Reasons Unknown

by grixx

Young Alex literally walks into Middle Earth. An innocent girl looking for adventure inadvertently changes her life forever and uncovers there is more hidden truth to discover than what she originally thought for reasons unknown. Serving a little dose of mary sue once in a while. Legolas is slightly OC. 10th and 11th walker.

21. Chapter 21

AN: I know and I'm sorry-again-I've been MIA for almost a month but I wanted to make sure this chapter was up to par with this character's particular storyline. I hope you guys will still love this story...*gives puppy dog eyes*

Just to give all of you dear readers an insight on what the mood of this chapter is, here are the songs i was listening to when I envisioned and wrote this chapter...(you can choose to ignore this particular AN or you can listen in, whatever floats your boat...=))) and this list is not arranged in any particular order.

Freya Ridings - Lost Without You

Sleeping at Last - Turning Page

The Wind and The Wave - Chasing Cars

Snow Patrol - Make this go on forever

alright, alright! enough of my senseless chatter, let's get on with it! I'll see you guys at the bottom. =)) xoxo

disclaimer: I do not own anything nor am I affiliated with anything or anyone mentioned, referenced in this ff.

Chapter 21

-Greenwood, Third Age 2968 to October 3018-

"Can you hear me, Greenwood? Wake up, mellon!"

With an effort that nearly sapped his strength, Legolas responded to the whispered command and slowly forced his lids open. Blinding white light poured in through tiny openings in the cave walls high above, searing his eyes, while pain again sent him plunging into the dark oblivion of unconsciousness.

It had been two days since they last spotted an elven encampment. Tracking a party of orc scouts reported running rampant along the Northern border of Greenwood, Legolas decided to take a handful of his finest elven soldiers, including his long time friend within the camp—Daeron. It was suppose to be an easy plan of hunt and kill, but what they were not expecting was a party of almost three hundred orcs, scavenging and camping along the border.

Why are they here? What were they looking for?

Questions that flittered across the elf prince's mind. Three hundred scouts against only a handful of elven soldiers and the outcome looked grim for them. Signaling for the rest of the soldier to retreat, it was unfortunate that they did not realize that they were being hunted as well, the distraction of the orc camp laid out perfectly well as bait for the unsuspecting elves. At the last minute as they were retreating to gather reinforcements, the quarter from where Legolas and Daeron was hiding in was ambushed. Sending the elf prince and his trusted friend into a fight for survival as orcs from all sides tried to slaughter them. It was mere luck that they both escaped although unable to free themselves unscathed. Still, both elves thanked Eru and their lucky stars for the fortunate slip past death.

It was night again when he came around and saw the grimy face of Daeron, his friend who was charged with overlooking the border security—which they had last seen almost three days ago. "Where am I?" he asked his cracked, parched lips protesting at the slight movement.

"In Udûn," his friend said grimly. "In a cave, to be more exact."

Legolas tried to lift his arm and discovered his left had a bloodied gash. His gaze followed the light and he studied it in foggy confusion, trying to think how they got here.

Understanding his friend's bewilderment, Daeron answered, "Don't you remember? That gash was part of your reward for swinging on an yrc and breaking his nose, not to mention slitting his throat with his own scimitar when they tried to hunt us again last night."

Legolas closed his eyes, but could not remember fighting with an orc. Funny—he thought—he never imagined he was being tracked inside his own kingdom. "What was the rest of my reward?" he asked, his voice hoarse, unfamiliar to his own ears.

"Not much from what I can see. But that arrow that nicked you must have been laced with poison. Thank Eru it missed, otherwise I'd be stuck in here with a royal corpse instead of a friend. I gather your memory might be a little hazy—you slept most of the day. The sun'll set soon. "

"Charming," Legolas gritted. His coolly dispassionate tone wrung an admiring laugh from Daeron.

"Damn you, Greenwood! Don't blink an eye no matter what, do you? Cool as anything, just like everyone always says." Reaching behind him, Daeron dipped a rusty tin cup into a puddle of slimy water, poured off as much of the mold that floated on top as he could, then held the cup against Legolas' parched lips.

Legolas swallowed, then spat it out in furious revulsion.

Ignoring his reaction, Daeron pressed the cup to the helpless elf's lips again and said, "Now I know it don't have the delicate bouquet of your favorite elven wine, and it's not in a clean, genteel crystal goblet, but if you don't drink it, you'll deprive our orc-hunters of the privilege of killing you themselves, and they'll take out their disappointment on me."

Legolas' brows snapped together, but he saw his friend was joking, and he took a few sips of the vile, dank liquid.

"That's better." Daeron continued lightly, but he was worriedly changing the binding of Legolas' arm with strips torn from his own shirt after some time has passed. "You could have spared yourself this wound, if you took my word and we stayed back at the encampment and had the soldiers scour the Northern border." He grunted pulling the last tie to secure the makeshift bandage in place, "Those wretched orcs sure made it a habit of crossing into our land. They seem desperate this time too."

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to salvage your arm. Your reputation precedes you, Greenwood. They recognized you hence the unintended ambush. Guess you angered one too many orcs in your lifetime. But I doubt if their spur of the moment stunt was meant to assassinate you—I heard one of the orcs say you was a trump card they intend to use in case they want a trade. 'Course you're not doing your share, which is to be taken—not when you go around slicing and maiming every orc even when you were caught off guard."

"How bad do I look?" Legolas asked without much interest.

"I'd say one more ambush like this one and you'll not find your two elleths nearly as amorous as they were when you left."

Unconsciousness was wrapping its tentacles around him, trying to pull him back into the familiar black pit, and Legolas fought against it, preferring the pain to oblivion. "What 'two elleths'?"

"I reckon you ought to know better than me. One's named Nienna. Is that your wife? I don't recall a letter addressed to her when you sent me to take a message to your father three months ago."

