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Chapter Text

Gleeful laughter rang through the air, raising the spirits of anyone within hearing distance. It was carried on the winds which brought it to the nearby trees who shook with joy at the sound. For many years now the delightfulness of elflings had been missing, particularly from this specific one. Too long had it been since the elfling had last visited the Hidden Valley. But now his laughter helped lift the weight of darkness that the trees bore on their limbs, making them rustle and murmur with happiness for the return of their little Greenleaf.

The elfling in question sat astride an elk of utter magnificence. He hugged the elk around his thick neck as much as his little arms would allow him to do so and sighed at the grunt he got in return.

The creature had been playing a game with the elfling who he adored with his entire being and had protected since the young one had been born. It was a quite simple concept; the little one would put his stuffed animal onto one of his antlers which he would then proceed to toss into the air with a mighty thrust of his head, and then catch in the opposite one. It was amusing for both parties and had kept the elfling distracted.

The little one’s father walked alongside the pair, watching as his Greenleaf played with the elk. It was a merry sight indeed. Everyone in the escort couldn’t help but smile. He was too infectious and the father would have it no other way – he quite liked his happy little elfling.

The elfling sat up and took his stuffed toy off of the elk’s antler, hugging it to his chest. He looked around surprised, for he hadn’t noticed until now that they were almost entering a forest that lay ahead. Peering behind him, he watched as the plains started to disappear.

What is it, my little one? Came a voice into his head. He looked back around and smiled as he rubbed the elk’s ears.

Oh, nothing, he returned, I was just watching the plains go away. I didn’t realize we were almost into the forest – not that I’m complaining!

He heard a chuckling in his head and the elk below him rumbled. I never thought you would, Greenleaf. You are too fond of the trees and them in return for that to ever occur. No, I didn’t think you were complaining. It’s just your curiosity is amusing.

The elfling scrunched up his nose. Ada says that sometimes my curiosity is too amusing. I always thought it was a good thing, but not everyone agrees.

I think it’s because you end up injured wherever your curiosity leads you.

It’s not my fault that bad stuff follows me. I always try to be careful!

I know elfling, sometimes it just can’t be helped. But you do end up in trouble quite often.

The elfling sighed and hugged his stuffed animal once while the elk shook his head and rumbled beneath him as the elfling pouted. The little one’s father gracefully mounted behind his elfling when he saw the lip sticking out. Wrapping his arms around the small body, he urged the elk to begin trotting faster.

“Why the big lip, Greenleaf?” his father asked, a smile upon his lips.

The elfling looked up at his father, his big blue eyes gazing into his father’s pale ones. “Elk says that I’m in trouble too much and that I’m amusing when I am curious. I tried to tell him that I can’t help it, that the trouble follows me but he laughed.”

His father bit back a grin from taking over and forced down a laugh. Behind him he heard one of the escort members stifle a chuckle.

It was true, his little Greenleaf was much too curious and often ended up in the healing wing back home. He had become quite notorious for injuries and every elf in the woodland realm knew about it, yet they all still adored him with their hearts. He was well loved and somehow managed to get out of a punishment most of the time from his elders. No one seemed to be able to say ‘No’ to him when he opened his big, blue eyes that shone with innocence. It bent even the strongest to his will. His Greenleaf was quite special.

“Now, Legolas,” his father began, “I think our Elk here has a point. You do end up in trouble often, but I don’t think it follows you. No, I believe that you are following it!”

Legolas scowled and grumbled as laughter rang out all around him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Lord and Lady of Imladris stood in the courtyard with smiles on their faces as the King and Prince of the Woodland realm rode in. They watched as the two rode together upon a great elk and then stopped before them. A blur of gold flew off the back of the creature as soon as ceased its movement, flying into the Lady’s arms. She laughed as little arms wound around her neck and kissed the golden head.

From behind her, three figures came rushing down the path, a dark haired elleth leading while two identical dark haired ellyn followed closely. When the Prince saw them heading towards them, he squirmed out of the Lady’s arms and bounded towards the elleth who scooped him up and then hugged him furiously to her.

The two ellyn caught up to the pair and then snatched up the elfling, running as fast as they could towards the gardens. With a roar the elleth chased after them, yelling that they needed to learn the concept of sharing. The Lady shook her head and turned back towards the King who had dismounted and come before her.

“My dear Thranduil,” she said in a soothing voice, “It has been far too long. You should have come sooner for a visit.”

Thranduil smiled at her. “Ah, I wish I could’ve visited here before now like you Celebrian, especially for Legolas’ sake. He has missed his friends, but the darkness grows stronger and it becomes harder to keep our pathways safe.”

Elrond, who had been silent up until that point, nodded his head and put a comforting hand onto the King’s shoulder, a grim smile on his face.

“We understand mellon-nin.” He stopped as the sudden screech of the Prince rose into the air, followed by laughter and an indignant shout from one of the twins. A grin spread across the Lord’s face as he looked back towards Thranduil. “It has also been a while since the sound of elflings has been present in our home, and it is wonderful to hear it once again. Although, I fear what the four of them may conjure up.”

Thranduil and Celebrian laughed as the escapades of their children came into their minds, but then after a moment, all three shuddered at the thought of the pranks that will be played.

“Dearest,” Celebrian started with a glimmer of fear in her eyes, “Would it be such a horrible thought as to send them to Erestor, or even Glorfindel, for the remainder of our guest’s stay? It may be for the best if we all wish to not be their targets.”

“I don’t know if you remember, but the last time we put them under Glorfindel’s watch, they managed to get the Balrog Slayer’s aid in their scheming.” Thranduil pointed out. Celebrian and Elrond both paled.

“This is going to turn out to be an interesting visit, Thranduil.” Elrond sighed. “But nonetheless we are happy you are here.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Over in the gardens, Legolas was being tossed in the air between the twins, laughing with delight as he went back and forth. The elleth fretted as she watched from the side.

“Elladan! Elrohir!” she yelled. “Cease this game! You may drop him, or worse, injure him. Stop this!”

As Elladan caught the elfling in his arms, he looked at his sister and frowned. “Arwen,” he said, “Do you truly have so little faith in us?”

“Yes.”

“That isn’t fair though!”

“When have you ever given me cause to have faith?”

“Um…” the older twin, stumped, tried to think of any point that they had kept the elfling from any kind of harm. His brother, thinking as well, exclaimed as one finally came into his head.

“Remember that time when we were in the forest, and there were those deer nearby so we watched from the ground, in safety, and came back all in one piece?” Elrohir had a huge smile on his face, proud of that adventure that occurred without incident.

“I do remember that.” Arwen said, a severe frown in her face as she glared at her brother. “It seems you have forgotten that on the way back home, Legolas tripped over a rock and scraped his hands on the ground, receiving a few small cuts.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, brothers, one of us always manages to get some kind of injury whether it be insignificant or important.”

The twins looked down. Legolas squirmed in Elladan’s arms until he released him. Running over to Arwen, he smiled innocently (the look that made everyone worried) and patted her arm.

“’Dan, ‘Ro,” he said, “Arwen is it.” And with that, Legolas ran off as fast as he could farther into the garden, a laughing Elladan and Elrohir following behind.

Arwen couldn’t fight off a smile. Not a single elf in all of Arda could possibly be immune to that innocent look. Shaking her head, she ran off after them, yelling at them like usual, though she laughed the entire way.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dinner was an enjoyable reunion. It had been years since Thranduil and Legolas had last visited Imladris. The last time they had visited, Legolas had been about the equivalent of a three year old human child and the Queen had passed a year earlier. He had held onto the skirts of Arwen and Celebrian, following them everywhere and then played with the twins in their jokes along with the mighty Balrog Slayer.

Now the little elfling was about that of a six year old human. He knew much more and was able to do more than he had before. This was the cause of worry for the elders.

But that isn’t important at this moment.

The main table at the head of the dining hall was filled with merriment. Legolas sat between his Ada and Elladan, Glorfindel across from him who was currently telling him stories of his adventures, much to the dismay of Celebrian who sat next to him. Elrond, who was seated at the head of the table, was talking with Thranduil about the news of Mirkwood, returning the news of Imladris. On the other side of Elladan was Elrohir, who was flinging peas off of his plate with his fork. His target was Erestor who sat across from him, next to his sister that was next to Glorfindel. Erestor, glaring at the twin, threw his fork at the elf when a pea managed to hit him in the eye. Laughter rang around the table. For once there was no reprimand for his actions.

After dessert had been finished, Legolas yawned, trying to cover his face with his hand. He only succeeded in getting frosting on his hand, for he had it all around his mouth from their pie. The Prince did not want to go to bed just yet, there was too much excitement that he didn’t want to miss.

His father, who had noticed the hastily covered yawn, grabbed a napkin and turned his son’s head with his hand. Gently he wipe away the frosting, smiling at the joyful face before him. Setting down the napkin, he leaned over and picked up Legolas, setting him into his lap and hugged him close.

Legolas snuggled into the warmth his father offered and felt himself become sleepy. Desperately he tried to fight off the slumber, but his eyes wouldn’t stay open.

He was only half awake when he felt his Ada rise out of his chair, repositioning him in his arms. There were mumbled murmurs of goodnight, and then they were out of the hall. The cool night breeze brushed his face and he buried himself deeper into his father’s tunic, trying to stave off the cold. A warm arm rubbed his back, and Legolas felt himself drift off.

When he was coherent once more, he rubbed his eyes with his hands as he was placed onto a soft bed. He pulled off his tunic and raised his arms for his Ada to slip on his night shirt, too tired to protest he could do it on his own. He then crawled underneath the covers, burrowing into them as they were pulled up on him. The mattress sank as his Ada sat down, and a kiss was placed onto his forehead.

“Goodnight, my little Greenleaf.” His father said softly.

“Goodnight, Ada.” Legolas said sleepily. “I love you.”

“And I love you too, Legolas. Let this night bring you sweet dreams.”

Chapter Text

Legolas watched on as the twins practiced on the archery range. Back home in Mirkwood he always enjoyed watching the archers during their training sessions. Sometimes Tegalad or Beinion would let him shoot arrows with a smaller bow and help him as he did so. Their archery master, Eglerion, always watched as they helped Legolas and praised him whenever he did well.

Legolas bounced up and down on the fence, a huge smile on his face as he watched Glorfindel comment on the twins shots.

Yes, one day I’ll be the greatest archer there ever was! Legolas thought excitedly. Eglerion had already spoken to his father about training him, even if it was just for fun. His Ada though had sadly said no, that he had to wait another year and then he would be ready.

For Legolas, that year was dragging by and he just wanted it to be over with. Couldn’t his father see that he was ready right now? He was a big elf and could handle it.

He sighed deeply, scrunching up his nose as he was thought hard. At least his friends helped him whenever his Ada wasn’t around. He only wished he knew why his father had said he was not allowed to yet.

It’s because he loves you very much, Greenleaf. A voice said softly to him, startling him out of his train of thought. Looking around for who had ‘spoken’ to him, Legolas found a little chickadee sitting beside him on the wooden fence.

But that does not explain why I can’t practice though. Legolas responded quietly, playing with the hem of his tunic.

He cannot bear the thought of you getting hurt, the bird said, hopping onto his leg, Ever since he lost your mother it has become hard for him to see you taking up arms, even if it is just a bow for mere fun and sport. You are all he has left and he does not want to think about losing you too, Greenleaf. Losing you would hurt him and as much as he wants to see you practicing because he knows how much you love the sport, it’s hard for him to accept the fact that you’re growing up. Your father loves you very much, penneth, very much.

Legolas blinked his eyes, pools forming in them. It was true, he and his father had grown closer together since his Nana had passed away, and his heart still hurt to think about it. Though it had been years since the incident, he occasionally had nightmares about those horrible days.

After that event he had had his ‘awakening’ with the Song, which was the earliest ever known and incredibly special because no other elf had as strong a connection as he did with nature. He wasn’t aware of how major it was, he just thought it to be normal. Only the elders were struck with this and pondered over it.

But Legolas had never thought of his archery in this way, and the little chickadee made him want to go and find his Ada and give him the biggest hug ever. He felt the need to let his father know just how much he loved him in return.

Plans forming in his mind, the little Prince was unaware of a figure walking slowly up to him from behind. The chickadee watched as the figure stopped behind the elfling and chuckled in his head. He hopped off the little one’s leg and moved back to watch.

The Prince looked at the bird as he moved off of his leg, curious. He then became aware of someone behind him, but before he could react a large hat was placed over his head and he was swung up into powerful arms.

Squealing with delight, Legolas laughed as his captor tickled him mercilessly. A deep laugh rumbled from the figure and he squirmed, trying to get away from the hands that tickled him.

The twins and Glorfindel watched on as the elfling tried to escape and laughed in delight. The Balrog Slayer decided to save the little Prince and charged at the figure.

The person eye’s enlarged as the golden warrior came at him, his sword in hand. When the elf was almost upon him, he tossed the elfling towards Glorfindel, causing the elf to stumble as he tried to not drop his burden.

Legolas, breathless from all the excitement, grabbed the hat that was covering his head and popped it off. Glancing up, he smiled at the warrior whose arms he was in.

“Glorfy!” Legolas cried happily.

The warrior smiled in return, but before he could respond to the precious burden he held, the figure off to the side began to laugh whole-heartedly.

Legolas quickly looked over at the figure and grinned broadly at the wizard. Looking down at the hat in his hands he saw it was indeed the wizard’s large, gray pointed hat. Turning back to the wizard, he lifted the hat and placed it back on top of his head, this time so that it wouldn’t engulf him.

“Mithrandir!” he said gleefully.

The wizard walked up to the pair and then ruffled the elfling’s head affectionately.

“My,” Mithrandir started with a smile on his face, “Look at how much you have grown since I last saw you! This isn’t the little toddler I last saw, but a mighty warrior! What have you done with my little wood sprite, hmm? Where’s my Legolas?” He winked at the Prince.

Legolas laughed. “I’m still Legolas, Mithrandir! I haven’t gone anywhere!”

Mithrandir laughed and took the elfling out of Glorfindel’s arms, smiling as little arms wrapped around his neck. He smiled and he hugged the elfling back. Legolas then leaned back and, taking the hat off his own head, placed it back onto its rightful owner. He smiled and then looked over at Glorfindel and the twins who had now joined them.

Opening his mouth, about to say something, a sudden bloodcurdling scream pierced the otherwise quiet sky.

The elves and wizard froze. As soon as the scream had started, it came to a disturbing end. Silence once more filled the air.

In the next instant the Balrog Slayer and twins had sprinted off towards the direction where the scream came from. Mithrandir, carrying Legolas, followed behind them at a slower run.

It seemed to take years before they ran into other elves who were hurrying from the house towards the same place. It seemed as if everyone in the realm had heard the pained cry.

The three elves no longer in sight, Mithrandir slowed down and moved into a brisk walk, holding the elfling tighter against his chest. Legolas watched on with wide eyes, scared at the scream. The trees around him were murmuring with fear and anger, and for once he couldn’t keep all their voices straight in his mind. This caused the little elf to worry even more for he could usually discern the tree’s voices, but they were now just a mass.

They finally reached the spot where the scream had come from, and the wizard pushed through the crowd to reach the front.

Upon breaking through the elves, the sight before him pierced his heart with sorrow.

An elleth with deep brown curls lay on the ground, a dark arrow protruding from her chest. It seemed as though the ground around her was bathed in her blood, the red glittering in the sunlight. Glorfindel and the twins hovered over her, checking her for signs of life.

Elrond, Celebrian, and Thranduil appeared behind him, their presence noticed when a light touch was placed on his shoulder. Looking up, he found the Elvenking staring at the burden within his arms. Grimly, Mithrandir handed over the elfling into his father’s arms. He then approached the elleth along with Elrond. Celebrian stayed back next to Thranduil, placing a soft hand on the elfling’s back.

Upon closer inspection of the elleth, the wizard could now see that the arrow that was within her chest had a piece of paper wrapped around one end. As Elrond barked orders, he carefully bent down and touched the arrow. Instantly, a dark force pushed at his mind, coming off in waves from it. Taken aback for a moment, he then reached out and plucked off the paper from the arrow’s end.

Standing up, he watched as elves carried the elleth away on a stretcher.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The children were sent to their beds early that night so that their elders could discuss what had happened earlier that day. Elrond, Celebrian, Thranduil, Mithrandir, Glorfindel, and Erestor were currently inside of Elrond’s study, the door having been firmly locked shut.

Elrond sat behind his desk, leaning forward on his elbows, a thoughtful look on his face. Celebrian sat in a chair to his left, a frown furrowing her soft features.
Mithrandir was standing by the fireplace, a hand resting on its mantle as he faced the other occupants in the room. The other three elves stood around the room.
Thankfully, the arrow had just barely missed the elleth’s heart and they were able, albeit after many hours, to stabilize her. She now lay resting in the healing wing of Imladris, guarded by many elves.

“What I want to know,” Glorfindel started darkly, “Is who dared to attack one of our resident’s and almost succeed in killing her. Whoever this is, I want them.”

Elrond, sat up and looked at the warrior. “I believe we all do, mellon-nin. I can’t fathom why someone would be attacked underneath my roof, considering we have been nothing but peaceful with those around us.”

“Whatever their reason, there is no excuse for the attempted murder of an elleth.” Rage set itself onto Glorfindel’s face. “I have already sent out a troop to investigate. Hopefully, they will find a trail.”

“I would not be so sure about that.” Mithrandir dropped his hand from the mantle and walked towards the group. “I touched the arrow briefly and from it emanated a powerful darkness. This is no mere culprit we are dealing with, but something much more sinister and evil.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Celebrian looked up at the wizard, a thoughtful look replacing her frown.

“Then what was the hope this thing wanted to achieve?” she said, a curious gleam in her eyes. “I highly doubt that it wanted to only terrorize one of our inhabitants. It must have had some ulterior motive, but what, I do not know.”

Mithrandir grimly smiled at her. He reached into one of his cloak’s pockets, fingering the piece of paper.

“You are right of course, My Lady, that he did indeed have something else in mind.” He removed the paper from within his pocket and handed it over to the elleth, the others watching with interest.

Celebrian took it from the wizard, turning it over in her hands. Glancing over at her husband, she then gently unfolded the paper, smoothing it down.

