Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you recognise from Tolkien's universe. All OC's belong to me and are creations of my mind. No profit is being made from this story.

Timeline: This is the third instalment in a series revolving around Legolas and his family's history, set around SA 780. It follows on from 'To Begin Again' and 'Choice of the Trees', and is set just a few years after the latter. There might be some minor references to events in the two previous stories, but you don't have to read them to understand this one. There are also a number of characters in this story who were introduced in the first one and had parts in the second, but again, there isn't really any need to read those stories in order to get the OC's and who they are.

Warnings: This is where things start changing. The first two stories were pretty light in terms of the angst factor, but there is a lot of it now. There will be pain, tears, blood and themes of a mature nature in later chapters. Now let's get on with the story!

Chapter 1

Open books lay half-buried amidst blades of grass that swayed in a gentle breeze, surrounded by scrolls and pieces of parchment, quills and a bottle of black ink. It was early summer, and the yellow rays beating down from high in a perfect sky unmarred by clouds were pleasantly warm. A young Elf garbed in forest shades tilted his head back to feel the full force of the sun upon his flawless skin. He had spent all morning with his eyes lowered, and every fleeting reprieve from his work was eagerly taken. The lessons he undertook outside beneath the boughs of the trees he had come to love over the last few years were far preferable to the dull ones spent behind stone walls, but being forced to study as birds flew freely overhead and woodland stretched for miles all around was not an easy task. His mind wandered through the forest at regular intervals, and it was a long suffering sigh from his tutor or a warning look from a pair of deep brown eyes which would pull him back to reality with a sharp bump.

Those hazel pools were fixed upon him as he basked in the sunlight, but it was not disapproval or sternness in the teacher's gaze. Instead he wore only amusement, and coughed quietly to redirect his wayward student's attention. "My Prince, the sky will be the same when we have finished our lesson. You will have the whole afternoon to yourself. Might I have your focus a few moments longer to return your corrected work?"

Smiling guiltily, the heir to the throne of Greenwood the Great turned his face away from the warmth and nodded reluctant acquiescence. "Of course, Maethor. I am sorry for allowing myself to become distracted again, but you should know better by now than to let me study out here. I never can concentrate on a fine day."

"So I have seen. I must say that I expected something different from you in our last lesson together, but my hopes have been dashed. Never mind," the Silvan Elf sighed. "Now, would you have the good report first or the less flattering? We shall start with the second, get it over with and out of the way. Thranduil, your mathematical skills are not the best I have seen in my career as a private tutor. As demonstrated in this number exercise here, you would benefit from additional studies in your own time." He paused and held out a piece of parchment decorated with crossed out scribbling and a multitude of corrections. "However, you make up for that inaptitude with writing skills, an ability to memorise history and a keen willingness to learn. Your latest work – after the numbers, of course – proves your capability with both the Elven language and Common Tongue. You have done well in that respect."

"Are you trying to tell me I am a good student or a bad one?" Thranduil asked slowly.

"You are a fair student with room for improvement," Maethor replied. A small smile passed across his fair face, and he began to tidy away the learning materials laid out on the grass. "Unfortunately, that improvement will not be conceived with my help. Have you been told yet if the King and Queen have chosen you a new tutor?"

Biting on his lower lip, the blond haired boy shook his head carefully. "No. I thought of asking, but neither of them has mentioned my lessons at all other than to enquire after my progress. Do you not think that strange? They know your wife is having a child soon and that you are giving up your work to spend the first few years of the baby's life with it, so why would they say nothing?"

"Prince Thranduil..."

"Yes?"

"You did give your father the letter I gave you three weeks ago," Maethor said quietly. "Please say that it is not lying somewhere on your floor or underneath your bed."

Wide blue eyes turned towards the tutor at those words, and again Thranduil's head shook, this time much more violently than before. "What? You took it back! You gave me the letter during a lesson but you took it back because when I got to the palace it was not in my pocket and I could not find it anywhere else. I assumed that you had decided to see my father yourself because you thought I might forget or deliberately not pass on the letter."