"Mistress."

"And Alexandria?"

Legolas blinked, trying to clear his fogged senses. Alexandria. Alex— "A child," he said as a dim vision of a dark-haired girl with sparkling emerald eyes, her cheeks tinged pink with slight dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks made even more adorable under the sunlight as it danced before his eyes. "No," he whispered in pained regret as his life passed swiftly before him—a wasted life of empty flirtations and debauchery, a meaningless life culminating in his whimsical, impulsive marriage to a bewitching girl. "My wife."

"Really?" Daeron said, looking impressed. The elf soldier had not had the luxury of spending time within the elven society, giving the excuse that since he had no family to go home too, he'd rather spend his time in the service of the Greenwood—an excuse Legolas found himself envying over many times in his young life. "Got a mistress and a wife and an elfling? One of everything."

"No—" Legolas corrected hazily. "No elfling. One wife. Several mistresses."

"A princess?" Daeron grinned and rubbed his hand across his dirty breeches. The news of finally having an elven princess making the soldier smile. It's about time Greenwood had any valid reason to celebrate. A princess would lighten the shadow that had overcasted Greenwood. "I don't mean to sound censorious. I admire an elf who knows how to live. But," he continued, thunderstruck despite himself, "several mistresses? Really?"

"Not," Legolas corrected, gritting his teeth against the pain, "at the same time."

"Well that does make a lot of sense." Daeron commented, hint of humor lacing his tone. Hoping to keep the elf prince from falling into the pit of unconsciousness again. Since their ambush almost a four days ago, Daeron had been at the edge of despair watching as Legolas fought off the effects of the poison. What would he say in front of the King in the event of the prince's untimely death? Knowing now that a wife—a princess—is awaiting his return firmed Daeron's resolve to survive this nightmare they found themselves in.

"Are you sure there was no letter from my wife?" Legolas whispered, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness. His mind going back to when Daeron returned after delivering the news to his father. He vividly remembered sending two letters. His father had sent out a response, despite it being unsurprisingly formal and with clear instructions, what did surprise him was that no hint of information about Alex or how her debut went was reflected on the letter. What else surprised him was that Alex had sent him nothing. His mind then, conjuring up various images some pleasant and some gruesome about how her introduction to elven society went. She was his friend after all, and it was his sworn duty now as a husband to look out for her.

"I don't know why you keep asking." Shaking his head and watching the prince from the corner of his eye, "How much longer?" Daeron whispered to Legolas in the darkness. It was hours since the sun had already set and Legolas kept his senses on alert for any sounds that might indicate presence of orcs.

"An hour, and then we can make a run for it," Legolas answered tightly as he flexed his cramped muscles, forcing blood into them to strengthen them for their impending flight.

"Are you sure you heard them say elven troops are fighting fifty miles south of here? I'd hate for us to walk fifty miles in the wrong direction, me with a game leg and you with a—."

"It's only a nick," Legolas answered dismissively, referring to the wound he'd received from the lone orc they overpowered yesterday when they tried to venture out of the cave.

"But Lord Elrond and his twin sons were there when I arrived to report. Did I tell you I finally met Lord Glorfindel?" A wistful tone coloring Daeron's voice, his mind recalling the day he finally get to meet the fabled elf-warrior, effectively diverting the prince's attention whose face is scrunched trying to suppress the pain from the poison still lingering in his wound.

"Yes, you already told me that." Legolas countered dismissively. Although it did perplexed him at the sudden appearance of the Lords from Imladris. Legolas gave it little thought seeing as Greenwood had sent out letters to announce his and Alex's marriage. It was only warranted that other elven realms would come calling.

"Did I mention, Lord Elrond was looking for a 'granddaughter' though?" At Daeron's questions, Legolas' mind was piqued with interest. "I was not aware he had any family residing in Greewnood."

"Neither have I." Effectively dismissing the subject and filing it away for later scrutiny. Leaning his head back and noticing the darkening skies above the slits of the small cave they are hiding in. The cave they'd been hiding in since yesterday while the orc scouts searched the woods for them was so small that they were both nearly doubled in half. Pain shot through Legolas' cramped leg and he stopped moving, his breathing shallow and fast as he automatically called up Alexandria's image and focused on it with every fiber of his being. He tried to imagine how she looked dressed and fitted as an elven royalty, but today all he saw was a girl in a wooded glade, looking up at him with a pad in her arms and all the admiration in the world shining in her eyes. With his eyes clenched shut, Legolas slowly traced every curve of her face in his mind. The pain in his arm retreated until it was an ache on the perimeters of his mind, still present but bearable now. It was a technique he'd used numerous times in the past, and it was as successful now as it had been before.

In all his years of fighting, this was closest he had to facing death. How had he become so callous to lead his soldiers to an ambush? Quietly chastising himself for his complacency. Never again, he thought.

In the beginning of his deployment a month ago when weeks of battle and deprivation drove him to the brink of madness, it was Alexandria he focused on to escape the pain that racked his body and tried to devour his mind. In his imagination, he relived, slowly, every second he had spent with her, concentrating fiercely on each minute detail of their surroundings, recalling every word, every inflection.

But as days faded into weeks, his memories of their brief time together were no longer enough to counteract the torment; especially trapped in a cave after being ambushed. He needed another weapon to silence the sweetly insidious voice that urged him gently to give up the fight to live, to let himself succumb to the pleasant anesthesia of death. And so Legolas began to invent scenes and build them around her, using them to reinforce his flagging will to survive because he knew from his experience with wounded elves in their camp that when despair set in, death soon followed.

In his mind, he invented all sorts of scenes—pleasant ones in which Alexandria ran ahead of him, laughing her musical laugh, then she turned—waiting for him to come to her, frightening scenes where he saw her cast out on the streets by his father and living in a mortal slum, images of Laketown flashing in his mind— waiting for Legolas to come home and rescue her.

