out in the hallway._

_ His ada marched towards Kagnirrok, an image of dark power, his aura blacker than midnight. His face was a storm of fury, eyes bright with yellow flame. Kagnirrok growled, so low and deep that Legolas's stomach hurt._

_ "What is this?" Kagnirrok asked._

_ Legolas wanted to warn his ada to run, that the beast had eaten Nana and Oroduil, but the Elvenking kept coming and Legolas couldn't find the courage to speak._

_ "An elf with the power of a dragon?"_

_ Legolas studied Ada as Sard's hands finally grasped him and picked him up._

The same darkness flowed from him now. His eyes burned like they were aflame. He screamed, looking for Elladan again as the memory of that terrible day faded, but there was only shadow. His scream cut short and he choked on the darkness, the evil that he had felt from his ada that had horrified him to silence for weeks after. The darkness swirled and rippled, and he only thought of Elladan and Mala and escaping.

A mighty jerk in his stomach yanked him to the left and fine sand filled his mouth, crunching between his molars and drying his tongue. Hands pulled at his shoulders and for a moment he thought it was Sard.

"Little one," Elladan was breathless with fear. "What have you done?"

Curious, Legolas opened his eyes. They were no longer in the tent. Instead of looking out on a field of dead bodies and the great red eyes in Kagnirrok's wicked face, he blinked up at the mud-packed walls of a sprawling village. Crowds and crowds of people flooded into the town by way of a wooden, rickety gate. Torches were held up by wrinkled, hunched villagers wrapped in tattered rags, welcoming the tribesmen in who had somehow managed to escape the camp.

Legolas sat up and spat sand from his mouth. He peeked over his shoulder. Far, far in the distance, perhaps in his imagination, he saw the smoldering fires set by the dragon. Of course, he couldn't be sure. He wasn't positive how he, Mala and Elladan had even arrived here, or how far away from the camp they had come. How could they be in one place, at Kagnirrok's feet, and here the next with other refugees? Either way, were they finally free? His stomach sank, but his heart soared. Tears burned and he hoped, he prayed the hardest he had ever prayed, that yes they were free. He looked again at the few tribesmen that had escaped, the even fewer cult members, and saw none paid them any mind. He dared to smile.

When he turned that grin on Elladan, his friend didn't reflect his fragile joy. The wounds he had gained during the nightly duels over the past months, the chains that weighed down his hands and feet, seemed to bleed all the more fiercely now that they were free. Blue eyes paled, the life in them wavering, and he fell backwards into the sand, knocking clouds up around him.

Mala screamed and Legolas found himself moving. He grabbed Elladan's two hands and tried to drag him towards the village gate. They had to have a healer who could help. He searched for Mala, waiting for her to grab Elladan and try to move him as well, but she stood gaping at him. Starved and dirty, she looked like a ghost and no longer a snowflake. Her white hair hung in matted locks around her colorless face, frosted green eyes filled with deep horror. And that was when Legolas realized she was afraid of him.

Her eyes made him remember killing Ciruclo, remember being filled with the scourge. He felt it now, since it hadn't let him go yet or drifted back into his bones. It made him feel like the dragon on his back. Instinct told him to break the scourge's grip, but he was afraid that the emotions boiling beneath the darkness would crush him. He was tired of being helpless and small, and scared of the guilt for murdering a man. So he gripped the scourge, held on with all his might, because he didn't know what would happen if he let go.

"Your eyes," Mala breathed. "They are black."

O

Legolas couldn't move Elladan by himself, and Mala was too afraid of him to get close enough to help. One villager, who carried a withering torch, stumbled through the sand towards them. The old man shouted in a strange, guttural language. In response, younger villagers came running, all donned in the same ruined rags, so starved their bones stuck out in odd places. Legolas and Mala followed wherever these living skeletons took Elladan, bypassing the ragged line of cult members and tribesmen. Before entering the village's mud-dried walls, he chanced one last glance behind him.

No dragon seemed to chase after him in the dark. He took a deep breath and hoped no dragon would ever be able to find him again.

He gladly disappeared into the human town of slanted dirt streets and squat mud homes. Mala hadn't waited for him, but kept well ahead with the men who carried Elladan. Legolas followed more slowly, heart heavy. Though he was free, he never felt more alone.

O

The healer's house was not a clean place. Mala's mother, the head healer in Mirkwood, would have been horrified. Sand coated every surface, and he even saw sand in the bandages that were used on others wounded at the camp. Legolas wondered if the sand would make those gashes burn. Other than that thought, or wish, Legolas couldn't bring himself to care. He sat on the bench next to Mala, who tensed but at least didn't get up and leave him again. Elladan was laid on the kitchen table. The chains were being broken off by great hammers. Deep, resonating cracks accompanied each blow until the iron eventually gave way. Legolas winced with each one, hoping that Elladan's wrists and ankles weren't broken in the process. If they were, then he was glad his friend was still unconscious.

"What is he?" The healer was an older woman, with a head wrapped in a brown cloth. Legolas was surprised to hear the Common Tongue spoken by her. No one else seemed to know it, or care enough to use it. Her large brown eyes found Legolas's and her head tilted as if suddenly she knew who he and Elladan were.

She returned her attention to Elladan and wiped away the blood to better see his wounds.

The door slammed open, wood cracking against the mud wall. Mala jumped and Legolas grabbed her arm, not sure what to do. A tribesman stood in the entrance, a bleeding wound in his right side. They couldn't run and leave Elladan behind.

The tribesman spoke in that strange language, sharp and angry. The woman snapped back at him, waving him to the far wall where men had begun to sit against as they waited to be seen. Legolas watched the tribesman carefully. The man scanned the room, apparently displeased with being told to wait. Those dark, narrow eyes found Legolas and Mala. Suddenly he reexamined Elladan on the table and visibly paled. Without a word, he backed into the doorframe and rushed away.

