Prologue: An Arrival in the Night

The horse's hooves thundered beneath the king as he rode with urgency westward across the country. His cloak billowed out behind him in the wind, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon. Nearly three days they had travelled, only stopping to rest twice. The king cast a worried glance down to the slender figure seated before him on his steed. The figure was huddled against the king's chest in his own cloak, the hood obscuring most of his face. The king raised his eyes to the horizon again, where the last fiery rays of the sun were still visible. Above them, a few stars were scattered across the darkening sky.

"Avo 'osto, ion nin [Fear not, my son]," Thranduil whispered. "Imladris is near."

"Ada [Father]..." came the weak reply.

The rider urged his horse on, dusk settling quickly around them.

Lord Elrond was pacing in his chambers, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. His mind was deep in thought. He glanced out into the night every now and then, his brow creased with concern. On the mahogany writing table, illuminated by the many candles in their iron brackets, lay the letter he had received mere days ago. It bore the wax seal of the Mirkwood king, Thranduil. Elrond picked it up delicately as he passed the table again, and scanned the elegantly written words for the third time that evening. The contents of the letter drew a tug of compassion and anxious concern from his heart. Thranduil's son, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, had fallen seriously ill; the king was bringing him to Elrond for his exceptional healing skills. Elrond gently placed the letter on the table again and resumed his pacing. The healer closed his eyes, the wrinkle in his forehead deepening with his frown. It was not simply that Legolas was ill that worried him.

The gallop of a horse came to him on the night air, the sound moving closer and becoming louder, punctuating the serenity of the late evening. Elrond quickly exited his chambers, and no sooner were the gates of Imladris in sight did the Mirkwood king and his horse burst through them. Thranduil pulled his horse up short by the reins, the great animal skidding slightly on the fallen leaves, but it did not protest. Thranduil quickly dismounted and turned to help his son down, but Legolas simply blinked slowly at him, a look of pained confusion on his fair features. The younger elf was still huddled in his cloack, his fingers entangled in the horse's mane as if he would disappear to the halls of Mandos if he slackened his grip.

"Come, Legolas, ion nin."

Thranduil took his son into his arms and gently helped him dismount, but no sooner had the hands of the Mirkwood prince left the horse's mane did they clutch at the front of his father's robes, and Thranduil thought it best not to have him walk. The king held his son close and spoke quietly to him in Sindarin in hopes of comforting him while the lord of Imladris approached.

"Mae govannen [Welcome]," Elrond greeted softly when he was only within a few paces of his guests. He extended his right hand from his heart in greeting, and then his frown returned as he stepped forward to quickly inspect Legolas. The prince turned his gaze to the elf who meant to heal him, but his expression did not change. Elrond was troubled by the hollow, distant look in the younger elf's eyes. They could very well have been looking right through him. Elrond placed the back of his cool hand against Legolas's forehead, but there was no fever to take note of.

"Peace, ernil [prince]," Elrond whispered, gently stroking the younger elf's cheek. "I will do what I may to ease your suffering." He then motioned for Thranduil to follow him.

Elrond swept briskly through his home to his healing chambers, Thranduil close behind. It was near midnight, and Imladris was still and silent, except for the distant, soothing sound of running water. The sudden arrival of Elrond's ancient companion with his ailing son, the strong warrior prince, in his arms, seemed so out of place. Elrond did not let his feelings show, but he was shaken by the prince's condition. Never in all his long years of knowing Legolas had he seen him in such a state, not even when he would return, wounded, to Imlidris with his friends after a hunting trip. Furthering his concern was that Elrond was not familiar with the younger's elf's symptoms Thranduil had described in his letter. The lord of Imladris had never heard of such a sickness among elves.

Elrond pushed open the heavy doors of his healing chambers. He hastily lit a few candles as Thranduil gently laid Legolas down on the soft bed. The king had to pry his son's fingers from the front of his cloak, but when a soft whimper escaped the younger elf's lips, Thranduil held his hand in his. He continued to speak soothingly to him, stroking his hair in an effort to bring some comfort to him.

"Avo 'osto, ion nin," he whispered again. "Be at peace, pen neth [young one]. I am here."

