I own nothing from JRR Tolkein. This is his world and I am only playing in it.

"Vanya sulie, mellon nin," the King of Gondor grasped the Prince of Mirkwood's forearm warrior-fashion as the elf dipped his head in respect.

"I hope to see you soon, Estel," Legolas spoke softly in reflection; he smiled as he soon realized he couldn't recognize his best friend what with his crown and all. He was no longer a mere ranger and no longer the boy that he used to roam with causing mischief and chaos with Elrond's twins. The four of them were a force to be reckoned with...but as with the territory of growing up, things were forever changed. Aragorn was a King and a new husband, and Legolas would resume his duties in Mirkwood with both being the crowned prince and rearing his motherless princeling.

"We will, mellon. I promise. Send King Thranduil and Prince Amitiel my reguards." They unclasped their warrior style grasp only then to pull one another in a brotherly embrace. Sharing in one last smile, Legolas bowed as he then turned on his heel and left Gondor's great throne room and headed to the stables. It would be well over a week's ride on Arod to his father's woodland realm. His beloved Celdanine, he hadn't had time to grieve for her yet, it hadn't occurred to him that she was truly gone. Almost grateful that it hadn't was he, because he knew that he should have faded in grief leaving his son orphaned. It had been a long thirteen months away, twelve of those months Amitiel was abandoned. Although Greenleaf was saddened to say farewell to the Fellowship and most of all his best friend, Estel, no one was more eager to go home to see his offspring. Besides Estel, no one in the Fellowship had known that Legolas was a Prince, lost his beloved wife, and fathered a rambunctious youngling.

As Legolas finished checking Arod's tack and mounted, Faramir came in,

"Just wanted to wish you a safe journey, Legolas. I brought you some extra provisions for your trip." Legolas graciously accepted the warm baked loaf of bread, dozen apples, and quarter pound of cheese as he placed them gently in his saddle bag.

"Thank you for your kindness," the elven prince spoke.

"Safe travel," he inspirited.

"I wish you every happiness with Eowyn." Faramir grinned as he blushed at the comment but nodded a thanks. With that, Legolas gave Arod a little encouragement as he squeezed the animal's ribcage with his inner knees as he trotted out of the stable and once out of the city began to canter West. The elf would have rather have marched into blurred and mindless battle once more than deal with the silence of impending grief he was to feel with the absence of his wife. The sun came up over the ridge at Gondor and warmed his back in a comforting sense, it almost felt as if Celdanine was there with him wrapping her arms around his waste holding on from falling off the horse.

"Melleth nin," he whispered sadly. He violently shook his head as he snapped back to the thundering sound of Arod's hooves and the blasting wind in his face.

(Back in Mirkwood)

The sun's rays streamed through the royal chambers of Mirkwood's fortress as it soon reached the princeling's bed. However the bed was absent of the princeling and was perfectly made. Since his mother's death, Amitiel had sworn off sleeping because that's when the nightmares always found him. Consistently watching his mother get mangled mercilessly by orcs was a reoccurring one. Only did his grandfather know that the elfling had witnessed this violence when he and his mother were taking the air together on that day.

(FLASHBACK)

Amitiel had made it clear he didn't want the guardians following him and his mother, so it was solely them alone. How stupid it all seemed now, that one small action could have saved his mother. How odd was it too that orcs had come without warning into Mirkwood, they hadn't been spotted in the realm for over a century. They had come in a swarm of over fifty, far too many for a youngling and a princess that garnered only a long bladed knife to fight. Amitiel fought hard and felled over fifteen of the orcs with his dual swords that Legolas had given him, but this mattered little in the end. A quite larger orc with leathery skin and eyebrow piercings with a battle scar that went through his forehead through his eye and down his cheek causing that eye to be blind, went behind the princeling and made the motion attempting to stab him through his back. Celdanine had seen this and without a second thought blocked the intended attack on her son with her own body. Amitiel let out a blood curdling scream as he saw his Nana skewered. She floated to the ground as her elfling slid down to the ground next to her and took her hand. Her blood acted like a fountain as it spat everywhere, tears sprung to the elfling's eyes. She would not allow herself to fade until she knew her son was safe, in her last burst of strength she violently kicked her son as he miraculously sprawled through the only clearing that freed him from the encircling band of orcs. He landed on the grass six feet away from the faction of orcs and froze in fear as he stumbled to stand but his legs were so wobbly. His ears pricked as he heard his mother whisper weakly,

