Estranged Blood

by ElnaKernor

It is a secret, but Thranduil and his wife Aeweryn didn't have one son, but quintuplets. The only thing being that four never lived in their elven bodies. They came to life in a distant future, as mortals. Until the day, mere weeks before Aragorn brings Gollum to Mirkwood, when Legolas is taken by orcs, and the impossible happens. Legolas, Will, Brian, Balian and Paris in the quest

4. Elves and mortals

Legolas becoming an orc?! No, Shadoish, it's not something so terrible, don't worry... Wel, do worry a little, though. I do things for a reason, after all (usually a bad one. For the characters, I mean)

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Chapter IV: Elves and Mortals

TA 3017, November

Greenwood the Great

Legolas' camp

One of the elven guards on the look-out glanced back at the sleeping people behind him.

The other guards were sleeping with their eyes open, nothing out of the ordinary. He just hoped none of the mortals would wake up in the night, believe them dead, and scream. It wouldn't be the first time such a thing happened, truly. If only he had thought to tell them beforehand...

Then there was the Elvenprince.

The guard was obviously worried about the prince. Even if Legolas had been able to restore his glow just by focusing, the elf was worried. Surely the prince wasn't turning into an orc? No, he didn't think that was it. It had felt more like... like magic.

But there was magic, and magic. There was elven magic, and magic. This was not elven magic.

Elven magic was what the Elvenking used to mask his wounds. Elven magic was what the smiths used to make their blades gleam blue when orcs were near. Elven magic could be used by every single elf that lived, as long as they had been taught how to, of course.

Magic was what the Ainur could use. It was what their closest descendants, such as Elrond, could use to an extent. It was what witches and wizards could use, because they were born with it for some obscure reason. Galadriel as well as the Witch King of Angmar had such magic.

Legolas Thranduilion wasn't supposed to be able to do magic. He never had, and he didn't have a peculiar ancestry to explain why he would be able to. There was no reason for him to be able to use such magic.

And still, the prince could now stop his glow at will. Was it all that he could do?

Was it truly what he could do? Wasn't it someone else's magic, that had infected him, perhaps? What if this sparkle of power could act as a tracker of sort, for the one to whom belonged this power? There had been this morgul-crafted dagger, after all...

The guard shook his head. There was no point worrying about it now. They couldn't do a thing here, not even check on the Elvenprince's health.

But there was also the matter of the mortals. Some were odder than other, and speaking of magic, the elf suspected they might be able to use some, even if they weren't all conscious of it. If the Turner man was to be believed, there were at least three Maiar's descendants amongst them, one of which was also of Manwë's blood.

The elven guard turned a bit, to look at the man who puzzled him so much. One glance was enough, and the elf looked away. He shuddered.

William Turner wasn't sleeping. He was lying there, on the ground, but his eyes were open, and he was staring at nothing in particular, and he wasn't sleeping.

Orodir's party

The sun rose for a new day, and upon Cassandra's face. But the princess didn't wake up.

"What's with her?"

"I frankly don't know. It seems to me that she's having a nightmare. Maybe we should try to wake her up?"

Elizabeth bent over the young woman, and shook her gently. They had to depart, if they wanted to get to the Elvenking's Halls before too long, but unlike the others, the trojan princess had kept on sleeping. Considering that she had but lately seen her city on fire, Orodir had agreed to let her rest a bit more while they got themselves ready.

At last, Cassandra stopped trashing, and opened her eyes. She felt terrible, always more terrified by the power to the South-East. All of her nightmares had somehow featured the great red eye, that would look through her each time, but that would always come closer to seeing her, even if it was not searching for her specifically.

Her breathing was heavy, and the fear must have been visible in her eyes, for Elizabeth Swann asked if something was wrong.

She kept her impressions to herself, and they started moving, slowly. The elves, as well as Elizabeth, Odysseus and Sibylla, had taken a look at Norrington's wound, and they had all agreed that making him walk would be the same as making him walk to an early grave. Despite the man's protests, they had made a makeshift stretcher, that the ithacan king and one elf would take to the nearest settlement, while the others would follow and keep an eye open in case they were to be attacked once again.

Elizabeth walked next to James' stretcher, who from time to time, would try to convince her that he in fact could walk on his own. The Pirate King and the elf that was carrying the back of the stretcher would share a doubtful look, and ignore him.

As his efforts were seemingly for nothing, Norrington relented after a time.

"So, you wed Turner."

It was more of a statement than a question.

"It would seem so, yes. Even if I can't say I have already done so, for Will is ahead in time. But, James, I am certain you remember it was already to be the case one year ago, even if that dwarf-sized Beckett has ruined my wedding by trying to accuse the both, no, the three of us, of treason."

James grumbled something about the dratted employee of the East Indian Company. Elizabeth stiffled a laugh.

"Hey, you are the one who went over to his side, then came back to your senses and saved my life. I'm sure you know him better than I do."

The man pretended that his wound hurt.

He didn't want to speak about his time at Beckett's service. He had been trying to get his life back, but all he had gained was to see dozens of innocents be hung alongside pirates. And he hadn't even been back in the Navy, but a mere mercenary for the obnoxious lord.

Not exactly what he had hoped for.

He noticed the concerned look on Elizabeth's face.

Well, it was true that his wound hurt.

"Don't look like that, Miss Swann. I have yet to die."

The woman's answer was but a whisper.

"I truly thought you did."

Just before them, carrying the front of the stretcher, Odysseus listened to all that was said, even if he couldn't understand what it meant. He was an incredibly clever man, and already he had picked two or three words in the various languages that were spoken by the elves and mortals.

Unlike others heroes of the Antiquity, the ithacan king had learned on his own to use his greater blood to its utmost. Sure, he hadn't been able to learn anything about magic, because that was one thing one couldn't master without help. But he wasn't relying only on his greater strength and thoughness.

Without even meaning it, he had made use of his great ancestry all his life. Perhaps his cunning and his wisdom came from his illustrious ancestors. Nevertheless, he had chosen to accept and utilize them; not all the children of the gods could claim to have listened to their natural qualities. Achilles, for example, had hardly made good use of his superiority...

Odysseus was exceptionnal in more than one way.

And in this time, it would help him greatly. No one would learn to speak the others' tongues as quickly as he would, let alone faster, in the memories of the Third Age.

Behind them, Orodir and a guard were talking in sindarin, so that the mortals wouldn't understand them. They were worried, and, don't get them wrong, not by the strangers, but for them.

For the trojan princess and the injured man more than for the others.

"I don't know, captain, but the young one seems to be rather pale. The man is gravely injured, but it should be alright. What concerns me is that mortal woman, truly. She doesn't seem to be weak, and she doesn't stagger, but she looks positively frightened. And it's getting worse by the hour."

Orodir didn't answer right away, prefering to observe the princess for a time before saying anything.

After a good ten minutes of observation, the elven captain had to admit that the ellon had been right. The young woman could walk on her own, and didn't seem to be having a hard time at it, but she was slightly shivering. She walked with her eyes down to the earth, and was startled by the least of sounds. She kept away from everyone, but still she walked in the middle of their group, as if to hide herself.

It was only after those ten minutes that Orodir finally noticed something odd, that worried him deeply. They had just turned a bit more to the North.

His throat felt dry.

"I fear there is nothing we can do to reassure her."

The guard frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"We were walking with the South-East in our back, so it was hard to notice, but if you look attentively, now that we have turned, her head is not only down, but also slightly to the left. I don't know how, nor why, but it is Mordor that she fears. She is right to, assuredly, but she shouldn't even know of it, as she only arrived from a distant future."

After that, they said nothing else.

Halls of Thranduil – The Elvenking's palace – The cave

The Elvenking tried once again to get something, anything, to appear on the troubled water of the basin, but try as he might, nothing was happening.

Legolas had been taken by orcs the day before, and there hadn't been any other news since then. He had tried to see something in the basin, something about his son, something about his sons, but no matter how many time he tried, the water stayed troubled, and nothing else. There was no telling what had happened to Legolas after the capture, and the fact that he couldn't even check on his other sons, when they at least should be safe, made him think that it wasn't the case.