"I would have been right in such an assumption." Pushing a hand through the brown hair hanging loose over his shoulders, the tutor released a sharp exhalation of breath and got to his feet. "Come with me. Hopefully the King will be free enough to speak with us now so that I might explain this utter debacle and try to convince him to let me finish my teaching duties today to be there for the birth of my first child. I told you he needed three weeks' notice to find you a new teacher. Why do you think I wrote the letter and put it in your hands with specific instructions what to do with it three weeks before I wished to end our lessons together?"

"You took it back," Thranduil reiterated as he followed the older Elf along a forest path which led to the palace. "I know that-

"This is not the end I wanted," Maethor broke in sharply. "Do not make it worse."

Sighing quietly, the Prince took heed of the words and was silent for the rest of their quick journey. It was not the end he had hoped for either. He could remember the long weeks of studying with a number of different tutors to find the one who had the best influence upon his work; he could recall too the eventual decision by King Oropher and Queen Felith that the newly trained teacher with the least amount of experience had improved their only child's education after just a few hours together and taught him at a higher standard than any other. The winning argument had been voiced by Thranduil's mother. He and Maethor got on well with each other, and that had to be a deciding factor in such an important choice. Even now, two years on, it was still true. He liked his tutor and found himself often more eager to please him than most others. It would indeed be a shame to finish their time on such a poor note.

As they reached the palace and home to the royal family which stood upon the treeless hill of Amon Lanc, Thranduil bit on his lip. Whilst no young Elf enjoyed trouble, his dislike for it was great. Since taking the crown and accepting the rule of Greenwood, Oropher had changed both as a husband and father. Where once he had been warm and full of adoration for his wife and son, it was as though physical affection had suddenly fled his abilities, replaced by a constant demand for the very best and an intolerance for anything that could cast a shadow over his kingship. He was hard and strict, and although he knew full well that the love he held for his only child was limitless if not openly displayed, the youth in question was secretly doubtful of the fact, something that often became the cause of many an argument between the two.

"Here we are," Maethor murmured as they reached the door which hid the King's office. "Let me speak with him. Perhaps I can salvage this situation and save you from his anger."

Thranduil nodded without a word as the older immortal knocked on one of the wooden panels and stepped into the room at the short command which came in reply. That was fine by him. There was less chance of landing in hot water if another was acting in his defence. He followed his tutor inside and stopped before the large work desk, bowing his head to Oropher with a subdued gaze fixed upon the floor. He knew that his father would expect the worst; he knew too that the bright green eyes of the monarch would be narrowed in suspicion as Maethor explained the misunderstanding. To his credit, the teacher did a commendable job of protecting his student and telling the story as though it truly were his own fault, but the King of Greenwood the Great was no fool. Raising one hand for silence, he leaned forwards and fixed the other Elf with those piercing emerald pools.

"Thank you. I see the worries you are faced with in light of this lost letter, but you need not fear," he said quietly. "I could have done with the notice, but it cannot be helped. Your dismissal would have been granted for today. Take it. Go home to your wife. I wish you the very best with your new child, and hope that the birth is without complication. If you need anything, only ask and I will help you."

"Your Highness, that is more than generous of you," Maethor replied, softly stunned. "You are willing to let me leave your employ without the appropriate resignation letter?"

"I have said so. Now, if you please. It would seem my son's lessons have not yet finished. Clearly he needs to be taught responsibility for items passed into his keeping by others." Oropher's voice was cool, and he shook his dark head to halt imminent protests from the tutor. After receiving a bow he was wisely left alone with his only child, a fact which made the boy's blue eyes flicker fearfully. "I would ask what you were thinking, but I see through you as easily as a sheet of glass. You purposefully hid the letter or destroyed it to avoid a few weeks of lessons whilst I search for a new teacher. That shows cunning and intelligence, but you did not plan this far ahead. What have you to say for yourself now that you have been caught?"

Thranduil shifted slightly, raising his gaze from where it rested upon the floor to meet his father's hard one. "I have to say that... You are wrong. You think you can see through me, but your eyes are deceived-

"Do not!" Oropher's hand came down atop the desk with resounding force, and the papers and quills littering its surface had not settled as he rose sharply and strode around the other side to tightly grip the child's shoulders. "Do not dare to address me with such insolence in your voice, because you will regret it. Stop hiding behind a useless defence. You did wrong, you acted without thought or consideration and you will accept the consequences for this. Luckily for you I have an appointment in ten minutes that I cannot avoid, but you will get out of my sight now and wait for me in your room. You shall be dealt with later."

