Recap (its been a while XC)— Thranduil had arrived to an elven settlement with the elflings and is not accepted very well. A meeting was held and he proved himself to be the true king, getting a suspicion that his rogue advisor, Ausocitin, would be back for a healthy sum of gold hidden within the demolished settlement. He looked through his father Oropher's journal and discovered a map of the Grey Mountains, marking the estimated prior location of Greenwood's Ring, and was amended by Ausocitin.

Elrond had questioned Denisale, the ex-captain, and Evlani and Gilgan, two Edain captured from the siege line. Denisale came off clean and was released when he revealed that Greenwood's Ring was indeed tainted and he had only acted under its influence, while the Edain remained suspected and contained, for they could not answer for their willing collaboration with Ausocitin, and Gilgan's impersonation of Estel as well as the poisoning of Elrohir.

Chapter 35~ Never Know What You Got 'Til it's Gone

Alagbara watched the stately ellon from behind, hands on her hips and her countenance bearing something akin to spite for any who did not know her well enough. If one looked closely, they could see the approval dancing in her eyes and the determined set to her jaw that was the the only element that betrayed her performance of reluctance to be just that; a performance.

After the meeting, Thranduil had been pestered with a myriad of questions and prodded for exact details. She didn't exactly blame them for being so immaculate, as Silvans often tended to be mistrustful and not easily swayed in their values, or in this case, opinions, but she had watched him answer them all with a perfect mask of neutrality that quite expertly hid the anxiousness indicated only by the incessant fiddling of his fingers. She couldn't blame him either; she was one more for action and less talk herself.

Keenly, Alagbara had researched and observed but had then fully submerged herself into the pool of certainty. This ellon surely was who he was, and truly did mean well. Though her impression would have been doubled in size if this ellon were in fact a fake, for his performance was solid and his manner stoic and solemn as anyone would imagine a king of old.

If he were a fake, he wouldn't have lasted this long, she thought flippantly. Alagbara always gave her sharp intuition credit, and benefitted from it.

The scarce light of the moon made itself scarcer and ducked behind a cloud. Few torches burned in the clearing, for the sight of the Eldar was keen, and the eyes of the Green elves were long accustomed to the forest under the cover of the night.

They were making last minute preparations and taking up positions as well as rehearsing the system of their capture.

The gaping mouth of the Golden Niche, as it had come to be called by those who dwelt near, stood before them in the folds of the some great roots. They were charred with ash and the moss that once used to conceal the entrance hung in ragged tatters and left the mischievous wink of the gold inside to lure anyone with a sense of curiosity inside.

Thranduil, after some reasoning, had decided to take the opportunity that Ausocitin would return for the gold, as he imagined his mercenaries were getting restless without the reassurance of something shiny that their toil and vigilance was not in vain.

So they set up a trap.

Nimmîr had urged Thranduil to leave the work up to his warriors, for they were more than capable for stealthily detaining one mere elf (not exactly the most athletic elf either, according to the Sinda). But Thranduil had stood his ground with a steady refusal and a frozen fire burning in his eyes. It seemed that he has been counting on his revenge for a while. Alagbara understood him—in this aspect anyhow—and had encouraged his participation.

Perhaps he saw it as Alagbara trying to be rid of him by putting him in danger, but could probably care less. It was not her fault she had a permanent sneer to her brow and biting lilt to her voice; he had her allegiance and that was enough for both of them.

She would never get her vengeance in the end for the massacre of her family by the Serpent, for it was dead, but would have liked to at least aid its decay with a few added shattered bones to its carcass.

Thranduil's knees dropped into a fighting stance and everyone immediately took cover. Alagbara could see no one from her position but knew it was no false alarm for the Sinda's shifting eyes.

A warrior king he was, she could tell, and respected it. Positive aspects were beginning to add up, and Alagbara almost regretted striking him upon their meeting.

She turned the thought over in her mind and replayed the memory; the look on his face had been priceless. I regret nothing, she decided airily with stiff, affirming nod to herself.