He invented dozens of scenes, and the only feature each one had in common was that Alexandria was always waiting for him. Smiling, laughing, debating and his favorite—when she was in deep concentration, her nose buried in her parchment. He knew the scenes were fantasy, but he concentrated on them anyway. Because they were his only weapon against the monsters in his mind that shrieked for him to give up the struggle, to loosen his grip on sanity—and then on life.

And so, in the squalor of the vermin-infested cave, he had closed his eyes and planned his escape so that he could go home to her. Now, after months of looking back on the bleakness of his former world, he was ready to let Alexandria show him her world, where everything was fresh and alive and unspoiled— where something wonderful was waiting just around the comer. He wanted to lose himself in her sweetness and surround himself with her laughter and color. He wanted to cleanse himself of the filth of war and then rid himself of the tarnish of his misspent life.

Beyond that, he had only one other goal: to end the evil that has gripped Arda on all sides. The evil that spread fear and fire and death to all living things. To rid Arda of the evil would mean giving his Alex the Arda she always knew. Peaceful and full of life.

Darkness had started to blanket the entire Greenwood now. Straining his ear to listen for any sign of their hunters, with great effort, Legolas helped his weary friend to stand and pulled his arm over his own shoulders, bracing his weight against his side as he half-carried, half-dragged Daeron out of the cave and across the shallow creek. Grinning and exhausted, Legolas glanced up, trying to gauge the time by the sun's position, which was low in the sky, blocked from his view by the hills and trees. He wanted to know the time, it was important to him. Tis' very late in the afternoon, he decided.

Further they went, walking and dragging his friend. The sky was starting to darken when he had first seen the uniformed troops moving stealthily through the trees ahead of him. Elven troops. Freedom. Home.

With luck, he could be home in three or four weeks.

Fate, it seemed, had more surprises up its sleeve than what the elf prince originally thought. But that observation was quickly replaced with a realization that fate would not be if it were not for the surprises. But being a two thousand year old elf, nothing should have surprised him anymore. Like the elder, more wiser elves who only accepted whatever fate had thrown their way. His father's letter was an example of that surprise. Alex's lack of response was another. And so was that ambush, and the miracle of his brush with death and their narrow escape. What he thought was his reprieve for surprises for the mean time was another surprise in itself.

After three weeks of recovering in the largest elven military encampment, recounting with elven soldiers and councilors about the location of the yrc camp, their number and the battle strategy to be forged to tackle the threat head on, it was with utter relief that Legolas found himself on a horse back to the heart of Greenwood kingdom.

It was a surprise to Legolas to see people gathered to welcome his return. The people lined up outside the palace was staggering. Inclining his head as his horse drew nearer to pass the crowd towards the palace gates, Legolas was beside himself with bewilderment that the people were not celebrating, neither were they congratulatory. Approaching the crowd, to his astonishment realized that the people were in vigil. Candles were lit along the palace gates, while elves some had their heads bowed. Facing straight ahead, Legolas spotted his father on the steps. News of his almost death had shook Greenwood and the details of his ambush still in question.

Legolas swept his gaze over the people who had gathered, an elfling with wide blue eyes stared at him. Her hair swept in a braid, as the elfing held a bouquet of flowers. Without hesitation the child mustered up all her courage and walked up to the prince, "For the Princess." Her timid voice reaching his ears, to which he extended his hand and accepted the flowers, his face still in confusion over what has happened. He had been away for almost two months. The struggle with the spiders and the unexpected skirmish with the orcs had prolonged his unintended deployment and all he could think now is finding Alex to explain himself. Turning his gaze forward, it was for the first time that he noted that his father, along with Alden and a few other palace advisers stood to greet him but no Alex.

Dread started to settle in his gut and anger simmering in his veins that his most feared scenario had come true.

The group seemed to turn in unison toward the drawing room. Thranduil's senses heightened sharply by the growing awareness of his son's menace, as well as Alden's concern about a possible confrontation with those responsible for Alexandria's swift departure. Thranduil paused inside the drawing room and swiftly surveyed the seating, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of each location. Looking for a neutral position, he decided against the sofa, seating himself instead in one of the two wing chairs facing each other in front of the fireplace, then concentrated all his will on trying to subdue the sudden, quickened pounding of his heart. Thoughts running rampant in his mind, of when and how to tell his son of the events and how best to manage his shock and most certainly the anger that is sure to come sweeping all over Greenwood.

Alden apparently opted for neutrality also, for he chose the other chair for himself. The advisor looking almost green at the prospect of another life altering confrontation. The last year has been one of the most exciting and challenging year of his life compared to the thousand of years he had lived.

Legolas crossed to the fireplace, draped his arm across the mantel and turned, regarding the entire assemblage in cool, speculative silence.

While the King gave an extremely brief, nervous account of Legolas' whereabouts for the last two months, Emeril walked in, a beaming smile upon his lips, a tray of wine in his hands. Unaware of the charged atmosphere or of Legolas' relationship to his father, the loyal footman carried the tray straight to the King and filled a glass. As soon as the King finished speaking, Emeril handed the first glass to Thranduil, and said, "It is indeed a joyous time, your grace. Despite the recent turn of events, the Prince's return has certainly brought joy to the people of Greenwood."

Alden felt hysterical laughter well up inside him, combined with escalating panic, as Emeril returned to the table and poured more wine into the remaining glasses, then passed them out to the silent inhabitants of the room, including Legolas.

Seconds ticked past, but no one, not even Thranduil, had nerve enough to be the first one to lift his glass and partake of the vintage burgundy concoction that had been brought up from the cellars in advance to celebrate the Prince's return that had taken place... No one, not even Legolas.