The healer grumbled and threw down the rag she was using to clean Elladan's wrists. She waved at one of the skinny boys in the room to take up the task, and then gathered her skirts and snapped her fingers at Mala and Legolas. Legolas pulled Mala to her feet, heart racing. They followed her through a back door.

Legolas yanked Mala up the stairs after the healer. He hurried down the hallway, glancing into rooms to find her. When he did, she slammed the door closed behind him.

"You are elves," she said, her words thick with accent. "You are supposed to be strong fighters. That is why they want you." Those muddy eyes landed on Mala and she looked worried. "They will have different plans for you, dear."

"We won't leave without Elladan," Legolas said. "Where can we hide?"

"In plain sight. That is your best chance." She drew a knife from a nightstand. Mala backed away. The healer waved them both closer. "Trust me."

O

Legolas felt his newly cut hair, shaved clean on the sides and in patches above his neck. The healer had also dyed it black. He wondered what his ada would say if he saw him now. No human merchant could say he was made of diamonds and gold anymore. Perhaps when Kagnirrok heard of how he is no longer beautiful, the dragon would finally leave him be.

He fought the tears that threatened to fall, ashamed of how he looked, and turned to Mala as her hair was shaved away. Nothing was left behind. The healer said this would make her less desirable. Either way, whatever that meant, Mala didn't seem to care. She sat still and obedient, tears falling down her pale cheeks. She still looked like she had been born of winter, but now because she seemed so cold. That warm smile was gone. Legolas's tears fell then and he wished none of this had happened. None of them belonged here.

"I may have to cut off the tops of your ears," the healer said.

Mala sobbed and Legolas went still. The door burst open and they all jumped.

It was only Elladan, who looked about ready to fall down again. His eyes widened at the sight of them. Whatever had urged him to rush up the stairs kept him silent though. He went to grab Legolas.

"Where do you think you are going?" a cool voice questioned.

Legolas looked past Elladan and saw tribesmen, many of them, filling the hallway. The one in the front, who had spoken, had a sharply cut beard and a pointed helmet. He didn't look very much like the tribesmen at all.

"You now belong to the Terkmar Empire," he said. "I am Commander Rushllt."

Rushllt stepped into the room, polished boots clomping against the dusty wood floor. Dark eyes surveyed Elladan, who used his body to hide Legolas the best he could.

"You look strong," the commander said, then jerked his head and said something in that strange guttural language. "You will be well cared for before becoming a soldier for the Terkmar Army."

"I will not fight for you," Elladan growled, sounding more like Lord Elrond than ever before. "I am no human to be trapped, no animal to be trained!"

The commander wasn't listening. Tribesmen rushed forward and grabbed Elladan by the arms. He shouted and tried to fight back, but was too weak.

"Elladan!" Legolas kicked at one tribesman, who backhanded him.

Legolas opened his eyes, hissing against the sting of his broken bottom lip, and found himself sprawled on the floor.

"This one." The commander's boot rolled him over. Legolas looked up at him and panic filled him. He would not be taken captive again_. He would not_. "He is well suited for the children's army for training."

Elladan, who struggled in the doorway, let out a murderous scream. Legolas turned terrified eyes on him. Elladan's veins could be seen in his neck and forehead. Never had he appeared so furious.

"And you," the commander had already moved on. "You will be given to the emperor's concubines for training. He will appreciate you once your hair grows back." The commander tisked and then turned on a heel for the door. "Separate them. We head east."

Legolas tried to get to his feet, tried to call for the scourge to kill every human in the room, when a bag was shoved onto his head. Small legs flittered over his cheek, crawling from one of the bag's seams. He let the little gnat or earwig run about his head, and then screamed.

O

Elrohir walked the ruined battlefield. Dawn was just beginning to bleed across the desert sky, spreading heat through the cool mist of night. Other than corpses, he found nothing. No sign of Elladan, Legolas or Mala. His heart twisted at the thought of what could have happened to them during the chaos. He had thought they were so close to finding them, having discovered the tent they were held captive in last night. Elrohir had been convinced they were inside still, and so had Indari, who had changed into his dragon self.

"They had been in the tent." Indari looked human now. He stood with his hands behind his back and stared east. "I know they were there."

"Then what happened?" Elrohir asked, walking up beside him. The heat already pounded down his back.

"Legolas has accepted more of the scourge than anyone else has in his line," Indari said. "He used it against me last night and disappeared."

Elrohir bit back a curse and searched the empty, pale sky for some way to catch up to them.

"Why did he use it against you?" Elrohir asked. "Why would he run from you when he knows you would bring him home?"

"He didn't know it was me," Indari said. "He is merely a frightened child." The beast paused, hesitant. "Legolas is a warrior already, and it makes me feel as though I have failed Oropher."

"You only fail if we lose them," Elrohir said, surprised that he tried to comfort the dragon. "Where have they gone now?"

"East," Indari said, then looked at him with those dull brown eyes, his face impossibly sad. Elrohir never thought a dragon could mourn. "You should return home. Let me go alone. Kagnirrok heard Legolas scream and stirs again. He has opened his eyes."

Elrohir huffed and shoved Indari's shoulder, furious that he even suggested that he leave.

"I'm not going anywhere but east," he said.

Indari's smile was unnerving, but made Elrohir laugh. He realized then that the dragon never believed he would leave. They had come too far together for that.

O

Sard pushed hard to the east, just as the witch had advised. Though he urged his horse to run, though he couldn't stop imagining what the cult was doing to his little elfling, he found that he was distracted. Since binding himself to the darkness to find Merion's trapped soul, in exchange for the dragon blade to kill Indari and Kagnirrok, Sard had seen every trapped ghost. Wherever he rode, whatever town he blew through, he saw the dead. They were unaware that he could see them, simply drifting between trees or homes. But they were there, when he had never noticed them before. It was disturbing, but not nearly as much as who rode alongside him on a ghost horse. The horse itself was impressive, one bred for battle, but the elf who rode it was more intimidating than even Thranduil.