When the midwife of his children had come to him, not long after the news of the ill-fated encounter with orcs, wags and spiders, the elleth had been frantic.

Thranduil had seen why as soon as he had set foot in his secret cave.

It wasn't difficult to guess, really.

Whatever happened to the mortal versions of his sons, happened to their elven bodies. The Elvenking had learned of it with great dismay, the first time Inasthol had been wounded, centuries before. He had also witnessed the carving of Will's heart out of his chest in more than one way. Seeing it in the basin had been dreadful, surely, but it wasn't anything compared to when he had finally acknowledged that the chest of his son was being cut open in front of him by some invisible hands. And well, he had seen it in the basin only after he had been left with a beating heart in his hands, for he could only see blinks of the nearest past with it.

The midwife had been frantic, because not only the Elvenprince had disappeared, but also his unconscious brother Raudamon had started bleeding all of a sudden. Blood had started dripping between his unmoving lips, and, when Thranduil had come into the room, he had found his son with dried blood all over his mouth and his neck.

After that, it had only gone downwards.

Inasthol's chest had been ripped open as if by a gruesome orc. Two of his ribs had broken. And finally, one of the broken bit of bone had literally jumped out of the sleeping elf's body.

Then only the wound had closed on its own. The other bit of bone had been taken out, but more gently, possibly by William himself, a few hours into the night.

After that, there had been a few scratches. Though they weren't grave, Thranduil had grown more and more worried, as Firlach injured lightly his hand, and Hirban got a small cut on his forehead. It wasn't much, true. But now, all of his sons had been injured in the same day. The Elvenking coudn't possibly believe this was all a coincidence, could he?

What had happened?

What. Had. Happened?

This question had been turning and whirling and swaying in his head for hours. What had happened?

And he couldn't go out, and he couldn't go after Legolas, he couldn't go search for him, because he was the king, and the king couldn't disappear when the prince had already done so, and there was neither a queen nor another heir to take over if something happened, be it to them or while they were away. He couldn't leave this room, this cave where lied his greatest secrets, to look for his son, when it was this obvious that his other sons were also in danger, and he could do nothing, but stay there in fear, looking at these lifeless bodies, at this mute basin, at the wretched state of his life. What had happened?

He had sent out scouts, of course, as well as more soldiers who were by now posted in the various settlements of Greenwood, in case more creatures would attack the villages and the city around his Halls. The scouts were to search the forest for Legolas, or the patrol that the Elvenprince had been with. The only guard who was allowed in the cave with the midwife would bring him the reports, but there was simply nothing to be told. Nothing at all. What had happened?

A sob died in Thranduil's throat. He had long forgotten how it was to cry.

Why did it have to happen?

The forest – Legolas' party

Legolas started to really recognize where they were around eleven in the morning. If he wasn't wrong, they wouldn't have to walk much more before they'd get to see the first house of a village.

Greenwood the Great was his father's kingdom, and he knew it almost by heart. Truth to be told, when one couldn't look their father in the eyes without the latter looking depressed, and with nearly two thousands years to busy themselves through, one could only know the place where they lived quite well. So many times, without actually getting out of the kingdom, Legolas had wished so bad to be out of the Halls that he had visited every place in the northern Greenwood.

The Halls were the Elvenking's castle, in a way, and the heart of the kingdom. The royal quarters were often referred to as the the king's palace. But the elves of Greenwood didn't all live in the castle. There was a large city surrounding the Halls, and, in fact, even above the Halls, since the castle was underground. There, the elves lived in houses as well as talans. And in all of the northern part of the forest, there were villages of various sizes. Only the south was inhabited, for Dol Guldor shadowed this part of the forest. Thinking about that hill often made Thranduil cringe, for it had been the capital of his father, long ago, before a great evil had settled there.

The point was, they were back into Greenwood the Great, he had regained his energy, and there wasn't much time left before there would be too many elves around for Legolas to have a discreet conversation with William.

It was almost funny, how all of his lookalikes were walking as far away from the others as possible. It made him a bit sad, for some obscure reason, but it was still quite comical. He guessed that, as Paris and Balian couldn't speak and be understood, it was normal for them to stay by themselves. As for Brian, the man kept to himself, surely, but he was definitely observing all of them under the guise of solitude.

William was the only one, truly, to be really used to supernatural things happening to him. Maybe that was why he wasn't as difficult to approach.

And well, Legolas wanted to know about that broken rib of his that had been gallivanting around his organs when they had left the orcs' lair. He wanted to know many other things too, true, but that was his main concern.

The elf slowed down a bit, to be at Will's side.

The immortal man arched an eyebrow at him. Without realizing it, Legolas mimicked the eyebrow motion. It was something he did quite often too.

Will smirked a bit at their shared mannerism, but there wasn't much mirth in his smirk.

"What is it, your majesty?"

The eyebrow rose higher than the first time.

"'Your majesty'? Truly?"

William shrugged, both eyebrows raised.

"Well, you are a prince, are you not?"

"Who care about those things?"

An elven guard coughed behind them, and Legolas rolled his eyes.

"Alright, some people do care. I don't. We've got the same face, and I'm not going to be called 'your majesty' by someone who looks like me. It is strange enough as it is."

Legolas then spoke more quietly.

"Do your lungs hurt less than yesterday?"

"I removed the broken rib during the night."

"Ah. Wait, how did you do that?"

"The same way that monster hurt me, only, much more carefully."

Legolas looked like he was going to be sick as the memory of the orc opening the man's chest came to his mind. He didn't want to let his imagination wander at how exactely Will had had to act to get the bone out of his body.

"Don't try to imagine. It's utterly disgusting, I can tell you that much. The pain is alright, I'm used to it, but that doesn't mean it gets better to look at with the time. There's usually lot of blood involved, and it's gross to forage my own fl... I'll stop there."

Legolas nodded gratefully, a bit green.

"But didn't the look-outs see you?"

Will smirked again, and this time his smirk was even sadder than usual, with some sort of longing in it, too. As if behind the secret of his discretion lied something he couldn't have.

"Oh, they couldn't even look at me for more than three seconds. I think me not sleeping of the whole night was a bit too creepy for them."

Legolas tensed at that, and turned his head to see his lookalike better.

"You haven't slept?"

Will's smirk disappeared altogether.

"I can't sleep. If I do, I have nightmares. It's not really a problem, for I am not really..."

He looked discreetly but anxiously at the others, then at Legolas.

The captain of the Dutchman couldn't really go telling others what or who he was. The supernatural usually got him into trouble. There, it might not be so much of a problem. After all, they were elves. They were not normal human beings.

Still, he didn't doubt his blond lookalike and the guards were normal elves. They were part of a group of supernatural beings. Him, he could be considered in two different ways: either he was a normal undead being in a group of one such monster, or he was an abnormal human being.

After a silence, he finally decided he needed someone to trust with his secret. Back on the Flying Dutchman, there was his father, and two or three other people who had agreed to work for him as they had been at death's door. He would let them go to their eternal rest as soon as they felt ready for it. But here, in this Age, he was alone. He couldn't confide in Elizabeth without worrying her, he didn't know Anamaria well enough, and Norrington was simply... a direct no.

Legolas seemed to be taking this whole abducted-by-monsters,-drained-of-half-his-blood,-gifted-with-four-mortal-lookalikes-and-their-friends thing rather well. Well, considering the situation. That is, badly, but not too much. The elven prince had seen that he had no heart, could pass through objects, and healed in moments. Yet he was not keeping clear of him, nor had he talked of it to his guards. He was even asking how he felt.

"Listen, I am little more than a ghost with a physical form. I can't be killed because I am already dead. I heal quickly because I always go back to how I was when I died. I can still sleep, but I don't need to. It's the same with eating or drinking, I can go without doing it. I feel like I'm hungry, thirsty or tired, but it's only a memory of before. If I refuse to think about it, it just goes away. I'm a cursed man, whose duty is to ferry the souls of those who died at sea, to the next world. I usually can't walk upon earth more than once every ten years. Once, I looked at the sea for so long I stayed on the deck without moving for two years and a half. It's not a big deal if I don't sleep."

