Authors' Note:
This story is a collaboration between Maglor Makalaure and Aranel Mereneth. We have written the chapters alternatively (this one by Maglor), but we also proof read and edit each other's chapters to ensure they make sense =P So if you have any questions, you know who to ask ;)
Oh and Voronwë and Gelmir are NOT from The Silmarillion, we just borrowed their names =P Elvish translations are at the conclusion of each chapter.

Disclaimer (only because Maglor wants one lol, and this applies to ALL the chapters):
We obviously do not own anything J.R.R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson have created, hence the reason why we are sitting here writing FANfiction =P We only own the characters/events which we have created ourselves.

Chapter 1: The Hunting Party

The Three Hunters slowly trudged through the wilderness, their footsteps heavy from weariness. Legolas smirked as he heard Gimli curse as he stumbled over a rock in the ground. The elf then turned to face Aragorn as the man began to speak.

"We will not walk in the dark," said Aragorn, shifting his eyes to the pale moon shrouded by grey clouds. He did not like choosing for his companions. The last time he had done that, it had spelled disaster. Gimli let out a deep rumbling sigh and dropped his axe with a clank on the stony ground. Legolas remained silent, his eyes had glazed over and the voice of the dwarf buzzed in his ears as if from a great distance. His ears perked slightly when he heard something mentioned about Frodo and Galadriel, but then remained still. The deep sigh from Aragorn indicated that he had made a decision.

"Well, I have chosen. So let us use the time as best as we may!"

Before Legolas could even ask what the man had decided, Aragorn cast himself upon the ground and at once fell asleep. Gimli sat down heavily and removed his helm. "If the moon had not been so shy this night, we would have gone on!" he said, and lay down.

Legolas wanted to sleep; he needed to, but he found that he was restless. A soft breeze blew across the plains and played with the ends of his golden hair, and he found himself thinking of Mirkwood. How many months had it been since Gollum was caught? How many months since…

He closed his eyes and began to reminisce the events...

"So this is the wretched creature." Thranduil's face remained stony. With an arched eyebrow he gazed squirming figure bound before him at the ankles and wrists. Aragorn gave the rope a yank as Gollum tried to put his mouth to his ankle and bite the thick string off.

"Yes. Please do keep him well. I have had enough of my share of trouble with him." Aragorn held up his hand to show it covered with crescent-shaped bite marks. Some seemed days old, others were so fresh that thin beads of blood were gradually trickling out.

Thranduil grimaced. "I don't know how we're going to control him."

"You don't have to control him, just make sure he doesn't escape. His mischief is nothing to sneeze at. I nearly lost him."

"I will make sure nothing of the sort happens," the king said confidently and turned to his son. "Legolas," he began.

"Yes, Adar?"

"Take this creature down to the dungeons. We will figure out what to do with him later."

"Of course."

There was a sharp rap at the door, and a servant opened it. "Your Majesty, you are required downstairs. The officers are back from patrol."

"I will come." Thranduil dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "You two," he said, "can have a chat while I'm gone." He smiled grimly and exited the room, his dark green cloak stirring behind him. Aragorn turned to Legolas.

"Well met, Your Highness," he said with a slight inclination of his head. "I have no need to wonder whether Gollum will be in safe hands."

Legolas smiled warmly in return, though it was a little stiff. "He is," he said. "And please, call me Legolas. I can hardly qualify for royalty."

"Well Legolas. Use the days well. I leave him in your capable hands." He handed the rope to Legolas, "My heart says we will meet again. Fare you well, I must take my leave."

The man bowed and left, leaving the prince alone in the king's magnificent hall. Legolas breathed deeply and began to peel off his gloves. When was the last time he had been this anxious? A sense of foreboding began to creep up on him like never before.

He gasped as the rope in his hands was roughly yanked towards the ground, and he nearly lost his balance. Gollum was wailing, a thin, shrill sound, very painful to hear.

"Be quiet, or you'll be put to a worse fate than the dungeons!" Legolas threatened, narrowing his eyes. Gollum sneered at him.

"Nassty elvesss. They lock us up in dark placess. Poor Gollum has lived in the dark all his life, yess, and then he is walking through forest, doing nobody any harm, and is caught and tied like a thief. Let us go, preciouss! Let us go!"

"I will not," said Legolas sternly. "You will remain bound until you learn how to tie that tongue of yours into a knot. Now come," he tugged gently but firmly on the rope. "You're coming downstairs."

Gollum shrieked and sobbed and begged, but Legolas gritted his teeth and sighed. "Either you keep quiet, or I'll tie this rope around your neck."