"Run ion nin! RUN!" Regrettably he turned to look at his mother one last time, as he watched the orcs finish her...immediately she faded. Knowing it was his mother to give him strength, he felt his legs out from under him with a mind of their own begin to sprint away, leaping over upturned roots and dodging branches. He ran so fast that the smallest of branches he charged through whipped him with such a force to lacerate his cheek. With highly attuned ears, he heard the pack of miserable orcs giving chase to him but this only urged him to run faster. The wind whistled and bit at his ears and eyes as he felt tears falling and flying backwards behind him. Soon he saw the entrance to the fortress which only prompted him to give one last surge of energy as he bolted like a stallion. He saw the faces of the guards as they ran to him seeing him in such distress. His lungs and heart burned like the fires of Mordor, he could barely get his words out but he managed to bite down on his raging fumes of emotion,

"Orcs...attacked my...mother...she faded." All the entrance guards except one stayed followed the signs of orc as they gave chase to flush them out. The one guard that stayed with the princeling held the his gaze with saddened eyes for him as he attempting to put his hand on Amitiel's shoulder.

Truly enraged, Amitiel shoved the guard in angst as he ran like fury into Thranduil's throne room, he tossed the door open with such strength that it slammed into the stone wall with a vibration that echoed throughout the fortress. With a disapproving look, Thranduil watched the elfling come in with such an exasperated bearing with sobs racking at him. He was a tirade, ornate tables and chairs were thrown and demolished into kindling, candelabra's were shoved to the ground as wax spilled everywhere on the ground including on the elfling as it burned his flesh. He screamed bloody murder as it echoed angrily in the throne room. The guards and maidens paused their work as they simply watched this horror unfold. Thranduil stood up not yet understanding the severity of the situation,

"Calm your fury, elfling!" This made Amitiel that much more furious; to prove it, he grabbed his opal and silver circlet of a crown from his head and threw it across the floor in such a violent way that it slide across with such speed that it met the wall in the kiss of death as it shattered into oblivion. Purely shocked, the Elvenking began the descent down from his high throne towards his son's seething elfling. Amitiel still out of breath finally collapsed onto the cold ground with a slam as he ruthlessly began to pound the stone with his fist until he arm was restrained by Thranduil who cupped the elfling's chin as he demanded Amitiel's eyes. Thranduil saw nothing but absolute pain and suffering in this child's azure eyes but the cause of such he knew not. He kneeled on the ground as Amitiel fell helplessly as he buried his head in the king's robes as racking sobs caught him breathless. Thranduil gathered the elfling in his arms as he smoothed out the child's mess of golden hair. About to gently ask what caused the elfling so much pain, Thranduil's mouth opened only to be shut as the guard who had lead the pursuit of the orcs explained in a whisper of all that had occurred. Thranduil was absolutely speechless and only held the trembling and sobbing elfling tighter to his chest. Nothing could rectify the situation and he knew this only too well. He kissed the elfling as he whispered comforting words in Sindarin, but this healing would take many moons. The Elvenking whispered back to the guard to regrettably send word to Legolas who had just left Imladris on his quest with the Fellowship. He whispered as softly as he could but he knew the elfling heard as his ears perked at the mention of this which only made the fit worse. Thranduil lowered his head as he returned to speaking to his grandchild in Sindarin as he continued to gently stroke his hair. The pain that the King felt was palpable, but Amitiel's grief was immeasurable. It became worse when he realized that not only was his son's child's sobbing uncontrolled, the agony rendered him to begin to fade before his very eyes. Thranduil worked quickly as he placed Amitiel's forehead on his own and whispered,