Legolas had to maintain his composure as he listened. He really hoped none of the guards had been eavesdropping, for he didn't know how they would react to that. Himself, he found it hard to believe that the Valar would one day allow such a curse to even exist and not take action to nullify it.

But maybe William had done something to deserve this curse. Maybe it was a curse created by the Valar themselves...

No, he couldn't believe it.

Will was loved by this Elizabeth Swann, and she didn't seem to be one to fall for bad men. The man he was now talking to was several years, maybe decades, older than the William whom the woman would marry, but he was a good, if tortured, man. Legolas didn't believe that the immortal man had become bad at some point in Elizabeth's future, then good once again in Will's past. The idea didn't feel right to him.

To distract himself from the possible circumstances of the man's cursing, Legolas went back to another question that had been on his mind for quite some time already.

"How old are you?"

Will gave him a sidelong glance, but evaded his eyes in the end.

"Twenty-one."

Legolas arched an eyebrow. He wasn't going to be fooled by that.

"And for how long have you been twenty-one years old?"

Will didn't answer right away, and the Elvenprince could tell he was weighing the pros and the cons of a honest answer.

"Seven hundred and seventeen years."

"So that makes you seven hundred thirty-eight years old. You're still younger than me. I'm one thousand eight hundred and ninety years old."

The man smiled ruefully.

"It's been a while since I've met someone older than me."

At that moment, Legolas noticed that he could see the first houses. In fact, several soldiers were coming to them. He told the others to wait here, and ran to them before they'd notice the, well, striking similarities between him and four mortals, hoping that they'd give him four cloaks without asking questions. He didn't want elves to be staring at Balian, Paris, Brian and William, as if they were freaks or something.

It'd be bad enough when they'd get to his father.

He had to answer a few questions before he could go back with the cloaks, but fortunately none pertained to the use of said cloaks. No, he wasn't hurt badly, yes, that was blood, no, he had never said he was unhurt, so it wasn't a lie, no, there hadn't been any casualties, yes, the orcs had been killed, and what do you mean, his father had locked himself in that dratted cave?!

At last he came back, and handed the cloaks to the others.

"If anyone ask, they are badly disfigured by what the orcs did to them. I don't want gossip to get to the Elvenking before we do."

The scout that had stayed with this unit of soldiers had already ran back to the Halls to tell his king that the Elvenprince was back, and mainly well. Of course, Legolas was glad that his clothes kept his new scars invisibles. He surely didn't want anyone to gasp in horror at his misfortune.

Halls of Thranduil

When they at last arrived at the Halls, Thranduil had been told of his son's return, but the Elvenking loathed leaving his other sons, even if as unconscious as ever, alone, with the wounds they had lately suffered. He dragged himself out of his cave nonetheless, and made for the Rooms of Healing, where he was sure his son had been ushered to when his Seneschal had gotten his hands on him.

On the way, a soldier called out to him and informed him of what he knew. There were several mortals that had been rescued from a lair of orcs with the prince, and some of them had been sent ahead of the others, who had remained with the rest of the patrol. The soldier wasn't sure why these four exactly, for it was said they were in a terrible state, so much that the Elvenprince had asked cloaks for them, but on the other hand, it seemed that at least one of those who had stayed behind was in fact not fit for travelling quickly because of his wounds.

Thranduil dismissed the soldier, thanking him for his report, and hoping that he would find one of the elven guards from the patrol on his way, for he was certain those ones would have a better knowledge of the situation.

Several mortals, prisoners of the orcs of Dol Guldur... But why?

He pushed the thought out of his mind. For now, and for once, he'd be Legolas' father, before being the king of Greenwood the Great.

Rooms of Healing

Legolas and the others entered the room without a complain. Once in there, the prince ordered that no one, except the injured, the healers, and his father, was to be allowed inside. Two soldiers went to stand at the doors that opened on the Rooms of Healing, and these doors were shut.

"You can let go of the cloaks, now."

Brian was the first one to get rid of his. Tired, the man went to sit on a bed.

Damn, it had been such a long walk... Breaking the neck of some monsters was alright with him, but that? It had been several years since he had last jogged around. Maybe he'd ought to change that...

The walk in itself had been interesting. For example, he knew he was something like ten thousands years in the past, and that God and angels were real. He hoped that didn't mean he had to say his prayers. He truthfully didn't remember any of these.

He had also learned by eavesdropping that William Turner was in fact a cursed old geezer, and the prince was even older. Apparently, elves not only glowed in the dark, but were also immortals. Or maybe they just had a very long lifespan.

What? It wasn't because the elves didn't feel like eavesdropping on their prince that he wasn't going to. Brian hated being kept in the dark, and there were already too many things that were unclear even to those who actually knew something, amongst whom he wasn't numbered, by the way. He was merely investigating his surroundings.

William sat down too, and didn't say a word.

Paris looked around in awe, at the carving of the room. When he had been told that the King's castle was in fact in a cave, he had been a bit frightened at what he would find himself into. He had imagined something crude, dark, and possibly dank. This was not.

He had carefully looked around as they were being ushered, to his blond lookalike's displeasure, to these rooms, and he could say the Halls were one huge cavern, and that he hadn't seen half of it yet. There were torches on all the walls, as well as a few luminous orange orbs, and before they had turned to the left, he had glimpsed a very large, very high, very long room at the end of the corridor, that was itself very large and long. Far away, so, he believed to have seen great bridges of stone, large columns carved as if they were trees, and platforms where a ray of natural light would fall.

Balian was silent, as usual, looking at the various weapons that they hadn't been asked to submit, surely thanks to Legolas, and that they had for now put to rest against one of the walls.

Paris' bow was a simple one, no doubt he had grabbed the first bow he had found to defend his life. His dagger, however, was of great quality, with three rond sapphires on the handle. William's sword was something he had never seen, so thin he'd have thought it a stiletto if it had been smaller; also, the handle was made of gold. Brian had no other weapons than his two hands, but he had proved they could be deadly enough in close combat. Legolas' knives were long and simply beautiful; as for his bow, Balian was no expert, but it was dark with golden patterns, and didn't seem to be just any bow; after all, its owner was a prince.

The blacksmith looked wistfully at his poor broadsword. He missed the Sword of Ibelin, but he couldn't go around with it without risking to be attacked by a thief. Sure, he could defend himself. Once, in Ibelin, he had had to face three knights that had been sent to murder him, and he had done away with them without a problem. Still, one never knew, and fortune wasn't always there. Moreover, he was just glad that he had been holding a sword when he had ended up in this hole of monsters, because he simply had no reason to hold a sword if not as a blacksmith. Blacksmiths didn't walk around with a sword at their hip, that was all.

Maybe he could make himself a better sword, if he was lucky enough. To live in these lands and times of the Earth, it seemed to him that it was better to be able to fight for one's life. He could fight for that. Only, it was easier with a weapon.

Yes, he'd forge a better sword. Maybe he could even make something that would remind him of the Sword of Ibelin. In memory of his father, and of the life he had lived before the king's death.

Something broke as it hit the floor, and Balian looked up.

When the midwife had come to the Rooms of Healing to see the Elvenprince, she hadn't expected to see that.

Neither had the healer who had just let go of the pot of water he was holding.

"Say, Ilin, am I seeing what I believe I am seeing?"

Even in her astonishement, the elleth managed to make a smart answer.

"If you would tell me what you are seeing, maybe I could respond; but in case that's not what you are seeing, I believe the prince needs to be taken care of. He is just before your eyes. Do your job."

The ellon looked at her disbelievingly, but went nonetheless, occasionally glancing at one of the four mortals who shared the Elvenprince's features.

The midwife looked with wide eyes at the four mortals whom faces she knew so well, and who weren't supposed, first, to be mortals, second, to be here.