Seemingly impervious to the throbbing strain in the drawing room, Legolas turned the glass in his hand, studying the bubbles in the sparkling crystal glass, then he took a long swallow. When he lowered the glass, he regarded Thranduil with a sardonic expression. "It's good to know," he coldly remarked, "that you haven't let your grief over my alleged deployment prevent you from enjoying life's simple pleasures."

Alden flinched, but Thranduil accepted the biting gibe with a nonchalant smile. "Be assured that we toasted you whenever we opened a new bottle, son."

Beneath lowered gazes, Alden stole a swift, apprehensive glance at the tall, brooding figure at the fireplace, wondering a little hysterically what sort of elf he actually was. He appeared to feel no antagonism over the King's having denied information regarding the whereabouts of his wife—and yet he was angry because the wine cellar had been raided.

Legolas' next words immediately disabused them of the erroneous notion that he was unconcerned about his estates. "How has Greenwood faired in my absence?" he asked facing Alden sharply, Legolas' features a mask of calm, and for the next hour he snapped rapid-fire questions at Alden, interrogating him in minute detail about the state of each of his eleven estates, the kingdom's myriad business ventures, his personal holdings, and even the health of some of his retainers.

Whenever he spoke, his deep voice scraped against Thranduil's lacerated nerves and, on those rare occasions when he stole a glance at him, apprehension made him quickly jerk his gaze away. Dressed in tight breeches that outlined his long, legs and an open-necked white shirt that clung to his wide shoulders, his son looked completely relaxed, yet there was an undeniable aura of forcefulness, of power—restrained now, but gathering force—waiting to be unleashed on them. Standing almost within arms' reach of them, he loomed like a sinister specter, a dangerous, malevolent giant of an elf.

For what seemed an eternity, Thranduil sat perfectly still, existing in a state of jarring tension, fighting to appear completely calm, clinging to his composure as if it were a blanket he could use to insulate himself against his son. With a mixture of terrible dread and utter determination, he waited for the inevitable moment when Legolas would finally bring up the matter of Alex. When Legolas was finished discussing estate matters with Alden, however, he switched to the status of his other ventures, and Thranduil felt his anxiety begin to escalate. When that topic was exhausted, Legolas inquired about local events, and Thranduil's panic was mixed with bewilderment. But when his son switched from that to gossip and trivialities and asked about the outcome of the tournaments he missed, Thranduil's bewilderment gave way to annoyance.

Obviously, Legolas considered his wife less important than some elf-lord who was considered a champion marksman who could've allegedly challenge Legolas in an archery tournament, he realized. Not that he should have been surprised by that, he reminded himself bitterly, for as he had discovered to his mortification a short time ago, his son had never considered Alex as anything but an irksome responsibility.

When all matters, down to the most trivial, had finally been discussed, an uneasy silence fell over the room, and Thranduil naturally assumed the time was finally here to discuss Alex. Just when he expected Legolas to ask to see him alone, Legolas abruptly straightened from his lounging posture at the fireplace and announced his intention to leave!

Prudence warned Thranduil to keep silent, that he should know his son better, but Thranduil could not bear another hour, let alone another day, of this awful suspense. Striving to sound calm and impersonal, he said, "I think there is one more issue that needs to be discussed, Legolas."

Without bothering to so much as a glance in his direction,"That issue can wait," Legolas said coldly. "When I've seen to some important matters, you and I will talk privately."

The implication that the matter concerning Alex was not an "important" matter was unmistakable, and Thranduil stiffened at the deliberate, unprovoked insult. Putting a tight rein on his growing temper, he said with unarguable logic, "Surely your wife warrants the same amount of your time as some nameless elf-lord's archery skill, and I would rather discuss it now, while we are all together."

Legolas' head jerked toward him, and Thranduil's breath froze at the hard anger flaring in his eyes. "I said 'privately'!" he snapped, leaving them with the staggering realization that beneath his cool, impassive facade Legolas was burningly angry…and frightened. Before Thranduil could assimilate that or withdraw his request for his time—as he was on the verge of doing—Alden swiftly arose and beckoned Emeril who stood off to the farthest corner, to follow him out of the room.

The door to the salon closed behind them with an ominous thud, and for the first time in almost two months, the father and son had finally had a moment alone.

From the corner of his eyes, Thranduil watched his son walk to the table and pour himself another glass of wine, and he took advantage of his preoccupation to really look at him. Instead of gentle beauty, there was ruthless nobility stamped on Legolas' soft yet rugged features, implacable authority in the tough jawline and straight nose, and cold determination in the thrust of his chin.

Thranduil bristled at the harsh cynicism he saw in his eyes, the biting mockery he heard in his drawl. Thranduil observed with clarity his son's eyes were cold and unwelcoming as glaciers; eyes without kindness or understanding.

Racking his brain for the best way to broach the matter on his mind, he approached the table and poured himself another glass of wine, oblivious to the fact that his other glass was still full, then he looked around, trying to decide whether to sit or stand. Thranduil chastised himself for his current behavior. He stood before Kings, Lords and Maiars and fought many wars in his time, and here he is now. A king reduced to a mumbling fool in fear of his son's wrath. He finally decided to stand so he would seem tall and intimidating.

At the fireplace Legolas raised his glass to his lips, watching his father. His father could have only two possible reasons for insisting on this meeting, he thought. The first possibility was that to scold him again for his brazen decision to take on Alex. The tirade he was already reciting in his head about how unfit she was for him, the scenario alone making him roll his eyes internally. The second possibility was that his father would try honesty for once and tell him what in Eru's name happened to Alex.

Legolas drained his glass and put it down on the mantel with a sharp thud. "I'm waiting," he snapped impatiently.

Thranduil whirled to face his son, appalled by his biting tone. "I know," he said, determined at all costs to speak to him with calm maturity and to make it infinitely clear to him that he still deserves respect. He maybe the King but he was his father first.