Elrond began his examination of his patient, gently prodding with his fingers to check for any swelling or sign of injury. He took his pulse and listened to his breathing, yet he found nothing abnormal. All the while, Legolas stared up at the ornate ceiling, his features still contorted in obvious discomfort.

"Tell me, ernil, what is it that ails you?" Elrond cupped his cheek and tried to encourage Legolas to look at him. Legolas slowly met his eyes, but within their hollow depths was no other expression than that of pure anguish.

"What is wrong, pen neth?" Elrond tried again. "What causes you suffering?"

"I know not," Legolas finally replied. Then he turned to Thranduil, his distress bleeding into his rising voice. "I know not, ada. I know not! I know not! Nin gohenam [forgive me], ada!"

His shoulders suddenly began to shake. He squeezed his eyes closed and turned his face away, but it did not conceal the racking sobs that came from deep within his chest.

Thranduil felt a stab in his heart and he gathered his son in his ams and held him close as he had done so many years ago when Legolas was a small child.

"Nay, Legolas, there is nothing to forgive," Thranduil breathed softly into Legolas's hair as he wept. It pained the king greatly to see his son suffer so.

Elrond had quietly stepped into the corridor just outside the healing chambers in respect of Thranduil and his son's privacy. He could still hear the prince's muffled sobs, along with his continued cries of "I know not!", through the door. The healer closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with a frustrated sigh. Thranduil had brought Legolas to Imladris because not he nor the elves of Mirkwood knew what ailed the prince. The king had been hopeful the cure was in Imladris. Yet Elrond, for once in his long life and occupation as healer, was at a loss. He knew nothing of what afflicted Legolas. How was he to cure an ailment he had no knowledge of?

Legolas had quieted in his father's arms. Thranduil was rubbing his back, and every now and then Legolas sniffled. When the king felt his son's body relax, he gently lowered him to the soft silk covers again. Legolas let his shoulders and head sink into the many pillows, but he still grasped his father's hand.

"Legolas, I must speak with Lord Elrond in the hall," Thranduil informed him gently, arranging the braids of the warrior prince so he was not laying on them and so he would be more comfortable. When he saw the uneasy look in his son's eyes, he added, "We will be just outside the doors. I will hear if you should need me. We shan't be long."

Legolas gave his father a pleading look, but slowly slackened his grip, and Thranduil was able to free his hand and join Elrond in the corridor. The king of Mirkwood pulled the door until there was only a small crack, through which Legolas could see his back from his position in bed.

"How long since he fell ill?" came Elrond's quiet inquiry.

"Almost six months," Thranduil replied, inclining his head. "At first it was barely noticeable, and he seemed to be well most of the time. But only has he steadily become worse. I have tried everying, as have the healers of Mirkwood." The king raised his eyes to meet the pensive stare of the lord of Imladris. "My son is beyond my care."

Elrond placed his hand gently on the forlorn king's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Hebo estel, mellon nin [Have hope, my friend]," Elrond reassured him. "I will find a way to ease Legolas's pain. I have never failed, and I do not intend to now."

Thranduil nodded slowly at these words. They were spoken with such strength and confidence that he felt much of his anxiety leave him.

"I must return to my kingdom," the king said quietly. "We were still under attack when I departed with Legolas. I cannot be away at length."

Elrond inclined his head at this, expressing that he understood.

"Will you not stay the night? A few more hours will make no difference."

But Thranduil rejected the offer: "I cannot be away from my people any longer. I know my son is in good hands." And with that, the king of Mirkwood turned and reentered the room Legolas now occupied.

"Ada…"

"Shh, be at peace, ion nin," Thranduil soothed, stepping to Legolas's bedside. The younger elf's gaze followed his father's movements. There was still a crease between his eyebrows and his eyes had not changed.

"You will return, now." It was not a question. Legolas had undoubtedly heard what words had been shared in the hall. When Thranduil nodded once, the younger elf went into a sudden panic. Sitting up suddenly, he cried, "Nay, ada, do not leave my side!"

Thranduil lowered himself to the edge of the bed and took hold of both of his sons hands. Legolas stilled his movements and looked into his father's eyes, but his chest continued to rise and fall rapidly.