That one, with the bloodied face, the short hair, sitting upon a bed. He looked older than his elven counterpart did, not much, a bit, mannishly so of course, older, but there was no mistaking it. It was Raudamon. She had seen his face so many times during the last centuries, she had cleaned his wounds, that had started to appears a few decades before, and she had seen the tattoos on his left shoulder and the right side of his chest. She had been the first one to hold him when he was born, for the love of the Valar!

The one that stood against a wall, it was definitely Hirban. His hair was the color of his mother's but he had been the only one, with Legolas, to get the straight hair of his father. If she were to look at his hand, she knew he would have a cross burned in it. He had sustained several injuries, amongst which she had been sure numbered at least one arrow in the leg. Even if there had been no arrow, when she had seen the wound, she had known. She was a nando, after all.

Then there was the one who stood in the middle of the room, looking at her a bit shyly. Firlach had no particular scars, but the waves in his hair fooled no one. It was his mother's. She found him a bit tan, compared to his elven body, but mortals tanned under the sun. Maybe it was normal. His garb was nothing that she had ever seen, after all, though the pants were obviously elven. She guessed his were perhaps damaged, so he had been given these. Maybe he came from afar, where there was more sun than in Mirkwood. Not a difficult feat to achieve, that.

Finally, the other one sitting on one of the bed, and who had an iron chest next to him. If only for the iron chest, she could tell it was Inasthol. She shudered as she thought about what was likely to be in the chest. The Elvenking had had one pretty similar made when... The scar over the heart, and the small burn on the side on the hand. She was sure she would find them, if she wanted to make sure that these men were truly her king's sons.

But she had no need to check. She knew it.

The midwife slowly left the room, hoping that she would find Thranduil before he entered the Rooms of Healing. If the Elvenking was to see these sons that couldn't be without a warning, she wasn't sure he wouldn't have a heart attack and join his wife in the Halls of Mandos here and now.

"Firlach, Legolas, Inasthol, Raudamon and Hirban. All of them, in the same room, and breathing."

As she whispered these words, hardly able to believe them herself, she caught sight of the Elvenking coming at a hurried pace.

Ilin rushed to get to his side.

When Thranduil noticed her, he feared that something else had happened to his other sons. But as he was himself coming from the cave, the midwife couldn't possibly know something he didn't, could she? Almost reassured, the Elvenking stopped to hear her out.

They were just outside the Rooms of Healing. No one besides the guards were there to listen to what would be told. Ilin sighed, guessing that it could go wrong if someone learned of the four other Elvenprinces... or the fact that those four were currently mortals.

"I believe you saw Legolas? How is he?"

"He seems tired, and it will leave... scars, but he is still in good health."

Thranduil then went for the door, but the elleth stood in his way. He frowned a bit, and one of the guards standing further away, near the doors to the Rooms of Healing, twitched.

The midwife hissed a warning as not to be overheard.

"King Thranduil, I am afraid I shall first tell you something about your sons, before you go and see the prince."

The plural didn't escape the Elvenking's notice.

"Go on, then."

"I don't know how it is possible, my king, but..."

Ilin took a deep breath, still shocked by what she had seen back there, in the Rooms.

"They are there. The five of them. They came back together."

For a second, Thranduil's frame stiffened visibly, but soon the Elvenking was forcing his way to the Rooms of Healing. This time, however, the midwife let him pass, only wondering if she should have insisted for him to listen until the end; she hadn't been able to tell him about their mortality... Then again, it was the ellon's own fault for rushing in. Not that she could blame him. He had spent almost two millenia believing that he would never even talk to any of his four other sons...

The doors to the Rooms opened violently, startling Paris and the healer, who had finished his job and hurried to another patient. He didn't want to be in the way of his king.

Thranduil couldn't believe what he was seeing.

They were all there. They were really all there. Each one of his sons. William, who was so much like him in his grief. Balian and Legolas, who were just like their mother for their calmness, and yet so different from one another. Brian, who usually behaved like he did too, but that when the Elvenking was at his worst. Paris, who was barely more than a child, to tell the truth. They were there.

But... he couldn't tell them. They had their own parents. They wouldn't understand.

Inasthol, Hirban, Raudamon, and Firlach. Not all of them would accept it, if he were to tell them that he was, in reality, their father.

Inasthol was older than the three others, and he had managed to stabilize one relationship with a lost father already; moreover, he was used to unnatural things happening to him. He was the one, with Legolas, who was the most likely to accept the truth. Raudamon, on the other hand, had had a very bad relationship with his father; Thranduil wasn't so sure he would accept a new one to deal with. Hirban wouldn't mind having him as a father, but the Elvenking doubted he would acknowledge that it was possible. And Paris had had too good a relationship with his father, and he had just lost him too.

No, he couldn't tell them.

The king of the Woodland Realm schooled his features as best as he could, letting his worry for Legolas show, but not his feelings towards the four others. Maybe he would talk about it later, when they would know if the brothers would be staying in this era. He certainly wasn't going to burden his sons with a father that they might as well lose the following moring, waking up back in their own timelines. It didn't seem to be likely to happen, but getting his sons back in this Age hadn't seemed likely either, and yet they were here.

Legolas went to stand up, but his father asked him to stay put. And in fact, Thranduil went to sit next to his sons. After all, they were all a family, even if they didn't know that. There was no need for formalities here.

"What happened to you, iôn-nin?"

He spoke in the Common Speech, for his other sons to understand what was going to be said. Or, at least, for Brian and William to understand.

These were keeping silent, looking at the Elvenking with curiosity. Paris in particular was watching this elf, that looked no older than his son, but who was very obviously Legolas' father. The eyes and the hair were telltales. Perhaps elves were immortal?

Legolas told his father what had happened, producing the black dagger, showing the scars from the runes, and finally presenting his four lookalikes.

To keep his mind off Legolas' interrogations about why they looked, well, so much alike, Thranduil took a look at the dagger. Pity he didn't have a Mithrandir, an Elrond or a Galadriel to examinate it. Magic was their thing, not his. Him, he was a simple sinda, who could only do the usual elven magic, that is, glamours, listening to the nature, and the occasional participation in a grand-scale enchantment, with several other elves. Still, there was no mistaking this dagger for a normal one. There definitely was magic in it, and oddly, the presence that came from it reminded him of his sons as a whole.

"Apart from the summons, did the orcs use it for anything else?"

"No, ada. But..."

Legolas winced a bit, not willing to go there yet, but did he really have a choice?

Since he had come back, not once had his father looked at him with those eyes that made him feel as if he was lacking, as if there was something disappointing about him. There had been worry, anxiety, relief and joy in the Elvenking's eyes, but no sadness, no need to look somewhere else than at his son's face.

Legolas had forgotten how it felt, to be looked at like that by his father. In fact, he wasn't even sure his father had even once looked at him like that. He didn't want it to change.

"Don't panick, alright?"

Of course, saying that put Thranduil's mind on alert.

Legolas focused, and his glowing became feinter, causing his father to freeze on the spot. Before the Elvenking could say a word, Legolas let his glow back into shape, just to demonstrate that he was the one controlling it and it was only temporary. He didn't want his father to have a heart attack, after all.

"I don't know if it is because of the dagger, the summoning ceremony, or both, but now I can suppress it. And I hadn't noticed at first, but unlike before, I can see in the night as well as with daylight, now. In a way, it's a bit as if the night had accepted me completely..."

"Don't make it sound like a good thing when we don't know if it is. I suppose the healers won't know anything, and I don't want too many people in the kingdom to know about that, so I won't force you to see them. But you have to promise me that if you go to Imladris once again, you will get Elrond to take a look. I don't want my son to turn into an orc because we thought there was no real danger."

Thranduil was pretty sure that on the other bed, Brian was rolling his eyes at his concern, but he didn't care. After all, Brian was Legolas' brother, even if he didn't know it. Legolas had more than once rolled his eyes at his father when he believed Thranduil couldn't see him.

Legolas sighed, even if the prospect to go to Imladris was a happy one. He hadn't visited the valley more than thrice in the last millenium, each time in his wandering after the Battle of the Five Armies, for the elves were less and less going out of their realms, too busy with keeping these safe from the growing darkness. And the millenium before, his father had deemed him "too young" to travel on his own...