"I did not have the letter," Thranduil said quietly.

"Stop that," Oropher warned. "Go."

Aware of the hammering of his heart against his chest, the young Prince's eyes fell towards the floor once more. "Ada... If you are to punish me, please don't make me wait for it. Please don't-

"Go!"

Thranduil spun on his heel and beat a hasty retreat, leaving the study at a run and pulling the door shut behind him with an echoing slam. He went swiftly down the corridor until he was a safe enough distance away to slow, which he did with a miserable exhalation of breath. Once upon a time, facing his father's wrath and awaiting the consequences of such anger would have brought tears to his eyes, but he had since become accustomed to a strict upbringing, albeit reluctantly. It had not always been that way. There was a time when Oropher would rather lose a hand than raise even his voice to the child, but everything had changed so very drastically in the months after he had been crowned as Greenwood's ruler. It was unfair that the close bond between father and son had frayed so much in just a short time, but Thranduil knew full well that thinking on the injustice would never solve anything.

As the boy passed a floor length wall hanging concealing a wide alcove just a short distance from the royal wing, a hand snaked out from behind it and fingers curled in the back of his tunic. He pulled himself free before his captor could drag him anywhere, and ducked underneath the tapestry to glare at the pair of Elves grinning at him. "Don't do that," he snapped. "All you had to do was cough or stick your foot out so I could know you were here. Idiots."

The tallest youth was a few immortal years older than the other two, and he calmly regarded the Prince through eyes like glittering jade, easily ignoring the fiery gaze fixed upon him. "Well. That was very rude." Although some thinly styled braids dangled over his shoulder, for the most part the child's auburn hair was worn loose and free. He reached up to casually flick a stray lock from his face, and gave a small shrug. "I see His Royal Highness is miserable today. What has upset you, Your Majesty? No berries for breakfast? A chore you must do yourself?"

"Be quiet, Linwë," Thranduil snapped. "And don't you laugh, Veassen. Don't encourage him."

Hiding a smile, the smaller of the Prince's friends lowered his brown eyes contritely. "I am sorry, mellon-nín, truly. Tell us the reason behind your temper."

"If you must know..."

"Tell us. It might make you feel better."

Thranduil flashed Veassen a look of gratitude as he let his legs fold beneath him and sat down upon the floor with a heavy sigh. He played with the bottom of the tapestry, noting absently that the material was dusty where palace staff had neglected to clean at such a low level. "I have made my father angry again. I know, I know. I have overtaken even Linwë in the trouble stakes, but I don't know how I do so well at disappointing him. Most of the time he misunderstands or over-reacts, and today he has done both because I really am not at fault. He will not see that, though. I don't think he wants to see it. Valar, I wish I understood why he is...just the way he is."

"You do know," Linwë said quietly, sitting at his friend's side. "It is the crown he wears. So, what has he blamed you for that you are not guilty of?"

"I was given a letter by Maethor to hand over to him but the parchment was gone when I came to deliver it. Perhaps it would not be so awful if there was nothing important contained in the note, but it was my tutor's resignation because his wife is due to give birth this week. I would never have failed to give that to my father, not knowing how much it meant to Maethor," Thranduil explained miserably. A second sigh left his lips, and he rested his chin in the palm of one hand. "Now I have been sent away with a promise that I shall be dealt with later, whatever that might mean."

At the words, Veassen's eyes widened and he reached up to twirl a strand of brown hair around his fingers, an action most often seen when he himself was in trouble or plagued by worries. "Oh, no. I think you should know something... We must tell him, Linwë. It would be wrong not to."

"Tell me what?" Thranduil questioned warily.

"We... It was... You didn't lose the letter and your tutor didn't take it back." Veassen unconsciously stepped away, holding both hands out as though to defend himself. "Don't be angry with us. We were on the way to archery a few weeks ago when we passed the glade you were studying in. You were just finishing your lesson and we waited for you so that we could all walk to the training fields together, and we couldn't help but overhear Maethor telling you that he would not be your teacher any more. We saw him give you the letter, and... Linwë?"