"Legolas," Thranduil whispered evenly. He had locked gazes with that of his son. The prince had tears in his eyes again, and Thranduil felt another stab in his heart, along with a pang of guilt deep in his stomach. "Amin hiraetha [I am sorry], Legolas. But you know I must return. You are safe here, you know that." The corners of his mouth curved upward in a gentle smile. "So many times you have left Mirkwood for Imladris to visit your friends here."

Legolas let his eyes take in the healing chamber, and for a moment he looked quite confused. Then he noticed Elrond, who had silently entered and now stood by the door, and his breathing returned to normal.

"You are among friends, Legolas Thranduilion," Elrond assured.

Legolas breathed deeply and fell back against the pillows again. Thranduil stroked his hair. "Sleep, Legolas. You must rest, ion nin. The journey has exhausted you. You are safe, pen neth. No harm will come to you here."

"You are sure, ada?" Legolas said softly. He looked very uncertain, but the realm of dreams was beginning to take hold, and the prince had to fight to keep his eyes open.

Thranduil leaned close and took his son's face gently in both of his hands. He looked into Legolas's eyes, smoothing his thin eyebrows with his thumbs. "I promise, Legolas. No harm will come to you." Legolas sighed again, and his entire body relaxed. After only a short moment he was barely aware of his surroundings.

Thranduil placed a gentle kiss above his son's brow. And then, so quiet that even Elrond, with his elvish hearing, had to strain to hear, he whispered: "I Melain berio le [May the Valar keep you]."

Aragorn was shaken from sleep. He pushed himself up and ran a hand through his hair. He had just dreamed that his close friend and companion, Legolas Thranduilion, had fallen seriously ill. He sometimes had dreams about his friends, but they were often pleasant. This, however, had been troubling, and so real that Aragorn noticed his pulse was quickened in terror. He was trembling slightly and his breathing was coming fast. The Dunedan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. It was just a dream. Legolas was probably just as healthy and at a peace as ever.

He laid back against his pillows and let himself be calm. It had been a while since he'd seen Legolas. He had heard that Mirkwood had been attacked several times recently by a growing force in the East, but he did not believe it was anything the realm could not handle. If it was, he would have certainly heard something by now. But he suddenly felt a twinge of fear. What if Legolas had been injured in battle?

Aragorn shook his head and sighed again. Legolas was never the type to be easily wounded. Even on hunting trips, when they had been attacked and outnumbered by goblins, Legolas had never sustained critical injuries. Aragorn could not stop the smile spreading across his face. His friend was too smart and strong to be easily hurt. The enemy would have to go to great lengths to give Legolas a serious wound.

Sleep had just begun to claim him again when the man's ears picked up the sound of voices. He opened his eyes again and turned slightly in his bed so that he was facing his door. For a moment he thought he may have imagined them, but then he heard them again, and they were coming nearer. The man strained to listen. He could tell one of the people speaking was his adar, but the other's voice was unfamiliar. He waited, holding his breath until they passed yet he could not discern any of their conversation. He continued to lay still until they faded away again.

Aragorn frowned and rolled over, putting his back to the door. The man could tell the hour was very late, though it was not yet dawn. Why would his adar be up so late, and with whom? Unless…

He flung the covers off of him and was across his sleeping chamber in two strides. Throwing open the door, he tried to hurry down the corridor without making any noise. Aragorn knew the only reason his adar would be awake and out of bed at this time of night was that something was wrong. And often times, when Elrond was involved, it meant the elf's healing expertise was needed. He passed chamber after chamber, but he did not see his adar, nor anyone else, for that matter. Not until, that is, he came to a balcony that overlooked the entrance to Imladris.

There, mounted on his horse just inside the gates, was an elf wearing a silver tiara. He was seated with such dignity and pride and gave the impression of such strength that Aragorn could only watch with something between respect and awe. The elf was speaking to Lord Elrond, who was only a few paces from him. Aragorn watched as the horse reared onto its hind legs and turned toward the gates, and in but a short moment, the animal and its rider had disappeared.

Aragorn had met the elf only once before, but there was no mistaking him. He was King Thranduil of Mirkwood, and father to Legolas.