On the other hand, Thranduil debated and decided with grim resolution—that with his son's current state mentally and emotionally— he did not want to do or say anything which might reveal to his son how hurt and angry and disillusioned Alex had been when she discovered the truth about his feelings for her, or what a fool she had made of herself for Greenwood's most infamous libertine. To add to Thranduil's dilemma, it was rapidly becoming obvious that in his son's current mood, Legolas was not likely to react reasonably to the scandalous subject of Alex's lineage. In fact, he instinctively knew he would react the opposite. "I'm not quite certain how to begin," Thranduil said hesitantly.

"In that case," Legolas drawled sarcastically as his blistering gaze sliced over his father who raised his perfectly shaped brow in challenge, "allow me to offer a few suggestions: If you're about to tell me what happened to my wife when I entrusted her care to you before I left, I think that would ease my raging fury at the moment." His drawl became clipped and abrupt at his father's silence. "Where is my wife?"

Thranduil tired to open his mouth and close it a few times, the words seeming frozen and unable to be voiced out. "I—that is, I don't know exactly how—"

"Adar," he interrupted scathingly masking his surprise at the current state of his father gaping like a fish out of water. "Let's get on with your charade. You will tell me now where my wife is or you'll have to think of something else to soften my attitude toward you and for Alex to win my forgiveness."

"Win your—what?" Thranduil exploded as outrage conquered his fears.

"Why not begin by telling me what happened during her debut?" he continued savagely, ignoring his father's outburst of righteous indignation. "That would have a nice ring to it. Then, if you could manage to tell me where she is so that we may sort this out like any other married elven couple does privately, I would appreciate the gesture—"

Thranduil was so close to telling truth that his voice shook with shamed anger. "Stop it! Enough of this, Legolas! Enough of your pious self pity, your righteous loathing of your disillusioned slights against the world. If you want to know something about my daughter, your forgiveness is the last thing she will ever care about."

"Make it brief." Legolas drawled silkily, shoving away from the fireplace. "Moreover, softening my attitude ought to be your first concern. Well-bred elleths who aspire to be princesses must seek to make themselves agreeable to any eligible prince at all times." He was all over the place and he knew he was not making one bit of sense in this argument but he could not stop himself. He needed answers and he needed someone to blame. Moreover, he needed someone to own up to whatever he was sure was somebody's mistake. He plowed on, "Now then, since you can't change what happened and you can't weep, why not try telling me what happened that scared her off," he insolently suggested. "You did try to accomplish what I asked, did you not? Very much, I'll vow. So much so that you must have scared her off. That's it, isn't it?" he mocked.

"Why are you behaving like this?" Thranduil asked incredulous. How had he not noticed how vicious his son had become? Has war and constant death finally hardened his son? Was Legolas on the road to becoming just like him all those years ago?

Without bothering to answer, Thranduil moved closer, looming over his son like a dark, ominous cloud. "In a day or two, I'll tell you what I've decided you should know." Speaking to his son in a tone that told of an adult speaking to a child.

Anger and confusion were warring in Legolas' mind, sending his thoughts into a complete tumult. His father had never cared about him and he had no right, no reason to act like a self-righteous, outraged father. "I am not a mindless piece of chattel." Legolas burst out. "You can't just dispose of me like a piece of furniture!"

"Can't I? Try me." Thranduil clipped. His mind groped wildly for some way to neutralize his irrational anger and soothe what could only be his wounded ego. Downing the almost forgotten wine in one single swoop, he sought desperately for some guiding logic. His son is obviously in anguish and the only way to ease his pain was by expressing anger and Sweet Eru help all that stood in Legolas' way for the years to come. Thranduil's thought drifted to Alex in that moment. She was the innocent and injured party in their relationship. But at the moment his son needed him—the powerful and potentially dangerous party, and so Thranduil tried to reason with him. "I can see that you're angry—"

"How very observant of you," Legolas mocked nastily.

Ignoring his sarcasm, Thranduil persevered in what he hoped was a reasonable tone, "And I can see there is no point in trying to reason with you in this mood—"

"Go ahead and try it," Legolas invited, but the look in his eyes said the opposite as he took a menacing step toward's his father. Anger swimming in his azure eyes, masking the pain and desperation lingering beneath the depths. Lips curling in barely concealed anger, like a lion ready to pounce at the first sign of vulnerability.

Thranduil hastily retreated a step. "There's—there's no point. You won't listen to me. Anger blows out the lamp of the mind..."

The change in his father's demeanor caught Legolas entirely off guard. Unfortunately, it only made him angrier now, because what he needed was a fight, to have someone direct his anger to. Instead what he found as his gaze swept over his father was understanding and pain—the same pain reflected in his eyes. The elf that stood before him now was not a king but a father. And in Legolas' fury he was blindsided by the fact that he was behaving like a spoiled brat. His father knew the grueling details and until Legolas decided to compose himself into some semblance of a noble, educated elf, he was not going to get the answers he is seeking.

And therein lay his problem, Legolas thought cynically: a lot has happened in the last two months, he realized with blazing contempt.

He stared hard at his father, convincing himself that he was punishing him, yet despite all the evidence, he could not find a trace of guile in those flashing eyes of his or his angry, upturned face. Furious with his inner reluctance to see what his father was trying to say, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

Thranduil watched him leave, buffeted by a myriad of conflicting emotions, including fury, relief, and alarm. Legolas paused in the doorway and Thranduil tensed automatically.

"I will move back to my house in the east tomorrow. In the meantime, let me leave you with some instructions: I am not to be disturbed in my seclusion." Thranduil moved to say something but was effectively cut off by Legolas, "I will perform my duties as prince and captain if that is your concern, but do not expect anymore from me."