King Oroduil was mightier than Thranduil simply by the way he held himself. He had carried that stiff back and stoic expression for weeks since they left Dol Guldur together. Though he followed, he had never yet spoken.

Sard heard his horse breathe heavier and reigned in. He didn't want to stop, for every second counted in saving Legolas, but he would need to if he didn't want to kill his mount. Two hours rest would be enough.

He swung down, but didn't dare take the packs or saddle off the horse. When the two hours were up, it would be another day of hard riding. Instead he bent to make a fire.

"Don't kill Indari."

Sard looked up for who had spoken and found himself staring into the green face of mighty King Oropher. His very voice was like steel. Sard felt the command weigh on him.

"And why shouldn't I?" Sard snarled, shaking off the pressure to obey.

"That dragon blade can kill more than just dragons." Oropher stood over him. "Dragon bones are powerful, and that blade should be used to kill Merion's trapped soul."

Sard set down his steel and flint to give the dead king his full attention.

"Why would I do that?" he demanded.

"Magician," Oropher sounded disappointed. "Why don't you remember your history?"

Sard growled, uncomfortable from riding so long and so hard, and irritated beyond belief by Thranduil's father.

"Merion was a man," Oropher informed. "He had been a king, once mighty and wonderful, but those who are great fall hard."

"Yes the mighty fall hard," Sard interrupted, growing increasingly angry that the dead king would want him to spare Indari's life, the same beast that had forced Thranduil to break Legolas's ribs. "I see how far you have fallen, because no elf that has made a deal with a dragon can be welcomed into Mandos."

Oropher's face twisted and suddenly he was gone. Sard stared at the empty space of air where the king had once stood, and he knew the truth. Rather than feeling vindicated for being right, Sard's stomach clenched. He slammed a fist into the dirt, and mourned for Thranduil and Legolas. He wondered if the scourge would keep them from Mandos if they were to die with it.

Sard gripped the handle to the dragon blade at his hip, armed with just another reason to kill Indari and end the curse.

O

_Sard carried him. Legolas had snuck out of the palace again to see his friends at the barracks, but it was well after breakfast now and even Rugon had to leave to train his knights. Pelorian marched alongside Sard however._

"_I should give you a bow and arrow for practice, little sprig," Pelorian laughed. "You have the makings to be a great archer one day. Perhaps I will speak with your ada and arrange some lessons. Would you like that?"_

_Legolas grinned and nodded. He tried to speak, but his voice was weak from disuse and nothing at first came out. He shoved away the image of his ada with that dark aura, how he had forced Kagnirrok to flee. It had been months since he had spoken, and he knew it was useless. Being silent wouldn't change anything, or undo what had already been done._

"_I would . . . like that," he croaked._

_Pelorian skipped and his brilliant grin spread across his face, green eyes flashing with joy._

"_Did you hear that, Sard?" Pelorian smacked the magician on the shoulder. "He would never have said anything if he didn't mean it."_

_Sard snorted, which was very un-elf like, but he was smiling too. Pelorian danced ahead and began going on about how he would make Legolas a legendary archer, one to be written about, but Legolas watched Sard instead of listen. The magician's opinion meant more to him than anyone else's. Usually Sard would scold Pelorian for trying to force him into being an archer, or ultimately a sniper, and would urge Legolas to decide for himself what he wanted to do with his life. Sard always suggested things like artist or baker._

_Instead, Sard said nothing. His grin simply grew mischievous and suddenly there was a honey roll in front of Legolas. Legolas laughed and clapped his hands. Sard was the best at making sweets appear out of thin air._

_He grabbed it and his fingers were instantly coated in honey. Sard ran a hand over the back of Legolas's head and chuckled._

"_Whatever you want, tithen las," he said softly, "whatever you need. Just promise me you will never let fear hold you back again."_

Cold water slammed Legolas awake. He jolted out from under his thin, rotting blanket, gasping. He raised a hand to wipe the water from his face and hair, but when his hand met patches of short black and blond hair instead of his long locks, he didn't care if water got into his eyes.

"Come on, Legolas," a small voice urged. "We need to get up or you know what they will do."

Legolas turned to find his human friend, Tayirre. Tayirre was from Terkmar, but a poor village like the one Legolas had been captured in. Tayirre had been a child soldier in training for the past three years, even though he was the same age as Legolas. He didn't remember his parents who sold him for money, just to buy their next meal, or any siblings or friends. He just remembered being sold for money, because they were starving. Legolas studied his friend, who had dark brown skin covered in lashes and burns. His hair was long and in a leather band behind his head, but his brown eyes were still lit with hope. Legolas envied him that.

He had been with the child army for nine months . . . or more. He had stopped counting after three. The days had morphed into hard bread and fatty meat for meals in the morning and evening, training all day, and sleep at night. The night was always the hardest. He always dreamed of friends that belonged to another life, friends who would never recognize him now. He was ashamed of how he looked, how afraid he was to be beaten again for not doing well enough on the field. A small part of his mind wanted to say he was six . . . or maybe seven, so how could he keep up? How could any of them keep up?

He looked around the barren room where the other boys slept. It was massive. There had to have been two thousand of them. Dozens died every day. He would sometimes catch glimpses of the grown soldiers, the men, as they returned from patrols or battle. Battles with who . . . he didn't know. The men were hardened warriors though. None of them had the joy in them that Rugon, Pelorian or Sard had. None of them spoke to one another. They were alone, though they were together. Legolas didn't want to become that.