That did it. Gollum abruptly stopped making noises and went loose as his lanky hair.

"Better," Legolas murmured, and began to pull him out the door and down the winding staircase that led from the main hall to the dungeons. A guard was lounging in his seat, snoring. He jumped up and nodded hurriedly when he heard Legolas come in, and stared at Gollum. Legolas tucked the leash into the guard's hands.

"Place him in the second-last cell on the left, and make sure he doesn't cause any mischief. Be stern with him, but don't hurt him."

His last sentence made the guard start, for he thought it impossible to control the creature without imposing physical harm, but he pressed his lips together and did as he was told. It was impossible to escape the halls of Thranduil, whose doors were held by magic.

"Be on your guard at all times. You remember what happened when we captured those dwarves." Legolas tapped his foot on the stone floor for attention. The guard gulped and nodded, his head lowered slightly in embarrassment but his eyes shone with determination. How exactly those thirteen dwarves had managed to escape, he would never know. But escape they did, and slyly. And this creature seemed to be more slippery than any dwarf or hobbit. This time however, the guard was indomitable to not disappoint the king or the prince, both whom were dearly respected and loved by the people of Mirkwood.

Gollum tried to plea to them one more time. "Don't lock us up! Oh don't, preciousss!" he wailed, clutching his hands together and rocking back and forth on his heels. Legolas furrowed his brow and turned away.

"Put him in his cell," he said quietly before he began to climb up the stairs. He pitied this miserable creature, but he could not let him go. How did Aragorn manage to carry him all through Mirkwood without letting him go? Legolas would have gone mad if he had done it.

"Ilúvatar in Eä," he muttered as another ear-piercing shriek tore through the air and bounced off the stone walls. It was a mild swear he had picked up from his father, who happened to utter it whenever he chanced to look at a large stack of paper work on his desk.

He reached his chamber and gently shut the door, leaning heavily against it. A great weight seemed to pull down his shoulders, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he stared at the floor.

"Tired, are we?"

Legolas jumped, and whirled around to see a slender servant with jet-black hair sitting in a chair by the bed with his legs stretched out. No other servant would have dared to do such a thing, especially in the prince's own room, but this was Voronwë, and Voronwë was special. He was in a smart yet faded brown tunic and a pair of brown leggings with tacky sandals, with a stained white apron tied around his waist.

"A little," sighed Legolas, coming to collapse in his chair and tug the band out of his hair. "A new prisoner."

"That dark, scrawny fellow?" Voronwë said excitedly as his eyes widened in curiosity. "I've heard tell he's in league with the Dark Lord."

"Don't say it so loudly, Voronwë, and that's only kitchen talk and gossip."

"Sometimes kitchen talk is more accurate than what the messengers say." Voronwë yawned and stretched, scratching his hair. Legolas made no reply. His friend had spoken true, yet he did not want to admit it. The name of Sauron and everything associated with it was black.

"Who was the man who came to see the king today?"

Legolas shut his eyes. He was incredibly weary. "Aragorn, a Ranger from the North."

"A ranger? Well, you don't see those very often around here."

Legolas let out a half-laugh, half-sob. Voronwë was his best friend, but he could be tiresome sometimes.

They had known each other since childhood, when Thranduil had appointed Voronwë as Legolas' personal assistant. Both were twelve years old at the time, and both had a taste for adventure, though Legolas was the one who was allowed to exercise it. They would both loiter about in the gardens for hours, talking, laughing, or simply lying and staring at the starry sky. Sometimes Legolas would take his bow and quiver and teach Voronwë how to shoot, and Voronwë, much to both their surprise, was most excellent at it. Hardly ever did his arrow miss its mark. Unfortunately, they could not practice it very often, since Voronwë had his duties as a servant to complete, and simply did not have the time to learn advanced weaponry like the other warriors. But Legolas ensured that he taught Voronwë enough so he knew how to defend himself.

It was Voronwë's appearance, however, that piqued Legolas' interest. He was very slender, almost skinny, with a long face and silky black hair that was straight as a whip and misty, grey-blue eyes that seemed to change colour according to his mood – sky blue to slate grey to moody navy. Half of his right index finger had been accidentally cut off when he was chopping vegetables, so he had to grow accustomed to using his left hand for writing and the like.

