It cost Thranduil all the composure still in him to not scream out uncontrolled like Tauriel, not try to just storm forward, like her, and risk a sword wound.

It would almost have been too late. Just a second before Barhit's blade came within his son's reach, the Stewardaid behind him pushed him further towards the cell, closer to the torch on the wall. Finally close enough.

"Tell me, can you see in the dark, Barhit?"

The Stewardaides leader spun around. It seemed, he'd been practicing his low deeds long enough to know a threat when he heard it.

Too late. Thranduil spat the chewy herb mass far into the fire and dropped to the ground the second the enemy let go of him, dumbfounded by the sudden jet of flame.

The man completely forgot that he was actually supposed to take care of him. He let out a shrill shriek when acid, dark green smoke hit his eyes.

Within seconds, the cloud was spreading in the whole hallway; the other two soldiers started to cough and scream as well, confronted with it unprepared.

Thranduil opened his eyes for a brief moment and saw Camhanar running out of the cell, in spite of his injury, towards Tauriel. That was enough of a reassurance that the two of them would be able to fend for themselves.

Remaining in a hunched position, he dashed into the cell. The production of smoke in there wasn't that bad yet so that he could keep his eyes open a slit and see Barhit's drawn blade approaching its completely helpless victim again.

His enemy obviously didn't want to lose any more time but take revenge for the repeated defeat.

It was a sight that should be engraved on Thranduil's mind for the next few centuries to come, that silver blade, held by a hand trembling with anger yet entirely unerringly, moving closer to Legolas' throat, and the expression of fear on his son's face. Legolas couldn't see the weapon but elves knew when their time had come. And if you had so much to lose here, in these realms, not even millennia-long fighting experience could help prepare you for this moment of good-bye.

Legolas' blind eyes were fixed on his father.

Maybe it was this last push lending a body slightly out of its fighting routine the necessary speed to bridge the small distance between Barhit and him in time and yank the guy's arm behind his back brutally before the blade could cut Legolas' skin deeper than a split inch. Thranduil felt the man's shoulder pop out almost immediately. Even better. That meant, he didn't have to deal with an unworthy duel first.

The dagger fell to the ground. So did Barhit, yelling when his arm was twisted further, grinding into his dislocated shoulder. He withdrew all on his own when Thranduil tore Andúril from his belt and let go of him abruptly.

"You should keep your hands off things too big for you." Thranduil carelessly dropped the sword next to the dagger, out of his enemy's reach. The smoke was moving into the cell now as well; he had to move before he'd no longer be able to see clearly himself.

Before Barhit could try to crawl out of reach, he put the man out by punching the side of his neck. It was hard to keep himself from using too much strength for the blow. Death would have been far too easy an ending for such a bastard.

"Camhanar, open the door."

Thranduil did his best to quickly wipe the panic about the knowledge that he'd almost just lost Legolas for an immeasurable long time, off his face. He was almost glad that his son couldn't see it, but of course, Legolas could still feel his hands trembling when Thranduil was finally able to tear the fatal bandage off his shoulder.

"The old herb trick?" Legolas tried to smile. "Oh, come on."

Thranduil realized, his son was trying to cheer him up so that he wouldn't possibly show anyone else how much he'd just lost his cool. Sometimes, Legolas knew him better than he did.

Though he didn't feel like laughing, he used the same tone. The situation was grave enough. "Fine, next time I'll watch him slit your throat. Speaking of which …" He let his fingertips graze the new wound in worry. It wasn't life-threatening, but it needed to be treated anyway. And they finally had to get that damn arrowhead out of Legolas's shoulder.

"Tauriel! I need you here!"

When there was no answer, he looked towards the hallway in irritation. He needed a moment to make out the she-elf in the thick billows thinning only slowly after Camhanar had unlocked the heavy cell wing door with the enemy's key and pushed it open with his healthy arm.

Tauriel didn't move. Her eyes were fixed, unmoving, on the dead Stewardaid that she had easily overpowered with his own weapon thanks to her re-found fighting routine. She wasn't even protecting her eyes though they were watering badly. It only seemed to start dawning on her now how big the danger was that she'd just been in, and what it would have meant for her family if anything would have happened to her. Or maybe her stubborn mind was finally ready to accept what a bad match healing ambitions and blades were. The foreign sword dropped to the ground with a dull clank.