"Yes, ada, I'll go with Aragorn to Imladris if he pass by our kingdom."

"Good. Now, is there anyone else who knows about your... predicament?"

"You make it sound as if I'm ill or something! There are only the elves from the patrol who came back with us. Paris noticed that I wasn't... glowing when we stopped for the night."

The mention of Firlach forced Thranduil to look at his first son. Funny, how he was the youngest of the five despite his being born first.

What was he to do with his sons... that couldn't be sons to him?

The Elvenking cleared his throat, making sure to show his discomfort, if only because he wasn't supposed not to react as four men with Legolas' face had been summoned by orcs at the borders of his land, using his son to accomplish that, on the order of a mysterious person.

"I am sorry that you had to enter this Age by being beaten up by orcs. Time travel is unfortunately not something that has ever happened, from what I know, so I cannot offer you a mean to go back to your respective Ages. But I hope you, and the others who should arrive by tomorrow evening, or the next morning at worst, would accept to stay in my Halls for some time, at least until you decide what to do."

Of course, Thranduil would have liked it very much if he could simply keep them with him until they got old and wrinkled. It was awful enough that three of his sons would age and die. It made him feel for Elrond, who was in the constant fear of his children's choice.

But he couldn't do that without explaining why he wanted to keep them around. And, in fact, he wouldn't be able to, even if he tried. William would just walk out of wherever he was, through bars if need be, and Brian would end up tricking a guard inconscious.

No parents should jail their children in their own house, anyway.

Brian was the one to answer.

"I can't speak for everyone, actually, I can't speak for anyone, because I know none of the others, but I appreciate your offer, if only for me to recover from various... murders attempts, that have been pulled on me lately."

He glanced at the others, while Will continued his translation job with Balian and Paris.

All eventually agreed. It wasn't as if they had much of a choice.

The Elvenkind found that he breathed a bit more freely.

"I will call the healer back. Some of the orcs' weapons are poisoned, and you should sanitize even the scratches. As for you, you should get someone to look at these bruises. You are covered in them, and while I am sure you had them tended to in your time, I doubt you brought your ointments with you in this time."

William suddenly stood up and walked to Brian, looking at the said bruises. They had all noticed the ones on his face and hands, but they hadn't actually had the opportunity to see the rest. As the captain of the Dutchman pulled up the detective's sleeves, they all saw it wasn't only the face and the hands. Paris gasped in horror.

Brian shrugged, moving out of Will's reach.

"What? I told you, various murder attempts."

The two would have started a staring contest, if Thranduil hadn't intervened. In this family, he wasn't the least obstinate, and he knew very well where his sons had gotten that personality trait.

The Elvenking called for a healer to take a look at Brian, as well as at Paris' and Balian's small wounds. The detective tried to argue that he was alright, but since Thranduil had seen his fourth son's latest adventure in the basin, the king of the Woodland Realm wasn't having any of it.

"Someone will fetch you later, and direct you to your rooms. Legolas, I suppose there is no way I can convince you to stay the night here? No? I guessed as much. Come with me to show the captain his room."

Legolas raised an eyebrow at his father's willingness to do that himself, Will raised one at being called by his title when he hadn't talked of that to anyone but Legolas, both exchanged a suspicious raised eyebrow, and Thranduil raised both eyebrows as they did so. Brian, who was watching from the corner of his eye, because there was a terrible-looking healer hovering over him, raised an eyebrow too, wishing he could participate in this battle of the eyebrows instead of being threatened by an elven healer.

Will put back the cloak, with the hood to hide his face.

Leaving Brian to suffer at the hands of one who should normally tend to his wounds, as well as Paris and Balian, Will, Legolas and Thranduil walked out of the Rooms of Healing. It was only after five minutes of walking that Legolas thought it may be the moment to point out the obvious, since his father seemed to be oblivious to it.

"Hum, ada, this is not the right direction to the guest rooms."

The Elvenking was walking before his two sons, so they could only see his back.

"We're not going to the guest rooms."

After that, Thranduil said nothing else.

They walked through the giant cave of the throne, and went beyond it, to the royal quarters. Then, they started going down, and Legolas' heart clenched at the thought that his father could be leading them to one place only.

Dread had invaded his heart when he saw those damned doors that he had never been allowed to pass, and the two guards that stood at the entrance of the cave, but who didn't know either what was inside. The scoldings came back to the Elvenprince's mind, as well as his father's despair each time he had spied him leaving the cave.

His distress must have shown, because William tensed next to him.

For the first time in nineteen centuries, Thranduil dismissed the guards.

Then he turned to his sons.

"Both of you, I think you would like to know why you look so similar, and what is the link between you and the three others that the orcs used to get the captain."

He looked grimly at the doors that were still closed.

"Here lies the answer."

And he pushed the doors open.

The cave beyond them was dark, but they walked in nonetheless. The Elvenking closed the doors back, and numerous luminous orbs lit up to illuminate the underground room.

There was a long silence, as Will and Legolas looked at the four lifeless elves lying on four beds of stone.

Finally Will walked to the stone bed that was the farthest to the right.

He passed his fingers in the messy dark hair without a word. When his hand encountered a pointed hear, he pushed aside the hair for it to be visible. Then he looked up at Thranduil, his face unreadable.

"That's me."

Legolas almost choked on his surprise, and rushed to William's side. Without even looking, the man uncovered the scar on the chest of his elven body, as he did the same thing with his other hand for the body he was currently occupying.

He had put down his iron chest next to the one that had already been there before his coming in the room.

"It is."

Legolas looked back at his father still as lost as before.

Thranduil's voice was shattering, as he let himself fall onto the seat next to the basin.

"These elves, Legolas, are your brothers. Firlach, you, Inasthol, Raudamon and Hirban were all born the same day, but you were the only one to open your eyes. Galadriel gifted me a few drops of the water in her Mirror, and by mixing it with some of our blood, I have been able to see the other lives that my sons have lived so far, in distant futures. I don't know why this happened, nor how, but it happened, and it caused you mother to fade away from this world."

Both William and Legolas were as still as stone as they listened to the tale of their birth.

Thranduil stood up, and went to Brian's body.

"Raudamon was born from a mortal lookalike of your mother, as Brian Epkeen."

He moved on to Paris', and after that Balian's.

"Firlach opened his eyes as Paris of Troy, in the arms of another lookalike of Aeweryn. Hirban was born from a woman who looked like my wife, and who gave him the name Balian, while his title came from his other father, Godefroy lord of Ibelin."

Finally he joined his sons next to the two "Will".

"And you, Inasthol, your mother, a woman who looked tremendously like your other mother, your mother gave you the first name William, while your father gave you his surname, Turner. Strangely enough, it happens that your two first names are somewhat synonymous, as it is for your three other brothers."

Thranduil turned around to look at the basin, or maybe not to look at his sons.

"I have not witnessed your entire lives, but I have seen enough to know a bit about you. I know what happened to your heart, for example, and if you open that chest next to your original body, you will find exactly what you expect to find."

The right corner of the captain's mouth twitched a bit. He looked down at both chests. He had the key to one in his pocket, and the Elvenking handed him the other's. Will opened the iron chests at the same time.

He had to refrain himself from throwing up, as always, when his eyes fell on two hearts that had been cut out of his bodies, and that were beating relentlessly and precisely at the same time.

"What happens to this body of yours, happens to the other. If you take a look at Brian's elven body, you might see some remain of the blood from yesterday, when that orc injured him."

Will closed the chests and handed both keys to the Elvenking.

"You saw all that mattered?"

Thranduil nodded, still unable to look at either of his sons.

Will walked around the bed of stone, and forced the king of the Woodland Realm to look him in the eyes. What he saw must have satisfied him, for he was the one to broke the contact.

"Then you will keep these keys."

"I will."

Legolas joined his father and brother, still deeply perturbed, and looked around, at the original bodies of his brothers.

"Why are you telling only me and William, ada?"