The oldest Elfling cast his friend a baleful look, but there was no choice but to pick up the tale where it had been left off. "We didn't let on that we had heard anything, and when you were changing into your archery clothes, we...took the letter. We hid it."

"Why would you do something like that?" Thranduil whispered.

"It wasn't done to hurt you or land you in trouble. Please don't think that," Veassen said desperately, kneeling on the floor and trying to touch the Prince's shoulder. He was met with a flash of azure eyes, and withdrew his hand immediately. "We have just had days of progression tests in our lessons, and our teacher has given us and the rest of the students two weeks free from study. We thought it was perfect timing, that if you didn't have a tutor the three of us could be together as we used to. We could go swimming, play in the trees, spend all day just doing nothing. Would you not like that?"

"We were trying to do something nice," Linwë added in a soft voice. "We were thinking of you."

Tangling his fingers in the golden strands of his hair, Thranduil closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "How far ahead did you think? Clearly you did not consider the fact that my father would become involved at one point or another. Now he is furious with me. I don't know what he will do, and... Thank you for the thought. Yes, I would very much like to have free days where things could be as they once were, but not at the expense of the King's wrath. None of it matters now, anyway. I may have some time without lessons, but I don't think I shall be allowed out of the palace. Either I will be under house arrest or given chores."

"We are sorry, we should have known better," Veassen grimaced. "I don't know what came over me. I must have been spending too much time with a certain trouble maker."

"Charming," Linwë muttered.

Trying not to see the guilty looks his friends exchanged, Thranduil rose from his place on the floor and brushed specks of dust off his clothes as he glanced around the side of the tapestry. He immediately jerked backwards and pressed a finger to his lips, inaudibly demanding silence from the other boys. Although both of them raised enquiring eyebrows at his sudden desire for discretion, neither gave away their positions by peering out into the corridor. Instead they remained quiet, listening carefully to the conversation being held just a short distance away as two Elves strode purposefully past. The words were hushed and urgent, but most easily reached the keen ears of the Elven children.

"That was the King," Veassen whispered, his brown eyes wide. "And his brother, the Vice-Regent."

Thranduil nodded slowly. "They said that someone has been hurt. My father was due to have an appointment he could not afford to miss. Why would he avoid it unless something terrible has happened?"

"The healing wing," Linwë hissed. "Come!"

Slipping out from behind the floor length tapestry, the three youths left the corridor at a run. They passed a number of Elves garbed in the military uniform of Greenwood's army, and the expression worn by the warriors were ones clouded with fear and concern. Thranduil's heart struck hard and fast against his chest. Although the kingdom had an armed force and soldiers of great strength and valour, it was not greatly advanced in terms of weaponry. There had never been any need for vast numbers of fighters, for the Wood-elves were a peaceful folk. Their lives were not dictated by feuds and battles beneath the trees. It was such rustic ideals and morals that conceived the Crown Prince's worry. If a highly developed enemy entered the forest, he was not certain that his father's people could achieve victory.

The healing rooms on the south side of the palace were unnaturally busy, and an Elf woman stopped the children at the door before they could set even a foot inside. "Prince Thranduil, we were just about to send for you. Come with me. Your companions must go on their way."

"We will wait for you," Veassen whispered, whilst Linwë stuck his tongue out at the lady's turned back.

Opening his mouth to reply, the heir to the throne was led along a row of empty beds before he had a chance to speak even one word to his friends. "What is happening? Why would you send for me?"

"In there," the woman murmured, gesturing to a private room at the end of the ward.

Thranduil swallowed down the fear that was making itself known within him, and drew a deep breath to calm his nerves. It had to be a member of the Royal Family. There was nobody else other than Linwë and Veassen for whom he would be summoned. Valar, Nana... His mother had not been at the breakfast table that morning. If something had happened to her, if she was hurt or worse, he did not think he would be able to bear the pain. Felith was the one Elf in the whole of Greenwood who could successfully defend him to the King. She openly resented the strict upbringing given to her only child, and acted often as a barrier between her husband and son to protect the Prince from trouble with his father.

