„You've been unconscious again. More than an hour this time."

Wasn't waiting for your death in complete darkness bad enough? What were the Valar thinking, providing Legolas with a much too talkative companion on top of that? "You shouldn't talk. It's wasting air. And from the sound of it, you have too little of it already."

But Estel was right, he had blacked out once more. For the third time since waking up after the battle. By now he'd lost all sense of time. Whenever a clear thought tried to form in his head, possibly about a way to escape this trap after all, it was drowned in fog immediately. His perception fooled him too. His own breathing left a terrible hiss in his ears, especially when the pain tried to squeeze a noise through his vocal cords.

He didn't need Estel's warnings anymore to keep lying on his back. Never before had Legolas felt so weak, not even when he'd been trapped in the disgusting sticky mess of that spider web back then. It felt like an evil spirit had tranquilized his mind, like Elwë in those legends. The rational part of him knew of course that it was only the blood loss. But that part vanished more and more, leaving only the cruel feeling of having no control over his body.

And then the coldness. Legolas had never felt so cold in his life. His skin had gone so numb that he only realized tears forming in his eyes when something tickled his temple. The last minutes, he wanted to spend with nothing but memories of the last days.

"Is it getting worse?" Estel was suddenly kneeling beside him again. This time, he had not even heard him coming.

"Not more than in any other minute of the last few hours. Why?" Was he talking to himself maybe?

"Your breathing faltered. I startled for a moment." The answer was belated, and something about it was strange, but Legolas was too exhausted to get what it was.

"Arwen will be devastated." Estel backed away from him again, sitting back against the wall this time where Legolas was lying, as if trying to prevent even more distance forming between them. "She blamed herself for your dispute. She said that she should know your father too well to blame you. Especially for doing basically what she did in the last few decades. Staying silent sometimes is just easier."

"That does sound like her. It was not her fault but mine though." Legolas had no strength for this stupid fight left and wasn't in the mood for it anymore.

That Estel wasn't half as incompetent as expected, he'd proved in the battle where the man had done a lot better than him. A close combat fighter with qualities, Legolas had seldom seen before even among the elves. And the composure he was facing death with, left no doubt about his character either.

He owed him at least an explanation. It was all he had to offer in return for how kindly the man was looking after Legolas anyway. "She was but an elfling when we first met, and I wasn't more than a teen. Ever since then, whenever we meet, she never fails to remind me to take care of myself. She would probably prefer me to be a she-elf, sitting at home, tailoring dresses. Our friendship was always a constant between our realms."

For a while, Estel said nothing. Legolas was certain actually that he'd dropped the subject.

When he spoke up, he sounded a lot different, without that stubborn determination that also defined his movements. "I didn't choose to give my love to her of all people. It took her a long time to convince me, I'm good enough for her. The guilt of taking something as unique as the Evenstar of Middle-earth with me into the darkness of mortals, will haunt me forever."

"It was her decision. To love means accepting that." When exactly had Legolas started to defend Arwen's relationship with this man? He was too tired to remember.

He couldn't tell how much time was passing, since his mind suddenly couldn't decide if it wanted to be awake or drift into blackness, but suddenly he startled.

Estel had jumped to his feet. "Your horse. That was its neigh." Whatever he wanted to say next was swallowed by the barking of a coughing attack.

"You're hallucinating," Legolas managed to say, with some effort. "It's called a fever."

"I thought you noticed by now that my hearing is not as bad as you think." And whatever it was that Estel was hearing, he seemed to take it serious; his footsteps were moving away. Soon he started knocking against one of the walls in a certain rhythm. Somehow, the echo didn't sound like a hole in the ground, more like massive stone.

It was only a few seconds before someone on the other side responded.

Both the sudden new hope to be rescued and growing suspicion gave Legolas enough energy to raise his voice once more. "Where are we really?"

"I cannot tell. An abandoned Haradrim city maybe. It doesn't matter now." Estel didn't bother justifying his lie; more coughing made it impossible anyway.

He didn't have to say it. A dreadful notion crept up in Legolas, and in spite of his battered condition, he quickly sensed the truth in it. They weren't in a dark room. It was him who couldn't see.

At the too loud noise of a collapsing wall, a violent twitch went through his body which fortunately robbed him of consciousness before he could think about it further.

"Estel … So it was true." While Arwen was usually not overly enthusiastic about acting out her emotions in the presence of her brothers, today she just had to return Estel's relieved embrace when they finally tore down the wall of that half buried cellar.

