Happy new year, everyone, and sorry about the wait! I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas/holiday and if you got presents I hope you loved them. Please enjoy.

Aubrey woke early the next morning—perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of the new talan, but the faint, stirring remnants of a heated dream and the uncomfortable, unpleasant slickness against her thighs told her that perhaps Haldir's kiss had fired her up far more than she had realised. She threw back the thick quilt with a huff, letting cool morning light play over her skin. She needed to get laid. It had been far too long.

She rose slowly, languidly, half savouring the lazy morning alone and half finding her way around Orophin's—her—talan for the first time. There truly were plants on every available surface, but as she wandered through the short, well-lit hallways Aubrey grew to appreciate their verdant presence more and more. She felt a bit like a foster mother in an odd way, certainly she felt overly responsible for Orophin's left behind, assorted flora. She thought guiltily back to the last house plant she'd attempted to keep; the 'hardy' succulent had lasted for just a month.

"When do you need watering?" she wondered. She knew that some plants needed watering every day—it had already been weeks since Orophin had left. Had she inadvertently killed some of his beloved charges already? "God," she moaned, sinking to the floor. "I'm a plant murderer. Serial offender."

"My, that does sound grim."

Aubrey shrieked and stumbled backwards on her hands and knees. Standing above her in the doorway, Rúmil doubled over, laughing. "Can't you knock?" she demanded furiously. "I was grieving for lost plants."

"I had thought the talan empty," Rúmil said. "You will forgive me barging in."

"I moved in," Aubrey said succinctly. "What can I do for you?"

Rúmil eyed her for a lengthy moment. She felt weighed by his gaze and remembered not for the first time that Orophin had two brothers and Rúmil had every right to object to her presence in his absent brother's abode. "Then I had best show you where the tank is," he said finally.

"The tank?" she questioned, but Rúmil was already striding past her. He led her confidently through the twisting hallways—the varied plants that grew from pots on the floor and hung from the ceilings made the talan seem somehow far bigger than it was—into a small, humid room at the top of the talan. The room was lit by a small, high window and contained nothing but a large wooden box, perhaps a metre square.

Rúmil lifted the lid of the tank carefully. "Here," he said, gesturing her forward with his free hand.

Aubrey leaned over the dark water. Though she could clearly see the dimensions of the box from its exterior she had sensation of incredible depth looking into the still water. "What is this?"

"This is a water tank that Orophin constructed when he first moved into this talan, some four hundred years ago—it has been well maintained, fear not. Every one of his plants is linked to this tank—there are pipes through the walls, you see, that lead into the pots. Orophin fitted valves in the pipes and engineered them to work with gravity—you need only lift this lever here, for about thirty seconds each morning, and the correct amount of water will be delivered to each plant." Rúmil explained. "I . . . I have been watering them since Orophin—" he stopped and swallowed.

Aubrey laid a hand on his forearm. "This is ingenious," she said simply. "Thank you for showing me; I'm glad I won't kill all of Orophin's plants. And Rúmil . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he left, and that I'm putting Haldir in danger. If I could make it any other way—"

He set the lid back over the tank and took her hand in his. "Do not apologise, lovely Aubrey," he said, firmly, softly. "I know what Orophin did and it horrifies me, he horrifies me. I would have stopped him by any means." She thought he was going to say more, but he instead shook his head in the manner of one shaking off a bad dream. He smiled, broadly if slightly shakily. "I must go."

o0o

The gates of Thranduil's great woodland realm shut behind Orophin with a soft, muted thud that echoed through the cavernous space spread before him. His breath caught in his throat; the outside of the looming gates had been an impressive sight to him, but this place was unlike anything he had ever seen. The roots of the great trees that crowned the hills above him wove through the seemingly limitless cavern to where, hundreds of feet below, a rushing river flooded the cavern's floor. Orophin could feel the vitality of the place surrounding him; the trees clamoured for his attention for, as healthy as they were, they felt the pain and suffering of their brethren so close by, and were horrified by it, as horrified as he was.

Orophin was brought from his musings by the sight of a familiar face by the nearest branching root, which formed an upward-arching path. "Legolas," he called, a small smile touching his careworn face. "Mellon nin!"

The Prince met his smile with an answering expression, though far brighter and less troubled than Orophin's. "I had heard you were coming to us," he said, walking to meet to weary warden of Lórien. "I came to meet you and find out your purpose."

Orophin dipped his head, his mood souring. "I must speak of my purpose to the King before anyone else, my Prince," he said apologetically.