But he was. Slowly. Growing quieter, harder. The dreams of what was had become torture, because he would never have that again. He hadn't seen Elladan or Mala since being separated at the healer's house. He didn't know if Elladan had died of his wounds, or if maybe Mala had escaped. He hoped she had. He day dreamed about her finding her way back home. Then at least one of them could escape. That made him happy to imagine.

"Come on, Legolas." Tayirre pulled at his arm. Legolas stood and swayed. The lashes from yesterday were still raw. He saw they were on Tayirre's back too. It was their daily training, to practice swordplay against one another while mentors whipped them for being too slow or stumbling. Whips were only used if one did very poorly. Mostly the mentors just used sticks. Either way, all the mentors shouted obscenities at them. Legolas now knew words Rugon never even used.

Legolas followed his friend with the other boys outside. Commander Soltir waited for them, looking as sharp and cruel as ever. He had the same pointed beard and helmet that all superiors wore, his elegant uniform pressed and pristine. He glittered in the stark morning.

"Today will be different," Soltir said in Common Tongue, since none of them had been forced to learn Terkmar yet – though many knew enough to get by. "At least it will be for some of you. Those who are doing better than the rest will be separated and paired off. You must fight to kill today, or you will not be allowed to stop fighting. If you fall in exhaustion, the other boy must kill you. If you both fall, we will wait until you awaken and then you will begin again."

Legolas's stomach shrank and plunged. Tears burned at his eyes and he choked back a sob. The memory of killing Ciruclo was still fresh and he knew he never wanted to kill again. He prayed to what Valar or gods dared to listen to him that he would not be chosen, and neither would Tayirre.

Of course, the gods had never bothered listening to him. Why would they begin now?

O

"You have to stir the sugar into the water, like this." Thranduil smiled at little Luria, his uncle's youngest. The elfling's tiny hands held the spoon with amusing caution, as if the task to make hummingbird food was the most important assignment she had ever been given. She was beautiful, but looked more like her wild naneth than her Sindarian ada. Thranduil looked out at Maronellian's home and smiled at all of his children as they went about their tasks for the day. The lost Sindarian city of Doriath was a joyous place, much like how Greenwood the Great had been before Kagnirrok. It inspired Thranduil. There was a way to bring this weightlessness to Mirkwood, to the rest of the kingdom. He only needed these elves to follow him home.

"Did I do it?" Luria's silver voice made him laugh. He focused back on the bowl in her lap and stuck a finger in. He tasted it and pretended to ponder.

"Yes, little one," he tweaked her nose, "the hummingbirds will love it. You have made them a delicious feast."

She copied him and tasted it too. A dimpled grin followed.

Thranduil looked up and saw his uncle with one of Doriath's city leaders. Thranduil was impressed that though his uncle had not taken up his right as prince, he still led these elves here. He had established a council and ran everything efficiently. Thranduil only wished Kasslad and Legolas were here to see it. Both would be thrilled with the idea of wild elves and a long lost uncle.

Maronellian caught his eye and his silver gaze darkened. Thranduil held back a sigh. Though he had earned respect from most of these elves, or so he hoped, his uncle was still disgusted with him for never bothering to venture this far into the kingdom to see that there were more elves than just in the city. Thranduil couldn't blame him, but wasn't sure how to mend those feelings. Sard had told him that his uncle could explain Oropher and Indari's relationship, and help him reclaim Mirkwood, but Thranduil found he couldn't broach the subject. He found himself ashamed . . . ashamed of not knowing about Doriath, of losing his kingdom to the council, and most of all losing his youngest. He feared the worst for Legolas. It had been a year since he was taken. . . .

Not only had his embarrassment, the burning realization that he had failed his family in every way possible, held him back, but Maronellian had avoided him as well.

"Where should we put the water?" Luria asked.

Thranduil smiled at her, glad she had shaken him from his grief. He took the bowl from her and stood.

"Perhaps on the porch behind the house?" he said. "Then you can watch them."

Luria nodded, red hair spilling over her shoulders. She took his hand and pulled him towards the house.

"Maronellian!" Thranduil stopped and looked over a shoulder. His uncle and the city leader had stopped as well on the other side of the yard.

An elf rushed around the corner, cloth boots quiet against the mossy stones.

"Maronellian! Thranduil!" The elf stopped short, looking at both with wide eyes.

"What has happened?" Maronellian found his voice first. Thranduil was ashamed of that as well. He was not an elfling to be cowed by Maronellian, no matter how disappointed his uncle may be in him.

"An army from Mirkwood is coming," the elf said. "It is almost here."

O

Tayirre's body fell. His tattered rags fluttered around him for just a moment before he hit the sand. Legolas screamed. He screamed like he had when Thranduil hit him, like when Nana was eaten. He screamed and he sobbed because he had killed his only friend with a sword. It was a bastard sword, one light enough for someone as young as him to hold. He threw it down, refused to look at Tayirre's blood on the blade. He screamed because he wanted this nightmare to end, to go home, for all of this to be finished. But Tayirre's body remained where it was, sand coming to rest around him, blood from the gash in his neck bleeding deep and dark into the earth.

"You have passed this test," one of the faceless mentors around him said. "You may return to your shelter."

Legolas couldn't look away from Tayirre. His friend had taken care of him when he first arrived. Tayirre brought him food and told him what to do and how to act well enough to get by. Tayirre told him jokes, even though Legolas never laughed. Legolas understood why Kasslad had lost the ability to laugh, because he had now too.

Tayirre had been his last thread of sanity.

He remembered telling Rugon, ages and ages ago, perhaps in a dream, that he would not be able to survive losing anyone else. Or perhaps he had said that to Sard. Either way, he felt himself snap.

He came alive again. The scourge roared with him, turning his scream into a war cry. He let the darkness overtake him, let it blacken his world, dull his senses, take away all but the sound of the mentor's beating hearts. He listened to them, listened to the warm gush of blood through their veins. Five mentors were moving in on him, but he thought of the dragon on his back and knew that was where his strength came from. Indari. Dekriem. A dragon. For once he didn't care. He didn't care about anything.