Elladan and Elrohir fortunately didn't spare them a look; way ahead of Arwen they were already kneeling next to Legolas' lifeless body.

Over there, she couldn't be of any use so she stayed away, though it was crushing her heart, seeing all that blood soaking Legolas' clothes, staining the ground. If Arwen was seeing that right, they had just come in time. Tarisilya deserved some especially thorough words of thanks when they returned.

In these temperatures, Estel wouldn't have hold out much longer either, at least not until someone would have come looking for him. Without a certain premonition, that would have happened much too late.

"How did you find us?" Estel gratefully took the two blankets Thondrar handed to him and wrapped them around himself with chattering teeth, gladly accepting Arwen's help when his badly swollen, hastily bandaged left elbow failed him. That cellar must have been cold enough. The icy night air didn't make it better.

"You can thank the gift a certain young elf to see those close to her in her mind for that. When we found Hëor completely distraught in the woods, we only needed to make him find the place of attack again. From there, it was easy. Men just don't know how to cover their tracks."

"Hey!" Estel's offended protest turned into a choked wheeze, whereupon Arwen uncompromisingly shoved him to the horses.

"Except for you of course, is that better?" She helped him mount his horse that they'd also picked up along the way, while her eyes were still on the hole in the wall. This conflict was far from over, and she didn't like the look on her brothers' faces at all. "How is he doing?"

"I'm not sure. When he fell, the prince hit his head very hard on some rock. His eyes … Something is wrong." There was guilt in Estel's voice.

Arwen put him off, and called herself to order too. Driving themselves crazy before they knew anything for sure wouldn't help anyone. "A fantastic healer happens to be our guest. And ada and my brothers have been practicing medicine for quite a while themselves, you know."

But only when Elladan emerged from the narrow passage and let them now with a short nod that at least the immediate mortal danger was gone, she could really relax. Arwen was glad when Thondrar announced that it was time to leave. That the area around Imladris wasn't safe anymore, had just been shown to them once more.

The shadow was growing.

Tarisilya and Arwen were the only ones continuously sitting by Legolas' side in the next few days. Many offered to take over for a while, but Tarisilya didn't want that. Although she knew Elladan, Elrohir and Lord Elrond to be perfectly capable of conducting the healing without her, her body wouldn't be able to rest. Trying to sleep would be futile.

Which was why she was grateful for Arwen keeping her awake whenever she started to feel exhausted, slumping on the chair that except for the bed and the cabinet with healing supplies, was the only furniture in the sparse room. Which helped a lot focusing on the task at hand. Her friend was always there to comfort her when the fear of that assault's consequences for Legolas' life stole the air from her lungs, and she would never forget that.

The one visitor Tarisilya wanted to see least of all though, Arwen saw too late to get rid of him in time.

Wide awake in a second, Tarisilya jumped up from the edge of the bed. She approached Erestor with her arms tightly crossed, because she couldn't vouch for anything if she didn't. His audacity to actually show up here was the final straw. "Get out!"

"Ilya …" Such wrath had even someone like Erestor ó Imladris back off immediately. He looked like he hadn't slept for days either. Also like he hadn't changed his clothes since their last argument or use a comb. It seemed he'd only been busy sitting around, thinking about what he'd done wrong. Maybe he had actually understood something for once. Fresh bruises covered his arms. Probably another shelf falling victim to one of his fits.

Tarisilya realized, she honestly didn't care. She had never used violence before, but if he uttered one wrong word now, she would get carried away. "I said, get out! Get lost, damnit! You've got no business being here!"

"Would you mind stopping screaming?" But he was talking too loud himself; his pride forbade him to let anyone talk to him like that. "I came to apologize, Ilya."

Arwen came between them before Tarisilya might actually lose control. "Sit down." She led her back to Legolas who had become visibly restless in feverish dreams. "He needs you. I'll take care of this."

Since Tarisilya was not willing to neglect a patient, especially someone she loved, for someone who didn't deserve that, she was quick to agree.

While Arwen was not her father, Elrond's officials had to listen to her orders just as much if she insisted, so Erestor had no choice but to follow her to the door. "Just let it be. The prince would be dead if you had a say in it. You think, an apology can make that go away?"

"I just wanted to …" For the first in half an eternity, Erestor searched for words in vain, looking back at the bed. The frosty rejection on Tarisilya's face made it impossible to remember all those nice sentences he'd prepared.