Legolas' tone promised terrible consequences should Thranduil choose to ignore his order, and although Thranduil couldn't imagine what form those reprisals might take, or why he should want to challenge his son's threat, Thranduil was momentarily quelled by the threat in his voice. "If and when I find out what happened to Alex while I was gone," Legolas' voice broke at the mention of her name, a slip he tried to cover quickly, "The ones' responsible should make plans of leaving Greenwood immediately, death is too good for what I plan to do to them. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

With a magnificent gesture of unconcern that completely belied his alarm, Thranduil shrugged lightly and said, "I speak four languages fluently. One of them is Sindarin."

"Are you patronizing me?" Legolas asked in a silken, threatening voice.

Thranduil's courage warred with common sense, but neither of them won. Afraid to advance and unwilling to retreat, he tried to hold his ground by daring to say in the tone of an adult addressing a cranky, unreasonable child: "I have no wish to discuss that or anything else with you when you are in such an unreasonable mood."

"Adar," he said in an awful voice, "if you're wondering how far you can push me, you've just reached your limit. In my present 'unreasonable mood,' nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to question every elf in this palace in regards to what happened to my wife." Legolas defied all the rules of courtesy and walked off without so much as a nod to his father.

Grief is the response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or some living thing that has died, to which a bond or affection was formed. Although conventionally focused on the emotional response to loss, grief also has physical, cognitive, behavioral, social, cultural, spiritual and philosophical dimensions. The grief associated with death is familiar to most people, but individuals grieve in connection with a variety of losses throughout their lives, such as unemployment, ill health or the end of a relationship. Loss can be categorized as either physical or abstract; physical loss is related to something that the individual can touch or measure—such as losing a spouse through death—while other types of loss are more abstract, possibly relating to aspects of a person's social interactions.

Grief, therefore, is universal. At some point in everyone's life, there will be at least one encounter with grief. It may be from the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, the end of a relationship, or any other change that alters life as one know it. Grief is very personal. It's not very neat or linear. It doesn't follow any timelines or schedules. One may cry, become angry, withdraw, feel empty. None of these things are unusual or wrong. Everyone grieves differently.

For the elf-prince of Greenwood, his grief was all consuming. Teetering between the edge of an all consuming rage—with having nothing to direct it too— and an all too familiar stab of pain of disappointment with the entire turn of events—without having the energy to appoint a particular person responsible.

Fate had indeed, surprised him again.

Moving to his house in the east, the news of the elf prince's decision for seclusion spread like wildfire amongst the elven elite and the common folk alike. Versions of his arrival and the fiery confrontation with his father sparked gossips that no one could verify. And that Alden had seen to protecting and protect he did the members of the royal family by keeping hush about the authenticity of the gossips and see to it that Emeril kept his mouth closed too.

On the first month of his return, Legolas upturned his estate. The servants all scampering about trying to find their footing with their prince who became more focused with work than ever. His work schedule became arduous. The work load for his staff becoming onerous. Word had gotten out that the prince was fastidious in his duties with the joke circulating that he was working himself to death, and another joke that the princess' disappearance was linked to his odd demanding work ethics. All of them remaining oblivious—which Legolas opted that way—that their prince was entirely just conscientious. He was gearing himself for when Alex would return and he was making sure he would make her proud.

Legolas kept up his end of the deal. He performed the duties of his crown almost to perfection. Everyday, Alden would ride to his house and his entire morning would be filled with closed door counseling about the placement of elven troops and the subsequent battle formations and strategies in keeping the threat at bay. Not another skirmish with the yrc scouts was reported. Although the opposite could be said about the spiders. In the afternoon, Legolas would immerse himself with business side of running the economics of a kingdom much to his father's chagrin that he should not take everything on his shoulders. Legolas also—this with much enthusiasm on his part—abstained from mingling with the elven high society. His realizations of his misspent life and his immature charades with elleths and social games had become lackluster and he saw it all as frivolous and simply pointless. His entire change in his approach to what he dubbed as his second chance at life would go on for years. Unknowingly denying himself the chance to process his grief of Alex's abrupt departure. Scolding himself when his mind would take a dark turn. Reminding himself that he should not dwell on it too much, seeing as Alex had appeared and disappeared in his life and this one should not be different. But every time he tried to convince his self, a feeling of extreme sadness would overtake him.

Alden watched with rapt silence the unmistakable change in his friend. Legolas' drive almost nearing to scaring even the King. They both knew something had snapped the elven prince into action. He was dependable before, but now his dedication to his work was undeniably alarming. Despite everything Legolas has achieved within the first few years after his return, he has remained stern about his decision to remain away from the public eye. He was only seen when he was on his way on his deployment and every time he returned, it was to bury his nose in diplomatic work.

The Greenwood kingdom grew. Their trades bringing in more despite having the borders shut and the entry and exit to the elven kingdom ran with tight security. Their military doubling in strength and tenacity. But the prince refused to slow down. Successfully turning Greenwood into a self reliant kingdom of economic trade and military power, Legolas turned his attention to his home. Modernizations to the the prince's home started immediately as he realized after an afternoon of debacle with trade officials that he had prepared a kingdom to accommodate a princess, but he had not once made changes to accommodate a wife in his now home.

Changes to his estate started as soon as the plan were drawn up. Some of the best architects and designers of the realm were convened in secrecy day and night, all in awe and in fear if the prince's drive to perfection. Changes to accommodate an adjoining room for the princess went underway, the staff increased to accommodate Alex's possible needs. But despite Legolas' tenacity to make sure everything was perfect and his tenacity to spot what needs improvement, Alex never appeared. In his self imposed seclusion, Legolas' thoughts consumed him, in his fear of what could have happened, he made sure to busied himself with more work. Opting to live in denial of what Alex's disappearance could mean. In moments when his mind would almost torment him in the silence of his house, he would allow himself to entertain the thought that Alex had never disappeared this long before and the elf prince would drown himself with the best wine he had in store. Whatever solace the elven wine would offer that night would be gone in the morning and he would remain trapped until the next cycle would begin again.