He spread out his arms. . . .

And woke up.

Legolas blinked at Tayirre's body, then his own dirty hands. He knelt in the hot sand, his back burned from being in the sun all day. Then he looked around.

All five mentors had lost their heads.

Other boys and mentors stood around the scene, eyes wide, whispers flying. Legolas stared at the bodies. He stared and stared and held tighter to the scourge. It boiled against his skin and the crowds stepped backwards.

No wonder the Valar had abandoned him. He liked the curse.

O

Legolas stood in a large room, or so he believed. He had been blindfolded, but it felt large, almost like Thranduil's throne room. Wherever he was, he didn't know what the Terkmar intended to do with him. All he knew was that he was bloodied, sweating and covered in sand. The scourge roiled inside of him, hugging his bones, churning his blood, protecting him more effectively than anyone ever had.

One of the mentors who led him here by spear point began to speak in Terkmar. Legolas caught a few words, such as "soldiers" and "saw" but that was all. The man's voice echoed, which confirmed that they stood in a large room.

"Take off his blindfold."

Legolas froze. Though this new voice spoke in Sindarian, the language felt more foreign to him than Terkmar. He hadn't heard those flowing, silver syllables in too long. They felt rusty in his ears and made his eyes grow hot.

The blindfold was pulled off, the action the most gentle he had seen in . . . a while. He couldn't quite remember how long.

He blinked in the torchlight, taking in the polished white surfaces and brilliant orange and red drapes. The walls were carved into arches, opening the giant hall to the desert evening. The sun was melting on the horizon, spilling purple and yellow across the sand.

Before him was a dais doused in tasseled rugs. Sitting upon a mountain of pillows was a man with immaculate mahogany skin, trimmed black hair and eyes so dark they were like mirrors of obsidian. Expensive robes hung from his skinny frame. He didn't have the pointed beard, but perhaps he wasn't old enough to grow one yet.

"I am Azik," the man said, "the Emperor of Terkmar."

Legolas was in too much pain to bow or think of a pleasant greeting. Instead his eyes wandered to the group of women behind Azik. All of them wore white silk with their faces veiled.

Among the women was a girl that caught his eye. She peeked at him from behind one of the ladies, eyes frosted green like grass in an early winter.

It was Mala.

The moment he saw her, she ducked out of sight again. His heart skipped a beat. Her fear of him was like another lashing, adding just another scar on his tattooed back. He turned away from where she hid and focused on Azik.

"The men are calling you the Dragon Soldier," Azik said. His smile was stretched, exaggerated. His eyes were too reflective to read. "I hear you killed five of my men without even a blade."

Legolas looked out of the archways. He searched for a landmark, anything to help identify where he was or somehow tell him how far from home he had come. But all was flat. All was made of fine sand.

"I will train you myself from now on," Azik said, almost fondly. "I will make you a knight of Terkmar and keep you by my side. You will make nations fear me, because they will first fear you. Never have I seen such talent in one so young."

Legolas listened, but did not respond. He continued to stare outside. Something white fluttered on the hot breeze. For a moment he thought it was Ulaire, but it would have more likely been a ghost.

"You will be led to you chamber, Dragon," Azik said. "Goodnight."

A rough but gentle hand took his and led him away. Legolas didn't bother searching for another glimpse of Mala. She didn't want anything to do with dragons.

Legolas kept his eyes on the white stone below, feeling as though he was floating. The soldier beside him walked slowly, for once not pushing him to work harder. It was as if this stranger knew his exhaustion, his pain, and his defeat.

"You are not speaking again, tithen las."

Legolas stopped walking. The soldier did too.

Dare he hope?

He looked up.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17:

**The Price of Moving On**

Legolas kept his eyes on the white stone below, feeling as though he was floating. The soldier beside him walked slowly, for once not pushing him to work harder. It was as if this stranger knew his exhaustion, his pain, and his defeat.

"You are not speaking again, tithen las."

Legolas stopped walking. The soldier did too.

Dare he hope?

He looked up.

Something inside of him, deep down, had wanted this gentle soldier to be Sard. But the eyes looking at him were not the dark blue he had struggled to remember during these long months, and though he could not remember his magician's face at all, he knew this one did not belong to him.

Despite the disappointment, which didn't sting as much as it would have six months ago, those dark eyes still stirred a faint familiarity inside of him. There was nothing significant about those eyes, other than how utterly dull they were. They looked like the same brown of wind-tossed sand in the late evening.

The soldier did not appear as hard as the ones Legolas had grown accustomed to seeing. In fact, though his lips were pressed into a dissatisfied line, the tan skin around his eyes crinkled. Almost a smile. He was bald, as most Terkmar soldiers were, and wore the same flowing black and white uniforms, but he was no soldier. Legolas knew him. . . . He _knew_ him.

_Indari._

"What have they done to you, little prince?" the dragon whispered, and his eyes flashed with angry orange flame for one breathtaking moment.

Legolas at first could do nothing but stare as the past rolled over him in one awful wave. The dragon tattooed on his back burned more fiercely than the still fresh lashes that spread across his skin like a web. It was all he could do to stay standing as the memories assaulted him.

_Ada's boot flashed out and Legolas got the wind knocked out of him. He saw dancing dark spots. Ada kicked him in the chest again and something broke, shoving another scream from his throat. Indari stood over Ada's shoulder, face empty of any remorse._

Legolas gasped for breath, and shivered as sweat layered his skin. Indari's hand tightened around his.