"Tauriel!" Abandoning his search for the keys for the handcuffs for a moment, Camhanar ran towards her. "Listen to me!" He shook his wife's shoulders ungently. "You can't afford to freeze right now! We all need to stay sharp and clear, or we won't make it out of here."

Before Tauriel could regain her composure, one of the Stewardaides who hadn't been half as unconscious as they'd thought suddenly rushed the two of them. He was coughing and still hardly seemed to be able to see anything, yet he could make out enough to swing a sword and bring Camhanar into danger whose worry about his wife had made him forget to grab a weapon.

That forced Thranduil to leave Legolas alone to help them, especially since the third of these primitives got back to his feet now as well. With a spicy curse, he snatched the King's sword, threw Camhanar the dagger, and dealt with the youngest of the Stewardaides himself who, interestingly, managed to stay on his feet the longest.

His shoulder injury gave Camhanar a harder time, especially because he had to protect his wife on top of that, who was obviously no longer ready to risk another murder and defended herself accordingly clumsily.

It took the enemy only a few seconds to beat the dagger out of the battered elf's hand. He raised his weapon in triumph to get rid of the two Firstborn.

Startling hard, her green eyes wide, Tauriel finally awoke from her trance and pulled her husband backwards a little, frantically reaching for the weapon on the floor again; but even from a few feet away, Thranduil could see that the realization had come too late. And he himself wouldn't make it over there in time either to prevent the rocky walls of this mannish dungeon from being painted new with Firstborn blood.

Instead, another sharp blade suddenly hit the man's sword arm and cut it off almost completely. The man went down with a yell, trying to make out in vain in the dark who had attacked him there before blacking out.

Camhanar looked as if didn't know whether to back away or say thanks. "Lady Éowyn! How …?"

"Not now." The Steward's wife pushed past him, towards Legolas' cell.

Her eyes went wide. "By all the … He needs a healer immediately." She was already busy cutting part of her nightgown into stripes for bandages.

Thranduil only briefly made sure that the other Stewardaides would no longer be a problem and ran back himself then. He didn't have more than a raised eyebrow to spare for Éowyn's sudden change of heart. It had been about damn time for someone in this house to get back their senses. "Have your soldiers take care of these people. We need to …"

He paused, grabbing Andúril's handle tighter again immediately, the blade of which was still dripping with the blood of the men. "Where is Barhit?" His voice was lacking the usual indifference, the distance that he was usually keeping to such scenarios. He had witnessed many of them in his millennia, but never before had he had to watch his son almost getting murdered – and now the person responsible of all people had vanished.

"He must have sneaked past us during the battle," Camhanar realized guiltily. "Is the Prince alright?"

"More or less. Lady Éowyn, do you have a clean cloth for me?"

Legolas was at least not doing any worse than before, Thranduil had already seen that.

Barhit hadn't wasted any more time trying to finish his work once more. Given his injuries, it was a miracle that the man had even found the quick-wittedness to feign unconsciousness first and then make it outside.

If he wanted Legolas' condition to stay stable though, Thranduil had to act now and especially not let himself be interrupted again. He couldn't wait for Tauriel to finish processing her shock. Legolas couldn't be exposed to that poison any longer.

He took the elvish dagger back from Camhanar, got the necessary key from one Stewardaides, and entered the cell again, not opening the cuffs immediately though. For what was to come next, they might be useful, at least if he wanted to get this behind with as quickly as possible. After a moment of hesitation, he wiped the bloody dagger blade with Éowyn's handkerchief, put one hand on Legolas' healthy shoulder, and let him feel the coldness of metal on his heated skin so that he would know what to expect. "Forward."

The time for joking was over; Legolas knew just as well that there was no other choice. He leaned forward as far as his shoulder fighting the resistance of the chain allowed it and tensely closed his eyes.

Given how swollen the whole area was, it wasn't exactly easy, finding the exact spot where the arrowhead was being buried. When Thranduil finally thought to be somewhat sure, his hand ignored the order to move for a moment. "This is really going to hurt," he sighed, a last warning before he thrust the dagger into Legolas' shoulder, glad about that decision regarding the chains that prevented his son from startling away.

His instincts hadn't failed him. Just a few seconds later, the bloody piece of metal fell to the cell's ground and was treated to a kick of a boot tip. Frustration, the last bit of fear and relief that this had worked so quickly. The Valar had been gracious at least once.