Harsh letters lined the page, darkness seeming to seep from the black ink. To her surprise, it was written in Quenya. She told the others so and shock rose on their faces. At least they were now aware that this thing was indeed an actual person, possibly even elven. Taking a deep breath, she began to read the words on the page aloud to the others.

“My Esteemed Lords, Lady, and Gray Wizard,

I am truly sorry about the ‘accident’ that has occurred. Oh, how I wish that the lives of innocents were not needed in this grand act, but alas, it could not be avoided. That pretty elleth was just the perfect target for my arrow to house inside of. ‘Tis a shame really if she dies, I would have loved to meet her.

But where are my manners! You must be wondering who could have done this deed. Is it a man? An elf? A spawn of something far worse? Especially one who can write in Quenya – that must have been a shock!

Sadly no, I am nothing more than an elf. A pity really, this entire race is pathetic if you ask me.

Oh! You must also be curious as to why I have done this act, for it is not the way of the elves. I must confess that I have hated the Valar ever since I can remember. No, I align myself with a far more powerful presence that resides in Middle-Earth. Can you guess who?

That, however, is beside the point. What I want to know is what your next move is.

I am not ready as of yet to tell you my true purpose. That shall have to wait until a later date I am afraid. But do not fear! All will become clear within time. I believe that is all for now. I shall be in touch soon.

The Malevolent Ghost Warrior”

As Celebrian finished, the occupants of the room had all paled. She looked up into each person’s face, her gaze resting upon her husband’s.

Elrond mentally shook himself, meeting his wife’s gaze and seeing the fear in her eyes. Looking back towards the others in the room who had moved closer as Celebrian had read, he swallowed.

“It seems as though we have a slight issue on our hands…”

Chapter Text

Legolas looked outside balefully, watching as elves went about their days. Hugging his knees to his chest, he huffed and leaned back along the wall. He was curled up on the window’s bench, ignoring the others in the room.

After breakfast that morning, his Ada had explained to him how he was expected to stay indoors for the day in the company of the other elven children, Erestor, and Glorfindel. He had protested immediately, for he had barely had the chance to see, and be, in the gardens of Imladris. Sadly, his father had been stern and ignored his pleas, saying that it was too dangerous at the moment for him to be wandering outdoors.

So now he sat inside the library, staring grumpily out the large window while the others did some activity at a table nearby.

It wasn’t in the Prince’s nature to be unhappy. On the contrary, he was usually so energetic that it took a lot of effort to calm him down. Seeing his sunny countenance dimmed pulled at the others hearts, yet they knew it was for the best that he stayed indoors.

Glorfindel glanced over at the elfling for the umpteenth time, sighing as he took in the still unhappy form. Looking back at Erestor for a brief moment, the Balrog Slayer stood up from the table and slowly made his way over to the Prince.

Along the way, he stopped at a bookshelf, quickly skimming it over with his eyes. A frown marred his face as he tried to look for a particular book that he knew the little elf would enjoy. The last time he had come to visit, he had loved it whenever Glorfindel read this particular story to him. Remembering this, the warrior was attempting to find said book. He could have sworn that he replaced it back onto its shelf, the one right before him, but it didn’t seem to be there.

Just as he was about to move on and go to the elfling emptyhanded, he spotted the book tucked away on one of the lower shelves, hidden between two massive tomes.

Crouching down, he reached for the book, wiggling it around when he realized it was stuck between the other two. With a massive pull, the book popped out, spraying dust onto the warrior. Using his free hand, he wiped off the book, smiling at the faded picture on the front.

Ignoring the dust on himself, Glorfindel stood back up and continued on towards where Legolas was curled up on the window bench, hiding the book behind him.

When the warrior was near enough, Legolas looked over to him, mentally sighing. Seeing no way to escape without it being extremely rude, the little elfling scooted over, sitting with his back to the window so the other elf would have enough space.

Glorfindel sat down in the now open spot, hiding the book off to his left so the Prince wouldn’t see it. Looking down and the little one, he took in the downcast head and sagging shoulders.

Gently, he laid a hand on the elfling’s back, rubbing it softly.

“You know, Legolas,” Glorfindel said softly, “Your Adar is just doing what he believes to be the right thing. He fears for your safety, like all of us. He would rather not chance you getting hurt.”

He kept rubbing the elfling’s back slowly, watching as a hand reached up and rubbed an eye (though he is only assuming this for the golden tresses block the face from view). Watching silently, the little head slowly raised, turning tear filled eyes to the warrior, the pools of blue on the verge of flooding over.

The Balrog Slayer, at the sight of the tears, scooped up the elfling into his arms, displaying an unusual sight of affection to the others in the room, but he cared not. At the moment, this little one needed care, not gruffness.

Eventually, he leaned back, raising a hand under a chin to tilt Legolas’ face up.

“Your father loves you very much, and though it may seem as if it is unfair to be barred from the outdoors, know that it is due to his undying love that he does so. Never doubt that penneth, never.”

Legolas nodded quickly, a few tears still leaking from his eyes. Wiping them away hastily, he gave the warrior a small smile and cuddled into the warmth he offered for being next to the window for so long had made him a wee bit cold.

Glorfindel settled himself and the elfling comfortably on the window bench, watching as the Prince tried to get as close as he could to him. Laughing softly, he looked down and ruffled the hair of the smaller one, eliciting a giggle from him.

Smiling once more, Glorfindel reached for the book subtly, holding it just from within sight. Legolas looked up at him curiously.

“What are you hiding, Glorfy?” he questioned, his blue eyes gazing into the other’s darker ones.

“Well,” the warrior began, “On my way over here to join you, I remembered something from your previous visit and recalled how much you enjoyed it. Now, what was it? Hmm, was it Erestor’s droll lectures? Or was it ho-”

“Glorfy!”

“Ah, yes. I believe it was a book. One about a brave archer who fought to protect his family and friends, and though he went through hard times, managed to save the day in the end, though there was a price to pay.”

Legolas smiled grandly, his eyes dancing. “Do you have it? Please! I wish to hear it again! And again!”

Glorfindel began to laugh at the elfling’s eagerness. Oh, yes. He remembered how he had read this story over and over to the little one, never tiring of it. It was something he cherished, to have such a sweet and captive audience. With the twins, it had been hard to keep them still, but for all of Legolas’ energy, he could easily settle down when absorbed into something.

Shaking himself mentally out of memories, he looked down at the face before him that was now filled with impatience. He lifted the book up from his hiding spot, presenting it to the Prince.

Squealing very nearly, he grabbed to book and snuggle up into the Slayer, opening up the book to its first page.

Smiling, Glorfindel began to read the archer’s story…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thranduil followed behind Elrond, both with grim looks upon their faces. A healer that was on duty currently had rushed into Elrond’s office, bearing news of the elleth’s awakening. Both Lord’s had risen quickly, hastening to the healing wing.

Though the wished that they didn’t need to do this so soon, they had to see if the elleth had any useful information about the attack. As of right now they knew very little, even with what they were able to obtain form the letter. The scouts as well didn’t have any kind of information at the moment and were still out there looking for any tracks or signs.

Arriving at the door to the elleth’s room, Elrond opened it softly, going into the room. Once Thranduil had entered as well, he closed the door once more. Turning around, he faced the open space before him, eyes drawn to the bed’s occupant and the ellon besides it who he recognized from the night before.

When they had managed to stop the bleeding and bandage up the wound, the ellon had rushed in, frantic about the elleth’s state. Elrond had learned that his name was Handion, one of Glorfindel’s scouts, and the victim was his soon to be bonded. They were going to be wed in a few months once the leaves began to change color for autumn for they both loved the season.

Now, Handion glanced up at the arrival of Elrond and Thranduil, unconsciously squeezing the elleth’s hand. She did so in return, glancing over at her future husband, watching the relief and fear battle within his eyes.

Elrond pulled up another chair on the opposite side of the bed, Thranduil choosing to lean against the wall next to it. The Lord of Imladris took a deep breath before beginning.

“Sidhiel,” he started, “I am happy to see you awake and alert. It gladdens my heart that you are going to recover from your wound.” Sidhiel nodded.

“I am glad as well, My Lord.” She softly spoke. “I am not yet ready to leave this world and everything I love behind. I could not bear the thought of it and the pain that it would cause. I am very happy to have survived.” She glanced over at Handion as she spoke, smiling at him.

Elrond watched the love that was apparent on both of their faces and smiled. Just as quickly, he sighed, a serious look replacing the smile with a grim one.

“You have probably already guessed at why Thranduil and I have come. Truly, we wish that this could be put off longer, but this threat could put many others at risk. That is a chance we are not willing to take.”

“I imagined that you would come once I had awakened to ask me about what happened, though I am afraid I do not recall much of what happened. It was all so quick.” She shivered, fear flashing across her face.

Handion laid a soothing hand along her shoulder, rubbing it slowly, wishing that he could remove the pain that she was feeling. He hated the sight of her afraid and wanted desperately to do something about it.

When Glorfindel had assigned scouts to go after whoever had attacked his future wife, he had tried to go with them, but was detained and told to be with Sidhiel for that was what she needed most. His commander had promised, however, that when any news was heard from his fellow scouts, he would be informed immediately.

So now, he was determined to protect his love and make sure that nothing more happened to her. If that person attempted something again on Sidh, he would do all in his power to stop them.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, Elrond had asked her to explain to the best of her ability what she remembered and not to hurt herself or get upset at trying.
After a moment’s pause, Sidhiel began to recount what had occurred yesterday.

“I was tending to the garden like I normally do every day, watering them for we haven’t had rain for some time now. As I was going about this, I had been humming a tune that I heard the night before in the Hall of Fire. It was Lindir’s new piece and I absolutely fell in love with it!

“Humming along, I had finished with the flowers around the fountain and was making my way towards the tree line. Once I got there, I began to water the bushes along with the trees themselves, for both are in their prime time of blooming. All of a sudden, I heard a noise from within the trees. I looked up, scanning the tree line for anything out of place.

“When I saw nothing, I shrugged and carried on watering. But then there it was again! It was even louder this time, and appeared to be closer.

“Unnerved, I started to back up towards the little clearing of green in the garden, watching the tree line for anything. A sudden chill ran up my spine, scaring the wits out of me. Quickly, I placed my watering can down and began to hurry even more, backpedaling to the open.

“And then there! From the corner of my eye I saw him! He was nothing but a black shadow among the trees, but for piercing red eyes that seemed to burn into me. There was then a flash and I screamed. I felt something hit my chest, and then nothing. I remember nothing after that.”

It was silent once she finished her tale, the ellyn in the room taking in everything she had said. Finally, Elrond cleared his throat, setting his hand on top of her smaller one. He squeezed it gently and smiled at her, though there was pain in his eyes.

“I thank you, Sidhiel,” he said softly, “For what you have told us. I promise you that no further harm shall come to you and we will find the one who did this, I swear that to you.”

Sidhiel nodded, a single tear running down her cheek. Elrond inclined his head towards both elves. Standing up, Elrond let Thranduil lead the way to the door, closing it once both had entered the hallway. Neither said a word as they made their way back towards Elrond’s office.

Once they had settled down in chairs with goblets of wine, they were shortly joined by Celebrian.

Quietly Elrond recounted Sidhiel’s story to his wife, leaving out no part of it so she would be able to help them find information within. When he had finished, he looked up at Thranduil, a grim smile on his face.

“It’s at times like these that I wish that my people, including me, had any kind of affinity with nature.” He said. “I envy you, Thranduil, and your people.”

Thranduil smiled sadly in return. “It is not always the best gift to possess, Elrond. Sometimes we wish that we did not have such a strong understanding of the trees.” He sighed, sorrow flitting through his face. “Especially Legolas, though as of now he only sees it as a gift and does not regret it. He is the only elf ever heard of in the Woodland Realm to have a bond with the Song and all of nature. Only he can truly understand the trees, and the wind, and the creatures. But last night he cried to me, saying that he wasn’t able to discern the voices, and that scared him more than anything. In this case then, I don’t know if having an affinity with nature would have helped, mellon-nin.”

Elrond let this sink in. He looked over at Celebrian, wondering what she would have to say.

But his wife had nothing to supply, and instead looked over at the window, watching the clouds slowly roll by as the other two elves began discussing the elleth’s story. As she watched the clouds pass through the sky, she silently prayed that her parents would arrive soon, for she had an ominous feeling that there was much worse heading their way, and someone would have to pay dearly for it… whether or not they lived or died.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall of Fire was indeed a merry place despite the event of the past day. Lindir stood in a corner along with a few other elves and the group was singing their latest song, the one that Sidhiel had been humming.

Thranduil and Legolas were together on one of the couches located in the back corner of the room. The elfling was snuggled into his Ada’s robes, making himself cozy in his father’s loving arms. He was struggling to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of tiredness that was plaguing him.

Thranduil, quite aware of what his Greenleaf was fighting against, began to hum a melody under his breath. It was a lullaby that his wife had created when Legolas was brought into their lives, made especially for their little leaf. A long time had passed since he had sang it for his elfling, the last being while Legolas was healing from his wounds after the murder of his mother, the Queen. But he knew that it would bring his elfling into sweet dreams and pleasant memories, so he hummed the tune under his breath for only his precious bundle to hear.

Legolas, hearing the soft tune his father made, felt warmth and love swell in his heart. He burrowed deeper into his Ada’s arms, the lullaby allowing sleep to win him over. Before he drifted off into elven dreams he murmured a “Love you, Ada” and then fell asleep.

Thranduil looked down at the golden elfling in his arms, heart bursting with love and placed a soft kiss atop the silken head. Closing his eyes, he breathed in his child, relishing the warmth and security that radiated from his Greenleaf.

Sadly, the moment was short lived as a harried messenger flew into the room, skidding to a stop before Glorfindel and Elrond where they were seated. He spoke quickly to them, making frantic motions with his hands. Elrond said something in response to the messenger, who quickly left the room. Glorfindel muttered something to Elrond before he too vanished from the Great Hall of Fire.

Elrond then stood up, motioning for his wife. She walked over to her husband from where she had been seated and then, after a few traded words, rounded up her children, ushering them out of the room.

Knowing all too well what was to come, Thranduil stood up with his elfling in his arms, following Elrond out of the Hall and into the corridor.

“What is it?” he asked Elrond softly, cautious of waking his son.

The Lord of Imladris merely shook his head in response. “Once you have put your son to bed, meet me in the healing wing.” The Lord then quickly walked off, his robes flowing in the light breeze.

Thranduil watched as his friend disappeared, a sense of foreboding washing over him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrond, Celebrian, Glorfindel, Erestor, Thranduil, and Mithrandir all stood around a table, looks of shock and dismay covering their faces.

On the table lay an ellon, his body lightly covered by a thin, white sheet. Many other tables were in the room, each bearing the same thing as the one that was currently being looked on. And on each one, the sheet did very little to hide the mutilation underneath.

Thranduil rubbed a hand down his face. “What exactly happened, Elrond?”

The Lord looked over at the Elven King, sighing deeply. “As you saw in the Great Hall, a messenger came to us, frantic with worry and fear.”

“Apparently,” Glorfindel grit out, interrupting Elrond, “One of my patrols that I sent out to locate out attacker was found dead a few leagues from here. Another patrol of mine stumbled upon them and found them completely mutilated. Not a single one was alive.”

Celebrian leaned forward, scanning over the ellon’s wounds. She then stood straight up, glancing around the room. “It seems as though none of them ever had the chance to draw their blades, much less make any kind of defensive move.” She spoke softly, but the words hit them hard none the less.

Glorfindel braced his hands on the table, guilt and anger waging war in his eyes. “This is my fault-” he began, but was quickly cut off but Elrond.

“In no way whatsoever is this your fault.” He said sternly. “This deed of merciless killing was done by our ‘Ghost Warrior’. If you even try to put any of this blame onto yourself, you will surely regret it mellon-nin.”

“Aye, you should listen to him, Glorfindel.” Thranduil said simply. “You could not have known that this was to occur and even so, these ellyn would never wish for you to blame yourself. If not for us, then at least don’t feel guilty for the sake of your men.”

Glorfindel, knowing that Thranduil and Elrond were right, nodded his head, taking in a shaky breath. He stood up straight once more. Slowly, he began to walk around them room, looking over each and every one of his scouts memorizing their faces and searching them for clues.

“Elrond,” Mithrandir said from across the room by one of the other ellyn, “Have you noticed how precise and direct the wounds inflicted were made? It seems as though the one who did this was quite fluid with his blade. And then in some areas the precision is contradicted by the shreds and rips.”

By now everyone had dispersed and were looking around, each examining a body of their own.

True enough, as each elf looked closely at the body before them, they noticed that what the wizard said was true. Each elf had been cut precisely in vital areas, clearly done by someone who had excellent skills with a blade. Upon closer inspection, it also became obvious that it was done by the hand of an elf, for men were not capable of such clean strikes.

“Elrond,” Glorfindel began slowly, “A member of the patrol that was a part of the return drew up a sketch for me of the way the bodies were positioned when found. He labeled who every elf was in case it was relevant, and I’m beginning to believe that it is a good thing he did so.”

“Why is that?” Elrond asked the Balrog Slayer.

Glorfindel pulled out a small, folded piece of paper from within his tunic, rushing over to an empty side table in the corner. He unfolded the paper, smoothing it down on the surface.

“Look here.” He said, pointing at the figure in the center. Everyone by this point had come up behind the warrior, and were looking over his shoulder at the paper.

It was a rough drawing of a circle, indicating that it was the clearing the patrol was found in. The edges were labeled as ‘trees.’ The elf had drawn roughly the position that each member had been found in located around the clearing, and then numbered them one to six.

Erestor, pushing his way slightly to the front of the huddled group, pulled out a pen, earning him a strange look from Glorfindel. The advisor sighed.

“Since he numbered each of the members of your patrol,” he began, “Then we should catalogue each member according to the severity of their wounds. This way, we can then be able to tell which elf sustained the most damage, whether it be by precise cuts or brutal ripping. It may allow for some information to be then drawn forth.”

The others murmured in agreement. Glorfindel stood up from his bent over position above the paper, allowing Erestor to pick it up.