_Dekriem lowered its head in one swift motion, crashing into Glorfindel and throwing him into the wall. Legolas thought he heard a sickening crunch as his head met marble. The elf slumped in a pile of silk and blond hair, his sword clattering like broken ice across the floor._

_ Glorfindel didn't get back up._

_ He didn't move at all._

Legolas shoved the memories down. He clamped his mind shut, stilling the emotion, the fear and hate and blame. Indari, or Dekriem, would have no more control over him.

The burning desire to stay away from any and all dragons overcame him, and he understood Mala's fear of him completely. He scrambled for the scourge, letting it fill him to his very core. The world darkened and he felt strong. He felt like he could kill anything that tried to stop him.

Indari's worry, the smile in his eyes, vanished. Legolas didn't give him time to do something to stop him. He grabbed a wicked-looking knife strapped to Indari's thigh, filled the blade with as much of the evil scourge as he could, watched it darken to impenetrable black. Legolas lifted the hand being held by the beast and slashed at the exposed wrist.

Indari's scream was one of rage, and it sounded less human and more serpent. It resolved Legolas's hatred and determination to get away.

Legolas grabbed Indari as the beast tried to let him go, and sliced at him once more until the blade went all of the way through flesh and bone. The skin smoked and sizzled. There was no blood. Whether or not Indari screamed again, Legolas didn't know. He dropped to the floor and stabbed the dragon in the foot, shoving the blade into the white marble.

Then he took his chance to run. He didn't look back.

"Legolas!" Indari roared. "LEGOLAS!"

Legolas kept running, sprinting as fast as he could through the hallways and over intricate rugs. All he could think of was Mala. If Indari was here for him, he would also be here for her. She wanted nothing to do with dragons, and Legolas owed it to her to make sure she didn't ever have to suffer because of one again. She had followed him from the castle when the twins kidnapped him, and her loyalty needed to be repaid . . . even if that loyalty had long since died.

As he rounded a corner, he realized something.

Home. Legolas stumbled at the thought that maybe the beast was here to take them home. He almost turned around, but didn't. He couldn't. Tears burned his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He couldn't. There was no more home for him. Though it was all he had dreamed about since being taken to this horrible place, now that he was faced with the reality of returning to Mirkwood. . . Valar help him, he didn't want to go back.

He had changed too much. He was no longer worthy to be a prince, to be worshipped, to be loved. He was no longer the elfling Sard would feed honey cakes to, or the one Thranduil would sit on his knee to braid his hair. He was the Dragon Soldier now, and he deserved the torture. Especially after killing Tayirre and Ciruclo.

He burst into the throne room. Soldiers scurried from somewhere around the columns, but were stopped by a curious Emperor Azik. The young ruler turned in a flourish of bright red robes from the women in white lounging behind him. Mala's frosted eyes widened with fear.

"Why aren't you resting?" Emperor Azik's voice was smooth and drawling. Though he spoke like all the world was at peace, his broad shoulders were tense and his expression was tight. Dark, thick brows rose up his forehead in wonder and . . . something else, something Legolas couldn't place.

But Legolas only had eyes for Mala. How could he save her without saving himself?

O

_An army from Mirkwood is coming_. Those words rung in Thranduil's head and he went cold. He had waited too long, so ashamed of his failures to do anything to fix them. Guilt burned through his blood, setting fire to the chill in his bones and urging him to action. He gently but urgently lifted Luria and rushed her to her eldest brother, Thranellian who stood in front of the house with wide, beautiful blue eyes. He was just as horrified by those words as the other elves standing in the street.

"Take her," Thranduil ordered, shoving little Luria into Thranellian's hands. The motion removed the young ellon's shock for a moment, enough to shift Luria to balance on his hip.

Thranduil didn't wait for Thranellian to do much else. As soon as Luria was safely passed on, he rushed full tilt to his uncle. As he drew closer, Maronellian turned his back on him, keeping him outside of the small circle that had formed. Thranduil felt his anger boil.

As he let his anger stew, he looked at who were at his disposal to fight against this army. His heart broke at the thought, stilling his anger. His own people fighting against each other again wasn't something he wanted.

He shoved the dread aside. If council head, Lady Inamgia, was still in charge then he needed to fight back. Doriath didn't have an army, but they did have a strong force of warriors nonetheless. It would help that these elves surrounding him were all Silvan and Kindi, which made them natural fighters. These were wild elves after all.

"How did they find me?" Thranduil asked above Maronellian's deep voice as he questioned the scout. "How many are in the army coming toward us?"

"We have sent scouts and should know the number soon," Maronellian said over his shoulder, but still didn't move to include Thranduil in their conversation.

"I meet with them," Thranduil announced coolly. "I will speak with them. Once the Mirkwood soldiers see me, they will cease whatever mission the council has sent them on. They will do as I bid."

Maronellian turned to face him with wide eyes, much like his sons'. The look wasn't one Thranduil recognized, but he refused to stir beneath it.

His uncle waved his hand and turned back around. Thranduil reach to grab his shoulder to shove his way into the circle, but strong hands wrapped around his arms and dragged him away.

"You cannot do this!" Thranduil roared. "I am your king!" The rage returned tenfold, and he used the strength that came with it to break out the elf's grasp. He reached around to stop him from grabbing him again, twisting the elf's arm around his back with enough force to make the elf whimper and fall to his knees. Thranduil could break his arm in a single breath.

"You can watch and listen," Maronellian snarled, facing him once again. "But you must not be seen."

"If that is an army marching here," Thranduil argued with barely contained rage, "likely the Mirkwood scouts have already spotted me. They know I am here."

The warrior Thranduil held strained to glance at him over a shoulder, veins raised on his temple. The expression on his face was one of confusion, pure and honest confusion.

"We will deny that you are here," the warrior gasped to say. "We will deny it to our bitter end. We will not ever let them harm you."

"Why?" Thranduil demanded, that honest confusion now spreading to him.

"You are our king," an elleth said, standing nearby with a clay water pitcher in hand.