Another big part of Éowyn's nightgown had to serve as a bandage. Her husband should rather not be seeing her like this, or he would already have another reason for fabricated accusations against the elves …

Only now could Thranduil finally open the handcuffs, not surprised that Legolas collapsed into his arms immediately. The pain had caused a long overdue unconsciousness.

His lips a tight line, Thranduil lifted his son into his arms. That way to see a healer would be a long one.

"I'll get you upstairs safely," Éowyn assured the elves. "I know you don't have much reason to trust me anymore, but …"

"It would be our turn to say that, milady." Camhanar caressed Tauriel's forehead again, his wife still looking completely apathetic, and followed Thranduil outside then. "Thank you. You have saved us. I hope this night marks a new beginning for all of us."

"It's not over yet," Éowyn warned him with a worried look at the deathly pale face of the she-elf next to her. "Let's hurry."

The five of them had hardly even left the short hallway connecting the two dungeon parts behind when the soldiers supposed to be on the next shift came to meet them. The men looked back and forth between their treacherous, lifeless mates in the cell wing and elves in bewilderment and grabbed their weapons. "Freeze!"

"Calm down." Éowyn slightly stepped forward so that the guards would be able to recognize her in spite of the smoke still penetrating the air. "Everything is alright."

"Milady, what are you doing with these … these criminals?" The man was only even more shocked. "Your husband didn't want you to enter the dungeon. For good reason, it seems. Did these creatures blind you with their pretty words? I have to ask you to come here immediately. I don't want to hit you by accident."

"Did you all forget the authority and face of your own Lady? Stand down!" Though the soldier only meant well, Éowyn was sick of being treated like an under-age, hysterical appendage of her husband. She was one of the leaders of this House, the White Lady of Rohan, the sister of Rohan's King. She had killed the Witch-king, had fought on the Pelennor Fields, and she would certainly not let her own people stop her.

The soldiers were still hesitating. The impressions from the elves' attack last night and especially all the critical conversations about Firstborn of the last few months hadn't lost their effect yet.

That was when Éowyn got unexpected help. The captain's substitute had heard the noise and joined them. Estimating the situation at one glance, he screamed at his man to put their swords away before they would end up on the gallows for threatening the Steward's wife.

"And kindly get to the throne room already. The Steward is getting tired of waiting."

"Faramir has come back?" Éowyn asked in relief. Now she didn't feel that alone with the situation anymore.

"And he wants to see you."

The man eyed Legolas for a moment, and Camhanar who was having almost as much trouble with his injured shoulder as Legolas did. "Well, that also answers the question if there are enemies among our own people. Rest assured that no loyal member of the White Company would have allowed anyone to treat you like this. We best get the two of them upstairs as well, milady. The healers are on their way to the throne room anyway. I should have known immediately that your husband was right when he finally looked clear of mind again earlier. I don't understand how any of this could have happened."

"We'll talk about it later." Éowyn went ahead to the stairs. "Find Barhit. Don't let him get away. He's behind all of this."

"I no longer doubt it, milady." The soldier's expression only darkened further.

It wasn't exactly easy, covering the short path, given how many servants were running through the halls. There were many of them who hadn't heard the news yet and startled back from the elves or even seemed to think about attacking them. Several people stalled the captain with questions, downright blocking the way which had Éowyn wonder if they did it on purpose. Someone had roused these people, and they could hardly see any guards doing anything against it.

"Where are your men, soldier?"

"Your husband sent most of them away, together with Beregond, to guard the Cair Andros. Others rode out to help the soldiers of Minas Tirith look for the King. We're completely understaffed."

Great, exactly what she had wanted to hear.

Éowyn began to say something, but then they went through a side entrance right behind the thrones, and her eyes fell on her husband. "Faramir!" Shocked, she ran to her husband who was being examined not by one but by two healers at once. In the first moment, all she could see was blood.

It was plain to see that Faramir was being in big pain as they'd apparently had to reopen the wound on his face. But when he saw her, he jumped up immediately and took her in his arms, ignoring the many spectators in the room. "I was so worried." With relief, he felt the hard metal of her armor under her cloak. "Good thing you're careful."

He looked at the badly battered elves with a frown who had followed Éowyn into the room and ordered the healers sharply to get there when they didn't react at once.