For the next half hour or so, the group went around, cataloguing each elf’s wounds, determining which ones were more severe than others.

At the end of it, it was found out that the elf in the center (who happened to be the elf they surrounded at the beginning of this part of the chapter) was the one that had the least amount of wounds, and only cuts made with precision by a blade.

The second elf had severe shredding along his back, but his front suffered more from precision. He was still not the worst off of the lot, and had had his back facing the tree line of the clearing. The third elf, who was found crumpled at the base of a tree, was shockingly found to have the majority of his injuries sustained from a blade, rather than shreds, though he had those too.

The fourth elf was found stretched out along the border of the clearing. His left side had been completely mutilated in the attack, his right having a few nicks from a blade, though they were precise. The sixth elf had had his legs stretched out within the tree line, though the rest of him had remained in. Only his legs had had the shredding done, while his upper body suffered only from the blade.

But the fifth elf. Well, the fifth is a rather sorry sight.

He had been found with his head and shoulders within the tree line while the rest of his body had remained in the clearing. How the entire corpse was still attached was a mystery to the group of elders. This poor elf had been the most damaged of the entire patrol. His head, neck, and upper back had been completely torn apart, the mutilation done repulsive to them. The lower body had thankfully only been hit by a blade, but the upper was devastating.

Glorfindel cursed in many different languages, barely holding back from using the Black Speech.

It baffled the elves how the poor ellon’s head had even managed to stay attached to his neck and shoulders, the damage was that severe.

After seeing all of this and putting it together, the elves were at a loss of what to conclude. Erestor’s idea had definitely given them much needed information, but they were still missing important parts.

All they could decide for now was that the Ghost Warrior had some other ally or creature. Someone or something that was capable of complete annihilation and mutilation of a person.

And that’s what scared them the most.

Chapter Text

The morning was silent.

The birds were cooped up within the trees, withholding their songs from the sky.

The wind was missing, the waterfalls and rivers as smooth as glass.

The horses stood upright in the stalls, seemingly frozen in place.

The elves were not yet awake, the dawn still an hour away.

Except for three.

Two elves were working away in one of the smaller buildings, having risen earlier to get their chores done.

The other one, well, he rose for another purpose.

And soon, the crackling of flames could be heard.

Then the crackling became roaring.

Then the roaring became screaming.

And a bell rang in the blood red sky…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three hours later the Lords, Lady, and Maiar were once again within the healing wing, the bodies of two ellyth before them on cold hard tables.

Both were relatively young, only a couple of decades past their majority. They had gotten up well before the rest of Imladris, wanting to finish their chores as quickly as they could. The small building that they were working in was the laundress’s space. The girls had wanted to get their laundry done as early as possible so they would be able to go to the begetting day party of a friend later on.

However, the building was set aflame within the early hours of the day, appearing to be only minutes after they had arrived. From the damage that the building suffered, it would seem that someone had committed arson.

They young girls had been trapped inside by someone on the outside, and had perished within the fire. Their bodies were covered in third degree burns and had eventually collapsed from the heavy smoke.

It had taken Elrond and the other healers a while to identify who the young ellyth were due to the condition they were in. Eventually, they were able to conclude that the older one was the daughter of a minstrel, one of Lindir’s partners, and the other was the youngest daughter of the stable master.

To say that they parents were upset was an understatement. Nothing can compare to the grief one feels after the death of their child, especially knowing that it was deliberately caused by another person and you were not able to save them.

It was a solemn group that arrived in the healing wing, and eventually they death of ones so young was too much to bear and they left, instead closing up within the library.

What was the hardest blow to the elders was that an elf who resided in Imladris had done this deed on purpose. They could only assume that the elf was an ally of the Ghost Warrior, possibly one of many, but they had no information to help back it up.

Glorfindel had ordered for the guard to tighten its security and had put more on duty than normal. The children were in the library as well with the elders, off in a corner playing some game or other.

The elves that were cleaning up the fire damage had been told to look for any kind of clue, and if they found something were expected to bring it to their attention immediately. They had only put those that they were able to trust on this team, for they feared now that there were elves in Imladris who wished to do harm and could not allow that to happen.

It was a grim group that waited for further news, hearts heavy with death and wariness.

For what now would come?

Chapter Text

The following day found the elders once more inside of Elrond’s office, except for the presence of one. Glorfindel was outside in the garden alongside the twins, Arwen, and Legolas. With an armed guard surrounding the area, they were enjoying the sunshine by the fountain for it had been a few days since they had last ventured out there. Legolas especially had become restless.

Everyone else had met in the study and were now going over what little information they had and waiting to see if anything came up, whether it be from the fire or through discussion. So far they were unable to deduce anything more than what they had already discovered and learned from the three attacks that had already been made.

The wall behind Elrond’s desk had been lined with a multitude of papers, ranging from hastily scribbled notes to actual evidence they had acquired like the Ghost’s note and the drawing of the clearing. Anything that they came up with or found was added to the wall in hope that they could draw connections to something somehow.

In the midst of their talk about the patrol and going over the details once more in depth, a sudden rapping came from the main door, frantic and loud. Celebrian, who was closest to the door, said a quick “Come in”.

An ellon entered the room, looking as if he had just run as if Mordor was on his heels. He mustered a hasty bow and then stood up straight, playing with something idly in his hands. They recognized him to be one of those in charge of cleaning up the damaged building from the fire.

“Hir-nin,” the elf began, “When we were clearing out the last of the ashes today, one of the men found something that had been hidden underneath a stone in the floor. That area in specific had been damaged by a beam that had fallen from above, and it looks as though someone deliberately shoved this under it so it would be difficult to find.”

“What is it?” Elrond asked.

The ellon seemed to pale a shade. “It’s a letter, Lord Elrond. A letter from him.”

Celebrian, who was still closest, walked over to the elf. Offering her hand in a silent request, the elf placed a thick piece of parchment on her palm. She nodded and gave him a small smile.

The ellon then quickly turned away, heading for the door. Placing his hand on the knob, he turned around to face the elders, grief in his eyes.

“I am sorry that we did not find it sooner, My Lords and Lady.” He said quietly, voice laced with sadness. “I hope that this does not end up being cause for harm. If it does, then I do not know if we can forgive ourselves. I know that I shall not.” He then left the room quietly, his words hanging in the air.

Looking down at the letter in her hands, Celebrian turned it over this way and that. There was no envelope, just folded up with a seal. Through the ash that was smudged on the yellowing paper, a distinct mark could just be seen within the blood red seal. A large G and W were imprinted within it. If there had been any doubt before that this was the Ghost Warrior’s doing, then that was vanquished.

Silently, she moved over to one of the armchairs by the fireplace, picking up a letter opener along the way. Sitting down, she carefully broke the seal with the knife, making sure to keep the letters intact. Once she had set down the letter opener and unfolded the parchment, she waited until the others had gathered around her before she began to read what was written.

“My Esteemed Lords, Lady, and Gray Wizard,

Did you enjoy the little show? I must say that it went off even better than I had expected it to. My little servant did so well, do you not agree? Ah, well, I doubt that you would think so, but I for one found it quite amusing.

After all, you didn’t hear the way those girls screamed.

But that is beside the point, and I forget myself.

I must offer my condolences to that little patrol of yours, I believe you know which one I speak of. Those six brave, fearsome scouts of yours.

Oh. Wait a moment… I do not remember them being as such.

On the contrary they didn’t even lift a single finger, not one of them. And the fear in their eyes! Who knew elves could contain so much yet try and put on such an air of pride? I still am saddened by the fact that I myself am an elf, a pity really.

But who am I kidding? Did you like the spectacle my little beast left behind? If only it was able to go out into the light, but it did well enough. My servant did a wonderful job doing the rest. I think that is the only thing I truly enjoy about being an elf.

The precision.

Quick. Clean. Quiet.

Otherwise, it really is not all that helpful. But onto more important matters now.

I am becoming quite impatient. You elders haven’t so much as done anything. What a boring move. I gave you plenty of time, I really did. It is not my fault that you chose to do nothing and instead passed your turn. How disappointing. I expected so much more from you, especially you Gray Wizard. I would have thought that by now I would be shaking in my boots at what you had done as your move. But NOTHING. You all are truly pathetic, aren’t you?

The day that I write this letter is the day that the fire was set to the building. Tomorrow I shall strike again, and this time I plan on attacking my target head on.
I know, in this little game of ours I haven’t given you any clue to who I am after. If anything, it must seem that I am attacking blindly, striking in the dark with a blindfold on. Sadly this is not the case.

This game has become very enjoyable, indeed it has become one of my favorites that I have ever played. But you are wasting time, and time is something I do not have much more of at this point. Therefore I must play my next turn quickly. I do hope you don’t mind that we have skipped yours.

Tomorrow I shall have my servant attack my target. If luck is on my side, which I very much hope for, then he shall die painlessly. If it is not, then I will make sure that he suffers for as long as possible.

Oh! Look, I have given you a clue! How kind of me.

Yes, my target is male and quite a little one at that. I must say that it does pain me oh so much that such a young little thing must die. But I promise you this:

It is in all of our favor that he perishes now, for the future of this world will be altered by whatever is to come next. You would be surprised at how much one little thing can change, how much of the world rests on his survival. And believe me:

I’ll see him dead if I have anything to do about it.

Ah, here we are at the end of my letter. I have been very kind to have given you a day’s head start. If you haven’t found this until the day of, or after, then that is truly not my fault. Well, I must part now. This has to be taken away to be hidden now.

I shall talk to you soon.

The Malevolent Ghost Warrior”

As Celebrian finished reading the letter, horror was written plainly across everyone’s faces. It took a few moments for the words to sink in, the seconds tick, tick, ticking away. Oh, if only they had acted in those few precious moments.

Then they may have arrived in time to save him.

Mithrandir cleared his throat, though to the others in sounded more like a lump was lodged in there.

“I think –” he began, but was then suddenly cut off.

“Do you not see it?” Thranduil asked quietly, a dead tone to his voice. His face was blank, emotionless except for his eyes. In the icy blue was a storm of turmoil and fear, with realization behind it.

“He said it was one young and male. Do you truly not see who it is? Ai!” He exclaimed. He stood up in a flash, a fire burning now within his eyes. “It is Legolas he is after. Who else could it be? Who else is little enough to be his target? And now, now he is going to attack him and I fear that we may already be too late for my Greenleaf.”

The others were shocked, but it was soon replaced by the truth of what the Elven King said. There was no other in Imladris that was young enough to fit the target. And when they thought about it everything, all the attacks, had happened once the Mirkwood elves arrived.

Quickly the occupants of the room were up on their feet, hurrying out the door of the office. Thranduil leading them, they went as quickly as their elven strength could let them and more so.

But they were indeed too late.

As the garden came within their sight, the elves and Maiar sped up in hopes of reaching the fountain in time to warn them. When they turned down the path that led to it, a sudden piercing scream rang through the air, pain filled with terror.

“LEGOLAS!”

Chapter Text

Moments earlier…

The twins and Arwen sat along the fountain ledge, quietly conversing with one another, simply enjoying the beautiful day. Glorfindel and Legolas sat further along the edge, watching a family of ducks splash around in the water with their mother.

One of the ducklings swam over towards the Prince, shaking his feathers. Water droplets landed onto the elfling, causing him to laugh in delight. The Balrog Slayer was content to watch, a smile growing on his face.

Silently watching the surrounding area for danger, the guards had small smiles on their faces at the sound of the Prince’s laughter. There had been far too much grief as of late and it was good to hear something so innocent and joyful. They stood out of sight, behind the large bushes on the path, and anyone who walked by couldn’t help but smile as well.

If only the Prince knew how much a pleasant joy he was.

And if only they knew how terribly wrong everything would go.

Glorfindel, with a remark to Legolas to not wander off anywhere beyond the fountain’s area, turned towards the other three, joining into their conversation with a question. He did not fear that the elfling would really go anywhere that wasn’t in the general facility, but he had to make sure for there had been to many accidents as of late.

Legolas nodded at the warrior’s request. He then proceeded to look around the area, taking a deep breath as the smell of nature surrounded him.

Ever since he had been about that of a three year old human, he had been able to understand the Song around him. What he did not realize, however, was that he was the only elf ever heard of to have such a deep connection. Only he could hear the trees without touching them, the animals, wind, and water as well. Even his father, who although had a strong connection as well, could only hear the trees when he was in contact with one and heard just the slightest whispering of the winds.

No. This little Greenleaf was very special and he was innocently unaware of it.

So the elfling smiled as the small ducklings bantered with one another in the fountain water, their mother scolding them on occasion. It was quite amusing, and he wished that the others could hear it.

Las! A voice called out interrupting his thoughts.

Legolas perked his head up at the call, looking around to see where it came from. As he scanned the area, he spotted a small, brown and white rabbit sitting beneath a bench not too far away. Smiling as he realized that it was well within his boundaries, the elfling hopped off the fountain and made his way happily to the rabbit.

Glorfindel looked over along with the others to watch as the Prince crouched before the little creature. Grins grew on their faces as the watched the elfling pick up the furry rabbit and place it on the bench, sitting beside it. Shaking his head, the warrior looked back over at Arwen and the twins, their conversation resuming.

Las! The rabbit exclaimed, a tint of fear edging his voice.

A frown appeared on Legolas’ face.

What is the matter, my friend? He asked. And what is your name? I feel its right to ask since you know mine.

Patches. The brown and white rabbit replied. His nose twitched nervously as he glanced around.

That’s a good name. Now what seems to be the problem, Patches?

I have come to tell you that you are in grave danger, Las! There is someone close by who wishes to hurt you.

Legolas started at this, his frown becoming deeper.

Danger? Why would someone wish to hurt me?

Because he sees you as a threat! Patches said, his eyes franticly looking about. You must hide and find safety! Quickly!

Glorfy says that there are guards nearby and that nothing will be able to hurt us with them protecting us. He says that we will be okay. Legolas tried to reason with his new friend.

He knows nothing! Patches yelled angrily, stomping one of his feet on the bench. His gaze held the elfling’s bright blue eyes, never letting go. That is because he is unaware of what this danger is! The guards will not think to stop this person, Las, because he is an elf like you! Why would they suspect one of their own kind? There is an elf here in the Vale who is dark and has been corrupted by another far stronger than he.

Frightened by the rabbits words, Legolas looked over at Glorfindel, his mind trying to process this information.

~You may have forgotten readers, but our Prince here is very young so in a situation like this he would not know what to do. Remember, he is only that of a six year old human.~

Not knowing what to do, the elfling’s young mind, though farther advanced than that of a human child, was at a complete loss. His words failed him.

Still looking towards the fountain where the older elves resided, he noticed that the ducks had all stopped swimming and were frozen in place, looking in their direction. On another look, they were all looking at him.

Please Las! Patches begged. I do not wish to see you get hurt! None of us do. Please Las, please! It was as though the rabbit was about to cry, his voice was so distraught.

Truly filled with terror at this point, the elfling nodded his head. As he began to stand up from the bench, a sudden whoshing sound though quiet, filled the air. Before he could react, an arrow slammed into his lower chest.

Legolas’ screams filled the air as his body crumpled to the ground, startling the other four elves. Upon seeing the elfling, Glorfindel and the twins drew their weapons and ran towards the small form, Arwen following close behind.

Before they could reach the Prince, however, another arrow pierced him in his upper back, drawing forth another blood curdling scream.

With a mighty roar of anger, the Balrog Slayer ran towards the direction of the arrows, the guards joining him in the chase. They felt immensely guilty that they had failed in their duty to protect the elves. That they had failed the little Prince.

Whoever had done this horrendous act would not get away. Not as long as Glorfindel and the guards had anything to do about it.

The twins collapsed to their knees besides the elfling, dropping their weapons carelessly. Arwen joined them on the ground, placing her hands on Legolas, one on his side and the other on his head gently. The Prince flinched at the touch, heartbreaking sobs being wrenched from his body as the pain became overwhelming.

The twins began to rip off strips from their tunics, trying to staunch the blood that flowed freely from the two wounds. At a closer look they realized that the arrow in the lower chest had almost gone all the way through the elfling, and that the other one was about halfway in.

As they worried over the elfling, the sound of pounding feet on the path reached their ears and all three looked up. It was their parents along with Thranduil, Erestor, and Mithrandir who were running towards them, now entering the fountain area.

With a first glance upon the three elves crowded around the little form, a look of horror crossed their faces. Thranduil practically flew to their sides, dropping to the ground beside Arwen who was gently lifting Legolas up into her arms.

He whimpered at the movement, the sound piercing everyone’s heart. Celebrian who was crouching on Arwen’s other side, had tears in her eyes as she wiped a golden strand of hair out of Legolas’ face, her heart crying out for the cruelty done to one so young.

Elrond had placed himself in between his two sons, noting the arrow wounds in the Prince, running through what would have to be done. Standing over the elves on the ground, Erestor and Mithrandir were at a loss of what to do, feeling quite useless. Though they desperately wanted to help, they did not think it would be best for they would only get in the way. Instead the two watched what was happening with great anger and grief in their eyes, along with a tinge of guilt for what had been done.

Arwen, who was holding Legolas in her arms, looked up at Thranduil. Wordlessly, her eyes conveyed the needless question, offering her precious bundle to the Elven King.

With an infinite gentleness, Thranduil lifted his son into his arms from Arwen’s, cradling the small body to his chest. Silver tears slowly ran their way down his cheeks as hazed blue eyes that were laced with pain looked up into his icy blue ones. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against that of Legolas’, whispering sweet nothings to his son.

Knowing that he would soon have to get up if they were to save his son’s life, he greedily took in the warmth the little body offered, and trying to sooth away that shudders that violently wracked the form. Placing a soft kiss to Legolas’ head, he cradled his son closer to him, preparing to rise from the ground.

I am so sorry, my Greenleaf, that I have failed you once more. . .

Chapter Text

Glorfindel hadn’t been this angry in a long time.

~Well, maybe angry isn’t the right word for it.

Hmm…

Livid.

Now that’s the right word. Let’s retry this, shall we?~

Glorfindel was livid, seething with a barely retained rage that was just waiting to burst from within.