"Ilya, listen to me …"

"Go, Erestor. I never want to see you again. Just keep away from me." She didn't even look up. Her cheeks were flushed with anger. Her hand on Legolas' chest was trembling.

He had never seen her like this. The fear taking hold of him when he had first seen her, had finally come true. The fear that something would enter her life and drag the incarnation of innocence into darkness, as was the way of all things.

Now it had happened, and it was his own fault.

When Arwen pushed him out of the door, he gave in and closed it behind him. At least no one could say, he hadn't tried.

"Will you tell Legolas?" Arwen finally asked after long minutes of silence. "About that thing with Erestor, I mean. If one day, you two live a normal life together, sooner or later he'll hear it from someone. Maybe it's better to tell him yourself." She stared into the distance for a moment. Bitterness and anxiety about the future had cast a shadow on her formerly so flawless face in the last years.

Tarisilya knew, she was thinking about Estel, about her own love facing just as many obstacles as Tarisilya's relationship with Legolas. As different as Arwen and here were in many regards, in this case, fate was playing a dirty trick on them. Here in Imladris, Tarisilya would always find someone who understood her.

It gave her strength for the fight lying ahead for Legolas and her. Another one, on top of the one threatening all of Middle-earth, like a sword placed upon their heads.

Their lives would be difficult enough, without burdening the one she loved with something not even worth a sad thought anymore. She shook her head vigorously. "There is nothing to tell."

After finding he couldn't stand being in his own damn library right now, Erestor left a note on his desk, saying he wasn't going to be available for a while, well aware of where Elrond would look for him first. Retreating to his chambers just a storey higher, he locked himself in and then set his mind to the task of getting rat-arsed drunk.

Not a vice he often indulged, this afternoon, he treated it as yet another of his assignments, well-planned, intentionally executed, with the only goal to dull his mind for at least while. While getting intoxicated wasn't as easy for elves as for other folks, not only King Thranduil knew how to cultivate a kind of liquid to render anyone's senses useless, once you had enough of it in your blood.

It was a good opportunity to finally put all those bottles to good use that Lord Elrond kept on gifting him with at various occasions.

It took him a day and a half until it was finally quiet in him, and then it was only a matter of keeping that level. Fortunately, that was something he was pretty good at. In fact, Erestor was still very drunk when Glorfindel returned from his flight to the mountains a few days later.

His friend, for once, wasn't intoxicated when he broke into his bedroom and found him with the second to last bottle still held to his lips. The general shared the last one with him, wordlessly. Then he set up a bath for him next door while Erestor drank the last wine, grumbling about warriors who just couldn't mind their own damn business.

Pulling him to his feet, Glorfindel supported him on his way to the bathroom and undressed him, soberly, quickly, ignoring Erestor's weak, uncoordinated attempts to stop him, then helped him sit down in the steaming wooden tub.

By then, Erestor had stopped struggling. He couldn't care less about his duties, reputation or appearance right now but he had always hated to be filthy.

While he let the warmth and an intense scent of healing herbs tranquilize him further, emotionlessly watching the water go from clear to red, he could hear Glorfindel get busy in his bedroom, throwing out parts of utterly ruined furniture, scrubbing alcohol from various surfaces, changing the sheets.

When he came back, he continued the clean-up in Erestor's soul. After helping him get out of the bath on his still unsteady feet, Glorfindel wrapped him in a thick towel and sat him down on the edge of the tub, taking a few minutes to disinfect and bandage two deep cuts Erestor couldn't quite remember suffering. They probably had something to do with that broken mirror his friend had just disposed of though.

Glorfindel still wasn't talking when he finally lifted Erestor's slumped, tired body into his arms and carried him to his bed. He just laid him down, not even bothering to find him clothes, and then started undressing, while Erestor nestled into the fresh covers with a comfortable sigh, deeply, pleasantly buzzed at this point.

Erestor thought, he was pretty much alright with that. It had been a long time, but he hadn't forgotten anything. What they did when the mood struck them wasn't usual for Elfkind, but it was far from forbidden or even frowned upon, and Erestor had never cared less about social conventions in his life.

Being bonded through intimacy could only happen if there was a conscious choice by both parties. And Glorfindel had chosen not to be again, as he had told Erestor when they had first done this.

Erestor was fine with that too. This had never been about love. It was about forgetting. And he had never needed to forget so desperately.