She had just been scanning the clearing which was now empty to prying eyes save Thranduil, when her periphery caught a dark shape slinking out of the shadows towards the towering figure of the Sinda. Alagbara tensed along with several other of her comrades as the glint of steel flashed near the cowled shape's hand.

She rocked back on her haunches feeling the customary pre-battle adrenaline rush. She almost thought Thranduil oblivious to the figure coming up behind him until she caught the shifting shadow of his fisted hand, adjusting a grip on a weapon most likely.

Thranduil sharpened his ears for the slightest rustling of his attacker's cloak. He kept his posture relaxed and casual as he scanned the area, impressed with the way the other elves had seemingly melted into the trees or any slightest patch of shadow to be seen. He had been about to add a slur to the Noldor who most certainly would not be able to do such when his attacker made a move.

A hand was at his shoulder and a blade pressed to his throat but he was ready. Turning slightly, he let the point of the dagger in his hand press into the torso of... an exact mirror image of him?!

Killing his shock, he tried to keep full alertness as everything began to click together. The cloak, the dead sentries, the hostility...

During his small lapse of speechlessness, his opponent had cautiously drawn a small flask from his belt and taken a sip. Thranduil grit his teeth in frustration and pressed his weapon to the elf's body once again. He struggled to keep a straight face as the illusion melted off the figure's face and revealed said person to be none other than Ausocitin.

Thranduil was not entirely surprised at this, but couldn't help but feel belittled by the elf's scheming. It had gotten him this far anyhow.

"So we meet at last," said Ausocitin in a venomous whisper. He stumbled back away from the knife, and Thranduil did not bother to relinquish any hold on him. He had a ring of concealed archers anyways. Now was a time to get answers.

"Are you pleased? Or was I supposed to be dead?"

Ausocitin's eyes skittered suspiciously about the clearing as his villainous smile wavered. He wasn't stupid; he probably recognized that this was far too easy.

"Dead? Have you thought perhaps that is just what I came to finish?"

Thranduil raised an eyebrow challengingly. "I'm impressed. You have excellent informants." Ausocitin had not been supposed to know where he was.

The dark elf laughed; fell and gleeful. "I thought you knew? Perhaps I underestimated his skills."

Thranduil was thoroughly puzzled now. He parted his lips to continue the questioning when the ex-adviser beckoned to something within the shadows.

Thranduil whirled around and his heart dropped in his stomach when a slight figure timidly emerged.

Minaitir.

A lump crept into his throat and his eyes began to sting. Why...? How...? It simply didn't make any sense.

Ausocitin watched the proceedings with a dark grin.

Minaitir lifted his head and stared defiantly into the Sinda's disbelieving face, but could not deny the tears shining in his eyes.

Thranduil managed to gather his bearings enough to speak. "Why, son?"

Minaitir set his jaw and responded, "For my ada. My real one."

The young one's words stung deeply. Thranduil had become almost a father to the elfling in the past few weeks they had been together. He barely now came to realize; he loved that boy. It was different with the others, as they had parents.

Ausocitin interrupted the unseen swarm of emotions with a crisp request. "Well, do you have it, boy?"

Minaitir clenched his fist conspiratorially and glared daggers at the ellon before taking a few steps forward to his side.

Thranduil's mind was racing. What could he have? What does he want—?

The elfling's fingers unfolded from the object pressing into his palm and Thranduil actually staggered back in shock.

Hand shaking, Minaitir dropped the Ring into Ausocitin's hand.

All is for naught now...

He dared not call out his archers lest they harmed Minaitir.

Ausocitin's hand clamped around Minaitir's deceptively slight shoulder and hissed in his ear, "Your father is dead, boy. And you're my little traitor now, aren't you?"

Before Minaitir even had a chance to snarl in rage, he was thrown to the ground.

Thranduil unsheathed his sword as the ellon took a long draught from his flask, causing him to transform once again into Thranduil's mirror image. Ausocitin lunged for the Sinda with his own sword unsheathed.

Thranduil parried blow after blow, still in shock from the recent happenings and much weakened by his recent reconnection to the Song.

Minaitir rose from the ground, his eyes alight with fury and Thranduil's kingly dagger clenched in whitened knuckles.