~Much better.~

As the trees blurred past him, Glorfindel’s mind was only focused on the elf, a hunter relentlessly stalking his prey. He would never stop until he caught this elf, even if it was the last thing he did.

Luckily for him and his men, their prey was leaving quite the trail behind, clearly not bothering to try and hide his tracks. And rightfully so. This elf had cause to be terrified for his life. After all, he attempted to murder the Prince of Mirkwood, and even now they had no way of knowing if he yet lived.

And for that reason, Glorfindel and his men would not cease their chase until they had captured this elf and received the information they so badly desired.

It didn’t end up taking very long in the end to catch up to the elf.

The trees, who all adored Prince Legolas dearly, had heard word of what had happened to the little elfling, and as the information was rapidly passed down from the trees and animals, they attempted to stop the fleeing elf.

The oaks, pines, and all other trees did whatever they could muster up to slow down the elf at the very least. Some raised their roots from the forest floor, tripping up the elf’s steps, slowing him down. Some trees even went as far as to hurl down their branches, hoping that one would squash the elf, or at least harm him in some way. Even the animals found glee in antagonizing him.

Squirrels chucked acorns at the elf, grimly pleased when they smacked him in the face. The birds swooped down, pecking, prodding, and pulling at the elf’s clothes and hair. Every lifeform within the forest did what they could to stop this elf, for their beloved elfling was dying and they did not wish to see him gone so soon.

Eventually, it was a young sapling that finally did the trick in halting the fleeing elf. As the tree saw the form come barreling towards it in the distance, the sapling began to swing back its long, thin branches, ready for attack. When the elf was just rushing by the sapling, it swung forward its branches as hard as it could, letting the wind help force them forward.

Though the tree was still just a young sapling, it was in no way small or delicate. No, this little one was just a bit taller than a full grown male elf, and its branches were about as thick as a spear.

So when the force of its branches came forward, they nailed the elf right in his face, sending him flying back towards the forest floor. The impact of the branches left the elf in a heap on the ground, his mind spinning in circles, quickly becoming disoriented and dizzy.

By the time Glorfindel and his men had reached the scene, they would later be said to recount that the young sapling was seen to be swaying back and forth, its branches held high in the air, shimmering almost radiantly with pride.

The Balrog Slayer stomped over to the injured elf, yanking him up by the collar of his tunic. He practically tossed him against a nearby tree, two of his men holding down the elf so that he was trapped on all sides. Kneeling in front of him, Glorfindel held his sword in his hands, idly playing with it.

Looking up, the warrior gazed into the other’s eyes, gauging this elf that he once had known.

“Dûrion.”

“Glorfindel.”

The two stared at each other. On one side knelt a reborn warrior, his golden hair glinting in the stray beams of sunlight that filtered through the treetops, making his eyes gleam a deep blue. On the other side restrained by two elves and a tree, an outcast sat, his dark hair seemingly black in the forest’s shadow while eyes almost appeared as though soulless.

Neither backed down from the other. Only moments before had this dark elf been a warrior in his ranks, strong and able, leading many patrols out to protect their home from the shadow.

Now, Glorfindel couldn’t recognize this elf he knew, for something darker resided behind his eyes, a shadow emanating from within. No longer was this his friend. Whatever had driven him to change must have been a long time ago. Even now he could recall subtle changes in this elf’s attitude and he had been too blind to see it.

“Tis a shame really,” the elf named Dûrion said, a sly grin appearing on his face, “You have trained me better than that. I should have hit that little brat with the first arrow, but alas, I’ve made it much harder with two.” He chuckled slightly. “If only I could be there to see it myself, I would have loved to see the life drain from his eyes.”

In the blink of an eye, Glorfindel’s sword was resting against Dûrion’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

“You,” the Balrog Slayer’s voice was a hiss, pure fury lacing his words, “You are a poor excuse for an elf. I’m disgusted by what you have done, and to think you can talk to me as though everything is fine… you are no elf, not anymore.”

He pressed the sword closer to the other, a larger line being drawn forth and silvery red blood dripping down. Dûrion merely smiled, his eyes glinting.

“You would not want to kill me yet.” He spoke knowingly. “If you do, you’ll never learn anything from what you have. Or don’t have, for that matter.” Glorfindel’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Oh! You wouldn’t know anything about this, for obvious reasons, but all your precious information has been destroyed. Oh, yes, now you see. You are simply all pawns in a game far greater than any of you could ever imagine. And it is all moving accordingly. Just wait, the fun is only now beginning.”

The dark elf broke off, chuckling to himself, the sound echoing through the forest. In the silence, it filled the elves with dread, sending a shiver down their spines.

Without waiting for a command, one of the men behind Glorfindel quickly drew their sword, spinning it around in their hands so they were gripping the hilt with both hands. With a decisive stroke, Dûrion was unconscious, his laughter brought to an abrupt close.

Silence once more reigned over the forest floor.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Glorfindel directed his men to take the elf to one of their cells and to keep an eye on him, with no less than four guards on him at all times. With that done, the warrior marched his way to the healing hall, for he had to reassure himself that the Prince still lived.

When he finally reached the building, a young healer showed him to the room where the elfling was being treated. After quietly thanking her, he opened up the door, a rush of athelas hitting him in the face.

It was a sad sight that greeted him as he closed the door. Elrond and the twins were bent over the small, prone form on the bed, working over him with rapid movements and quiet murmurs to one another. Thranduil stood off the side of the bed, not wanting to be in the way, yet not wanting to be too far from his son’s side. Celebrian and Mithrandir watched from the side of the room, the former preparing some type of potion. Erestor, noticing his arrival, walked over to him, a grim look in his eyes.

“How bad is it?” Glorfindel asked. Erestor sighed deeply, glancing over the little form.

“It is not good. Elrond had to push through both arrows because of how far they were lodged in there, and the amount of blood he’s lost –” Erestor cut off, unable to voice anymore for it was too painful to think.

But Glorfindel understood the gist of what he meant – the Prince was severely injured, and the likelihood of him surviving was slim.

And if he died, so soon after his mother’s death, there wasn’t a very good chance that Thranduil could survive the grief.

A sigh reached their ears, and both looked over to see that the twins had gone to wash their hands, while Elrond stood up from feeding the potion Celebrian had made to the little elfling. Thranduil quickly moved to his son’s side, caressing the head of his Greenleaf.

All looked expectantly at the Lord of Imladris.

“It,” Elrond slowly began with grief in his eyes, his voice quiet and heavy, “It isn’t good. Legolas has lost far too much blood, and the arrows themselves have caused quite a lot of damage. The one in his lower chest thankfully didn’t puncture anything, but the openings it made are fragile. As for the other one, that arrow ended up lodging into his collarbone, which had to be broken in order to remove it. For now we can hope that none of his wounds become infected, though I wouldn’t be surprised to see a fever appear. If he can make it past this night and tomorrow, he may yet live. But I cannot make any promises. I am sorry.”

As Elrond finished, a quiet gloom settled over the elves and Maiar, despair hanging in the air.

Off in the distance, a form sat within a tree, fingering stolen papers within his hands. In an instant, a gulf of flames consumed them, and then flashed away again. A smile grew along the form’s face, his teeth glinting in the light.

Oh, what a lovely move in this game of day versus the night…

“The day is the elves and the Prince, their sunshine.

The night is the servant and tormentor, the shadow his ever welcome friend.”

Chapter Text

The following morning…

Glorfindel led the way to the cells in Imladris, Elrond, Thranduil and Mithrandir trailing behind. The ellyth had remained behind in the healing wing with Legolas in case he awoke, while the twins were with Erestor, continuing some work that had piled up due to all the excitements they had been having.

None of them wished to deal with this at the moment, but it had to be done quickly because at this point time was limited. One had to use it wisely.

Once they reached the main door to the location of the cells – there were hardly any cells in the Elven realm so it was just a small basement – a guard opened up the door, a grim look in his eyes. He nodded as the procession passed along, hoping that they would find something useful for everyone, not just the lords and ladies, wanted justice to be found for all the horrendous crimes that had taken place recently. After the elves and Maiar had passed, he reclosed the door, praying to the Valar that they would find something.

As the group walked down the stairs, a guard suddenly appeared at the bottom looking quite frantic, calling out “My Lord!” Glorfindel rushed down the rest of the stairs to meet the elf, instantly concerned.

“What is it?” Glorfindel asked.

“It is the prisoner,” the guard began, “He seems to be ailing. We checked him over last night, taking all of his possessions, but for some reason he appears to be deteriorating quickly all of a sudden.”

At this point, the rest of the group was behind Glorfindel and as the guard finished, Elrond pushed past them, grabbing the keys in the process as he hurried over to the cell that held Dûrion. When he reached it, he rummaged through the keys until he found the correct one, and unlocked the cell door.

The sight that greeted him was not pleasant. Dûrion was slouched up against the far wall, a thin trail of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were slightly glazed, his skin ashen.

Tossing the keys behind him, Elrond hurried over to the elf, kneeling beside him. As he checked over the weak form, he instantly recognized the signs of poison, but from what kind he could not immediately note. Glorfindel appeared beside him, fury clear on his face. Thranduil and Mithrandir stood within the inner door to the cell.

Suddenly, Elrond noted a slight bulge in the elf’s tunic, hidden well within the right sleeve. He grabbed the fabric, his hands landing on an object that felt to be the shape of a vial. Quickly, he removed the vial, a wave of misery washing over him as he realized what Dûrion had done.

The elf had taken a fast-acting poison that would leave him dead in minutes. Elrond knew very well that this had been deliberate so they would be unable to receive much information from him.

Glorfindel, who had put this together as well within his head, grabbed Dûrion by his collar, yanking the elf up to meet his face. His voice was harsh, barely containing the rage the Balrog Slayer held.

“Who do you work for?” He demanded harshly.

Dûrion gasped, a bit more blood dripping from his mouth, seeming to catch his breath.

“I th-think you know v-very w-well who I-I work for.” He responded weakly.

Glorfindel gritted his teeth. “Why did you attack the Prince? What do you hope to gain? What did Legolas ever do? Why would you betray your home and Lord? How could you kill fellow elves? What, what is the reason for any of this?” His voice was practically screaming towards the end, the rage overtaking him as he struggled not to strangle the elf before him.

Dûrion gasped once more, but this time it lead into a weak laugh, a hard glint appearing in the dying elf’s eyes. With an unknown surge of power, he leaned forward, grinning into the Balrog Slayer’s face, madness completely taking over.

“I can’t believe you’re all so stupid. Even after all this time, all these turns in the game, you still don’t get it, do you? Hmm, I would have expected more from you all, but I guess I should have expected this. After all, you still don’t understand what this is all about. That’s your own fault then, especially when my Lord makes his most important move. Want to know why? Because that’s when you lose everything, and you learn what it is like to suffer. Tis a shame, really, but what must be done will be done. It’s only a matter of time now. You should have played the game more carefully, but even you have to lose once in a while…”

He broke off suddenly, coughs racking his entire body. Blood began to spurt out of his mouth, barely missing Glorfindel as the warrior threw him back against the wall. His form seized, his eyes rolling back. A few more shudders ran through the elf’s body before he lay still.

Glorfindel and Elrond leaned back, looking at one another. Dûrion’s words worked through all their minds, an ominous air settling inside the cell.

Mithrandir sighed from behind the two, watching as Thranduil walked out the door, his robes swirling behind him. Leaning heavily on his staff, he turned back towards the deceased elf, thoughts flying rampant through his mind.

It seemed there was still much more to come…

Chapter Text

Later that same night…

Elrond wearily made his way back to his study, the events of the past few days catching up to him. He had gone to check on Legolas after the ordeal with Dûrion, only to find the elfling wide awake and in severe pain. He and Celebrian had done their best to make him comfortable and ease the pain, but eventually were forced to give the Prince a potion to lull him to sleep because he was so distraught.

Though the injuries the elfling had were still in a fragile state, there was far more hope now that he would pull through. In the beginning, Elrond did not see how that would be possible. But Legolas was far stronger than they gave him credit for.

The Lord of Imladris sighed as he entered his study. Oh, what he wouldn’t wish for this nightmare to be over. But that was not a possibility, not now at any rate. There was still too much to be done and discovered. It seemed that their game was far from over.

Elrond grumbled about that. For all the years that he had lived in Middle-Earth, he had never faced a foe that was so intent on making a game out of his work. The idea that his opponent was essentially toying with them all, moving them around on a board was unnerving and aggravating.

Even his ring, Vilya, had not been able to do anything to stop the Ghost Warrior’s attacks. Elrond had concluded that it must be because their enemy was an elf – he didn’t want to imagine any other reasons than that.

But what bothered him the most was that he had seen glimpses of this before. At this point, he didn’t think it worthwhile to tell the others, but centuries ago, he had had a vision.

In the vision, he saw a glimpse of a figure cloaked in black, laughing off in the distance, a ruined kingdom behind. The scene then changed to the image of a white flame - with the sound of crying a child - alone in a dark place. The flame fluttered and gasped, before it was extinguished for good. The vision promptly ended, back then leaving the Lord confused and a tad disconcerted. However, he did not feel that it was imminent to take place within years around him, so he had pushed it off, though he never meant to forget it.

Now he realized his folly in forgetting the vision, but there was nothing he could do but to move on and push forward.

Elrond by this point was sitting heavily in his chair, a hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose. With another sigh, he blinked his eyes a few times, then leaned forward to look for their information they had so far gathered.

Except it was gone.

With a shake in his hands, the Lord of Imladris began to quickly shuffle around the papers on his desk, desperately looking for the papers. Finding nothing, he moved his chair back and withdrew a key from his person. Unlocking one of the lower drawers where he kept his most important papers, Elrond looked once more. He came up empty.

For ten minutes he looked up and down his study, frantically trying to find their information. When he found nothing, he quickly left to find Glorfindel. The two then spread out to look in the only places they would have placed the papers.

An hour later, they met back in Elrond’s study, both empty handed.

“Where could they have gone?” The Balrog Slayer said fiercely.

Elrond leaned against the windowsill. “I know naught.” He replied, his exhaustion evident in his voice. “We would not have left them carelessly alone. I would not be surprised if our Ghost Warrior took them. He seems to be… skilled in the area of stealth.”

“That does not make it any better.”

“No, but I know I remember the majority of what we had. We didn’t have much after all.”

“Though that is true, it still does not make our situation good.”

“No, indeed it doesn’t.”

Glorfindel sat down with a thump into Elrond’s chair. The Lord looked out the window, the moonlight casting its rays onto his face. His friend studied him for a moment, noticing for the first time the heavy creases in Elrond’s face, and the dark smudges beneath his eyes.

“I think you need to rest, mellon-nin.” Glorfindel said quietly, the anger fading away, his concern for his friend far greater. “We can accomplish nothing as long as we are tired and unable to focus. It is best if we try to rest this night to prepare for whatever may come our way tomorrow.”

“I know,” Elrond smiled slightly though his eyes were grim, “But there is far too many important things that we must attend to first. I would not feel it to be right to rest when there is still so much…” He trailed off, looking up at a star in the sky. His smile grew a bit as Eärendil twinkled in the dark sky.

Glorfindel shook his head at his friend, though a smile graced his lips. “What would not be right is if you denied the rest your body desperately needs. Face it, Elrond, one way or another you will be resting tonight.” His smile grew, a mischievous glint to his eyes. “I am certain that your children, the twins in particular, would be more than happy to help.”

Knowing very well that he would lose this battle, Elrond laughed as he straightened, slowly heading for the door. Glorfindel trailed behind, intent on making sure the Peredhel went to bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Legolas snuggled into the warm arms that held him. He then grimaced as he moved his body to a more comfortable position, sighing when he eventually found it. Leaning back into his Ada’s chest, Legolas willed the pain and grogginess to go away.

The little Prince had woken up just under an hour ago, disoriented and in pain. His father had been right beside him, more than happy to gather his Greenleaf into his arms and comfort him. The healers had given him a draught for the pain, promising that there were no sleeping herbs in the drink. Soon after they left, knowing that the Prince was in the safest arms possible.

Thranduil looked down at the form cuddled within his embrace, giving a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar for allowing his son to live. The Elven King did not think he would ever be able to erase the image of his son collapsed and bleeding on the ground from his mind. It would haunt him forever, he was sure. But for now he was happy just be able to hold his son in his arms and to feel the warmth and security that radiated from the smaller form.

When Legolas tried to readjust himself to find a more comfortable position, he could feel the pain through their link, slight anger arising that his son should feel any pain at all. As his son settled once more, Thranduil pushed away the anger for a later time, his son’s well-being more important.

“Ada?” Legolas asked quietly, looking up at his father with big, blue eyes.

“What is it, Las?” Thranduil answered, a small smile on his face.

Legolas seemed to ponder this for a moment, a crease forming in his brow as he struggled to find the right words. When he did, his words nearly broke Thranduil’s heart.

“What did I do wrong?”

Thranduil looked at his son, rendered speechless. Out of all the things his son could have asked him, this was one of the last the King had expected.

“What do you mean?”

Legolas looked down, fiddling with a button on his father’s tunic. “Why did he attack me? Did I do something wrong?”

“Legolas,” Thranduil said firmly, tilting Legolas’ face up by his chin, “You did not do anything wrong. Do not put any blame on yourself when there is none there to be had. As for the reason of why that elf attacked you, it is still not understood. But you must now blame yourself or feel that you did anything wrong, because you didn’t, Las, you have never done anything wrong to cause this.”

Legolas still seemed to be unsure, and a thin line of tears had formed in his eyes, waiting to spill. Thranduil sighed, gathering his only child closer to his body, his grasp gentle but strong.

“I love you, Legolas. And I am sorry that this has happened to you. I would take it all away if I could…” Thranduil trailed off hugging the form a bit closer if possible, and placing a kiss on the golden head. Legolas curled into his father, a small hand holding tightly onto his Ada’s tunic.

“I love you too, Ada.” Legolas murmured, sleep beginning to pull the prince away into Elven dreams.

When he had finally fallen asleep, Thranduil noticed that the tears still lingered in his son’s eyes. He sighed, the anger slowly beginning to return. As he quietly positioned himself into a more comfortable position to spend the night, he promised himself that he would fix this problem and save his son, no matter what the cost. His Greenleaf was most important to him now that his wife was gone, and he was determined to protect the last thing that she left him.