"Stay grounded, do not leave. I will not allow you to, I need you still. Your Adar needs you. You are not leaving, I demand it." Closing his eyes, Thranduil concentrated as he transferred a large portion of his energy into the elfling. When the exchange was over, the King glimpsed at the elfling who was solid once more but with eyes closed as last tears streamed from them, but he was asleep. Thranduil placed his slender hand on his face as he too began to cry, the weight of the crown became too much as he gently removed it and placed it on the ground. He ran his fingers through his hair as he then cradled the sleeping and deeply tortured elfling. When Thranduil had given some of his energy, he had the ability to see what Amitiel had seen and experienced, no one else knew how grotesque the scene actually was. It deeply hurt him that his only daughter-in-law, whom he considered a true daughter, was slain in such savagery and that his grandchild's youthful innocence was defiled in such an equal amount of savagery. Devastated he too was that his son suffered the same fate he had, loosing his one mate so soon in life and now having to raise a motherless child.

(BACK IN MIRKWOOD)

It had been a whole year since his mother's passing, and although Amitiel faired far better this day than that hellish day a year ago, he was healing slowly. He refused to wear a circlet crown, refused to adorn any braids as he couldn't care any less, refused to play as he once did although he still greatly relied on his best friend Uriel, refused sleep and many meals, and hadn't gone to his mother's remembrance funeral. There was no body to give back to nature, the most common act of any Elven funeral. At times he had wished he had faded that day, to see his mother once again, but then he remembered his grandfather's words.

After another night vacant of sleep, the elfling closed his book as he stood up from his velvet chaise, and got dressed in normal fashion. He stared at himself in the mirror, his collarbone protruded more visually and his cheeks were fairly hallowed and contoured. He had lost some weight, but what truly disturbed him was that he appeared as a shadow of his former self. Still seeing the light in himself, but only slightly as it on a daily basis waxed and waned depending how he was feeling. The scar from the branch that sliced his cheek was still visible, he had the option of ridding it from his face but chose instead to keep it as a reminder.

Leaving the mirror he grabbed his quiver of arrows and longbow and hurried out of his chambers passing by his nurse maiden Yrren,

"My Princeling, let me brush out your hair before you..." he pretended not to hear as he buckled his quiver around his torso and instead scampered down the corridor and began descending the stairs four at a time as he dodged many attending nurses, maids and guards who had known the mere princeling since his birth. He made his way to the dining hall, knowing his King would already be awake to greet him. As he entered the grand room with the luxurious wooden table and monstrous fireplace with a opulent oak mantle, Thranduil looked up from his tea and smiled at the child,

"Up early again? What does the fine Princeling have planned for today?"

"Target practice with Uriel. Any word from Adar?" Every morning the Elvenking dreaded this ritual with every fiber of his being, there had been no word from Legolas since Rivendell. No word about the war in general, it was unknown whether or not it was still happening or if they had lost or won. Thranduil bit his lip as he shook his head as it rendered the poor elfling another fracture on his heart that was visible to the Elvenking. Unbeknownst to his grandfather, Amitiel had for some reason a good feeling about asking that question today, and if the answer was no than he decided to believe his father to be dead. After more than a year and no word, it was impossible to keep hope so for Amitiel there wasn't any and chilling enough he accepted this.

Only a scarce few knew, but Amitiel's Adar had the elven gift of connection. He had the power to visit his son in his dreams, and generally expel a comforting sensation to his son whether asleep or not. This connection had been severed for a year, and Amitiel interpreted it that Legolas was either dead or simply didn't try anymore. More than anything, Amitiel had hoped that a few days after his Nana's death, Legolas after receiving word would either had came home immediately or had visited him in his dreams or just had done something to comfort him. But nothing ever came, and never had the young princeling needed his Adar more in the past year when he of course was absent.

Thranduil was just as worried about the silence from his son as Amitiel. Although it could be expected that word would be nonexistent, Amitiel had expressed to him about the abandoned connection that at one time or another was so strong. The one truth that Thranduil had kept from his grandson was that no one except obviously Estel and Elrond had known about his true identity. He left for the Fellowship with almost no one knowing he was crowned prince of Mirkwood. If dead from battle, he might not had been recognized as anyone special and this could be the cause of the dead air. He looked up into his grandson's eyes, they were no longer that immaculate azure color that mimicked Legolas', they had become quite cloudy and gray that could be fiery with emotion at any moment. Wanting so badly but not able to help his grandson, Thranduil too was beginning to loose hope that he would ever see that rambunctious and carefree elfling again. That once so lively part of him faded that day when he was cradled in the King's arms.