Thranduil divided his attention between his own battle and the elfling's indecisive expression as he looked from one 'Thranduil' to the other.

The Sinda slashed and jabbed with his sword, mustering his strength with each swing and causing the slighter elf to waver under his powerful hits.

This was not the customary fighting style of the Green folk, as that included much speed and delicate footwork, which is why outsiders may think it more akin to dancing than fighting, but this was rather just a vicious barrage of offense. Ausocitin did his best to parry the blows, but it was evident that he was not a warrior. The illusion he wore may have changed his appearance, but it did not better him physically to the skill of his compatriot. Or rather, nemesis.

Minaitir watched them uncertainly. He did not think the real Thranduil to be so... unseasoned, but would never forgive himself if he harmed the wrong elf. Then his eyes settled on the small flask bouncing on the imposter's hip as he thrust and parried.

I don't remember that... He jumped into their fray with a shout, knife poised dangerously.

Thranduil dragged his gaze to the small blur of motion flanking him. Alarm surged through him when realization struck that it was in fact Minaitir.

Thranduil rushed Ausocitin, forcing him to backpedal dramatically to avoid the elfling. The villain's eyes were alight with alarm but with a hint of desperate rage that betrayed his conspiratorial thoughts. Thranduil knew he could not let this tainted elf to get ahold of his little ward.

Ausocitin quavered under the Sinda's barrage and his eyes alighted on the furious little bundle barreling into him. He knew he would not last like this much longer; he knew he was still alive by the mere fact that Thranduil did not want to kill him. Yet.

He angled his blade to intercept the elfling, but it was quickly thrown upward by the Sinda's blade. The swords shrieked as they grated against each other, pushing higher above their heads. Thranduil tried to push the obstinate little elfling behind him and out of the fray, but the Gindorellion would have none of it.

Slithering between their light footsteps, Minaitir lunged at Ausocitin. His dagger collided with the flask tied to his belt, piercing it. The liquid inside sprayed out and the ellon looked down at the child with fury as the illusion melted right off his face and he became plain old Ausocitin again.

Alagbara decided that was about as far as she was going to let it go on like this. Drawing her bow she aimed at the ellon who had been revealed as the imposter. She had felt more then heard the astonished murmurs rippling through the trees of her fellow archers when he had simply transformed.

And she fired.

The arrow sped readily towards its target, but was quickly swept off course by the Elvenking's sword as he pushed the ex-advisor forward and out of the way. He wanted this traitor alive. Alagbara deemed the cost too great and nocked another arrow, ready to end this.

The other archers took her release as a signal and revealed themselves, peppering the area with arrows; not to kill, just deter a straight path.

Thranduil cursed under his breath. He knew the probability of someone other than Ausocitin being hit was low, as the Silvans' skill with a bow was impeccably polished, but he thought he had made it clear not to fire until he gave the signal!

The Sinda had pushed Minaitir as far into the brush as he could and had thrown himself at Ausocitin to get him out of the first arrow's path. Acting swiftly, the tainted elf tore the Journal from where Thranduil had hidden it in the folds of his tunic near the high collar and dropped to the ground, rolling out of reach, and kicking out at Thranduil's recently injured ankle. Disoriented and hissing as an arrow sped uncomfortably close to him, Thranduil called a ceasefire; he had lost sight of Minaitir.

He whirled to face a cry near the brush, only to catch a fleeting glance of a retreating cloak and a small bundle thrown into a bush.

Minaitir clutched his bleeding arm with moist eyes, yelling 'shoot 'im!' at the top of his lungs as tears began to stream over his cheeks.

Thranduil collected the elfling into his arms and cradled him with concern. The elves reappeared from their hiding places with solemn faces; Ausocitin was already weaving amongst the tight trees, so that no arrow had a clear path to him. He was swift on his feet but the elves were tired and had not slept for a number of days. He was gone.

Thranduil glared up at the gathering elves from the sobbing child in his arms. His eyes burned with chastisement, but he kept silent and blocked them out; a gesture perhaps even more ominous than had he began yelling.

Minaitir was aware of a hand brushing over his brow and was angered by the way he was comforted by it. No no no I messed up I'm a traitor now go away, go away!