The Ghost Warrior would soon begin to regret his life.

Chapter Text

The following morning…

Thranduil sat on his son’s bed, leaning against the headboard with a book in his hand. However, he wasn’t actually processing what his eyes were seeing on the page. Instead, his mind was running at full speed, practically working overtime. He was worried, desperately worried about his son, though he was reluctant to show it.

Before dawn had graced the land, Legolas had woken up in extreme pain, crying tears as he held onto his father with a death grip, wanting his Ada to take all the pain away. Thranduil had been forced to call on Elrond, pleading with his eyes for something to help his Greenleaf. They had ended up giving Legolas a pain draught along with sleeping herbs so he would remain asleep for many hours into the next day.

Now it was three hours past dawn, and Imladris had woken to yet another panic. The guard that had been posted were alerted to some disturbance on the outskirts of the haven and had gone to investigate. It had put all the elves and wizard on high alert, making them cautious and wary.

At this point, anything was possible.

But to Thranduil, his main concern was on the welfare of his son. There still was no guaranteed hope that Legolas would survive his injuries, but it was looking slightly better. As Elrond said, healing would only come with rest and time. However, the Elven King was not known to be very patient.

A soft knock on the door drew Thranduil out of his musings. He answered, telling whoever it was that they could come in (he was prepared if it was in fact someone not to be trusted).

The door opened to reveal Arwen, bearing a tray of fruits and breads along with two cups for tea. She smiled at Thranduil, closing the door behind her with her foot. Walking over to where he sat next to Legolas, Arwen carefully lowered the tray onto the bedside table, drawing over a nearby chair to sit in. Once she was comfortable, she gazed at the fragile little Prince, wondering how the Valar could let anything like this happen to the sweet little elfling. She mentally shook herself, glancing back up towards the King, only to see a knowing feeling in his eyes.

“Good morning.” She said softly. “I had a thought that you had most likely not broken your fast as of yet, so I decided that we could do so together.”

Thranduil smiled at Elrond’s daughter, knowing that her heart knew no bounds in its selflessness.

“That is very much appreciated.” He responded, a soft sigh soon following. He gazed down at his son, a sadness entering his eyes. “I did not wish to leave him and instead became lost in my musings I am afraid. But it is nice to know that you thought of little old me.”

She grinned at him. “But of course, o’ Mighty Elven King. Who could ever dare to forget you?”

They stared at one another for a moment, Arwen’s tease hanging in the air. Thranduil broke that silence with his laughter, smiling at the humor found in the Evenstar’s words. She followed suit, giggling into her hands.

It was said that Thranduil was fearsome and icy, his heart cold and without mercy. But to those who had gotten to know Thranduil over the years understood that that was not the case. He was actually quite warm in a sense, and wasn’t always grumpy and filled with thoughts of jewels. Over the years, Arwen had been the main elf to tease Thranduil about his “mightiness” and “power.” He certainly had these, but not in a cruel way. And if she ever had need to make the Elven King laugh, she always resorted to these little remarks which was only ever said in good humor.

As they both settled down once more, there was a lighter atmosphere in the room. Arwen divvied up the fruits and breads, handing a plate over to Thranduil, followed by a cup of warm tea. Both elves silently ate their meals, content with the comfortable silence. It was something they both relished immensely.

Once they had finished, Arwen and Thranduil broke into a quiet conversation, mainly about what she had been doing as of late and the tidings in Mirkwood. They were interrupted though, by a sudden harsh knock upon the door. Looking at one another and reaching a silent agreement, Arwen quickly rose and hurried over to the door, opening it up.

An ellon stood in the hallway, a nervousness surrounding him. She recognized him as one of their soldiers, his name being Eruheran.

He was tall with dark hair, his eyes a deep forest green and shot through with spikes of brown. He glanced behind him quickly, then looked back at Arwen, this time directly into her eyes. She shuddered slightly, but knew not why.

“My Lady,” the elf began, almost hurriedly, “I am afraid that there has been an accident over by the barracks and King Thranduil is needed at once.”

Arwen looked at him, a bit startled by the information. She knew that there had been some unknown activity on the outskirts of Imladris this morning, but she hadn’t thought that anything would come of it, or even if something did, it would not have been inside the city.

Unsure of the wariness that suddenly came upon her, she let him inside, watching him very carefully. There was something about the ellon that was off, but she couldn’t figure out just what that was.

Eruheran walked over quickly towards the Elven King, his gaze lingering on the wounded Prince for longer than Arwen liked. The elf stopped before Thranduil, giving a slight bow and then quickly launching into what he had to say.

“My King,” he started, “Lord Elrond and Mithrandir have asked that you come at once to the barracks because of an accident that has happened. They said it was dire and that you were needed. I was sent to retrieve you because I was the quickest one there, and was told that you had to come.”

Thranduil stared at the ellon for a moment, considering his words carefully. Something seemed a bit off to him as well, but he wasn’t sure what it was, and it was quite possibly his mind just being overprotective at the moment. Everything surrounding his son had led to him not trusting elves he had not met before. But if Elrond and Mithrandir truly needed him, he would have to go. He owed them that much.

“Are you truly sure that they need me for this?” He questioned. “I would rather stay with my son…”

“It is immensely important that you go to them at once.” Eruheran cut in. “Lord Elrond specifically told me to let you know that he wouldn’t call you away from your son unless it was absolute necessary. And in this situation, he deems it to be so.”

Thranduil sighed and slowly stood up, but not before placing a kiss on his Greenleaf’s head. Arwen came over to stand next to him, smiling reassurance that she would remain by his son’s side.

Eruheran bowed once more, then quickly headed for the door, Thranduil following behind. Before the door closed completely, the King gave his son one final glance before leaving.

Arwen, standing silently in the middle of the room, waited until the sounds of their footsteps stopped before running over to the door, locking it tightly. She then proceeded to move along the walls of the room, closing every window and side door as firmly as she could until there wasn’t anything left that was unlocked.

Taking a deep breath, Arwen walked back over to Legolas’ side, sitting down on the bed beside him. She brushed a few golden strands that had fallen out of his face before looking around her.

Something didn’t feel right.

A sharp bang against the main door made her head swirl around, panic settling inside of her. As the noise grew louder and the door shook under the strain, Arwen ran over to one of the counters, throwing open a drawer, looking for something to defend herself with. Finding a rather sharp knife, she snatched it into her hand while hastily closing the drawer. Flying back to Legolas’ side, she brandished the knife before her as the door burst open.

“Stay there!” She cried, a slight tremor in her voice. Her eyes widened as she beheld Eruheran before her, a long sword grasped within his hand. She moved herself in front of the Prince, willing to defend the little elfling with her life.

“My Lady,” Eruheran drawled, “That is no way to greet someone.” He started to slowly walk forward, closing the door behind him although it was unable to fully remain shut.

“Stop!” She cried once more, desperately thinking of ways to get someone’s attention to help her. “I don’t know what you want with him, but you can’t have him. I won’t allow it!”

“Then ‘tis a shame. I wasn’t asking for your permission.” His eyes grew cold and dark, the green and brown being swamped in an endless darkness. He smiled ferally at Arwen, brandishing his sword menacingly.

“Hand over the Prince, and I won’t hurt a single hair on your head.” He said, his voice having grown cold and desolate, causing shivers to run down Arwen’s spine. “And if you refuse…” He took a moment to study his sword, his smile transforming into a grin. “Well, then I guess you and I will just have to have some fun.”

Silence hung between them, each staring at the other for what seemed to last for hours. Finally, Arwen took a deep breath and positioned herself into a more defendable position. Closing her eyes, she breathed a silent prayer to the Valar.

She then looked hard at Eruheran, her eyes becoming hard with a glint.

“Never.”

A pause, and then:

“So be it.”

Eruheran launched himself forward, drawing his sword before him as he clashed head on with Arwen’s knife. It was no contest really. Arwen knew that she was no match for the Imladrin soldier, but that did not mean that she would go down without a fight.

Her knife was quickly knocked aside and a hand grabbed her arm in a painful grip. She was hurled towards the ground, landing solidly onto her stomach, the breath leaving her in an instant. Rolling over, her eyes widened as she saw a boot coming straight for her face. Quicker than she had ever done in her life, she rolled over once more onto her front, pushing herself up off the ground as the booted foot landed besides her.

As she straightened, Eruheran spun her around, grasping her around the torso and hauling her into the air. Before she had a chance to scream, a cloth covered her face, suffocating her slowly.

Losing air rapidly, Arwen kicked out and struggled, trying her best to loosen Eruheran’s hold. Her attempts became feeble though, as black spots danced before her eyes, all vision seeming to fade away into nothingness.

Before her consciousness completely left her, Arwen felt tears form in her eyes.

I’m so sorry, Legolas…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eruheran stood still as the form within his grasp stopped moving, falling limp within his arms. Carefully, he walked over to a nearby chair, placing her within its arms.

With that done, a hard frown covered his face, his brows falling deeply. He quickly walked over to the door, checking the hallway for any elves. Seeing none, he took another chair and propped it under the broken door knob, securing it tightly in place.

Just as quickly he ran over to one of the locked windows, undoing the fastenings. Once done, he threw it open and retreated to the center of the room.

Silently, a black form raised itself onto the window’s ledge, slowly slipping inside the room. Standing up, the form dusted itself off, surveying its surroundings. Seeing that everything was as it should be the elf, for that was what the form was, turned to face Eruheran. The elf’s black eyes flickered over to the limp form of Arwen briefly before landing on the Prince’s form.

“It is done.” Eruheran said in the emptiness. The elf’s eyes latched back onto him, looking deep into the Imladrin’s soul.

“Good.” was the only response returned.

Eruheran fidgeted for a moment, watching as the elf came closer to the bed, looking down at the prone form. Feeling the need to say something Eruheran opened his mouth.

“Morohtar-”

“Silence, you fool!” The elf seethed. “Do not say my name in these halls! You never know what ears are listening.” He gazed at Arwen for a brief moment before turning his full attention onto the Woodland Prince.

Silently, he withdrew a small envelope from within his glove, placing it delicately on the Prince’s pillow. Taking a moment to study it, he then bent over, gently sliding his arms under the smaller elf. Standing up straight, he cradled the limp form within his grasp, looking over at Eruheran.

“The window, if you please.”

Eruheran looked at him, searching the black eyes before anything. Sighing, he walked over to the window and proceeded to help the elf escape with his precious burden. As he was slowly exiting the window, he took a last glance at Arwen, a sadness within his gaze. Then, he lowered himself down to the ground below.

The two made their way out of Imladris, the Prince now tucked and hidden within a thick black cloak, drugged into oblivion and unaware as to what was happening.

The elf dressed in black marched steadily onwards, Eruheran keeping pace behind. Beneath his hood and mask, the elf smiled to himself, a sudden surge of glee filling him.

I’ve made my move…

And I can’t wait to see yours.

Chapter Text

Sometime later in Imladris…

Elrond hovered worriedly over his daughter, checking her pulse to make sure she was still alive. His mind was still trying to process the fact that yet another elf had deceived them, and that they had been too blind to see the deception right before their eyes.

When Thranduil had come to him, saying that apparently he had been told he was needed for an emergency, Elrond had only given him a confused look and asked him what he meant. The Elven King’s eyes had then widened, and he left as quickly as he came. The others had looked at each other for a moment, each with questions in their eyes, and then ran after Thranduil because clearly something was wrong.

By the time they caught up to Thranduil, they realized that whatever had happened, they were already too late.

Thranduil was frozen outside the door to his son’s healing room, a hand placed on the broken door knob. He had looked at them, fear flashing across his face. When he finally turned back and began to push the door open, it creaked on broken hinges, stuttering as it swung into the room. The sight that greeted them was one that they would never forget.

The first thing they noticed was the disarray of the sheets on the bed and the missing occupant. Almost immediately gazes landed upon the crumpled form of Arwen in the bedside chair. As they entered the room, a knife on the ground was noticed along with the window that was still open. Now, they were all in various positions, busying themselves with different things.

Elrond continued to check his daughter over, coming to the conclusion that some type of inhalant was used to knock her out. While he was readjusting her position within the chair, he saw Mithrandir in the corner of his eye, bending down slowly.

The wizard had found a damp cloth tossed aside, partially visible underneath the cabinetry along the wall. He bent down, poking it with his staff first before drawing it closer within his reach. Picking it up, he brought it close to his nose to sniff the contents, drawing back when the smell hit him head on.

He then slowly made his way back into a standing position before walking over to where Elrond is finishing his readjustment of Arwen. Silently, he hands over the cloth, seeing the thanks with the Lord’s eyes.

Turning around, he looks over towards the other occupants of the room, noting that Erestor was quietly walking out the door. His face was grim and determined.

Glorfindel, Mithrandir watched, was inspecting the knife he had picked up off the ground along with the window that was left ajar. He was leaning out of the window, eyes scrutinizing everything outside the room.

The Balrog Slayer shook his head and then straightened, closing the window tightly and latching the lock. He turned and set the knife on a nearby counter, making his way over to Elrond.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mithrandir watched as Celebrain slowly walked over to the immobile Thranduil, gently sitting down on the bed next to him. She was clearly nervous and worried, playing with her hands in her lap. After a moment’s hesitation, she finally reached out a hand and grasped Thranduil’s larger one, pulling it away from the white knuckle hold he had had on the letter found on his son’s pillow.

Celebrain murmured something quietly to the King, soothingly patting his hand. Worry was evident on her face and she continued to speak softly to him.
For his part, Thranduil had been a completely different person since they had walked in.

Lines of grief and worry marked the otherwise ageless face while a murderous gleam flashed within his eyes. He hadn’t spoken a word since he sat down on the bed, picking up the letter left on the pillow. Thranduil was terrified, though he wouldn’t show it, and wanted nothing more than to take back everything that had happened within the last ten minutes.

Guilt ate at him, the same kind that had threatened to destroy him when his wife had been murdered. He felt that it was his fault his son had been taken – he hadn’t been there when his little Greenleaf had needed him most. And now, he was likely far out of reach.

As he sat there in his grief and melancholy, Mithrandir decided that enough was enough. It hadn’t been that long since the elfling was taken, so there was still a shot of catching up to the Ghost Warrior and their little Prince.

“Thranduil.” Mithrandir said almost curtly, forcing the King’s bowed head to rise. The eyes that looked into the wizards were hollow and guilt-ridden, seeming to have already lost hope.

“Your son could not have gotten that far in such a short amount of time.” He said. “Send out riders, call for aid from the trees, but do not give up hope already before you have done anything. This is not the same as it was for your wife; Legolas is still alive.”

Thranduil continued to look at Mithrandir, emotions waging inside of himself. He was supposed to be the strong, formidable Elven King, but at the moment he was just a simple elf, lost about what needed to be done.

“I will go organize the scouts, and inform the twins of what has happened. They will want to be here for this.” Glorfindel said, walking towards the door.

Mithrandir nodded. “Good.”

Thranduil watched as the others took charge, organizing plans and giving out orders, but he was frozen, unable to move. A single tear rolled down his cheek and he felt Celebrian squeeze his hand.

“Do not lose hope, Thranduil.” She said softly. “Legolas is strong, and he will not be lost in their hands. We will get him back, mellon-nin, I promise you that.”

The Elven King looked at her sadly, grief consuming his mind. He knew he had to push it aside, he knew there was a chance to save his son unlike there had been for his wife, but it was hard. Hard to move it to the back of his mind and focus on his son’s life. Hard to find the faith and courage to do this.

Really, he just needed a wake-up call. Something to set the fire raging inside of him alight and make him chase down those who threatened his precious Greenleaf’s life.
As he opened his mouth to speak to Celebrian, a sudden knock on the door caused him to pause. Everyone glanced at the door, wondering who would be knocking on the door at this time. Those who had been in here originally would never have bothered, and instead have just walked in.

At Elrond’s word of “Enter,” the door opened to reveal Erestor and two other figures standing behind him.

The Lord and Lady of Lothlorien had arrived.

Chapter Text

The same day, somewhere on the outskirts of the Imladrin border…

It was dark. Very, very dark.

Maybe someone closed the curtains? The sun coming through the windows could be very bright…

No, that didn’t seem right. He felt like he was moving.

And going to be very sick.

Slowly, his drugged mind began to become a bit clearer, though there was still a heavy haze that rested upon his mind.

He couldn’t figure out why he was moving, or where he even was for that matter. It seemed like an area he had never been before, mainly because he didn’t recognize the few trees around him. Or, at least they didn’t recognize him.

And the darkness, he couldn’t seem to make it go away though he desperately wanted to.

Not to mention the burning pain in his lower chest and upper back. The wounds felt taut and as if they were going to break open. The pain made him want to cry, and a whimper escaped him although he was unaware of it.

Then, the moving stopped and loud voices could be heard above him. It seemed as if the beings were arguing about something, but he didn’t care to focus on what. He was just happy the movement was gone because he really did not feel well at all, and the rocking motion was not helping in any way.

A few moments later and he felt himself moving once more, however it lasted for the briefest time as he was unceremoniously dumped on the ground.

Another whimper escaped him and he was finally able to crack open his eyes. The sight that greeted him, however, sent a shiver down his spine.

Two elves stood before him, one in what appeared to be Imladrin dress while the other was dressed in black from head to toe, including a hood that hid his face from the elfling’s view, although it seemed that there was also a mask beneath it, he just couldn’t quite tell. The black one seemed to be yelling at the other, and quite loudly.
“Look,” the black one said, “I want to be out of this land before this night falls for the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien have entered these lands, and I do not need that witch to ruin everything!”
“Morohtar-” the other tried to start but was just as quickly cut off.
“No, Eruheran. Stay here and watch over the Prince while I go check ahead.” With that being said, Morohtar began to walk away, but then stopped in his path. He seemed to be thinking about something before he turned around and looked at Eruheran sternly.

“Do not coddle that brat or help him. Leave him be.” And then he turned and continued to walk away.
Eruheran blew out a breath, settling his hands on his hips. Then, aware of eyes staring at him, he turned towards the little Prince and met his gaze full on. The elfling flinched and looked away, but not before he could hide the pain that was glazed over his blue eyes.
Feeling a bit of pity, Eruheran began to make his way over to the other, shrugging his pack off in the process. The Prince started to panic, backing himself into the tree he had been dumped next to by Morohtar, trying to make himself as small as possible. When he finally stood before the elfling, he crouched down before him, watching as tears trailed down the tiny face before him.