"You are used to magic; you, Legolas, because you've always lived as an elf, and you, Inasthol, because you have been surrounded by curses and sea monsters since you were ten. Balian has almost lost his faith in Ilúvatar after the death of his newborn son and the suicide of his wife. Paris just lost a considerable amount of relatives, amongst whom his mortal father, and he is also the most fragile of you all since the War of Troy. And Brian would have hit his father unconscious with a frying pan if he could have done so without getting in trouble more than once, for the man was worse than I am as a father."

Thranduil saw the look on Legolas' face, and winced.

"Don't think I wasn't aware that I was a terrible father. I simply couldn't help it. Each time I looked at you, I thought of the four unconscious children that remained in this room. And even once I started seeing their lives in this basin, I knew, or rather, I believed, that I would never be able to meet them, and you wouldn't either. It is not that I found you lacking, or unworthy, Legolas, it was simply that behind your back stood four shadows of what should have been, and I was the only one who knew of it."

The prince felt as if the weight in his chest was dissolving, though not entirely. Finally knowing why his father had looked at him like this all those centuries helped, knowing that it wasn't because of a flaw of his helped too, but it didn't change the facts, nor did it change the past. He was still hurt. Legolas wouldn't try to fool himself into thinking it wasn't true.

But maybe now the wound would be able to scar.

William watched the expressions on his brother's face flitter. He looked at the comatose elves that had taken away the Elvenking's attention. And he felt guilty, because he was one of those, even if he wasn't to blame for his own predicament.

They left the cave, and Thranduil called back the guards to stand by the door. He didn't want anyone to wander in there out of curiosity, and see...

Before they reached the guest rooms, the king of the Woodland Realm turned to his third son.

"Please tell the others that you are all to have dinner with me. Even if I can't tell them the truth, I'd like to spend at least a bit of time with my sons, and we have to think up an explanation for your... resemblance. One that, preferably, is not the truth."

There he left them.

Legolas guided William to a room that he knew to be innocupied. On the way, they met Brian, who looked at them suspiciously, as if he knew they hadn't been simply wandering about while the healer was complaining about the state he had gotten himself into. If one of the others were to discover the truth about them being brothers by themselves, it would surely be Brian, Legolas mused.

Then Will seeked out Balian and Paris, knowing well he was the only one present who could address them and be understood. As he had done with Brian, he told them about the dinner.

Finally Legolas went back to his own quarters. He needed to think.

As did William.

Royal private dining room

Brian was the first to get to the dining room, showed around by an elleth who occasionally glanced at him in wonder, and perhaps in suspicion too. It wasn't his fault that he had to keep the hood up!

The elleth left him alone in the private dining room, closing the doors behind her. Even so, he chose to keep his cloak on, for other elves were bound to enter the room while guiding the others. Even if the king's behavior was a bit suspicious, as were the actions of his son and of Turner, the detective knew it was for the better that until they agreed upon a backstory, they kept the number of people knowing about the Legolas Thranduilion human clones to a minimum.

Brian snorted in derision. Listen to him, one hand short of imagining fake allibis!

What was he now? A criminal, or a police officer?

Well... He couldn't really be a police officer in a place were the closest thing to a police organisation were the guards within the army.

Still, Brian Epkeen wasn't good at many things. He was intelligent, but lacked creativity. He was physically suited, but he lacked determination. Being a researcher or becoming an athlete wasn't for him. He could see through people, but had no patience. He would never be a good seller. He liked to protect, but couldn't bear to be ordered around without explanation. The army was not for him.

So in the end, he had become a detective. He liked his work, there was no questioning it. But he could hardly say he liked what he saw while doing it.

Sometimes he felt that if he could fall asleep and keep sleeping for all eternity, it would be for the best. Other times, he was flarring with energy, and a desire to beat all that was wrong in the world to a pulp. Unfortunately he could do neither.

And so he lived without thinking of the next day, because he knew that there was no escaping the horror of the world, and that he wasn't allowed to punch the ones in the wrong. There was nothing to expect from "tomorrow".

It wasn't a glorious way to live, certainly, but it was all he had.

It was all he had had until now.

Now? It was different. He wasn't "home" anymore, and yet he kind of felt "at home" in this strange time, where God was not only believed in, but known to be real, when magic and immortality were a truth of the world. There was something about this time that agreed with him. He didn't know what yet, but he wasn't going to turn down this opportunity to live.

Even if that meant that he was going to encounter more of those monsters, and maybe even suffer by their hands.

Brian's upper lip twitched.

Maybe that was what he needed, a clear fight between good and evil. Oh, sure, there would always be grey people, that lived next to the border between the two sides, or that even walked from one side to the other frequently.

But there would also always be a true "good" and a true "evil". Even if the forest surrounding these landmarks were to change slightly, the landmarks would keep being so.

It came to his mind that in the end, his world was only the future of this one. So maybe the landmarks were still there, in his time, but the people weren't able to see and recognize them for what they were anymore. "God" had become too abstract, and "the Devil" had become nothing more than weaknesses of the mind, in his people's opinion. He wasn't blaming them; he had thought just the same.

It was easy to understand, really. There were no more divine interventions in his time, and if that made the people free to take their fate into their own hands, that also meant the people had forgotten, not who guided their fate, but who had given them the possibility to have a fate. The reason of their existence had been forgotten.

Brian couldn't say if it was a good or a bad thing, and truthfully, he cared not. Not everyone needed the same beliefs, or lack thereof, to feel right as they were.

He felt good in this Third Age, and that was all that really mattered.

He would get himself a blade, and go orc-hunting. His life was worth nothing if he didn't do something useful, and beating the bad guys up was one of the rare things he could do well.

His thinking stopped abruptly, when, wandering in the dining room, his eyes stopped on a long velvet curtain that in fact hid something else.

The detective wasn't exactly a curious man. For the sake of investigation, he had learned to listen and observe, but he could easily refrain from going and taking a look when it wasn't necessary to... or when it was dangerous to. How many people got into trouble, not because they watched, but because they couldn't help but go see what was behind a door, without even considering their current situation? Too many for his liking, and he surely didn't intend to join their number.

But this time, Brian thought the situation warranted some transgressions. He had been thrown in a very distant past, after all, and he had absolutely no idea how to distinguish friends from foes.

Alright, some foes were quite obvious. The I-will-torture-you,-skin-you,-and-eat-you people such as orcs were easy to class. They were also easy to recognize: as Legolas had said, if it looks evil, it usually is. This was even true in his time. Sometimes, people were ugly, but they didn't seem particularly menacing, because they were in fact good people. But when someone came to you with a baseball bat and an odd look on their face, it was safe to assume that you'd better just run away.

But the elves?

They surely didn't look evil. They looked more angelic than demoniac. They had been courteous and helpful to him, so far. But wasn't Lucifer the most handsome of the archangels? Despite his appearance, he had become Satan, the Fallen Angel. Bluebeard was seemingly a proper and perfect noble, but he killed his wives and kept the bodies. And after all, it wasn't as if the elves were of the same species as humans. It wasn't because their appareances were in the whole similar, two legs, two arms, one head, that they weren't naturally different. Men and pigs shared quite a lot of DNA signature, and that didn't stop them from eating each other.

And it was quite obvious, to him, at least, that the Elvenking was hiding something from them mere mortals.

Why had he taken his son and Turner aside, when they had left the Rooms of Healing? Where had they gone, and what had been said? What was it, that hadn't been told to Balian, Paris, and himself?

The suspects in an investigation usually didn't play fair either, and that didn't mean the detective could afford to be rash for all that. But here, it was his safety that was first concerned. Even back on the job, when his health was threatened, it was a side-effect. A fly that had been caught in a storm, but who wasn't in the eye of the storm, unlike the target, who was the primary objective of the criminal.

No, here, if he were to die, it wouldn't be as a side-effect. If the elves weren't truthworthy, he would be the target. It wasn't only about solving a crime that had happened to someone else, it was about preventing his own murder.

This time, Brian deemed that he ought to take a look behind that curtain.

Just in case there was a secret passage there, which would lead him to a secret room where bodies were hung. Or in case someone had tagged "The Elvenking is a murderous bastard. Run away! Quick! Oh no, it's too la..." on the wall with their blood.