Still he didn't relent right away because he never did. He only turned his head when Glorfindel had shed his cloak and tunic and put away all of his weapons, when he started to unfasten his breeches. They were not even remotely tented. There was no flush on his cheeks, no tremble in his hands. Glorfindel, too, had come here with just another task in mind, and Erestor wasn't sure that was what he wanted tonight.

"I don't need your mercy."

"Which is why you get my anger," Glorfindel answered tonelessly; but he paused, one eyebrow arched.

Erestor thought, he could be fine with that and shrugged, closing his eyes again.

There was indeed plenty of anger, as one proper look at the general had revealed. A nasty slash across his cheek, at least two bruised rips, the grief for another lost warrior soul in his eyes ... So finding and ending those Haradrim had caused losses. Erestor was being wrong: Glorfindel was here to forget just as much, and he knew what they both needed to achieve that.

Erestor let him.

Glorfindel took him apart methodically, as if not a day had gone since they'd last shared this, piece by piece, as skillfully as he was wielding his sword, as mercilessly as he was training his soldiers. Glorfindel used to fuck the way he used to love, to live, to sacrifice. The way he had died. Masterful and – most of the time – without regret.

Climbing onto the bed, falling silent again, he sucked Erestor off first, his hands steadying his hips without much of a caress while he quickly licked and kissed him to hardness. Always determined to take the edge off before a much more satisfying, prolonged second round, he then used the control of every muscle of a warrior to swallow him whole. When he had done that for the first time, a few thousand years back, Erestor had screamed loud enough to wake the dead on the battlefield nearby and come down his throat immediately.

Today, in spite of all the alcohol in his system, he wasn't overwhelmed so quickly, but Glorfindel left him no chance to last for long. He had oil on him already – of course he had, this was what he'd come here for – and next time Erestor bucked up and moaned in pleasure, a slick hand welcomed his ass back on the mattress.

It had been long, but his inherent condition left him indifferent to discomfort, and the stretch was just what he needed right now. He threw his head back and growled, his thighs falling open when two of those long, skilled artist fingers were finally knuckle deep up his ass, drumming his prostate in rhythm with Glorfindel's quick, hard sucking motions like an instrument, and half a minute later he was gone.

As always, Glorfindel finished undressing while Erestor was panting for air, knowing that he hated to be touched right after orgasm – neither of them were here to cuddle.

They didn't kiss either when Glorfindel covered Erestor's body with his own, they never did. Too intimate, too close.

Erestor wasn't gentle when he buried one hand in Glorfindel's glorious hair to hang on to him as his friend started to open him up further. This was not love, it was not even comfort. Erestor just wanted Glorfindel to fuck the memory out of him.

Which was probably the only reason for not putting up a fight for certain roles tonight. Glorfindel didn't care much for seed inside of him but he had a fondness for being filled; and Erestor usually enjoyed painting this ethereal beautiful face with thick stripes of white, after bending Glorfindel over the desk in his office and give his ass the pounding he craved every now and then. But tonight, in here, he wasn't feeling any of that. And not only because he was way too wasted to fuck someone properly.

He started to turn around when Glorfindel pulled back his hand, but the general shot him a look that would make an orc flee from the sight, nailing him into the mattress with one hand on his chest. Sitting up, he hooked his other arm around Erestor's knee, spreading him. Glorfindel was free of flaw, mostly, but he could be terribly vain, and he let no lover pretend him to be someone else. He wanted Erestor to look at him and that was fine too, though the angle wasn't the most satisfying.

Because Glorfindel was beautiful when he finally let go and allowed his own arousal to show, breaching the slick tight ring, a loud groan in the back of his throat, his face a grimace of unaltered lust. It was a sight one could easily get drunk on. He went too slow and gripped Erestor's hips tightly when he tried to bear down, another feral growl on his lips.

Erestor sighed and stilled, granting his lover his own pace. In the end, that was the fastest way to get what he wanted anyway. True, Erestor couldn't say if his body was truly ready if his life depended on it, but Glorfindel was big, not massive, and he always prepared him well. But this pain his friend wasn't ready to give him just to escape, and Erestor respected him enough to accept that.

Letting go helped; it didn't take long before he felt truly and satisfyingly impaled on that throbbing length, and his mind slipped back into the ease of heat and passion. Spreading himself open further, with both hands at the back of his knees, he rolled his hips with a languid moan, a shudder spreading from the bottom of his spine to his heavy sac, his rock hard cock. With Glorfindel keeping still for now, he couldn't get more than a teasing touch of hardness against his already oversensitive prostate out of it, but that was alright. Maybe that position wasn't so bad after all.