"I want to apologize für my incorrect assessment last night," he then told the elves, with a little bit of cautious restraint left that would have to prevail between all of them for the moment until everything would be entirely cleared up what had gone so terribly wrong in Ithilien last year. "Whatever happened in the dungeon last night, it should never have happened. And the soldiers responsible will, of course, face the consequences. There is much we have to talk about once this palace will be safe. Until then you will of course be protected by my warriors. I'm asking you to accept this protection, too, and not pick up any more weapons yourselves for now. Enough blood has been spilled."

"I'm afraid we have to see more of it yet today. Milady? Do you still want us to …?"

"Go. Find this scum," Éowyn nodded at the substitute captain before turning to Faramir again.

"Barhit got away."

"How did you find out?" he wanted to know, visibly impressed by her appearance.

"A little disagreement with my handmaiden." Shuddering, she remembered the expression of disdain on Viwin's face, the sensation of the knife far too close to her throat. Everything would almost have been over. She would never have seen Faramir again, would never again have been able to feel how calming it was when he hugged her, unless maybe, someday, in some other place when both their way would have been at an end …

The sight of that wound that would disfigure him forever had tears well in her eyes. They were both paying a high price for their shortsightedness.

After she had briefly explained to Faramir what exactly had happened in the cellar, he turned to the healers once more who were busy examining the injured elves, under the understandably mistrustful supervision of the other Firstborn.

"How does it look?"

"Lord Camhanar's fractures are simple, but this … The arm is seriously damaged. I have to take the Prince to the Houses of Healing. I can't contain the infections here. And even then …" The brightly-clad man ducked his head, intimidated as if expecting an aggressive objection any moment. The knowledge about the elves' innocence had reached too few people yet.

"I don't know if our skills will do. Besides, there are still soldiers in our Houses who were in the fight yesterday. One of them is fighting for his life. There's too few of us to take care of all of them equally well."

The healer's critical assessment managed to breathe new life into Tauriel's mind though her expression remained empty. She broke away from Camhanar without further ado and knelt down next to Legolas.

"As soon as the threat in Emyn Arnen is taken care of, the other healer elves of our settlement will come here to help your people, if they even still want that. And we'll get help from Minas Tirith, from His Majesty himself if necessary. For this injury, we'll definitely need that; this is far beyond everything that Lord Elrond taught me to repair."

"His Majesty has vanished," her husband reminded her. "And even if he hadn't: He has no reason to help us of all people. Which we have only ourselves to thank for." The anger for his leader and the whole group, for himself, too, was hard to ignore, now the elves obviously slowly started to understand the consequences of the past incidents and how much they, too, were to blame for all this.

No one had noticed that Legolas had woken up; he never opened his eyes. But his voice was slowly steadying. "If they found him, he will come here to help the Steward's soldiers. He or other healers that my wife has taught in the art of the elves. We are not leaving Emyn Arnen before we made up for what we brought about." Now that the wound had been bandaged with pain-numbing herbs, his strength was visibly coming back.

"Even if I have to ride to the capital myself to ask the authorities." He pretended not to hear the surprised gasp of the bystanders. With the help of the healer and Tauriel, he sat up, obviously not quite orientated yet.

"Please take the other elves to a room where they can have a bit of silence and keep on taking care of the soldiers. Tauriel, your husband needs you right now."

"But …" Tauriel began, not half as defiantly as she was usually protesting things she didn't like.

"That's impossible anyway," Faramir remarked. "Right now, it could indeed happen that you'll be attacked on the short way to the adjacent building already. Not everyone on this premises has got the news yet that it was the Stewardaides who caused this catastrophe last night."

He ordered the healers to leave with a short gesture of his head. "Go back to the Houses of Healing. Take care of the patients best as you can. Reinforcements will come, no matter from which way, but I have to talk to the others here first."

Faramir counted the small number of fighters, all of whom seemed very nervous though they had heard only very little of the quiet discussion. "There are still people missing. Where are the scouts? Go get them!"

When no one answered, he slapped the armrest of his throne, unrestrained, a movement that he was regretting immediately, grabbing his side with a grimace. "The problems we have exist in here, not somewhere out there, so get the damn scouts in here! Do I really need to do everything myself?"

"Fascinating, seeing a man lose his temper the moment he's running out of wine mugs to hold on to," the elf who had so gallantly given Legolas first aid earlier let out dryly.