Voronwë had no father, since he had been killed early in an orc attack, but he lived with his mother in his humble servant's quarters. In all his long life, Legolas had only seen it twenty or thirty times. It consisted of two bedrooms, a living and dining area, as well as a small kitchen and bathroom, all lit by flaming torches. Throughout, old grey rugs were thrown on the floor. In Voronwë's bedroom, a single bed was pushed to the one side of the room, and a single desk with two chairs stood between it and the opposite wall, where Voronwë did all his writing. A couple of sketches hung from the walls, one by Legolas, and the other by Voronwë. A map of Mirkwood was plastered onto the door, and another map of the palace below it. It was in this humble abode that Voronwë had lived all his life.

"No, you don't," Legolas replied. "This man claims to be friends with Mithrandir."

"Why would a ranger be friends with a wizard?"

"How would I know that?" said Legolas sharply. "Now go. I want to be in peace for a bit. I am very weary."

"That's easy to see." Voronwë still had that irritating grin on his face. Nevertheless, he jumped up and swept to the door. Just as he was about to exit the room, he spun around on his heel toward the prince.

"Legolas…"

Legolas sighed. "Yes?"

"Er…" Voronwë furrowed his brow, as if searching for words. "You remember that orchestra?"

"The palace orchestra? Yes, but I never go to it. Haven't done so in years. Why do you ask?"

"Well I…never mind," he ended lamely, and scuttled out of the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him. Legolas' gaze fixed at the door for a moment, but then he cupped his chin in his hands and closed his eyes. He had intended on finishing some work, but he fell sound asleep in his chair instead.

xxxxxx

The sound of someone banging on the door woke Legolas with a start. He sat up with a groan as he felt the muscle in his back and neck twist uncomfortably from spending the night in a chair. He groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes and squinted out one of the windows that had been meticulously crafted between the stone of the underground palace, only to find that it was early morning, as the golden rays of the sun seeped in through his windows and flooded the floor.

"Yes?"

The door swung open almost instantly. "Your Highness, the hunting party is ready." An adolescent elf stood in the doorway, his brown hair scraped away from his face in a loose ponytail.

"I will come, Lithônion. Will my father be accompanying us?"

"He says he has some work to do, so no." He turned to leave, but then paused and scrutinised Legolas' face. "Are you well? You look a little tired."

Legolas ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair. "I am. Never mind, I'll be down in a few minutes."

Lithônion bowed and left. Legolas heaved himself up from his chair and stretched, feeling his joints crack as he readjusted his posture. He lumbered to his closet, absentmindedly flinging out a pair of brown leggings and a green tunic. He washed his face and hastily tugged a brush through his tangled hair. He grabbed his bow and quiver from their place next to his writing desk and rushed down the stairs that lead out of the palace. The party was waiting by the gates.

"Ah, so the prince arrives," said an officer with pale hair pulled back into a tight braid. "And what is the reason for his tardiness?"

"Nothing for you to know, Gelmir," grumbled Legolas as he slung his quiver across his back. His gaze fell upon the youth who had come to him earlier.

"Lithônion, why are you here?"

"Gelmir said I could come," he grinned widely. Legolas cast a weary look at Gelmir, who shrugged.

"He's old enough."

"He's barely thirty!"

"Humans hunt at fifteen, and Lithônion is skilled with the bow in any case."

Legolas ignored him. "Go back to your chamber, boy. The forest is no joke. It's too dangerous for you."

Lithônion's face fell. "But sir! I've been practicing, and I've watched you lot for so long!"

"Watching is not the same as doing, penneth." Legolas put a hand on the boy's head.

"Don't argue. Off you go." He gave Lithônion a pat on the back before he trotted off, scowling.

"You dishearten the lad." Gelmir cocked a flaxen eyebrow.

"I'm not disheartening him, I'm teaching him patience. We weren't allowed to even handle a proper blade till we were thirty five."

"So you bear a grudge against him."

"I am only concerned for his safety. And if you don't shut up, Gelmir, I will yank out your tongue," he snapped. Legolas turned to the other warriors. "Are the rest of you ready?"

"We are."

"Let's move."

They mounted their horses and rode into the darkness of the towering trees. Legolas felt the wind sing in his ears, though it did not comfort him. The sound carried blackness in it, all the way from Dol Guldur. He could feel its presence like a smog that refused to dissipate. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn't even notice the deer that crossed their path.

"Your Highness!" hissed an elf, frantically raising his hand. Legolas cursed and abruptly halted his horse, gritting his teeth.

Gelmir raised an eyebrow. "We held our swords when we were forty, say you, but I think that boy would have had better sense than to make so much noise when game is near."

Legolas merely scowled.

Translations:
Adar = father
Penneth = young/little one

A/N: Hope you guys liked our first chapter! Please review! We would greatly appreciate it and would love to know what you guys think =)