Amitiel winced a forced smile at Thranduil, "Well, I'd better go find Uriel and..."

"Not without breakfast, I won't argue. Come and sit." Thranduil interrupted nonchalantly as he returned to his tea. Rolling his eyes, Amitiel sat at arm's length from his jailer yet greatest support in past months. He reached for two apples, a slice of lembas bread and some tea as he and his grandfather ate in companionable silence for a good long while.

Without warning, one of Thranduil's servants came in the hall as he bowed before the king and the young princeling,

"My Lord, my Princeling, I apologize for the disturbance, but some of the Mirkwood warriors have come back from Gondor and are waiting in the throne room-" Amitiel didn't wait for the servant to finish but rather bolted from his seat and sprinted down the corridor towards the throne room praying in his head so desperately to find his father. Perhaps there was yet still hope.

"Amitiel! Wait!" Thranduil called out exasperated and fearful of the disappointment his grandson would find. Thranduil whipped his head towards the servant giving a murderous look and imagined strangling him until he turned blue and purple. The servant only now realizing his error began fervently apologizing, but Thranduil would hear none of it as he strutted after the Princeling in the throne room.

"Adar!" The single word echoed brokenly throughout the fortress and was enough for Thranduil to almost fall to his knees. He held on to his chest as he had to ease himself on a wall for balance; he couldn't stand his grandson to experience yet another heartbreak.

Amitiel observed everyone of the two hundred warriors that had come back as they all bowed to him as he walked in through the doorway. Throngs of family flooded in as Amitiel witnessed many elflings being embraced by their Adars and many wives and mothers too. Oddly enough all two hundred had come back, but equipped with the Prince that made two hundred and one. Of course, Legolas was the only one absent. The princeling swallowed hard as he looked up to one of the guards who was a friend of his father's,

"Where is he?" He almost demanded this. The warrior looked sadly down on the elfling,

"We traveled with him to Rivendell, then he left with the fellowship. We haven't laid eyes on him since then, Princeling." Amitiel gripped his bow as he left the throne room soundlessly and went out the back from the cellar towards the target range,

"I've had enough." He muttered as the sun practically blinded him. Inhaling deeply, Amitiel took in the familiar scents of pine, balsam, the baking of Lembas bread, and river water. He heard birds chirping and far away elk that were rutting with a continuous sound of antlers clacking against one another.

Walking down the pathway his came upon the targeting range and found a familiar face sitting patiently with his bow,

"Mellon nin!" Uriel called out to his best friend. An authentic smile played on the Princeling's lips at the greeting,

"Mae govannan," Amitiel approached as he grasped Uriel's arm in the warrior style, "let's begin."

It had been a great distraction for the Princeling as Uriel had asked that his friend help him practice with shooting the past few months. The skills of Legolas and his offspring with the bow were legendary and unparallel. In fact, the only competition in shooting that Amitiel could find was when he and his father would gamble a few coins when they went at it. The trials had many different settings of difficulties and skill sets like distance, accuracy, moving targets, shooting while at a canter mounted on a horse and even blindfolded.

"Pull it back like I showed you and let it fly," Amitiel ordered as Uriel took the bow as he notched an arrow and closed one eye as he let it loose as it pathetically missed the target by a good ten feet.

"No, hold the position and let me show you." Uriel notched another arrow as he appeared to shoot but held on to the tail of the arrow to show his friend.

"Keep both eyes open, lower your arm so that it runs aligned to your arrow, pull the tail of the arrow to your cheek. But most of all mellon nin, relax. When you tense up, the arrow doesn't trust it's master. Command it, be confident." Uriel followed the directions flawlessly as he took a deep breath and released the arrow as it glided swiftly in the air and plummeted into the target perfectly with a satisfying "fwop" of noise. Not able to contain his happiness, Uriel released a gasp of surprise as he smiled uncontrollably. Amitiel grinned at his friend,

"A superb shot."