"No one else has ever given us refuge," another elleth said, standing near her with newly washed robes draped over an arm.

Thranduil was stunned enough to let the warrior go, suddenly grateful he didn't break the ellon's arm. He stumbled to the side in his shock. By the looks these elves were giving him, he could see that they had always loved him simply because they believed he loved them. None realized that he had never even known they existed. They thought he left them alone to live in peace.

He swung to face his uncle. Maronellian gave him a knowing look.

"Please," the warrior he released pled, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come with us."

Thranduil inclined his head and let the ellon lead him away. He could feel Maronellian's eyes following him, and Thranduil realized then that this is what his uncle had been waiting for him to discover this entire time.

Thranduil gave the soldier next to him a grin. The gesture made the ellon grin widely in return, his wild red hair braided into knots, dirt smeared on his cheek, his dark green clothes bland and humble. The sight melted Thranduil's heart and he easily fell into step next to him. How he treated and viewed these elves would be forever changed. He was overwhelmed with the sudden love he had for them, if only because they had loved him for so very long and he was just too blind to see it when he arrived to Doriath a year ago.

He stumbled, and the warrior steadied him with an anxious frown. A year. He had been here a year.

_Legolas_.

O

The doors didn't just burst open. They were flung from their hinges. The white marble frame around them shattered into shards, flinging into the throne room like arrowheads. Legolas flinched, ducking to avoid being impaled by the debris. He spun to meet the coiled, seething form of Dekriem. The tightly wound façade of a man, Indari, was gone and replaced by this golden-scaled nightmare.

Fiery orange eyes pinpointed him, the vertical irises slimming with heated focus. A great hiss echoed through the room, and Legolas heard the women behind him scream. He wondered if Mala was one of them.

_ Mala._

He had to protect her.

Legolas closed his eyes, muscles trembling with total fear, and let the scourge devour him. The darkness lit deep within his chest, coiling through him with the speed of a raging fire. All he could think was that no dragon would ever touch him or Mala again. He would find a way to free her later, but for now he had to get rid of Dekriem. That was the most important. The blackness filled him like the poison he had drank from his ada's goblet, filled him like the grief after watching his naneth eaten alive.

The pain in his back eased and then disappeared. The fear leveled to an eerie calm. He breathed deep and opened his eyes.

At first he just saw his hands. Black stripes covered them . . . not stripes. These were his veins. His blood ran black.

A shiver coursed through him, making his bones creak like new steel settling into its casting.

Dekriem arched his muscled neck, nostrils flaring. Legolas heard the scrape of leather on the intricate rugs underfoot and felt the air stir with motion. Soldiers from behind the pillars were running at the beast, spears raised, war cries on their lips. He didn't hear the screaming, didn't hear the desperation or the terror. He was calm. He was certain.

He was finally in control.

Dekriem's body rippled with a great surge of power, opening his mighty jaws to free the spark of red flame. The fires roiled at the soldiers.

A film of grey lifted from the floor, blocking Legolas and the rest in the room from the heated tongues of murder. Darkness shielded him and the soldiers, who stopped with a jolt and gave him panicked glances, fear torn between him and the beast.

The flames lashed out at the dark wall, but were reflected back to the dragon like his image in a mirror. Legolas breathed deeply again, and relished Dekriem's roar. The dragon was no longer visible in the explosion of fire and shadow. All that he knew were those beastly screams.

Hands grasped Legolas and lifted him into the air. He didn't fight them. All he could do was watch the dragon on fire and take comfort that it was because of him. He had finally defended himself and someone he cared about.

The darkness clawed into his consciousness, edging out his vision. A deep voice echoed in the farthest reaches of his soul, speaking in a tongue that almost sounded like the language of Mordor.

That voice chanted to him as he fell backwards into the pool of shadow, the words indecipherable.

O

The city of Terkmar was a sprawling metropolis of mostly military bases, filled with the abrupt and commanding orders as soldiers were trained. It wasn't the hub of the Terkmar Empire any longer. The nation had grown too vast. The capitol now stretched into the cold, snowy plains of Serbia. If Sard didn't get a hold of Legolas tonight, he would lose the elfling to the snow plains – just as the witch predicted.

She would be wrong.

Sard balanced with total stillness on a small sand dune. Night had fallen. Though a year in the life of an elf meant nothing, this past year felt like a millennium. The thought of seeing his elfling again made him anxious and afraid. He was so close, had traveled so hard for so long, and he could not let Legolas slip through his fingers now. He imagined Legolas's small face, his delicate features, and that tinkling silver laugh that had just started to emerge again before those Rivendell brats kidnapped him. Sard ground his teeth, thinking that if Legolas didn't look like he did the last time he had the elfling in his arms, every soul in Terkmar would suffer. The idea of seeing Legolas any way but perfect filled him with a blinding rage.

Sard clenched his fists to force them to stop shaking and studied the silent city filled with torches and silhouettes of marching guards. He slipped a glance to Oropher who stood beside him, having not said another word since Sard last drove him off. Though Sard had by and large been ignoring the dead king, it worried him that the ghost kept looking back.

"What has your attention so captured?" Sard grumbled.

"Have you ever considered that this was all orchestrated?" Oropher asked.

Sard leaned on his left elbow to get a better look at the green-hued ghost, raising a brow for the king to continue.

"What do you mean?" Sard asked when the stubborn elf didn't answer.

Oropher waved an elegant hand behind them to the dark night, then to Terkmar.

"Legolas ending up here, of all places," the ghost said, "the dragon Kagnirrok terrorizing Mirkwood, and even that white raven following the young prince wherever he goes."

"Are you saying there is something significant about Legolas being in Terkmar?" Sard asked, irritated that this ghost might have spotted something he didn't.

"Do you not know what their armies are being used for?" Oropher asked.

"Do you think I would ask if I did?" Sard didn't care about being rude with this elf when it was so easy to blame him for all of this anyway.