No, it wasn't sheer curiosity.

If anything, he'd accept to call it a despairing need to prove his sarcastic personality.

Brian pulled up the curtain.

No sooner his eyes had taken in what was behind that his hand let go of that same curtain, that fell back into place.

The detective stood there, before the drawn curtain, for a good minute, shock written all over his face. Luckily for him, no one came in before he could compose himself.

Although he had thought it a better idea to keep standing as long as the Elvenking would be absent, he went for a chair and sat down. He'd stand when the king would enter, but for now, he had to sit.

This painting behind the curtain...

Brian smiled an odd smile of disbelief.

The Elvenking had been easily recognizable. It wasn't him the problem. Legolas wasn't either, for the elf wasn't the one standing next to his father.

A short laugh escaped Brian's throat.

That elf next to the king...

It was his mother.

Balian's room

The blacksmith sat up on his bed. He had spent most of the afternoon sleeping, and an elf was now pounding at the door. Drapping himself quickly in his cloak, Balian went to open the door.

The ellon looked surprised when he saw the cloaked figure, but he had been warned that it would be the case. Oddly enough, when he had asked if it was true that the guests had been gravely disfigured by the orcs that had kept them prisoners, he hadn't gotten a response. Maybe it was to preserve the men's privacy. Or maybe these men were important figures, for they were to dine with the Elvenking. After all, Orcs didn't usually kee prisoners.

Still, it was a strange sight in the Halls of Thranduil.

"I have been told to guide you to the royal private dining room."

The man nodded, and whispered a thank you that, even to an elf as unaccustomed to the Common Speech as himself, sounded odd. The man surely came from afar, for the ellon had never heard such an accent.

Then, as if to accertain his impression, the man spoke in a tongue he had never heard.

"Attendez un moment, s'il vous plait."

The door closed, and the elf wondered what it could have meant. It had sounded a bit like a request, that he was sure of, but this language... It was odd.

It was a bit as if there was no accentuation. All the sounds had been strangely equal, in length as well as in tone. It wasn't gruff like Khuzdul, sharp like Westron, melodic like Sindarin, strong like Rohirric, or any of the other languages he had heard. That didn't make it plain either. Spoken by that man at least, it was soft, and somewhat careful.

As for Balian, he quickly got himself in order, checking his hair wasn't a complete mess and straigthening his clothes, before putting the cloak on once again. He didn't want to look like nothing at all when called to a dinner with a king that had been so good as to offer them a place to stay in his own castle.

The thought reminded him of the King of Jerusalem and his fair ruling. Nostalgia almost overtook him, but he knew there was nothing that could have healed his king. He was gone, and so was the peaceful land he had ruled.

May this one prosper for long.

He hadn't seen much of the elves, but they seemed to be joyful folks, when nothing was there to ask for them to be serious. They could be quietly dangerous too. Him, he was only able to be quietly dangerous. Being cheerful, he had never known how to do that.

He didn't want those who could to lose their happiness.

Royal private dining room

Paris walked in the dining room to find that Legolas, Brian and Balian were already there. He felt a bit reassured to be again in the company of one person who could somewhat speak his language, thought he felt even better when William Turner finally joined them.

The Elvenking had yet to come, so the trojan prince took a look around the room.

For all it was a private room, it wasn't less of a royal one.

It was spacious, with a light well in the middle of the ceiling that was as large as the round table beneath it. The evening light dimly illuminated the place, and several layers of glass windows cut the room from the outside for reasons of safety, but even so Paris was certain they would be able to see the stars once the night would be here. Several light orbs were also placed in the four corners of the room, as well as in the middle, for the table was in fact a hollow circle.

The young man had had to ascend many stairs before reaching the dining room. Apparently the royal quarters where higher in the hill that contained the Halls, and so closer to the ground. As the light coming down the light well wasn't so strong at this hour of the evening, Paris could make out the shape of trees above them. The upper part of the well was also covered in vines, on which white flowers could be seen, even if they were well into Autumn.

The two sidewalls of the room had been covered with carved wood panels on which the forest life was represented. The double doors Paris had passed to enter used most of the wall that was behind him, and a dark curtain hid the remaining wall.

Soon after William Turner arrived, the Elvenking made his entrance, followed by half a dozen elves who bore the dishes. Those left once their task had been carried out.

Brian rose from his seat, but Thranduil noticed he looked troubled, and a tad suspicious too. It was a rare thing, for the detective to show his discomfort. William and Paris, who had been standing iddly, straightened their posture, one in discomfort at what he knew, the other one out of habit. Balian failed to react, though the king of the Woodland Realm suspected it was more like he had reined in his reactions so well that none was left to be seen. Legolas, finally, looked at his brothers with contained curiosity, surely searching for similarities of personality as well as of features.

The four men removed their cloaks, and once again the similarities of their faces struck.

Legolas and William exchanged a look, that didn't go unnoticed by Brian.

Thranduil offered them to take a seat, accompanying his offer with a similar gesture for the two who couldn't understand him.

The Elvenking sat before the drawn curtain, while Legolas took the seat at his left with reluctance, willing to be closer to his newfound brothers. William went pragmatically to the seat right opposite to his father, so that Balian and Paris could seat next to him. It would be easier to translate. Brian sat next to Paris, as he could at least understand and exchange a bit with the Trojan.

That left a few seats between elves and mortals, for a king's private dining room could be nothing less than able to host a dozen people, and an elf's family was usually large, since the ancestors died only when felled.

As they started eating, Thranduil refrained from looking too eagerly at his assembled children, but did so that it wouldn't become too awkward. Maybe the other children found it strange to eat with a king and yet not with so much formality, but Balian was used to Baudouin IV's good natured meals.

When they finished the dessert, they switched to more serious matters, the most important of which being, obviously, that they couldn't live in the Halls and continue wearing their cloaks on all occasions.

That being said, they still needed an excuse to explain their resemblance.

After a time, Legolas came up with an idea that seemed valid to his father. The others would agree, since they weren't used to the ways of the elves, and believed the two when they said it would have been a plausible explanation, if it wasn't the truth.

"Father, it dates to a while back, so it is not impossible that one of our ancestors, from even before the different clans parted, married a mortal at some point of history. If we go back long enough, we all are of the quendi, and so I am sure we must have some ties with those of the avari. They were the first ones to meet mortals, and it was so long ago, Brian, Paris, William and Balian could be passed off as their descendants."

Thranduil frowned, aware that it was possible that, in fact, several men in the world beside the Dúnedain had elven blood so thin that it had simply no effect on their lifespan.

"It is still a bit far fetched to explain why they look exactly like you."

There, Brian interrupted.

"Don't worry about that, King Thranduil. I, for the matter, have seen many unrelated by blood lookalikes. And those are only amongst the famous people of my time. If we were to look closely, there are many more people who look alike in the world."

Will took a break from his double translating task to snort silently. He remembered having read a magazine once, with pictures of two celebrities that looked so much alike sometimes the spectators got their identities wrong when watching their movies. He had cast the magazine aside as fast as he could, for both looked, not only alike, but exactly like Elizabeth.

Brian continued.

"Most of the time, these people live in completely different areas, and so they never meet. It could work with us, as Paris is more tan than any of us, and my clothing is certainly... exotic enough, I should say. William's sword is different from every kind of weapons you have here. Only Balian could pass for a native of the nearest human settlement, I believe, but he doesn't even speak English, sorry, Westron. We are definitely from stranger lands."

"I guess we could take this explanation. I certainly don't want just any people to know you have been purposely summoned with dark magic by the orcs, they could think you a menace or something. But that still doesn't explain how you all ended up as prisoners with my son."

"As to that, ada, maybe we could say that they have been captured because they looked like me, and the orcs, stupid as they are, thought we had some kind of connection. I am the Elvenprince of Mirkwood, after all. It wouldn't do them bad if they got rid of me."

Thranduil poundered the explanation for a time, and finally decided this was what made the most sense.