This was good. This was what he needed. And thanks to Glorfindel's tormentingly slow pace, it would last. Maybe for a few hours even.

It left a lot less headache and a better taste in the mouth than gallons of wine, too.

Only when Erestor lazily looked at his lover again, a silent plea in his eyes, Glorfindel started to move. Thankfully, now there was no holding back anymore. His lover used him the way Erestor liked it, shaking off his wrath and frustration about another shadow on the world he'd been reborn into, with every brutal thrust. Never one to leave his companion's wellbeing out of sight, he made sure to angle his hips just right every now and then, making Erestor see stars when the blunt head grazed that one perfect spot.

Then he went right back to a leisurely motion coming mostly from his powerful thighs, nearly pulling out all the way repeatedly, only to reclaim his prize, just as slowly, every inch of searing hot flesh drawing a louder moan of pure lust from Erestor's dried lips.

The hand not keeping Glorfindel's broad upper body at distance, to not open the cut across Erestor's chest further, was busy stroking his pebbled, sensitive nipples, occasional twisting too tightly which didn't stimulate Erestor's pain receptors more than an arrow to his shoulder but sent even more bliss straight to his heated groin.

Erestor tried to give back what his lacking coordination after one or two bottles too much allowed, tightening up on the delicious intrusion occasionally, a steady flow of uncontrolled groans and unintelligible encouragements on his lips that he knew his lover to appreciate.

It was dawning and he felt sore by the time Glorfindel finally brought it to a satisfying end for both of them, and the memory finally faded. Thanks to a sweat-covered, trembling body grounding him into the mattress, the well-known and well enough liked scent of their relief in the air, the warm pulse of belonging deep inside of him, the new day finally didn't feel as heavy on him anymore.

It was all Erestor could ask for, and as usual, when he really needed him, Glorfindel had delivered.

After a few more idle minutes, he softly moved under him and his friend let him go, watching him silently as he threw on a loose fitting robe and went to fan the flames and make tea for both of them.

Only when Erestor passed him a cup, Glorfindel grabbed his wrist for a moment. "I am sorry. I was wrong, judging your feelings for her."

Tiredly shaking his head, Erestor filed the subject away in the lowest shelf of his own private library with the rest of his regrets, deep down where no candle could brighten even a small corner. "In fact, you were not. And that is the last thing I ever want to hear about it."

He didn't ask for an oath or even a promise, but until the end of their time, Glorfindel would indeed never talk about it again.

"I see you're getting ready to leave. You sure I shall not come with you, your highness?" Estel couldn't resist a dig when his morning walk had him run into Legolas at the palace paddocks.

"Definitely. You're bad luck," Legolas chuckled, always quick with a good comeback.

"It's about time. My father needs me."

"You should still wait. Your wound hasn't healed over yet."

It was a relief every time, looking into Legolas' eyes without seeing blood in them. The healers had been very worried for a while, going from one method to another, but finally the prince had gotten back both his strength and his eyesight. It seemed true what people said: Legolas wasn't defeated easily.

"Enough for the way home." Legolas patted Hëor, very aware that without the horse, he would probably not be standing here. Tenderly fondling the auburn fur, he signaled him that it was time to leave.

But one thing they had to deal with first. Estel had expected the question much sooner in fact. "Tell me … Why did you pretend that we were in the dark?"

Estel hesitated; what he had done still didn't feel right. You usually didn't patronize a thousands of years old being when you had just a few decades on you yourself. "Actually, at that point, I had no hope to leave this room alive, but I know how vital light is for an elf. That nothing is worse for your folk than being blind. I was afraid, this uncertainty would make you give up, even if we would be rescued."

He found himself holding his breath. The question of the elf forgiving that white lie or not might decide about more than a possible friendship. For Legolas had been right about one thing: The day would come when all of the Free Folks and realms of Middle-earth needed to stand together.

Estel could only hope that he had just made a first step to make this possible.

Legolas beheld the man in front of him silently for many moments. He had seldom felt so foolish; it had been centuries since he had last misjudged someone so badly. He had apologized already for that, and it didn't feel like Estel was still angry with him. This day was very special. For the first time, he felt deep companionship with someone.

"Whatever your fate will be …" Finally, he reached out to squeeze Estel's shoulder. "I am proud to have made your acquaintance. May our paths soon cross again."

"I'm looking forward to it." Estel showed just the hint of a bow and stepped back then so Legolas could get on his horse.