Closing his eyes and sending a quick prayer to the powers, the boy pushed open the door. Relief flooded him at the sight of his mother standing near the window, but it vanished when he realised the identity of the wounded individual lying unconscious upon the bed. "Saeldur," he whispered. "Oh no... What happened?"

"Your cousin has been shot," Oropher informed his son quietly.

"Shot?" Thranduil repeated, stunned. "How? By who? Why would anyone want to hurt him? When did this happen? Where?"

Queen Felith moved from the window to pull the child into a tight embrace. Her fair face was white, the bright blue pools of her eyes damp. The situation had to be serious indeed for an adult to shed tears. "He was riding through the forest with some fellow warriors earlier this morning. None of them seem to know what took place, for it all happened so swiftly. One moment he was speaking with them, the next he was slipping from his horse. They did not see or hear the perpetrator. All they can be sure of is that this was a direct attempt on his life."

"Is he going to-?

"No."

Thranduil stepped away from his mother, and regarded the turned back of an ebony haired Elf-lord. "Uncle Vehiron," he acknowledged softly.

"Your cousin will not die, but the healers say that something seems to be preventing his recovery," Oropher murmured. Turning away from the bed, he rested one strong hand upon the child's shoulder, his earlier fury vanquished in light of greater events. "The shooting occurred some hours ago, and more than a few of the warriors present at the time are adequately trained to treat wounds that could be gained in battle. They removed the arrow from his shoulder and administered herbs and bandages, but Saeldur has not woken. He should have regained consciousness by now."

"May I see him?" Thranduil whispered. A nod from the King sent him forwards a few steps, and he stood at the bedside of his wounded cousin with unquenchable fear coursing through his veins. He looks so pale. It is not natural, such whiteness cannot be. Valar, please protect him. Please...

"Had the Valar been watching over him, this would not have happened," Lord Vehiron said, his voice like ice. "They have forsaken us before. They will forsake us again."

His words were met with only uncomfortable silence. When the Sindarin family had lived in Lindon after the Fall of Doriath at the hands of Fëanor's sons, his wife had been slain by Orcs on a journey outside of the kingdom. Rather than flee the beasts and seek escape with her then infant child, she had made a vain attempt to defeat their wicked blades and intentions. Her immortal life had been the ultimate price to pay for such rashness and impetuous bravery, and it had since been said in quiet tones by Oropher that his younger brother had never truly forgiven the lady for leaving him alone with a babe of just months to raise.

"That is not true," Queen Felith murmured. "Your son is strong. He will wake."

As Vehiron spun sharply to face the Elven lady and counter her statement with a snapped one of his own, the door to the healing room swung inwards on quiet hinges. The worried eyes of the royals flew towards the two newcomers in apprehensive anticipation. Before the crowning of Greenwood's first ruling family just a few years back, the forest had been maintained by an elite group of Elves known throughout the realm as the Circle of Elders. Chosen a long time ago and respected by the people for their wisdom and unparalleled abilities to successfully govern such a large region, the members of the Circle still held great amounts of power in Oropher's court and aided him in his kingship with the making of decisions and general sovereignty. For a pair of such individuals to be present now, something of significance indeed must have occurred.

"Elder Nestaeth, Elder Galawen," the King said softly, inclining his dark head towards the women. "I appreciate your coming to the bedside of my nephew. I fear he needs help that I cannot give."

"We have retrieved the arrow from the warriors present with the Prince Regent at the time of his attack, and have examined it at lengths together," the lady named Nestaeth explained. As a healer herself, she wore practical clothes of a feminine tunic with leggings and slightly heeled deerskin boots. Simplistic braids kept copper hair away from her face, and her green eyes were sharp, as though constantly on the lookout for hidden wounds and maladies. "We hoped that our abilities coupled together would find the reason behind Prince Saeldur's state of unconsciousness, and although we have succeeded, the verdict is not a pleasant one."

"Tell us," Lord Vehiron ground out.

The second woman pushed her single thick braid off one shoulder, and stepped forwards to address the royals. In spite of her high position within the realm, she wore a plain dress in shades of brown and sturdy shoes of a leathery material. To look at her, one would not know her for an Elder. "My talents lie in growing; I know more of flowers, plant life and herbs than many in the forest can claim to. Today I have left my gardens to study this arrow, and what I found upon its tip struck fear into me. The individual responsible for the attack has used a concoction of herbs that when mixed together form a harmful compound."