The people of Greenwood took notice too. Their earlier grievance for the disappearance of their princess now included the seemingly invisible prince. His presence though still felt, could not be said the same for his appearance for it had now become scarce. Legolas' presence was like a rush of wind. Sudden and disrupting and haunting in its intensity, disrupting whatever order was placed and effecting change, even if it was just minute and disappearing altogether just as quickly it had came.

The elven society took notice of the prince's seeming personal decision to make himself scarce. Legolas' decision for privacy and living almost like a hermit had now began as a playful wager amongst the member of the nobles. Some took this in serious condemnation of his actions, while some took it in stride and placed wager on his possible next appearance and the princess' own appearance. Sadly noting—by some fo the elder members—that the entire kingdom had not had the chance to welcome them both together. A damning criticism to the royal family and their handling of its members.

"Your grace," Alden started, as he stood to properly organized his things in order as they finished that day's council. Legolas turned his questioning blue eyes to his friend and trusted advisor. "What are your plans for this night?" Alden questioned.

Legolas' brow furrowed in confusion at the question. In the ten years they had been having the same routine, Alden had never questioned his plans after their council. "It's the Feast of Starlight. The nobles have gathered in the palace for celebration." Alden prodded carefully, remembering the thundering anger of the Prince ten years ago, still fresh on his mind. Legolas remained silent, so Alden continued on, clearing his throat and licking his lips as he composed himself. "It…it would be wise to attend. The people would rejoice if they can see their prince from time to time."

Legolas mind rolled with the information. Ten years, Legolas noted with a startle. Has it really been ten years? "You are either cooped up in this house buried in work or in deployment distracting yourself with military obligations—for years. This is not healthy. It is frightening, in actuality." Alden passed noting that Legolas was only half listening and the Prince's mind suddenly ran with thought only known to him. But Alden refused to be deterred, "Spend sometime with your people. Your father—"

"I have not the care about what my father thinks. Has he made any complains about my work?" Legolas snapped, the only sign of life from him.

"Well..no. Nothi—"

"Then his opinions are unwelcome in how I spend my time." came Legolas sharp reply. Legolas instantly regretted treating one of the only few people he considered friends, but after Alden had refused to answer his questions about Alex when he first questioned him, Legolas felt betrayal foster in him. Something he desperately tried to squash down but was not fully successful to. Legolas could read the guilt swimming in his friend's eyes.

Alden sighed defeatedly. Chancing a glance at the elven prince whose back was turned, the advisor's eyes freely expressing his pity over the prince's preference for solitude. Knowing that he had a hand in the prince's current state and remembering that the prince could hear him move about the room, Alden made his way slowly to Legolas' desk and placing the invitation to the feast above the all the other parchments and documents strewn about. Tentatively backing his steps before silently crossing the short distance from the desk to the door and leaving the prince in peace.

Denial —in grieving is an overwhelming emotion. It's not unusual to respond to the intense and often sudden feelings by pretending the loss or change isn't happening. Denying it gives one time to more gradually absorb the news and begin to process it. This is a common defense mechanism and helps numb the person to the intensity of the situation. As the person moves out of the denial stage, however, the emotions they've been hiding will begin to rise. They'll be confronted with a lot of sorrow they've denied. That is also part of the journey of grief, but it can be difficult.

Legolas heard the door close and remained his gaze focused on the vast lawn spread out outside his window. His elven eyes sharp as he studied the figure of Alden disappearing in the distance which Legolas was sure he was headed for the palace to report back to his father and to attend the feast right after. Legolas gaze drifted over the dark sky, clear and not a cloud in sight and the stars bright. He noted that it would not rain that night, and that elves might be blessed with a starry sky just as they celebrated the feast.

His mind betrayed him then, drifting to Alex and at that moment he felt anger blossomed in his chest. He immediately tried to stamp the feeling down. Alex did not deserve his anger. She was young, a mere child, her decisions would depend on the people around her and he was damn well sure the people around her had greatly influenced her decision to leave. If only there was someone in Greenwood brave enough to step up and be honest to him about what happened. Turning his eyes back to his desk, he spotted the invitation carefully placed on top all the other parchments scattered about. His mind playing different scenarios in his head of what could have happened ten years ago. If no one in the palace was brave enough to come to light about what happened to his wife then he knew someone in the society would gladly and ignorantly succumb to his persuasion and he knew that tonight's festive occasion would be the perfect venue for what he was dying to accomplish. Drowning the last of his wine and leaving his study, he called for his horse to be readied as he made his way to his chambers, deciding that ten years of seclusion is enough for now.

Since Enyelwen already knew where her husband stood on the matter of her marital obligations, that unenthusiastic reaction to her rebellious behavior didn't dampen Enyelwen's spirits in the least. In fact, in the mood she was in, she didn't think anything could dampen her spirits. Until a scant minute later, when Aredhel rushed over to her, looking positively panicked. "Oh, Enyelwen, how could you do such a thing!" she burst out, too overwrought to care that a few elves stood to hearing distance. "There isn't an elf here who wouldn't like to wring your neck—including mine when the prince hears of it! You went too far, it's beyond what is pleasing! You can't do—"

"Whatever are you talking about?" Enyelwen interrupted, but her heart was beginning to pound in automatic reaction to her usually imperturbable friend's wild anxiety.

"I'm talking about the wager you had Callon place in your name in the betting book, Enyelwen!"

"In my name—" Enyelwen exclaimed in panic-stricken disbelief. "Oh dear Eru! He wouldn't have!"

"He would and he did! And everyone in this room knows about it."