"Looking for someone?" He seemed to notice how Legolas kept on staring at the guesthouses in the distance.

"We already said good-bye yesterday," Legolas denied. "She's probably busy." Before any more questions could come up, he quickly got Hëor to move.

In truth, nothing of the sort had happened. Tarisilya had lingered in the sick room for a few minutes, looking like she waited for him to say something, but he had not been able to tell what. A short caress of his hand when she had been passing him by was apparently all the farewell he could expect this time.

Only when Legolas was about to leave the gap of Imladris behind, he spotted Tarisilya, probably thanks to the tall black mare she had introduced him to on that horrible day. Relieved, he dismounted right next to her and pulled her into his arms. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"I needed to think." It wasn't by chance that she rested her hand on the exact spot at his side that she had treated so often in the last weeks.

"I can't spare you this, Ilya. I can only try to take care of myself and always ride out, whenever I need to, with the purpose of coming back to you."

"I know." She quickly wiped away her tears and tried to smile. "I just wish I could do something, other than just living with this fear."

"You already do, moon-queen." Her next tears were wiped away by much steadier hands. In just a few weeks, Tarisilya had already come to love their tender touch deeply.

No matter how often she would have to wait, with the uncertainty of what this fight would bring for Legolas ... The love for her she could see in his eyes, would heal all wounds.

A few minutes later, when they reluctantly brought themselves to interrupt their kiss, Tarisilya finally felt ready for the darkest times of this age.

When had Legolas last seen the cave palace so deserted? It always was rather quiet around here, sure. But on a day when Legolas expected a dozen servants to welcome him, who only wanted what was best for him of course, it was unnerving to have his own steps in the halls fade, unheard.

When he stopped by his chambers and there was still no one heading him off, he got seriously suspicious. What if something bad had happened? He hadn't noticed anything being off in the woods, but …

"Ada?" His bag slid from his shoulder when he opened the door and saw Thranduil sitting on his bed – and he definitely hadn't just come here five minutes ago. "What's wrong?" Alarmed, Legolas knelt down in front of him.

Thranduil's skin felt way too cold. His robe was an old one, Legolas hadn't seen it for three hundred years. Not a piece of jewelry was in his hair. Judging by his chapped lips, he hadn't had anything to drink for days.

But the worst was his eyes. This deep emptiness in them.

Legolas looked into a mirror of himself, at the time when he had arrived in Imladris. A reflection that had only changed when Tarisilya had come to him.

No one had been there for Thranduil to comfort him about what so many of the elves had felt coming.

"I shouldn't have left." As if he was still an elfling looking for protection from the howling of a storm, Legolas nestled his cheek against Thranduil's hands. "Why can't it be like that anymore? A quick caress, a few words, and all fear is forgotten."

Finally his father started to move. The proximity freed him from the state of shock. "I wanted to build a realm for your mother and you where no one ever needed to be afraid. Instead, I first lost my wife and then the battle for my world. The time of the elves in Middle-earth is over. Soon, the last of us will be gone. I failed my quest already. I don't want to lose you, too."

"But I'm here! I am here, ada!" Legolas had to wonder if Thranduil actually noticed him or if he thought to be talking to an illusion. "I'm fine. I made a small mistake, that's all. It's not going to happen again."

"There's no small mistakes at war." Thranduil swiftly bunched up Legolas' tunic, revealing the ugly scarred place at his side that hadn't been when Legolas had left the realm. "There's elves who died from less severe wounds. I've held many of them as they left. I kept up this fortress because I hoped that the shadow could be banished without me having blood on my hands once more. Instead, it's now my son going to war."

"And we will win." Legolas somehow got his father to stand up, with both hands firmly on Thranduil's shoulders. "You prepared me for a battle like this in every possible way. I do not fear what is coming. I will always return to you. You hear me? Always."

As much as he meant his words, he could clearly see, they were only provoking more grief and bitterness in Thranduil. They would part without a fight but once more in silence tonight.

At least his father now had somewhat regained his composure. After a sharp look into Legolas' eyes he straightened himself and quickly downed a glass of water from the bedside table, so he could shout orders to the guards outside the door again.

"What are you two still doing here? Why hasn't anyone sent for a healer yet?"

Legolas knew better than to protest, though he really wasn't in the mood for even more healing sessions, just so some scar tissue might look a little paler in the end. And if he was being honest, he didn't mind the brilliantly trained palace healers dealing with the subject of his eyesight for a while.

For the moment, his father had suffered from enough fear for him.