"What does that mean?" Oropher asked quietly. "How harmful?"

"Poisonous," Nestaeth returned.

Thranduil felt his heart skip beats at the word, and the gasp of his mother and the oath that left his uncle's lips went unnoticed as he looked towards his cousin lying still and unresponsive. "Can he be saved?" Protocol seemed to have been forgotten. He would never have involved himself in an adult conversation at any other time, but even his father appeared not to care that he was doing so now. "Is it strong enough that you cannot help him?"

"No. I can have an antidote brewed in a matter of hours which will remove the poison from his body," Galawen replied slowly. "He will recover. However, it will be a slow process. Somebody knew this when they strung their arrow and released it. They knew of the effects their venom would have upon his natural ability to heal swiftly. King Oropher, look for the perpetrator but do not waste your time searching for an assassin. This individual was sending a warning."

"A warning against what?" Vehiron snapped. "And why did it involve my son?"

"We shall discover that when the Elf is found," Oropher murmured. "He will be found, brother."

As the older Elves continued to speak in hushed tones, Thranduil caught his mother's eye and nodded towards the door. The small smile that came as silent permission to leave was a welcome relief; he did not think he could stay in that stifling room any longer with talk of conspiracy and assassins surrounding him. He spared his unconscious cousin one last glance and sent a final prayer to the Valar that he should wake before turning and stepping back out into the main healing ward. With determination flooding his thoughts, he avoided meeting the gazes that were fixed upon him and hastened his step to be away from the prying minds, knowing full well that their owners would begin asking questions sooner or later. Only when he was out in the corridor with his waiting friends falling in beside him did he slow to a lesser pace.

"We heard them talking about the Prince Regent," Veassen whispered. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Thranduil questioned shortly.

"Has he been shot?"

Stopping by a window that looked out over the forest, the blond haired youth turned to face his friends. He had not expected them to wear the same curious expressions as the Elves outside his cousin's room, but the genuine concern in their eyes touched him. "I am sorry for my manner. Yes, it is true. Someone shot at him whilst he was on the way to a border patrol, I think it was. He will recover, so it is said, but he will not recover swiftly."

"Prince Saeldur is an Elf just like the rest of us," Linwë said slowly. "Why would he not heal as an Elf should?"

Thranduil drew a deep breath to speak his next words. He still could not believe that such a crime had been committed in peaceful Greenwood. "The arrow tip was poisoned, and now that the venom has entered his blood it will hinder the healing process. It could be worse, but I suppose this is bad enough. Two of the Elders came to see him, and they said that the attack was not meant to kill. It was a warning. I think there is someone out there who does not want a ruling family, who does not want my family."

"You have jumped swiftly to that assumption. It could have been anything. Maybe a novice practicing archery or an inexperienced hunter," Veassen suggested, although he sounded doubtful.

"How many hunters do you know who kill with poison arrows?" Linwë scorned.

"None, but why would anyone wish to harm a member of the Royal Family?" the smaller boy argued. "Don't be so suspicious. That goes for you too, Thranduil. It was a stray arrow. There has to be an explanation for the poison. There has to be."

Sharing a silent look with Linwë, the Crown Prince turned away and cast his gaze out of the window. "Think that if you will, but I know what my thoughts are."

"Tell us..."

"No."

"You think you could be next," Linwë murmured.

Thranduil's eyes flickered at the words but he gave them no verbal response, knowing that his silence would be reply enough. Somebody had lain in wait for his cousin to pass through a specific part of the forest, hidden so well by the trees that even a contingent of trained warriors had been blind and deaf to their presence. They had taken the time and effort to put together a complicated mix of herbs to form debilitating venom strong enough to trick the infallible Elven healing ability into believing itself useless. They had chosen their target with precision, care and accuracy, and they had delivered an unreadable warning stained in blood to the Royal Family of Greenwood the Great. It was a summer's day, but the sky outside was suddenly black.

Any feedback would be very much appreciated, whether you like the story or think I could do better or anything. I will be updating every week, so see you next Sunday. Thank you for reading.

Misto