Carefully he sat down, undoing the flap on his pack. Eruheran slowly drew out a waterskin, taking a small sip before offering it to the Prince. However, the other just stared at him making no move to even attempt to drink the water. Eruheran couldn’t blame him.

Placing the waterskin back into the bag, the bigger elf then took out some bandages and reached for the Prince.

The sobs started in full.

Sighing, Eruheran drew the little elf onto his lap, holding him in place with one arm while he examined his wounds with the other. As expected, they were beginning to seep out blood. When he went to remove the old, soiled bandages, the Prince began to squirm and fight against him, despite the fact that he was only causing himself more pain. The bigger elf let go, watching as the elfling scrambled away from his reach to huddle up against the tree once more.

Shaking his head once more, he put the bandages back into his pack, closing it up. Just in time too, for Morohtar was walking towards them.

Upon reaching the place where Eruheran and the Prince were sitting, he noticed with disgust that tears were making their way down the elfling’s cheeks and sobs seemed to wrack his body. Annoyed, Morohtar walked over to the Prince and grabbed his arm, yanking him up forcefully onto his feet.

“Since you are now awake, you will walk on your own. And your tears must cease as well, for I will not deal with a crying brat.” Venom seemed to lace his tongue as he spoke for the fear returned by tenfold in the elfling’s eyes.

He tried very hard to keep his tears at bay, for now more than ever they seemed to want to break free and cascade down his cheeks.

But the fear had a tight hold on him, so instead the little Prince stumbled along blindly, tripping over fallen twigs and rocks, barely staying on both his feet. He was unaware for how much time had passed, except that with every waking moment his pain seemed to become more and more present. But he dared not stop for Morohtar would kick his legs and yell at him to keep moving, pushing him in the directed he was meant to go. Behind, Eruheran just watched silently, never stepping in to prevent the Prince’s mistreatment.

It was after about three hours that the elfling’s body could no longer handle the exhausting march that was forced upon the injured body, and finally collapsed. The Prince tripped and fell, passing out as his body landed on the rocky ground.

The other two elves stopped, watching the elfling. After a few moments of no movement, Morohtar growled and bent down, swinging the elf up into his arms. Throwing him over a shoulder, he began to press on once more.

Eruheran however had something to say.

“Morohtar,” he began, “We need to change his bandages. Look at how the blood stains his tunic. He will die before we ever reach our destination!”

Never stopping, Morohtar spoke quietly, but the venom in his voice made Eruheran freeze in his tracks and fear for his life for the first time with this elf.

“We will not treat his wounds nor will we take care of him. I do not care what happens to him so long as I bring ruin to those worthless elves. You have two choices: you will either keep quiet, or you can go drown yourself in the nearby stream for your nerve to help the Prince.”

As Morohtar walked away, a growing darkness seemed to trail behind him.

And Eruheran, not willing to die quite yet, quickly followed the other along his path of chaos and darkness.

Chapter Text

For the first time in all of its existence, Elrond’s office was undeniably loud. Now, this isn’t the simple loud of children yelling as they play outside at their little games, but rage and tension-filled loud that would make those same children cower in fear.

And the reason for all this?

The debate on what was happening in the realm of Imladris.

“How was any of this even possible considering that you, the Lord of Imladris, carry an elven ring of power? I thought its main purpose was for protection from events such as these!”

“A wizard should be able to prevent such darkness from coming into a blessed land. Clearly, you truly are only meant to be a gray one!”

“Doesn’t being a Balrog Slayer mean that you are a formidable force, possible of protecting those you love? Not letting them come to ruin?”

“Honestly, you are all imbecilic and under taught or you would know that rings are not helpful and only do what they want! They have no masters, not even elven ones.”

“One would have thought that being Galadriel’s daughter meant that you would have had some inkling about these events. Or even the Peredhel would have, considering they are cursed with foresight!”

“Or clearly, they are not.”

“Honestly, how can you have been so blind to the deceit right before you, living in your very realm? How do you not notice these things?”

As the insults continued on, the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien sat in the corner, observing all before them.

When they had been told of all the events that had taken place up until their arrival, they had sat there quietly and taken into account everything that was said and done, along with the emotions felt. Their grandchildren had been sent off earlier to gather what rest they could, and now they had remained in their son-in-law’s office well into the night. The only other person who remained quiet was the Elven King, and he was quite distant from the happenings around him.

It was honestly saddening to the Lord and Lady to watch as the wizard and elves bickered and threw blame. Never had they thought it possible, but the tension and fear of the past events was bringing on emotions that would rarely be hurled at one another.

In times of darkness, it was hard to remain as one’s self.

Eventually, as the fighting and verbal abuse continued, Celeborn seemed to have had enough for he straightened in his chair and opened his mouth as though to speak. However, a gentle touch on his arm stopped him.

Questioningly, Celeborn looked into his wife’s eyes, only to understand what she intended to do. Patting the arm lovingly that had stopped his interference, he leaned back into his chair to watch over the fighting group.

Galadriel, seeing that her husband had understood her intent, turned towards the one she knew would speak reasonably. Well, as well as he could regarding the loss of his son for the moment.

Thranduil looked up as he felt the Lady of Light enter his mind, stiffening as she wordlessly flowed in. He did not like the idea of her, now more than ever, entering into his mind where he wanted more than anything to be left alone with his thoughts.

It was a common belief that Thranduil hated Galadriel, but there was respect between them despite the events of their pasts. He knew she did what she had to do, but he was loathe to let go of some beliefs that his father had held in his time, before the War had ended. Nevertheless, the Elven King did not hate the Lady, just didn’t agree with some of her methods and ways.

Now was one of those times, and the Lady reacted quickly before the King tried to force her out of his mind and resist her.

Peace, Thranduil. I only want to help and bring an end to this fight.

The King visibly snorted, though he tried to quickly hide it, but stopped his attempts at getting her out.

What is it that you want, my Lady?

Only to understand how you are feeling in light of these events. It is a terrible thing, for Legolas to be taken, but not all hope is lost.

And how would you know this?

Because I have seen that your son has a greater part to play in the future of Middle-Earth, and now is not the moment for him to be lost to that of darkness. Thranduil stared into her eyes, slightly shocked. Galadriel continued to press on.

I know you have felt it, the rise of power that the dark thrives on. You know as well as I that there is something once more alive in the lands of Dol-Guldur and Mordor. It seeps into your lands, turning the once beautiful Greenwood the Great into the infected forest of Mirkwood.

It is all consuming. Thranduil softly thought. I would have Legolas see the bright greens of our home, not having to grow up in fear of the creatures that lurk beneath our trees.

Which is why we must conquer this darkness, this extension to the source in Mordor. For Legolas, for all the inhabitants of Middle-Earth. Have hope, Thranduil, have hope in your son and allies. We will retake your son, and we will revive the forest, though it may seem impossible in this moment.

Galadriel watched as Thranduil took in her words, fighting within himself over how to feel. Eventually, he sighed and looked at her, a bit more hope radiating in the otherwise frosty eyes.

If you have such hope, then maybe it is worth the fight. I would do anything for my Greenleaf. But that damned group is squabbling so much it will be hard to get them to listen.

Oh, don’t worry about that.

Thranduil watched Galadriel warily as she smiled serenely, looking at her husband and nodding. He seemed to straighten himself and puff up a bit, taking a deep breath of air. The exhale was remarkable.

“SILENCE, YOU FOOLS!”

That made the room quiet almost immediately, a faint blush growing on Celebrian’s face while the others stared in shock at the Lord of Lothlorien.

Smiling, Celeborn then looked at his wife, his way of telling her she could proceed.

The Lady of Light shook her head before adopting a serious expression on her face, looking at the elves and wizard before her.

“I would have thought that full-grown elves and wizards would know better than to point fingers and lie blame on one another.” She began, staring each individual in the eye who was guilty of such actions. “Even the children are behaving better than you, despite everything that has occurred.”

Galadriel let her words sink in for a moment before she continued on.

“What I want to know is who are we aware of at the moment that has taken action against those here in the Hidden Vale and where they are now. It would be best to know who are enemies are that we must watch out for in the dark.”

Elrond shifted slightly in his chair, glancing around at the others before he looked his mother-in-law in the eye.

“We know of Dûrion, the elf that set the fire and shot Legolas. He is now dead, killing himself with poison before we could stop him. Then, there was Eruheran who played a hand in Legolas’ capture. We are assuming that he is still currently with him at the moment.”

“Also,” Glorfindel chimed in, “There is the matter of who killed the patrol in the woods a few days past. I feel as though it was some rabid creature, but then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t, and instead was a more humanoid being.”

It was quiet then, everyone taking in the information they had on their foes at the moment. Eventually, Celebrian looked at her mother, pain and anger within her eyes.

“Earlier, when I was checking on Arwen once more, she told me something interesting.” She softly said. “Before she completely blacked out, she said that she heard another name spoken, besides Eruheran. It was Morohtar. Another elf. She said it seemed like an important person, but she had lost all consciousness by then to have heard more. I’m assuming that he helped in Legolas’ capture, or why else would he have been there?”

“Maybe,” Elrond began slowly, “He’s our Ghost Warrior.”

Silence descended on the entire group as they processed this in their minds. It was Erestor who finally broke the silence.

“Wasn’t there an elf, millennia ago, who fell to Sauron’s power?” He said, a questioning gaze sweeping the room. “I believe that in one of my tomes, it speaks of an elf named Morohtar who became consumed by the darkness that was Sauron’s power and completely bent to his will. However, in time he became greedy and split off from him, seeking his own ways to gain the greatest power there was. No one knows what ever happened to him. Most thought he vanished into the unknown.”

“That would explain much.” Glorfindel concurred. “But why now?”

“Whatever the reasons are,” Galadriel began, “We must act swift. It would bode ill for us to lose Legolas now, and let Morohtar gain whatever it is that he seeks.”

“Then let us prepare for war.” Thranduil stated, a fire raging in his eyes. “He wants us to make our move. Why not do so gloriously? And this time, we won’t let him get the upper hand.”

With affirmations sounded around the room, the elves of Imladris, Lothlorien, and Mirkwood, along with one wizard, began to prepare for the battle before them.

The Greenleaf would not fall.

Not today.

Chapter Text

One week later, far north-west from Imladris…

For the majority of the trip, Legolas had not been very coherent.

His festering wounds and weakened state left him dazed and half-aware of his surroundings. Although Eruheran had been helping him in secret, tending his injuries only slightly enough so Morohtar wouldn’t notice, he still was creeping closer to death.

The little Prince was not certain on how long he had been gone from his Ada and friends, only knowing that the dark elf in charge was not a good being. He knew well-enough that he was in trouble, and help had become a distant thought at this point. The elfling still clung to the fact that his beloved Ada wouldn’t give up on him, but there was only so much a young child could hold on to before they gave up entirely.

And at the sight of where they were heading, Legolas whimpered in fright.

The city, for that is what it was, was in complete ruins, and darkness seemed to seep out of every broken corner. The stone of the buildings was aged and weathered, crumbling apart at the slightest breeze. Pieces of walls and doors were strewn about, the belongings of households completely scattered. As the the company of three walked through the narrow pathways, eyes peered out of the darkest corners and whispers could be heard on the air.

Legolas shivered, hiding as much as he could in Morohtar’s arms.

It seemed to take an age to make their way through the ruins of the city. Cries were carried on the wind, carrying the threat of worse things to come to the elfling’s ears. Quickly, they made their way to the heart of the land, a giant fortress sitting tall and grand.

Unlike the rest of the city, this building was sturdy and mostly unharmed. Except for a few missing chunks, the stone was rather pristine in an eerie way. Leading up the stairs to the main gate, orcs stood guard along the sides, sneering at the trio. Morohtar simply glared back.

But it was a figure in the gate’s entranceway that caught Legolas’ attention.

And ripped a scream out of his throat.

The figure laughed lowly, a scratchy and guttural sound as Morohtar threw a hand over the Prince’s mouth, forcing him to be silent. Walking by, Eruheran jabbed the elf in the side, if the figure could even be called an elf, stalking after his leader. The other elf only smirked and lazily followed.

“Honestly, Morohtar,” the elf drawled, the voice deep and rough “you should have left a surprise for those stuck-up elves and wizard. Merely leaving that she-elf knocked out is hardly exciting.”

Morohtar ignored the elf, continuing further into the fortress.

“What?” the elf asked. “Hit a sore spot, have I? Considering the games you like to play with your prey, that can hardly be counted as a move on your part. More like a pass, really. Even if you took the brat Prince.”

Stopping in his tracks, Morohtar signaled Eruheran to leave the corridor. Only after he left did the dark elf turn towards the elf.

Now, from far away the elf did indeed look like an elf. But there were subtleties that set him apart from the immortal, ethereal creatures who nurtured the world around them.

Ripped with muscle, the elf was taller and broader than most, scars running in lines down his arms and legs. Metal protruded from his hands, forming grotesque claws and the same contraption came out of his feet. Hunched over slightly, the same gleam could be seen coming from his back, showing the metal disks sticking out. His face was not left unscathed either, a metal plate encompassing his jaw, jagged metal bits sticking up like warg fangs. He looked more beast than an elf.

Legolas couldn’t help but stare at the black eyes in the elf’s face, red pupils the only sign of life from the gaze. This would haunt him for years to come, the laughter revisiting him in future nightmares.

Aware of the staring, the elf simply returned a smile.

“Like what you see?”

Legolas cried out again.

“That’s enough, Caunardhon.” Morohtar said firmly. “I do not need you to frighten him to death. I’d rather save his demise for when the elves come marching onto our land.”

Caunardhon snorted. “As if he’ll even survive until then.”

A glare was all the response he received.

“Oh, don’t be like this. I’m joking is all. But I do still feel that you should have done something more exciting when you were taking the elfling. Should have left some dead bodies laying around like I did. Oh, that would have been great.”

“I am not like you in those respects. I do not crave the destruction of others as you do. Which, as I might recall, is precisely why I enlisted you to dispatch of that patrol.”

The elf-beast cackled, his jaw creaking. “A “beast” they call me. Oh, if they only knew!”

Morohtar shook his head. “No doubt they will know soon enough. It won’t take long for them to find my clues, leading them towards this place. I want you to make sure that the trap is prepared and ready for their arrival. They have forfeited their turns at this point is how I see it, and now it’s up to me to make the final move in our game. Prepare your creatures and orcs for war. If this is to be the end of everything we have worked for, I want it to be devastating.”

With a nod, Caunardhon sauntered back down the corridor, leaving Morohtar alone in the dark, a trembling elfling in his arms.

Chapter Text

On the way to Fornost…

The elven force had moved out and it was composed of an impressive group of formidable warriors.

Lothlorien, Imladris, and Mirkwood troops were marching together under the united cause of saving a little woodland prince. And even the wizard in their midst was a force to be reckoned with on his own.

The only elves that had been unable to join the ranks were Elrond’s wife, Celebrian, and their three children. Although there had been many arguments, the Lord of Imladris had won, stating that it was best for them to remain home and protect their land. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was also worried that their Ghost Warrior would try and target his own children after everything that had happened so far with Thranduil’s son. Not to mention the fact that there was most likely an army waiting for them once they arrived.

Galadriel had directed their forces, saying that Legolas had been taken to the old fortress in the North, Fornost. When questioned by her son-in-law, she merely said that she had seen it briefly in a vision.

The force of elves and one wizard was making better progress than they had expected, but they were still well aware that it would be some days before their destination was in sight. And though they wouldn’t say it out loud, many did not have hope that the Prince would still be alive once they did reach Fornost.

This is what Thranduil had been trying to ignore, the fear that his son was already lost for good. He knew that if his Greenleaf perished he wouldn’t be able to survive and would quickly join his son and wife in the Halls of Mandos. And it was because of this reason the company was determined to save the little prince.

If they didn’t, there would be two lives lost instead of one.

Mithrandir was riding beside the Elven King, observing his expressions and actions.

Whether he was aware of it or not, Thranduil was gently playing with his horse’s mane, twirling the hairs around his fingers then smoothing it out again. His eyes were staring ahead, seemingly at nothing so deep in thought he was. And surrounding him was an air of grief, coming off the king in waves.

Having seen enough of this, Mithrandir decided to distract the King of Mirkwood.

“You know what would be lovely?” Mithrandir began, his voice deep and enthusiastic. “Seeing a wonderful light show in your forest. Imagine the colors that my fireworks could cast onto the leaves! And of course Legolas would adore them. Most children are.”

Thranduil turned towards the wizard, giving him a cold glare.

“There will be no fireworks allowed in my forest.” The king hissed. “Never again.”

Mithrandir was taken aback. “What do you mean, Thranduil? I haven’t done anything.”

“Truly, that is what you believe?”

“Yes, that is what I believe, and I will stand by my claim that I am innocent of ever causing any wrongdoing with my fireworks in your forest.”
The Elven King’s eyes narrowed.

“You do not recall around a decade ago, then, the incident that took place on a warm summer day? I distinctly remember you and your fireworks causing havoc in my land.”

The Maiar blanched. “I did nothing!”

“Really? I remember a certain wizard I know, quite a foolish one if you ask me, setting off his ‘light show’ beneath my trees, only for the sparks to catch the leaves on fire.”

“It was a minor fire, barely damaged any of the trees.”

“It took over a day to contain the fire and then another to get the flames all out.”

“Hmm… I do believe that part slipped my mind.”

“Convenient.”

Mithrandir huffed while Thranduil smirked in return.

“What my point is, Thranduil,” the wizard began, “Is that we will save your son and he will be able to see my light show once again, and many more things for that matter. Legolas is strong, he will be there waiting for you. Do not give in to grief quite yet, mellon-nin.”

Thranduil sat there, looking towards the North, contemplating the wizard’s words. As he gazed ahead, his eyes saw a tiny bird fly off in front of their force, flying away into the distance.

Hold on, Greenleaf. Hold on to hope for me…

Chapter Text

In a tiny, dark cell deep inside Fornost…

Everything hurt.