"Watch your mouth." The last thing Faramir needed right now was nitpicking, understandably. He had to try hard to keep on talking so quietly that the soldiers wouldn't hear it over their whispers. "I guess, next time I better take my cues from elves who prefer organizing a riot over calmly talking to me about their suspicions early enough, and who rather slash their way through three misguided men then than call for help. Wipe the blood off your face before you talk to me. Who are you, anyway?

That was something, Éowyn very much wanted to know, too. She had never seen this elf before. In the soldiers' reports about the residents of Cair Andros, there had never been another Sinda mentioned.

In spite of the mood already becoming so unnervingly tense again, Camhanar seemed quite amused for a moment. "Steward, allow me to introduce you to His Majesty of Eryn Lasgalen."

The following silence had the soldiers' excited conversations echo even louder in everyone's ears. Faramir looked back and forth between Legolas and Thranduil and covered his eyes with his hand for a moment when he understood the scope of this revelation.

Legolas somehow managed to get up. His still feverish condition made it visibly hard for him to find the right words. "The invasion of your house was my responsibility alone, Steward. I made this mistake as my own person, not as a Prince of my realm. Don't blame my father for worrying about his child."

"You really think that so easy, Your Highness?" Faramir regarded him with a sad headshake. Without the need for anyone to explain, he'd apparently realized now what was wrong with Legolas, why he could have been so easily overwhelmed in the battle yesterday. His aimless glance and the insecure movements could hardly be ignored.

"You can't just renounce your heritage like slipping out of some badly fitting armor. Men see you as a representative of your people. I will do what I can to calm the waves not least because I have made very bad mistakes myself in this crisis as well, the worst of them just a few hours ago when you came to warn me; but if insurrection is happening, it will not only be aimed at you and your settlement but the place where you come from."

Thranduil had tried to make that very fact clear to Legolas countless times himself, but only now, his son really seemed to understand this adamant truth. His face turned another shade paler. He was trembling when he roughly pushed Thranduil's hand off his healthy shoulder. "Stop. Pretending you don't mind doesn't make it better."

The mood was already becoming aggressive again and would doubtlessly have erupted if it hadn't been for the missing scouts finally joining them. And they were not alone. While chaos had ensued in the Steward's house, the part of the White Company who should have watched Cair Andros had returned.

"Forgive the delay. There are riders approaching, Steward." One of the scouts immediately blurted out the most important news. "If my eyes weren't cheated, His Majesty Elessar is among them."

"So the King is alive." Faramir closed his eyes for a moment.

Thranduil, too, allowed himself another of his rare, brief prayers of thanks to the Valar. The King of Men was usually doing quite a good job; it would have been a shame. Besides, Legolas was really bad at handling with grief, though Thranduil had no idea where he got that from.

The soldier by the scouts' side, the captain from the other day named Beregond, smiled at Faramir in relief. "I hear you're finally being with us again, the way it should be. I have to talk to you in private."

Faramir's impatient expression though made him get straight to the point. He looked back to where another soldier was waiting at the main entrance. "The King's elvish advisor from Rivendell has proven his innocence to us and has given us vital information that he's gathered in his time as a spy among the enemies. This palace hasn't been safe in months. And there are still enemies in the building. My men already took up position in the gardens."

"To do what exactly?"

Following a dark suspicion, Thranduil had kept an eye on that second soldier, and when they slightly turned, coming into the light of a torch, there was no doubt left at last. The face of that person looked quite familiar. Just like the one of another man outside, under the canopy, who'd been working in Thranduil's own palace until last year before joining his son in Gondor. Not to mention the cheeky golden strand of hair sticking out from under the helmet of the first guy.

Thranduil had to fight the urge to personally draw Andúril. It was about time, he got his own weapons back. Elessar wouldn't have appreciated it very much if he'd used the beloved sword of his ancestors to behead a completely brainless Gondolindrim.

Why exactly had Legolas just bent the rhetoric knee if there were now some elves sneaking in here again, deceiving the Steward? Noldor. No matter what they told him, when Eru had created the elves, these people had surely not been the first to put their hand up for the distribution of brains.

"Why are you really here?" Thranduil asked the soldier sharply. "To make sure, the elves of Cair Andros can finish what they didn't achieve yesterday, just when they've come back to their senses a bit? I did not travel to Gondor to prevent exactly that, just so that a few men and an elf with pathological delusions can stab me in the back then. What are you doing back there, Glorfindel? Why don't you tell us personally what you and the others are planning to do with the Stewardaides leader?"