Legolas squeezed his shoulder with easy familiarity. "Peace, friend," he said mildly. "I will take you to my father myself."

They went directly, Orophin stopping only to shed his muddy travelling cloak. He felt a starburst of sensation as soon as he touched a foot to the root-pathway. This tree was old, almost as old as his beloved mallorn at home in Lórien, and it held such memory in it that Orophin nearly sank, overwhelmed, to his knees. There was conflict within this tree, he sensed, this was a life that had watched both the most intense of joy and the greatest depths of sorrow. Reminding himself of the terrible price the elves or Eryn Galen had paid in the war just after his birth, Orophin was not surprised at the tree's great complexity of feeling.

"Are you well, Orophin?" Legolas asked him, turning half around to meet his eyes.

He nodded. "Quite well, thank you."

Legolas's eyes narrowed with a grin. "Are you struck dumb by the awe of my home? I told you, did I not, that it was the equal, if not surpassor, of Caras Galadhon?"

Old pride stirred within him and he could not help by negate the Prince's jibe. "There is not a place in the world the equal of my home, Legolas," he said dryly. "No, I was merely . . . connecting."

"Ah, yes—forgive me, I had forgotten your incredible sensitivity to the world." Sudden excitement dawned in Legolas's eyes and his paces quickened. "Perhaps you can help us! I am sure Alcarnor will have told you of the problems in the southern woods."

"He did not need to," said Orophin, "I felt the devastation myself."

"Truly? All the way from Lothlórien?"

Orophin clenched his left fist beneath the folds of his long tunic. "No. I was—away from Lórien anyway; I encountered Alcarnor's patrol at your borders and sensed the sickness then."

"Why did you leave Lórien?" Legolas wondered.

Because I had no choice. For I was forced from my home by the machinations of an evil creature, a minion of Morgoth himself. Because I betrayed my brother. "Haldir had spoken so often of the grandeur of Eryn Galen that I felt I could delay a visit no longer," he said easily. "I recently travelled to Imladris and I found myself restless on my return; Haldir can do without my services on the marches for a time, so I chose to travel here. I am glad, now, that I did; perhaps I can be of service to you and the King."

Legolas nodded. "Let us hope so."

The root they traversed had met a cluster of others and it was on this broad platform that they came to a standstill. Before them, two guards both armed and armoured bowed to their Prince and unbarred the path, revealing the throne chamber of the woodland realm.

Orophin was fascinated almost despite himself; though the platform hung suspended by roots in the centre of a vast cavern, which itself led off to many others, it gave the impression of both a vast space and an intimate chamber. The throne was magnificent and slightly startling to Orophin, for the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood had no such symbols in their talan. The antlers of a great wood-elk, each one of them taller than he was by half again, crested the throne and the ellon who sat upon it wore a crown of similar design. King Thranduil was tall even for an ellon-taller than Haldir, which was a rare feat. His hair was pale as was common of the Silvan elves, but his bearing and the noble lines of his face were not alike his woodland kin - the King had been a stranger to his people once, as Galadriel and Celeborn had once been foreign to the Galadhrim.

King Thranduil stood languidly. Crimson robes fell smoothly from his shoulders, the same colour as the holly berries that tipped his thorny crown, shining against his pale hair like drops of blood upon snow. He moved in the manner of a somnolent lion, descending the steps of his dais slowly, deliberately. Orophin felt suddenly small, and felt again the nauseating shame he had felt when Haldir had confronted him in the mirror clearing.

"King," he said hastily, and bowed.

Thranduil raised his chin. "Rise, mellon," he said steadily.

Orophin lifted his head and regretted it at once, for with the action he met the King's eyes. They were pale, vivid blue in colour, like the sky on a January morning, and twice as cold. If Elrond was a lord of summer, exuding vitality and comfort, then Thranduil was winter—or perhaps worse, he was autumn, and the promise of winter to come.

"What is it that you would speak to me of?" Thranduil asked.

Orophin shivered and straightened. "Eight months ago, a mortal girl appeared in Lórien," he related.

Thranduil's brow rose. "Appeared?"

"Exactly that; she blundered into the western border and we later discovered that she had awoken upon the plains at the foot of the Misty Mountains. She—she comes from another world. She died there and was brought here."

"This is an impossible tale," the Elvenking said dismissively.

Desperately, Orophin burst out, "She appeared on exactly the same day that the first tree in the Greenwood began to die!"

Thranduil froze. "You suspect a link? Has this . . . mortal caused any mischief within Lórien?"