Everything was sore.

And all he wanted was his Ada.

Legolas slowly opened his eyes, gazing into the darkness surrounding him. Carefully, the elfling brought his hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes to try and be rid of the sleepiness that still plagued him. With a tiny yawn, he shifted himself into a sitting position, whimpering when his wounds protested the movement.

The Prince looked around himself. He didn’t remember when they had put him into this cell. The last thing he knew was that he had been carried off by Morohtar, but then everything slowly faded away after that.

A sudden urge to cry hit the elfling, realizing that he was completely alone and nobody was there with him. Part of him wanted one of the mean elves to be here, if only to keep away the scary sounds of the dark. The other wanted his Ada to come and save him.

Thinking of his precious Ada made the elfling want to cry all the more, but he knew that his Ada would want him to be brave. Crying wouldn’t help him in his situation, but that thought didn’t make it any easier. He just wanted his Ada’s strong arms to hold him, telling him that he was safe.

But he didn’t know if he’d ever see his Ada again.

Before the tears truly started falling, a tiny tweet gained the elfling’s attention. Looking up towards the bars of his cell, a little songbird sat in the hallway, hopping back and forth. Legolas raised his hand to the bird who quickly flew over and landed on his finger.

Are you Las by any chance? The songbird asked.

Yes, that’s what some people call me. Legolas replied. Why?

My friend Patches told me about what happened and said I needed to come and find you. He’s very worried, the rabbit is.

Oh! I remember Patches. He’s really worried about me?

Yes! We all are! All the little creatures are worried about you, Las.

Legolas was shocked by that.

But why?

Because you are so nice to us and can understand what we say.

Oh.

Yes. Which reminds me why I am here. The songbird puffed himself up. I am to tell you that your father and many other elves, along with a wizard, are currently on their way. I passed over them on my way here.

Really? Ada is coming? Delight lit up the elfling’s blue eyes.

Yes. The bird bobbed his head. And, by my own decisions, have decided that I will be the one to direct the elves to you. I will be a messenger between you and them. That way they will be able to know where you are and save you sooner.

But won’t that be dangerous? Legolas was truly worried about his new bird friend. I don’t want you to get hurt.

Nonsense. I was perfectly fine getting down here. There’s a gap between the walls where I can fly through without anyone noticing.

Only if you are sure…

Of course I am.

Well…, the elfling bit his lip, then I guess that’ll work.

Wonderful! Don’t worry, I will do my very best. The tiny songbird tweeted a little tune. I will go fly back to the elves and let them know I am here to help.

Alright, that sounds good. Oh! What is your name? You know mine but I don’t know yours.

It’s Ling.

Ling. That’s a nice name.

Thank you. Now as much as I hate to leave you, I really must go.

Farewell, Ling!

Goodbye, Las! And with that the songbird flew off down the hallway, leaving the Prince alone once more, but this time with hope.

Before the elfling could enjoy the feelings of happiness at the thought of his Ada coming to rescue him, a form appeared before his cell door. Scooting back until he hit a wall, Legolas began to shake in fear.

“Good morning, elfling. Time to have some fun.”

Chapter Text

Time skip… *insert evil smiley face from here on out*...

The battle for Prince Legolas had finally begun.

They elven army and one wizard had arrived during the afternoon to the outskirts of Fornost, waiting until dusk had settled over the land before starting their attack. As expected, there was a large force waiting for them once they began to storm the stronghold, a mixture of orcs, wargs, and other miscreant creatures.

Thranduil was leading the charge alongside Elrond, Celeborn, and Glorfindel. Erestor, Mithrandir, and Galadriel followed behind, giving the warriors a chance to clear a path to the main building where Legolas was undoubtedly being held.

A few days before the attack they had been visited by a little songbird. Although no one was able to truly converse with the creature, Legolas being the only elf they knew who could do so, Thranduil had sensed the urgency of the tiny bird. Knowing his Greenleaf, he figured that the bird must have some knowledge on Legolas’ location, explaining the angry tweets and tiny pecks he had been receiving. Since then, the songbird had remained perched on the Elven King’s shoulder, occasionally puffing out his chest-

That’s enough of that. Let’s return to what you all are really here for (although I could explain more sweetness, but I don’t think anyone would like that right now).

The sounds of swords clashing was accompanied by grunts and groans along with the occasional scream. It was a bloody fight, many elves falling among the other creatures, but fueled by rage the elves were doing an excellent job of thinning out the area surrounding the main fortress of orcs and wargs.

As Thranduil decapitated two orcs at once, thanks to his dual longswords, the songbird suddenly shot off of his shoulder, tweeting loudly as it flew away. Startled, Thranduil watched the direction the tiny bird went, not paying attention to the orc approaching behind him. At the last moment, he heard a whoosh of a sword and turned just in time to witness Elrond cutting off the orc’s arm. With a grin, the Peredhel finished off the orc, giving the Elven King a look.

Thranduil ignored him and instead pointed off down an alleyway.

“The songbird flew down there,” he began, “And I think it knows a faster way inside the stronghold.”

“Then lead the way.” Elrond replied.

Glorfindel and Erestor watched as the others ran off, silently praying to the Valar that they would remain alive and save the Prince. They were to stay behind in case their Ghost Warrior had any surprises waiting for them at the main gates and to support the elven force. Turning back towards the main fight, the two dove into the fray once more, being swallowed up by the mass of bodies before them.

In the back alleyways of Fornost, the little songbird led the way for the others. Feeling quite confident in himself, he weaved between broken walls and debri, tweeting a little tune as he went. He just hoped the back gate wasn’t too heavily guarded.

But they have a Maiar and Las’ Adar is angry enough that I think they should be okay…

As expected, the rear gate wasn’t too heavily guarded, but it would still require the quick work of the elves and wizard to take them down if they didn’t want any alarms to be raised.

Letting the others fight, the bird flew between a tiny slit in the gate, taking a quick peek at what was waiting for them on the other side.

Celeborn was just removing his sword from the last orc’s body when they suddenly heard a shrill tweet from inside the main gate. Giving each other looks, the group hurried inside, pushing aside the heavy wooden gate.

A figure stood waiting within, shrouded by the shadows. Before him lay the form of the songbird who was twitching in obvious pain.

“If you want him, he’s right down that way.” The figure raised a hand and pointed off down a corridor. “But, I really don’t know what good you will be able to do at this point. My assistant did quite a good job on him, if I must say so myself.” He began to laugh, the sound echoing in the dark entranceway.

Galadriel and Elrond slowly departed from the group, heading down the corridor the figure had indicated. It had been decided earlier that day that they would be the ones to help Legolas. As much as Thranduil had wanted to join, he knew that he wouldn’t be of much use there.

Instead, as the two elves ran towards the Prince, Thranduil approached the figure before him, Celeborn trailing behind. Mithrandir lingered behind, making his way over to the injured bird. He bent down, gently picking up the creature in his hands.

Watching the others, the figure began to back up slowly, making his way into a larger chamber behind him. When he had made it to the center of the room he stopped, waiting for the King and Lord to fully come into the room. He glanced above the entrance beneath his hood, a slow smile making its way across his face.

The moment both elves had entered far enough, and before the Maiar could follow as well, the figure swiftly turned behind him and screamed.

“NOW!”

And the gate crashed to the ground.

Chapter Text

Elrond and Galadriel walked down the winding hallways, wary of any danger that could be lurking about. They wouldn’t put it past the Ghost Warrior to have traps in place or fell creatures waiting for them ahead.

“I feel as though we are getting close to the Prince.” Elrond said softly. “I can sense him faintly. It seems he wasn’t lying about Legolas’ location after all.”

“He doesn’t have anything to lose at this point, though I fear that the damage may already be done.” Galadriel replied, a tinge of sorrow in her voice. “Our Greenleaf is strong, but even the newest of saplings are prone to breaking.” Silence fell between the two as they both picked up their pace.

They were aware that when they finally found Legolas his condition would be critical knowing the elf they were up against. Morohtar would do everything in his power to try and shift the future of Middle-Earth, even if that meant bringing the Prince to the brink of death or beyond. There was a fine line before them and the two elves knew that time was not on their side. All the more reason for haste.

Minutes later, although it seemed to take an age, the two halted before a side passage. There was an unspoken agreement between them that Legolas lay beyond the door before them, but there was something else as well that they couldn’t place.

Regardless of this feeling, Elrond quickly pulled open the door, leading the way down the hallway. Cell after cell they checked finding nothing in each one. As the end appeared, a cell to their right caught both of their attentions, its door wide open as if to invite them. Looking inside, both elves were horrified at the small, crumpled form in the corner.

To say that the Prince was in critical condition was an understatement.

The wounds that he had received back in Imladris hadn’t been treated for what seemed like days, clearly having become infected. Adding to these were claw marks across his back and side, blood still slowly dripping from them. A nasty gash adorned his face while countless cuts and bruises covered his limbs.

Elrond hovered his hands over Legolas, afraid of causing any more damage to the seemingly lifeless Prince. Although he knew this was a pointless thought because there wasn’t much more he could actually do, it still caused him grief to see the elfling in such a state. Part of him believed that he was too far gone for any help.

“Elrond,” Galadriel brought the Peredhel Lord out of his thoughts. “We must act quickly or we will lose him.” She gave him a sad smile, gently placing his hands in both of hers. “Do not fear what has yet to happen.”

Nodding mutely, Elrond followed Galadriel’s lead. His left hand covered Galdriel’s right one on Legolas’ heart while his right pressed against his forehead, Galadriel’s left covering it. A slow glow began to emit from each of their right hands, the before hidden Vilya and Nenya now pulsating with power.

In reality the two were frozen, looking like nothing more than statues. But in another plane, between reality and nothing, the two were moving hurriedly towards a sleeping Legolas.

As they concentrated on bringing back Legolas from the edge of death, a figure sauntered into the cell, his metal grin glinting in the faint light.

Chapter Text

Dirt and dust floated in the air following the gate’s collision with the ground. Both the Elven King and Lord of Lothlorien had raised their weapons, glancing around themselves. They were no longer certain of their enemy’s position. As everything settled once more, they both quickly turned to the far end of the chamber, watching as the figure climbed onto a raised dais.

Thranduil moved into the center, his dual longswords gleaming.

“You’ve lost.” the King’s voice rang out, filled with rage. “Your forces will soon be defeated by our elven force and my son will be returned to me. You cannot win!”

Anger swept through the King as he stared down the figure, having guessed by now who he was. Celeborn laid a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, but his eyes were bright with fury as well.

“Morohtar,” he continued, “Come and fight on fair ground.”

Morohtar, for that is indeed who the figure was, turned and faced Thranduil. He drew back his hood, ebony hair tumbling out to frame his face as a feral grin took ahold of it.

“Who are you to try and control my game, dear Thranduil?” Morohtar drawled. “Haven’t you realized that I have already won?” His grin widened at the look on the other’s faces.

“You still don’t get it, do you? ‘Tis a pity really. My forces may have been defeated, but I still have those to distract and prolong my turn. And as for your son…” he chuckled darkly. “It doesn’t even matter if they reach him for he is too far gone. I had someone make sure of it. But don’t worry, you’ll be able to hold his cold and mutilated body… just like you did for your Queen.”

Thranduil lunged forward, Celeborn trying in vain to hold him back. Morohtar only continued to laugh as the sound of metal creaking began to echo throughout the chamber. The elves watched as gates from all sides lurched upwards, red eyes glowing in the darkness caged within them.

As Morohtar leapt down from his spot on the dias and drew out his sword, Celeborn pushed Thranduil towards the elf.

“I will take care of them, Thranduil. Go and fight for your son.” With one last glance and a warrior’s salute to one another, the two separated to face their opponents.

Thranduil slowly walked towards Morohtar, idly twirling his swords in his hands. They both stopped within five paces of the other.

“Are you ready to lose, oh mighty Elven King?” Morohtar smirked.

Thranduil grinned in reply. “No, but I am ready to silence your running mouth.”

And with that, the two elves clashed together.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Celeborn was making quick work of the orcs that had been steadily coming at him while the other two elves fought. Although he had taken some hits from their swords, his wounds were minor and hardly bled. These had been received at times where he had become mildly distracted by the grunts and clashes heard from the other two.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud to Thranduil, but he was worried that the younger elf may take risks and be too reckless as he fought off Morohtar. The fear for his son and all the pent up rage could easily cause him to take one misstep and put his life in danger.

From a distance Celeborn watched the Elven King, keeping the orcs at bay so there was less of a chance of some interference happening. Time carried on in this way, seeming to last an age as everyone was engaged in battle.

At last Celeborn dispatched the last orc that had come storming through one of the gates, smoothly decapitating it in one move. As the body thumped to the ground, he turned to check on Thranduil and Morohtar, wanting to make sure at least the King was still standing.

His eyes widened in horror, however, as he watched Morohtar knock Thranduil down, and with a sadistic look on his face, swing his sword straight at his head.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Moments before…

Thranduil and Morohtar had been dueling for some time now, not nearly as long as either would have imagined, but long enough to start to tire them out. Parry after parry, the two elves danced around one another, their blades singing in the air.

Both had managed to cut the other a few times, blood warmly dripping down their faces and limbs as the wounds stretched with the movement of their battle. Despite their exhaustion creeping up on them, they both fought with all their strength, neither backing down.

As time carried on, Celeborn’s concern for Thranduil came to be true.

After hitting Morohtar with a hard blow to his right arm, the Elven King’s rage seemed to blind him as he struck out again, arcing both swords towards Morohtar’s body. Without realizing it, he had left his legs open, allowing the other to swiftly knock him down by throwing off his balance with a full on body slam.

Gasping for air as his lungs had lost all breath with the impact, Thranduil watched as Morohtar swung his sword around, aiming straight for his head.

Chapter Text

Between reality and nothing, a plane bridged between people’s minds…

Elrond and Galadriel were moving quickly into the darkness surrounding them, the wind whipping their clothes and hair harshly. Whispers from all sides came and went, sometimes muttering, sometimes screaming, and sometimes crying.

This was a place that neither elf had visited in quite some time, usually avoiding it because of the repercussions it could cause. But they knew that in here they would be able to bring Legolas back from the brink of death, no matter the cost to themselves.

They continued to move forward into the dark, trying to reach the distant form of Legolas that lay peacefully sleeping beneath a single ray of light. Slowly but surely they closed the distance between them and the Prince, hope growing once more inside them.

Just as they were to come within fifty paces of the elfling, a sudden surge of darkness shot up before them, effectively walling them off from him. The winds began to whip around them at a faster pace, both elves shielding themselves with their arms from it’s bite. A loud, deep laugh began to echo in the darkness.

“Come now,” it said, it’s voice powerful and menacing, “You won’t be able to reach him that easily, Ring-Bearers.” It laughed once more, the darkness slowly closing in on the two elves.

On the other side of the wall, a lone figure in white slowly approached the dying Prince, placing a hand gently on top of his head.

“Oh ion-nin…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Caunardhon waltzed forward, smirking at the prone elves kneeling above the Prince.

This is almost too easy, he snickered to himself. Well, at least their dead bodies will all be found together. Or maybe I should position them differently… Hmm, there are many possibilities here…

As the beast-like elf considered his options, thinking quite hard on what to do, he was unaware of the Maiar approaching him from behind.

When the gates had come crashing down, separating him from the Elven King and Lord of Lothlorien, he had decided that the two would be able to stand their own. Instead, he left to follow Elrond and Galadriel, knowing that they may need use of his own Ring of Power, Narya, to save the Prince.

However, as he had come down the hallway where the cells were located, the elf before him had appeared out of a door ahead of him. Mithrandir had followed him until this point, and although he could easily use Narya to his advantage, he knew it was best to keep his ring hidden. The forces of darkness did not know he possessed the item, and it would be best saved for a later time than now.

Instead he lifted up his staff, the crystal at the top beginning to emit a bright, white light. Drawing out his sword as well, he called out to the elf.
“You will not touch them!”

This certainly gained Caunardhon’s attention from his thoughts, the elf whipping his head around to glare at the wizard.

“Get out of my way, old fool!” He snarled, his metal fangs glinting in the light. “They are my prize, and you cannot stop me from destroying them!”

He lunged towards the wizard, swinging his metal claws like a warg would do it’s prey. Mithrandir met him head on, his sword clashing against the other’s claws, his staff coming around to hit him in the back. Caunardhon fell against the ground, growling at the wizard. Digging his feet into the stone beneath him, he charged at him once more.

Down the hallway, a lone figure stood watching the two engage in battle, gripping the bars of a cell door tightly.

“Please, Mithrandir, destroy that beast once and for all…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As Elrond and Galadriel fought against the darkness surrounding them, the figure outside the wall cradled the Prince in their arms. Tears trickled down their face, dripping onto the elflings head.

Slowly, his eyes began to blink until he was able to hold them open a crack, the blue hazy and dull.

“Nana?...” the elfling croaked out, his voice broken from screaming.

The woman began to cry harder, sobs being wrenched from her body violently.

“Oh, my Greenleaf, I am so sorry.” She said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “Look at what has happened to you. My poor ion-nin.”

Legolas whimpered slightly, closing his eyes as pain struck him hard. His Naneth’s eyes hardened at his pain, anger and sorrow flickering within the green orbs.

“I know it hurts, Legolas, but I know you are strong. You cannot give into the darkness. I have seen some of what your future holds and there is so much you have yet to do. My Greenleaf, you are so much more important than you know…” She trailed off, brushing a strand of golden hair off her son’s face.

It had always amazed her at how much he resembled his father, taking after Thranduil’s Sindarin traits more than her own Silvan ones. Instead of her own chocolate locks and green eyes, he had inherited the King’s blonde and blue appearance. But he was a wood-elf, that was for certain, and that was purely from her.

She smiled although tears still fell from her eyes. Her Greenleaf was slowly drifting out of consciousness once more even though he was clearly trying to fight it. He opened his eyes a tiny bit, no longer able to speak due to the pain.

“I have been allowed to help you, ion-nin. The Valar themselves granted me this chance to see you. Our last parting was not one I would have asked for, and I know you suffered greatly from it. But I am here to give you a proper farewell for now, even though you may not remember it when you wake up, and to give you the strength to live.”