"Minaitir." The elfling buried his face into the Sinda's chest.

Alagbara harshly gestured with her eyes for the other elves to disperse, not wanting to intrude. She herself had been just as shocked when the child had emerged by the tainted elf's beckoning. She supposed everything would come to light soon enough.

Thranduil tore open the sleeve of the elfling's tunic where there was a small bleeding slit made by a knife. Nothing serious, but it made him burn to get his hands around that scrawny neck...

"Minaitir," he prodded again. "Penneth, look at me."

The elfling looked into the Elvenking's face at the two gentle fingers under his chin. He sniffed and swiped at his wet cheek with the back of his little hand, finding it so difficult to look into the once harsh and icy depths now melted to sad softness. It made him feel all the guiltier.

"Why?"

A deep breath. "I-I wan'ed it to be true. I really, really did, and I didn' think that it couldn' be true because I just wan'ed him back so badly and—"

"Shhh, slowly penneth."

Don't call me that! I'm not your penneth! "He said Gindo—my ada was alive. He said he could take me to him," a pause, "if I told him ev'rything 'bout you."

Thranduil nodded slowly, tying a strip of cloth around Minaitir's arm. "And you told him. But he was lying."

The elfling nodded and sniffed again. "He said he would kill you if I didn' bring him the Ring." Thranduil looked at him attentively as if this was something new. "I didn' want another ada. I didn' wanna love you. But I do. I had to give it to 'im."

Thranduil decided it would be no good to tell the elfling that the only way Ausocitin could have killed him was with the Ring in his possession. The Sinda was only thankful that he hadn't actually put the Ring on and used it against them.

He did want to govern these people, and he supposed that now that the traitor's secret was uncovered he had best keep his reputation as pure as it could stay.

Minaitir sobbed, regaining his old accented speech he thought had extinguished. Thranduil bit the inside of his cheek and his eyes met Alagbara's who had been standing a respectful distance away.

She dipped her head in something akin to an inclination and Thranduil was surprised as that had been the most respectful gesture from her towards him as long as she had known him.

"I'll fetch a horse. He went northeast." Thranduil looked back down at Minaitir in a gesture of silent approval to the elleth. She departed.

Minaitir tentatively raised his tear streaked face from Thranduil's chest with a small, hesitant expression. He cleared his throat and words left his trembling lips in a croak.

"You're leaving?" It was more a statement than a question.

Thranduil didn't answer and continued to stare upon his face with an air of serenity that answered Minaitir's question. But he wanted to hear it plain and simple from the Sinda.

"Now? To go after the dark elf?"

This time Thranduil responded.

"Yes, penneth."

I SAID DON'T CALL ME THAT!

Minaitir snuffed again and studied his hands fumbling with the dagger his new father-figure had gifted him up during their journey. He set his jaw.

"I'm coming."

"No you're not," Thranduil countered firmly, if not icily, not missing a beat.

Minaitir was taken aback. He was used to an exasperated sigh and the throwing up of hands when he used that tone, for any who knew him knew it was futile to try and sway him. It was becoming apparent now that Minaitir was contending with an ellon that had a fiery will to match his own, if not surpass it. Had he been asked, Thranduil would have confessed that Minaitir reminded him much of himself in his younger years.

Alagbara returned then with Nimmîr trailing, her face grim and demeanor solemn.

"He took a horse," she reported as she dropped a pack of traveling supplies at his feet.

Thranduil gave her nod and put the elfling on his feet and kneeled in front of him, taking his shoulders in his hands and looking into his eyes sincerely.

"Now you listen and listen well to Nimmîr. Look after the others." Thranduil embraced the child one last time and pressed a kiss to his brow. Minaitir nodded, eyes still moist and downcast as he took Nimmîr's proffered hand and let himself be led away.

Thranduil watched the young one's back as he timidly trod alongside the larger ellon, a distant expression in his eyes. His gaze remained fixed as he addressed Alagbara.

"He took my father's journal." They both knew who he was talking about.

"Was there anything of importance recorded within?"

The Sinda sighed and bit his lip in a conflicted manner, turning to look at her.