Oropher looked rightly offended, but at least he continued. "They are digging up a grave that was buried by wizards of the highest order, here in the middle of the desert."

"Whose grave does it belong to?" Sard tensed, the answer whispering in the back of his mind but it couldn't be that, humans didn't have an interest in it, no one would be able to find it or hope to open it.

But it was at that moment when the Terkmar palace exploded into flame. Stone rocketed skyward from the far end, where the throne room stood above the desert. Sard jolted to his feet, hand on the dragon blade, Legolas's name a choked scream in his throat.

O

Naspen, commander of the knights, led the Mirkwood troops into Doriath. It was an army ready for battle. The knights wore their silvery armor that looked stark and cold in the late afternoon glow, clinking softly like the hushed whispers of anticipation before war. Thranduil watched them march in perfect lines, their heavy green cloaks swishing behind them, hoods raised but not far enough to hide faces. Thranduil shifted in his place in the upper level of the old palace. Directly below him was Maronellian. The Silvan and Kindi elves were strategically hiding throughout the city, many of which crouched behind him.

The elf that had taken him here, whose arm he almost broke, was named Forede. His knotted red hair was like a wild rats nest, filled with sticks and tiny meadow blossoms, but his face was harder than steel. He hovered close, Thranduil's self-appointed protector.

Behind Naspen's troops came Yoneliel's, the archer and sniper commander. They wore the same uniform as the knights, though the sniper's cloaks were black. Then came the black magicians, though once spotted the eye wanted to slide away. Their armor was mottled leather of black and various greens, their black Lothlorien cloaks merging them with the shadows. Thranduil searched for Sard, but found a new leader, one whose name may or may not have been Vasuon. He cursed himself for not knowing, especially when he was certain that Legolas would have known immediately. Thranduil studied Vasuon's nondescript features, a face that would not be easy to remember simply for its overwhelming blandness. His hair was waxen and pulled into a single braid. He moved like a snake through the troops, slithering closer to the front with another elf in tow.

He was jarred from his dark thoughts by the sheer number of soldiers spread before him.

"We know that you are hiding Thranduil," was Naspen's way of greeting Maronellian's stark and stern figure on the stairs. Perhaps he didn't pose as imposing an elf as Thranduil hoped, standing there alone, because Vasuon emerged from the soldiers and sneered at him.

Maronellian let the silence stretch.

"I refuse to give him to you," Maronellian announced.

As if expecting this, Vasuon jerked forward the elf he had in his clutches. Another magician yanked off the black cloak from this unknown person, and Vasuon threw him forward.

White hair flew around him as he fell into the dirt. Thranduil's blood congealed as he waited for this elf to lift his face. As it was, whoever this was, he tried not to think who this was, had blood in their hair. Their clothes were nothing but rags on a starved, thin body.

With trembling arms, the elf raised his head. The face was mottled like a magician's armor, riddled with bruises and dried blood, but Thranduil knew that face. He loved that face.

"Kasslad," he moaned, and turned to rush down the stairs to scoop his son into his arms. Forede grasped his arm to stop him, and the moment he did Thranduil was overcome with the need for revenge. The dragon curse surged and he did all he could to contain it, but also refused to lose it.

Maronellian must not have seen the wisdom of waiting. He let out a furious scream and burst forward down the stairs, long sword in hand. Wild elves materialized from the surrounding buildings, sharing his scream. Before even his uncle could reach Kasslad and pull him to safety, Naspen turned and buried a knife in Vasuon's ribs. Yoneliel and his archers turned and fired on the knights, and Thranduil lost track of who was on his side and who wasn't.

He broke free of Forede's grasp and surged with the soldiers down the stairs. The dragon rage rumbled in his chest and he thought only of saving Kasslad.

O

Elrohir fought the veil he wore, swinging around to grab Mala as Dekriem seemingly exploded into flame. He had arrived to Terkmar with the dragon, and lost the coin toss and the ensuing argument about who would sneak into the kingdom dressed as one of the concubines. The dragon said dresses suited him better anyway. He was furious then, but glad for it now.

He looked over his shoulder at Legolas as a courageous Terkmar soldier lifted him into their arms. The elfling looked nothing like the beautiful prince of Greenwood the Great. Indeed, he looked like the sick kingdom itself – overshadowed, thin, dying.

He hardly even looked like an elf.

There was no telling if being the one who sneak Legolas out of here would have gone better had it been him and not the dragon. All Elrohir knew was that if the little one looked almost unrecognizable with his cropped hair that was blackened on the ends, blood streaked, sweaty, beaten, and tattooed, perhaps his spirit and mind were just as different.

Elrohir turned to the small one in his arms. Mala's frosted green eyes looked hollow and dim. They studied his face, the flames behind him spreading color and warmth across her face and veil. Slowly, the fire seemed to thaw her. Recognition melted the ice that must have kept her together all this time.

"Elrohir," she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear above the screaming from Dekriem and soldiers.

Tears flooded the broken soul in her eyes and small hands cling to him. He felt like if she let go, what light remained inside of her would surely go out. So he held her closer, terrified of losing her again.

Now to get Legolas.

"Bring him with us," Emperor Azik ordered as he and his guards rushed beneath one of the archways into the scorched evening.

Elrohir turned in time to watch the soldier with the princeling carry him away. Mala sobbed into his chest, he felt her burning tears, but he watched Legolas taken further and further away, limp and foreign and so familiar . . . so close.

Fear overcame him, fear that Legolas would never recover from this, if they could ever get him home again.

Elrohir looked behind at Dekriem writhed in fire and surprised himself by praying to the Valar that Dekriem would survive this too.

And there Elrohir stood, desperate to decide in the brief moment he had to either go after little Legolas and save him, or save the little one he already had breaking to pieces in his arms.


End file.