Leaning forward, she placed a gentle kiss on his brow, a light faintly shining. “I love you more than anything, Legolas. You will always be my greatest joy. And please, tell your Adar that there is nothing to forgive. What happened that day is in no part his fault. Remind him of that, my Greenleaf.”

The Prince’s mother gently laid him back on the ground, slowly standing up.

“Until we meet again on the shores of the Undying Land, I will forever be in your heart.”

She began to walk away from her son then, leaving him resting once more on the ground. Glancing back briefly she saw the wall fall down and the two elves begin to hurry over to Legolas. A small smile graced her lips as relief washed over her.

“You have many who care for you, Legolas, and many more who will down the road. Never forget that you are not alone…” she whispered as a white light swallowed her form.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Galadriel and Elrond fell to the ground before Legolas, ignorant of the white light that flashed in the distance. Both felt exhaustion creeping up on them, slightly worn out from their fight with the dark. They had needed to use their rings in order to fight off the bodiless darkness, having a faint idea of who it could have been. But they pushed that to the side as they focused on the elfling before them.

With the wind carrying whispers as it circled and went by, they used everything they had to save Thranduil’s little Prince.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mithrandir and Caunardhon were standing before one another, panting hard. The Maiar had yet to use his power against the elf, but he knew that it would be necessary in order to defeat him. He just hoped it wouldn’t have any backlash on the three prone elves in the corner.

This time when Caunardhon charged at him, using the rest of his strength, fully baring his fangs and claws, he called out and pointed his staff directly towards him. A bright white flash and a crack was heard, echoing through the long hallway. The beast-like elf was thrown hard into the stone wall, it cracking at the force of his body. Slumping onto the ground, the wizard made his way over, leaning onto his staff for support. With one solid thump on Caunardhon’s head using his sword, the elf was knocked completely out.

Sighing, Mithrandir turned around, fully leaning his body onto his staff, watching as Galadriel and Elrond stirred from their positions above Legolas. The two slowly sat up straight, releasing their breaths.

Realizing that they were not alone, they looked over at the Maiar, eyes searching until they landed on the crumpled up body behind him. As Elrond slowly placed his arms beneath the elfling and lifted him up into his arms, Galadriel’s eyes locked onto Mithrandir’s own, reading the silent question they held.

She simply smiled in return.

Chapter Text

Gathering his strength together for one last attack, Thranduil managed to bring his longsword up in time to redirect Morohtar’s sword, getting sliced in the chest instead of the head. He ignored the pain, using the chance of having the other elf distracted in order to deliver a strong kick to the chest, watching as Morohtar fell back, his sword tumbling out of reach. In a flash Thranduil was perched above him, stabbing one longsword through the left side of the elf’s chest, the other poised beneath his throat.

The Elven King and the Ghost Warrior were both aware of the spot the longsword had hit, knowing that only moments were now left for the dark elf. It became quiet then, the only sound to be heard was the heavy breathing of one and the choking of the other.

Thranduil sat back to the side of his enemy, the longswords falling from his hands. He had done it, avenged his only child, but that didn’t make ending another elf’s life any easier. His eyes gazed at Morohtar, watching the elf take ragged breaths as he choked on his own blood. There was some guilt to be felt, although he knew that there was no other way this could have played out.

Suddenly, Morohtar’s head rolled to the side, his eyes locking onto Thranduil’s own.

“Y-you have won m-my game…” he stuttered softly, “How d-disappointing…” The elf closed his eyes as pain wracked through his chest. He only had mere moments left, but there were things that needed to be said.

“I-I made a wrong m-move, b-but I don’t r-regret it.” A cough. “You p-played fair, a-and I admire you for t-that. Know t-this, Elven King.” A few more coughs. A bit more blood. “T-there will b-be more who will come for your son. T-this is not the end.” A deep breath. A wheeze. “Watch h-him, and see what he does…”

Thranduil watched quietly as Morohtar took one final breath and then fell still. No matter the enemy, death did not come easy to elves, especially when it was own of their own kind. The King sighed, knowing that if he hadn’t killed the elf and let him go or imprisoned him, he would have likely managed to cause havoc again.

Lost in his own thoughts, he was startled when he felt Celeborn’s hand on his shoulder, turning to see that the Lord had knelt behind him. Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was still holding on to, he faced Morohtar once more.

“The Ghost Warrior is dead.” Was all he uttered.

Celeborn sighed, his mind running through everything that the elf had said before he died. He knew that his wife was semi-aware of Legolas’ bigger role in the future or Middle-Earth, but what exactly that was she was unsure of. But knowing that there were others out there like Morohtar who had similar knowledge was unsettling, and made it all the more important to keep the Prince safe.

As thoughts like these continued to go through his mind, Thranduil was experiencing similar ones, although there were more hectic. The main thing was the state his son was in. He did not know what his Greenleaf’s condition was like and was worried that what Morohtar had mentioned earlier would pose to be true. And if his son did indeed die, he knew that he would most certainly follow him.

The two sat in silence, each lost in their own minds, surrounded by the corpses of their foes. It was a grim sight, but not unusual in the Age that they now lived in.

A commotion from outside the chamber drew the attention of both elves, causing them to stand and lift their swords once more. Celeborn, who was closer to the main gate, stepped forward, peering down the corridor. His eyes widened and a gasp escaped him.

“Thranduil,” he said hurriedly, “Help me open this gate.”

With a questioning look, the Elven King came to his side and together the two elves turned the handle, the gate slowly creaking open. Just as they finished lifting the door, a group appeared before them from the side corridor. At the sight of them, Thranduil dropped his longswords.

“Ion-nin.” His voice was hoarse.

Elrond walked up to Thranduil, gently placing his precious bundle into the waiting arms of the King. Galadriel was leaning onto Mithrandir behind them, a smile on her fair face. Celeborn rushed over to her side, bringing her into his own arms.

Looking up into the Peredhel’s eyes, Thranduil asked him a silent question, too afraid to speak.

“He’s going to be alright, mellon-nin.” And the Elven King knew without a doubt that Elrond was not lying.

With tears in his eyes, he glanced down at his Greenleaf. Although he was battered and a tad broken, he knew that they would make it through this. His son had proven to be far stronger than most would have thought possible, but that only meant he would come back from this even better than before.

It still pained Thranduil to know that he had come so close to losing the last piece of his wife that she had left him. For some reason, though, he didn’t feel as much guilt as before. Regardless, Legolas was back and he wouldn’t be letting go of him anytime soon.

As the group elves and Maiar reunited, Glorfindel and Erestor appeared in the main doorway, covered in black blood with concerned looks on their faces. At the sight of the Prince in the King’s arms, they immediately relaxed, feeling their worry slowly dissipate.

Before they could go up to Elrond and see what he would like to be done next, the wizard came over and drew them both to the side.

“What do you need, Mithrandir?” Glorfindel asked.

“I would like you both to go down and check on something that was left in the cells.” The Maiar glanced behind him, feeling as though he was being watched. Shaking it off, he turned back to the two elves. “I believe that he may be the answer to many questions we haven’t been able to answer and to those that have now come forward.”

Erestor gave Mithrandir a look. “If you don’t mind me asking, what state have you left this person in?”

The wizard chuckled. “Well, if you must know he wasn’t being very cooperative so I was forced to use my magic. And of course I had to knock him on the head for good measure as well. But he was still breathing, I only incapacitated him, nothing more.”

The two elves only looked at one another shaking their heads before heading down the corridor. As Mithrandir watched them go, the feeling of being watched returned to him once more. A shiver ran down his spine.

He didn’t think they would find him alive anymore.

Chapter Text

Minutes before Glorfindel and Erestor were sent to check on Caunardhon…

Eruheran hid in the shadows of a cell, watching as Mithrandir and company quickly fled down the hallway. Holding his breath, he waited patiently until he heard the door at the end of the passage click shut. He gave it a few more moments before he released his breath, slowly moving out of his hiding spot. With a glance down the way to make sure they were truly gone, he finally exited the cell, heading towards the one where the Prince was originally held.

Upon reaching the door to the cell, he leaned against one of the bars, gazing at the crumpled form of Caunardhon on the far wall. To say that Eruheran was a bit surprised at how easily he was taken down would be an understatement. But considering the other’s rage, it wasn’t too shocking at the same time.

As he watched the beast-like elf’s chest rise and fall, he thought about all that had happened. Without even having to be there to witness it, he knew that the Elven King would be able to take down Morohtar once and for all. The dark elf was too full of rage and would be easy to catch off guard in order to defeat. And he also knew that the Prince would recover from his injuries in time, be protected more carefully, and possibly block this traumatizing event from his mind. This would make it harder to retaliate later in the future, but nothing was ever impossible.

Eruheran pushed these thoughts aside when he noticed the other stirring. Standing up straight, he walked forward, kneeling over the form on the ground. Quietly he drew a blade from his side, cocking his head at the other.

After thinking for a moment, he used one hand to yank up Caunardhon’s head, carefully inspecting his neck. Finding what he wanted, he quickly slashed through the elf’s neck, going deep enough to slice the spinal cord in the process. Sitting back on his haunches, he watched as the blood spilled out of his throat, a deep crimson color.

He spent a few minutes like this, quietly observing the death of the elf. When he knew for certain that there was no chance of life coming back to him like the last time, he stood up and began to leave the cell. However, he stopped in his tracks, his head turning slightly to the dead one behind him.

“I was tired of watching you,” he said softly, “Always having to see Morohtar praise you instead of me.” There was a pause along with a slight exhale of breath. “But you both were too blind to what was happening here. And because of that, I will complete the mission.”

He continued to walk away, exiting the cell for the final time. With a small chuckle, Eruheran vanished into the darkness, not to be seen again for a very, very long time…

Chapter Text

To Thranduil, the return journey took an age and then some. It didn’t help that Elrond was always hovering nearby, having to stop periodically everyday in order to treat Legolas’ wounds the best that he could in their given situation. And on top of that, there was the unspoken worry that could be felt coming from the soldiers that trailed behind, especially those of Mirkwood. Even the other lords, lady, and Maiar rode their horses alongside his own, never out of reach.

The Elven King appreciated the gesture, he really did. But it was grating on his nerves all the same. When Imladris finally came into view, he had never been more thrilled to see the Hidden Vale in his entire life.

As they rode into the Elven city, Celebrian and her three children were waiting impatiently for the group to reach them, fidgeting on the steps as they watched the riders come in. The second that Thranduil and the Prince came into view, the four elves dashed forward, surrounding the poor elf’s horse.

“Here, Thranduil,” Celebrian said, reaching her arms up to him, “Pass Legolas down to me. I will be gentle with him, I promise.” She waited as the King hesitated before lowering his son into her arms. The second he had let go of him, she was already briskly walking away, her children following closely behind.

Thranduil stared blankly at them, a bit shocked at Celebrian’s impatience. He dismounted his horse and went to follow the Lady of Imladris only to be held back by Celeborn.

“Come,” he softly spoke, “Let Elrond and his healers take care of your son for now. You should wash up and rest. They will come get you when you can see him again.” Knowing there was no pointing in fighting and that his cold stare would be ineffective, the King could only do as the Lord had said.

As this was taking place, Celebrian was having a hard time fighting off her lovely children who wanted to hold Legolas for themselves.

“Please, Naneth, I can make it to the Halls of Healing faster than you can.”

“I just want to hold him for a second to make sure he really is alright.”

“What if you are jostling his injuries that way? Hand him over.”

Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen were pushing one another to walk beside their mother, saying many things along these lines to try and convince her to hand over the little elfling. However, their efforts were all put to waste as Celebrian shoved open a door with her slipper, and once inside, slammed it closed on their faces. Before they could rush inside, they heard a distinct click sound, indicating that they had been locked out.

With huffs of annoyance, the three wandered off, planning ways to get into the Prince’s room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Early the next morning, Thranduil was finally allowed into his son’s room. Elrond and his healers had been able to patch Legolas up, reassuring his father that he would in fact make it. Despite this, the King couldn’t help but still worry when he gazed upon his pale son, bandages covering most of his tiny frame.

Being extremely careful Thranduil lifted his son up so he could sit behind him, placing his Greenleaf back down onto his chest once he was situated. For a while he sat on the bed in silence, relishing in the feeling of the warm body and tiny breaths it gave. He brushed back a few strands of golden hair that had fallen, tucking them behind a small pointed ear.

As he went to pull back his hand, his son began to shift around, his eyes slowly fluttering open. Thranduil could have drowned in the blue eyes that gazed up at him, feeling beyond happy to see them shining brightly once more, although there was still some pain that lingered inside them.

“Hello ion-nin,” the Elven King said softly, “I’ve missed you.”

“Ada.” was all Legolas said, his voice raspy with disuse. Watching his Adar, his brow furrowed in concern as he saw tears brimming in his father’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Greenleaf, nothing is wrong anymore.” He then brought Legolas closer to his body, hugging him as tightly as he could without disturbing his son’s injuries.
When his father brought him closer, the elfling closed his eyes and breathed in the woodsy smell his father always seemed to carry with him. His Adar’s arms had never felt any safer or welcoming than they did at this moment.

After a few minutes of being held by the one who mattered the most to him, Legolas looked up at his Ada, remembering what his Nana had told him. He wasn’t certain if it was real or not, seeing his Naneth as everything was really fuzzy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of what his mother had told him. If Nana had asked him to do something then he had to do it for her, whether it was real or not.

“Ada.” Legolas said, gaining his father’s attention.

“What is it, ion-nin?”

“Nana wanted me to tell you something…” the elfling slowly started, his ears catching the hitch in his Adar’s breath. “She told me that ‘there is nothing to forgive’ and that ‘what happened that day is in no part your fault.’ Nana misses and loves us too.” Tears had formed in both of the elves eyes, and as the dam finally broke in Legolas, Thranduil brought him back tightly to his chest.

“Oh, Greenleaf…” The Elven King never wanted to let go again of his precious son.

Chapter Text

The following day…

Arwen and her older twin brothers were currently standing outside of Legolas’ room in the Healing Wing. They had been ushered away the day before when they tried to visit him after their Adar had fixed the elfling up, but Celebrian and Elrond had both pulled the three children aside, telling them that they needed to leave him alone until the following day. The King had gone to his son and it was best for them to comfort one another.

Now it was the morning and the three elves were quite excited, although a bit wary, to see their little friend once more. After staring at the door for a good few minutes, Arwen finally placed her hand on the handle, slowly turning it. Quietly the door opened, the three peeking inside. Seeing that Legolas was alone and stirring awake, they hurried in, pushing the door closed behind them as they rushed over to his bed.

Batting her two brothers away, Arwen sat down beside the elfling, gently brushing back his hair. Blue eyes blinked open, locking onto the elleth’s face. Recognizing who it was, a small smile appeared.

“Wen.” Legolas said softly, his voice laced with pain. Hearing him call her by the nickname he had given her when he was just a toddler, Arwen immediately crumbled, bringing the elfling into a warm hug.

“Oh, Legolas.” Arwen breathed him in, tears brimming in her eyes. “We were so worried. We-we didn’t know if you would come back to us…” She trailed off.

Legolas wiggled a bit out of her arms. Staring up at her, a sly grin flashed across his face. “I couldn’t leave you alone, Wen. Those two orcs would have been even meaner to you if I wasn’t around.” His voice slightly cracked at the end, but Arwen beamed down at the Prince, wiping away her tears as laughter erupted out of her at the sound of indignant calls from behind.

When the twins had heard the elfling call them orcs, they had been putting together something for his pain. Both immediately rushed over, pushing their sister out of the way. They plopped themselves down next to Legolas, peering into his pale face.

“How dare you call us orcs!” Elrohir playfully bantered back. “If anything, Dan looks far more like an orc than I do. He’s the crueler one.”

“We are identical!” Elladan pushed his brother off the bed. “If I must be an orc than so must you as well!”

“Well, at least I don’t act like one!”

“If I recall, who was the one that wanted to pour hot honey onto Erestor when-”

“Did we end up doing it?!”

“No, but you thought of it and-”

“Then it is irrelevant.” Elrohir sat back down onto the bed, ruffling Legolas’ hair. All three elves watched as the Prince laughed, highly amused by the twins antics. Arwen, who had been forced off the bed earlier, came back with the pain drought for Legolas. Before her brothers could make the elfling laugh even more, she nudged them aside and offered the cup to the elfling.

“Here, Legolas, drink this to chase away the pain.” Grimacing, he took the cup and stared down into it, not wanting to drink the bitter mix. He knew he would be forced to drink it no matter what, so he brought the cup to his lips and chugged it as quickly as he could.

“Did you even breathe?” Elrohir questioned the Prince, watching as he handed the cup back to Arwen, huffing slightly.

“No, Ro.” He smiled at the twin.

“Well, little Princeling,” Elladan began with mischief in his eyes, “What shall we do, all cooped up in here today?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once again the elves and one Maiar were sitting in Elrond’s office, discussing the events that had recently taken place.

“I am still worried.” The Lord of Imladris said, his brow furrowed in thought. “Although Thranduil killed Morohtar, his last words are not comforting.”

“No,” Celeborn joined in, “They are not. But it should be expected that there will be others who will want to try and kill Legolas like he said, due to the importance he has for the future of Middle-Earth.”

“That is good and all,” Thranduil softly spoke, his deep voice laced with slight worry. “And I love my Greenleaf more than anything… but Morohtar mentioned that we should ‘watch him, and see what he does.’ Does that mean my son, or someone else? There is the cause of my concern.”

“Whatever it is,” Celebrian said, “There is time that must pass in order for future events to come, whatever they end up being.”

“At least we know what killed that patrol. That beast-like creature was clearly the one to inflict those wounds on them, but at least he was dead when we found him.” The Balrog Slayer grimaced. Mithrandir perked up at this.

“Dead? He was still alive when we left him in the cell.”

“Clearly someone had taken matters into their own hands before we were able to reach him. I think it is probably for the best.” Erestor replied.

Finally Galadriel spoke up before anything else could be said, gazing out of the large window. “For now we must watch the dear Prince carefully. The one who ended the beast is long gone and will have to wait for another day to do anything. I only hope we are prepared for what will come after that…”

THE END… for now…