The dinner ended with all of them speaking of the arrival of the other people who had been dragged in the summoning. Balian hadn't failed to notice he had been given a room for two, as had William, and so asked if he was meant to share with Sibylla. Thranduil dismissed the question easily; after all, they were a married couple. After that, Paris longed for the company of Helen. As for Brian, his eyes followed the Elvenking with a resolve that he hadn't felt for years.

When elves came to take back the dishes, none of the brothers bothered to put the cloaks back on. Soon, the rumors would start in the Halls, and it wouldn't take more than a few hours to get out and to the town. Thranduil excused himself, leaving the five brothers between themselves, for he had to handle the situation, now that they had agreed on an official explanation.

Slowly, all left the dining room, to go back to their own. All, but Brian, who stayed seated, looking at nothing in particular.

Legolas, worried about this new and yet fully grown brother of his, remained too, and started speaking with him. The elf soon learned to his great shock that he was not only a brother, but an uncle as well. It made him wonder if any of the others had had children too. Paris seemed a bit young for that, but Balian and William were married... Balian had lost his child, though.

The custom called "divorce" greatly unsettled him too. Brian had to explain to him that sometimes, as mortals had so short a life, they made hasty decisions, and that not all loves were fated to remain true. Elves didn't know that problem, so Legolas had difficulties understanding the idea.

Still, he noticed that Brian looked upset with himself, when it came to his own divorce. Maybe his match had been right, but had not lasted anough to become unbreakable? After all, that the elves could understand. The Elvenprince himself had lived it with Tauriel.

But what had caused the separation, the detective did not say.

They spoke of what they did with their lives, of what was the profession of detective, and how because he was a prince, it didn't mean that Legolas was destined to be a king one day.

"Since we are immortal, unless he is killed or choose to leave, my father will stay the Elvenking. It allows me a greater liberty than to mortals princes, even if it does not change the fact that he is reluctant to let me go into danger. He is still my father, after all."

One hour later, they were interrupted by Thranduil, who had come back from his meeting with his Seneschal, and had heard their voices as he walked to his own room.

If it had been any of the brothers besides Brian, Thranduil would have simply been happy to see his two sons getting to know each other. Now, the fact that it was Brian didn't make him any less happy, but it made him suspicious as well.

Brian was a detective, after all, and he had stared at him the whole evening.

"Legolas, you should not stay up too late. With all the blood you've lost yesterday, you should go to bed earlier than usual."

The Elvenprince stared dubiously at his father, but relented. Even if he knew this was not Thranduil's only reason to want him to have some rest, there was no reason for him to argue.

The king of the Woodland Realm watched in silence his second son leave the dining room before turning to his fourth son.

"Is there something you wish to say?"

Thranduil was being cautious when he spoke with his sons. He couldn't bring himself to call then by their surnames or with any sort of honorifics, but he couldn't either call they by their first names. He wasn't supposed to know them, so "Brian" was plainly impossible and "Raudamon" would bring too many questions.

Brian was standing before the velvet curtain.

This was not good, the Elvenking thought, knowing too well what was going to happen next.

"I don't know, King Thranduil. Is there a reason for me to complain?"

And as he said so, the man drew the curtain to the left, revealing the painting.

The Elvenking felt his heart beat faster. This was the painting that had been done for his and Aeweryn's wedding. This was, in fact, the only painting he had of his wife.

Brian, still not looking at Thranduil, asked, as if it was only a small topic:

"Why do you keep this portrait hidden, King Thranduil?"

He hadn't asked about his mother. How could he, anyway? His mother had been a mortal of the twentieth century of the Seventh Age. If Thranduil ignored all about her, maybe he'd better not speak of it. After all, he himself looked like the king's son, and no one knew why. On the other hand, if the Elvenking knew about her resemblance to his wife, and had said nothing, it wasn't likely that he would speak now.

But that was only Brian's belief. He thought so, because he didn't know the real reason behind Thranduil's silence. And if he had known, he wouldn't have had to ask anyway.

Maybe it was for the better, that he hadn't asked. Brian, at least, thought so.

Maybe it was for the worse, because the truth was that Thranduil would have told him, if he had been cornered so.

But Brian wouldn't ask the question that mattered, and so the secret would remain one for a bit longer.

As for knowing what a bit longer represented, it is interesting to wonder about the point of view: is it a mortal's one, or an elven one?

"Because Aeweryn died after having given birth to Legolas. I do not wish to have him reminded of that every time he is to eat here. And I must admit that seeing her smile is still painful for me too."

Thranduil moved to a wooden cabinet, and retrieved from it the bottle of Dorwinion wine that had been taken to the table, but that he had judged too heady for his mortal children. When it came to Brian, though, he wasn't sure this judgment was valid. After all, the man had a very large experience with alcohol, and he knew it.

Serving two glasses, he looked back at his son.

Brian's relationship with his mortal father was far from being good. If lately, the detective had come to resent his father a bit less, there was little chance he would ever be at peace with the memory of the deceased man. There were some things that couldn't be forgotten.

"Hide it again, please. And after that, come speak with me."

Brian drew the curtain back, and came to seat on the chair right to the Elvenking's with a mildly dubious look on his face. He accepted the drink, and was surprised at how strong the wine was. He asked about it, and one thing leading to another, he soon found himself listening to a lesson on the geography of Arda while enjoying a second, and after that, a third glass.

By then, Brian was quite inebriated, and he started talking about himself.

Thranduil wasn't really proud of himself, to get his own son drunk so that the man would open up. But Brian was secretive, and leery. He wouldn't have been frank with him, not unless the Elvenking told him the truth too. And if Thranduil told him that he was his father... It was highly probable that Raudamon would even more not wish to talk to him.

After a while, Thranduil managed to turn the conversation to Ruby and their forgotten marriage. He might have seen much, but he hadn't seen all. Moreover, Brian had always been a silent one.

"I don't know what I could have done. I know, and I knew back then too, that I shouldn't have gone and looked elsewhere. I knew she wouldn't like it, and I knew I shouldn't have anyway. But I still did it, even though I loved her, even though I still love her, because I'm completely broken. And so, I break everything around me. All my friends are dead. My wife is not my wife anymore, even if I'd do anything to save her life. My son despises me."

On that, the detective finished lamely:

"I have absolutely no reason to keep living, and still, I linger around, unwilling to die, unwilling to live, and my sole presence breaks everything around me."

Brian looked up at the Elvenking next to him, and for some winely reason, he found that the look on the elf's face was very fatherly, as anxious as his father had been once or twice, when he had been terribly sick. But Thranduil's face didn't awake any of the other memories, the ones that had made him see his father differently, oh, so differently, that his teenage self had been repulsed. The memories that made him feel like a monster when he remembered his father's good sides, because the good couldn't always balance out the bad. The speeches, and that time. That time more than the speeches. Some people are only idiots who believe in bullshit and do bad things from time to time. His father had gone far beyond that.

The Elvenking stared for a time at his own glass. Eventually, he drank it all.

"You are not the only one who is broken, and as a result breaks everyone around them. After my wife's death, I couldn't bring myself to look at Legolas for two hundreds years. And even until not long ago, I coudn't look at him without showing some of my despair. I believe he thought I despised him, all that time."

Thranduil gave out a forced laugh.

"But I believe I can be mended. In fact, it has already begun. Maybe you too, you can be mended."

Brian smiled ruefully.

"I cannot be mended. I'm irremediably broken. After what my father did..."

And he gulped down the wine that was yet in his glass. Then he tried to stand up and leave, but he staggered. The detective held on the edge of the table, unable to walk.

Thranduil glanced at the bottle of Dorwinion, and was surprised to find it almost empty. If he had noticed how much they had been drinking, he'd have stopped Raudamon long before. Dorwinion wine was much stronger than an average wine. For the man to even be conscious...

The Elvenking stood up to help his son to get to his room. He didn't care about what the elves they would meet on the way would think.

"Come, I'll walk you back."

As he passed the man's arm behing his neck, Brian looked up at him.

"But you already know what he did, don't you?"

Before Thranduil could say anything, too shocked, the detective fell asleep. The elf guided him back to his room and laid him on the bed.

"Lá, iôn-nin. I know."