Grief ached in Orophin's heart and he nodded numbly. "Yes, King Thranduil. My . . . my elder brother, Haldir, has—" he broke off and pressed his knuckle against his chin, breathing deeply before he continued. "Haldir has fallen in love with the mortal," he murmured.

Behind him, Orophin sensed Legolas stiffen. "If you had not just claimed a mortal had travelled between worlds, I would claim that as the most improbable thing I have heard in an age," Thranduil said. "Was anything done to discourage this?"

Orophin shook his head bitterly. "I was the only one who could see this depravity for what it truly was," he snarled. "The others—even my younger brother Rúmil—encouraged them. I tried to encourage the girl to leave; she could have found a life with her own people and been happy; but she would see no sense. I was eventually forced to leave Lórien; I could no longer bear to watch my brother's long death."

"You have my sympathies," Thranduil said. "But you must take comfort from this, Orophin—if we can heal the wood, perhaps we may be able to heal your brother also."

"You think that Haldir could be saved?" Orophin demanded.

The Elvenking was silent for a timeless moment. "If the love is true, then there is no power that can save your brother save for his own will to live. Yet if this mortal is the foul creature responsible for the destruction of my forests, then the love cannot be real; you must have hope that your brother will be restored once this mortal creature has been destroyed."

Numbness spread through Orophin until he could feel it encroaching on his heart, pushing and squeezing in an attempt to finally stop him fighting. He knew in that moment that there was no hope for Haldir; he had felt the strength of his love when the three of them had bonded in Fangorn and, despite Aubrey's questionable origins and motives, he knew Haldir's feelings to be as deep as any love. "As you say, King Thranduil," he forced himself to say.

"I can see that you are troubled. Legolas, escort our guest to his quarters—he will be in the rooms beside yours. Orophin, I must ask you to begin working to heal to forest as soon as you are able. Anything that you need shall be yours, you must only ask." Thranduil strode forwards and his long-fingered hand, each finger ornamented with a ring, touched Orophin's arm. "We are in your debt, good Orophin."

He nodded and followed Legolas without another word. It had taken everything in him to not flinch from Thranduil's touch and he could not work out whether his reticence was because he feared the ancient ellon, or because inherent in his heart, his crimes lay heavily, and despite his cold exterior Thranduil was a good, noble elf, and Orophin feared his judgement.

Legolas stopped him with a rough hand on his chest as soon as they were alone on one of the narrower root-ways, high above the throne room. "You lied to me," he said.

Orophin could not meet his friend's eyes. "Perhaps."

"You told me that you were travelling! Now I learn that you are fleeing from Haldir's—predicament? Or is that a lie as well?"

Orophin pulled roughly away. "I hardly find the concerns of my family yours, Prince," he said coolly.

Legolas recoiled, hurt. "Orophin, what is wrong? You are not yourself."

"My brother is dying," he snapped, whirling about. "He will be gone in the weak breath of a mortal's life, the same mortal who has woven her poison through your own home. I would have thought that a Prince would be more concerned with the welfare of his realm; why do you not seem to care about what she has done?"

Legolas forced Orophin to meet his eyes and the Lórien ellon shrank back a step. He is his father's son, he realised with something approaching awe or fear. There was raw steel in Legolas's eyes, the likes of which he had never seen on all of their previous meetings in Lórien. "I heard you say in the throne room that your brother is in love," he said finally. "I may be alone in my thoughts, but I believe that love of any kind should be celebrated; dark times begin to befall our world and all to soon I fear that love will be a fragile creature, clinging faintly to the memories of a lost world. I would seek to preserve its beauty."

"You cannot preserve love's beauty when the lovers are dead," Orophin said tightly.

"You entered the wood to help Alcarnor fight a violent skirmish. An elleth was lost in a similar fight a week before your arrival, and I know of Celedan's death in your home. Death is becoming a reality of the elves whether we love mortals or not."

Orophin thought back to Legolas's greeting—the Prince had seemed unaware of how he had arrived when they had first spoken. "How did you know about that skirmish, and my joining it?"

"I am a Prince," Legolas snapped. "I am concerned with the welfare of my realm."

Abashed, Orophin looked away. "I am sorry," he said, so softly that his words were almost inaudible.

"I think you are hiding something," Legolas told him bluntly. "I look into your eyes and I see not my friend of these ages, but a hunted ellon. A scared ellon. What have you run from, Orophin?"

Haldir. Myself. "I do not know," he said.

"Perhaps, as you heal the wood, you might heal yourself."

"I hope for it," he said. "But I do not expect it."

No Haldir in this one (sorry!) but you did get Thranduil and Legolas. Please review!