"There just might have been. Especially if he came all this way to get it back." His mind kept recalling the old map stuck within the pages of the journal that showed his father's attempts to locate the Ring.

A young elleth approached, leading an inconspicuous rust-brown horse and Alagbara quickly relieved her as Thranduil leaped lightly onto the mare's back, keeping her tossing head in check.

"A party of warriors with be gathered soon, hir nin."

"No; I will go alone. We will not lose him again." Hir nin is it?

"Hir nin!" Really, what happened? "We cannot permit you to go alone. That elf is dangerous. He has the Ring for heaven's sake!" She understood that he wanted personal revenge, but for the sake of his safety, she could not let him just—

"If I do not come back, tell my son I tried."

"Thranduil you will not—!"

He spurred the horse on and the reins were torn from her hands.

"Consider my proposition; the stronghold needs you," the king called over his shoulder before horse and rider were reduced to a mere figure in the distance weaving expertly amongst the trees.

Startled from the king's sudden departure, elves began to flock around Alagbara who's face was still contorted in frustration.

"Alagbara?" an ellon who had taken part of the meeting by the name of Cumôrdin had spoken. The elves looked at her uncertainly, seeking her partition in their decision of whether or not they should depart for the stronghold. "Well?"

"We go."

Cumôrdin was evidentially surprised. "But it is folly! If the palace Guard and the Royal Guard couldn't ward off the Edain, how much more so can such a small force as this?!" he said, sweeping out his arm to indicate the elves in the settlement.

Alagbara opened her mouth to retort when a flash of chestnut burst into their gathering.

"Is he gone?" Estella asked in a rush of breath.

Nimmîr soon followed, a squirming Fararth in his arms and Helgilion pulling him forward by his arm. They targeted Cumôrdin with their expectant stares. He looked away uncomfortably.

Alagbara smiled kindly; kindly enough that the other elves began to murmur at her strangeness.

"Yes, pennyth. But we ride out to the stronghold at dawn."

Delighted smiles spread on the children's faces; except for Minaitir who hung around Nimmîr's heels, scuffing his boots in the dead leaves that carpeted the soil.

"That means we can be with ada and nana again!" Fararth exclaimed, bouncing in Nimmîr's arms.

Cumôrdin studied his boots guiltily as Alagbara pierced his head with a pointed glare.

"Valar save us," Cumôrdin muttered under his breath with a resigned sigh and departed to gather the rest of his belongings—or rather, what was left of them— along with the other elves.

Alagbara was no leader but was weighed highly in the settlement's respects, so the majority tended to trail her. She was known for her distrustfulness, and others knew that if she was firm about one thing or the other, she was most likely in the right. She was considered wise to her people; as wise as wood elves can be, anyways.

"We all leave." That attracted some more attention. "Not everyone can fight, but we no longer have a home here. If we manage to free the stronghold, we shall have a home there."

"And if we don't?" called an elleth from the diluted crowd.

Alagbara exchanged a glance with Cumôrdin.

"Pray for a miracle."

oOo

Denisale pulled his bandaged arm closer to his body and grimaced when the gate leading to the dungeons creaked.

Quietly slipping through the entrance, he descended to where Evlani and Gilgan were being kept. The Edain startled slightly when he made an appearance and Evlani smoothed her dress.

"I need to talk to you," came Denisale's whisper.

oOo

Elrond found it odd when he saw the keys to the dungeons gone from their usual peg outside the staircase tunnel leading to the lower level. He was certain he had left them here the night before, after the questioning...

Examining his predicament further, Elrond came to the gate leading to the cells. It creaked under a cold draft of air, marginally open.

The gate I had most certainly left locked...

Warily descending, Elrond scanned the dank hall and his heart nearly skipped a beat.

The Edain's cell was wide open with the ring of keys still in the lock. Denisale lay sprawled awkwardly on the stone corridor.

Elrond neared the old captain, heart pounding in cold anticipation. He rolled Denisale on his back...

And revealed a pool of bright red soaking the front of his tunic. A knife hilt jut out of his chest—

He was dead.

oOoOoOo