"Dear Eru!" Enyelwen repeated faintly. Too shaken and angry to answer, plucking up her skirts, she whirled around, searching for Callon . What she saw was dozens of inimical elven faces watching her. She finally saw Callon and bore down on him with murder in her eye and pain in her heart.

"Enyelwen, my love," he said, grinning, "you look more smashing than—" He reached out to take her hand, but she snatched it away, glaring at him with angry, accusing eyes.

"How could you do this to me!" she burst out bitterly. "How could you write that wager down in some book and put my name on it!"

For the second time since she had met him, Callon lost momentary control of his bland expression. "What do you mean?" he demanded in a low, indignant voice. "I did what you wanted me to do. You wanted to demonstrate to Society that the Princess is a fool to fall for Greenwood's feet and is absolutely—with great hilarity—to do it again, and I placed the wager for you at the best place to make your view into the matter public. And it was no easy task," he continued irritably. "Only members of Aerel's, are allowed to record wagers there, which is why I had to put my name over yours and guarantee your—"

"I wanted you to place a wager for me in your name, not mine, which is why I asked you to do it!" Enyelwen cried in a voice raw with anxiety. "A quiet, confidential, unwritten wager!"

Callon's brows snapped together as anger replaced his righteous indignation. "Don't be a nitwit! What could you possibly hope to gain from a 'quiet, confidential' wager?"

"Money!" Enyelwen exclaimed miserably. Callon's mouth dropped open. "Money?" he repeated uncomprehendingly. "You made that wager because you want money?"

"Of course!" she naively replied. "Why else would anyone wager?"

Looking at her as if she were some curious specimen of elleth completely beyond his ken, Callon informed her, "One wagers because one enjoys winning. You have not needed to work for anything before nor needed for anything. Why should you need money?"

That question, although logical, would have required Enyelwen to discuss intentions that were entirely private. Truth be told, since her husband has moved to Lorien following a very private yet still scandalous separation after the debacle involving her, her husband, the prince and his intended almost two thousand years ago, Enyelwen had been close to living like a pauper. Her influence and the fact that her still-husband has influence in Greenwood helped her remain in the infamous circle. "I can't explain," she said miserably, "but I'm sorry for blaming you."

Accepting her apology with a nod, Callon stopped a passing footman and took two glasses of wine from his tray, handing one of them to Enyelwen. "Do you suppose," she said eagerly, after a moment, oblivious to the pregnant hush suddenly creeping over the huge room, "there's a chance Greenwood may not discover my bet?"

"I daresay, not. I heard he was in self imposed seclusion. Living like a hermit following the discovery that the Princess had gone back to—wherever she is that her grace hailed from— Although, for the life of me, I was not allowed into that delectable piece of information." His mind going to the King and Alden who had remained quiet all throughout the debacle with the Princess' sudden disappearance from public eye. "Greenwood had deliberately missed feasts in accord of burying himself in responsibilities befitting of someone in his position and charity work. I daresay, I haven't seen him this dedicated in his chores." Callon, who was rarely oblivious to anything, glanced curiously about him and then upward, following the direction of everyone's gazes. "So I can say, no, he has not discovered your wager." he said wryly and, with a blasé motion of his hand, he directed her attention to the upper balcony at the same moment the Emeril announced in a booming proud voice...

"His grace, the Prince of Greenwood."

Jolts of shock and anticipation roared through the crowd and Enyelwen's head snapped up, her eyes riveted in alarmed horror on the tall, daunting figure clad in stark black, who was stalking purposefully down the stairs. The staircase was less than fifteen yards from Enyelwen, but when Legolas neared the bottom step, the giant sea of people in the room seemed to press forward in a huge wave and an explosion of greetings erupted into a deafening cacophony of sound.

Legolas was taller by half a head than nearly everyone, and from her corner, Enyelwen saw him smile slightly—although it did not reach his eyes— as he seemed to listen to what people were saying to him, but his eyes were casually scanning the crowd —searching, Enyelwen feared, for her. Panicked, she downed her wine and handed the empty glass to Callon, who then gave her his own. "Drink mine," he said dryly. "You're going to need it."

Legolas couldn't barely contain his irritation as the flock of people gathered around him. All excited and unperturbed by his cold indifference to them all. In his peripheral he spotted his father who made an effortless attempt at hiding his shock at Legolas' sudden reappearance—which Legolas with years of experience spotted immediately—and Alden who almost choked on his drink, with a snickering Daeron beside him who raised his glass in his direction, a silent welcome to his unplanned public appearance. Legolas' smile remained plastered on his face, his eyes cold and cynical as he studied and listened to the crowd that had gathered before him. All desperate to get on his good graces and to regale him of the latest gossip. Their faces and names all blending into one big blur as he tried to reign in his boredom.

He realized with sudden clarity, how vain and shallow all of this were. How he had previously enjoyed this and not found it tacky and mundane. Had this people nothing better to do? Was talking about how miserable each other was and failing to admonished how miserable they were that all they seem to do is point out other's miserability the only sensible thing they could waste their time on? As everyone's laughter and voices seemed to enter his ear and quickly pass the other, he concluded with certainty that he felt nothing but disgust with his own race. They were suppose to be wise and all knowing, patient and tenacious. But the people gathered before him now had lost their way. His mind drifted to Alex, his Alex—young, innocent and full of life— and with startling realization he felt sadness and guilt engulf him. He left her to fend off the very same crowd that he now felt pity for. He could only thank Eru, that Alex remained blissfully unaware of what this society actually thought of her. A thought he welcomed with a sigh of relief.

As if they had read his thoughts, one elf spoke about the princess. Undeniably ignorant at how Legolas' eyes seemed to zero in on the poor unsuspecting elf who regaled him—laughingly—about Alex's egregious introduction to society. Recalling her fabled doe eyed idolatry of the him. The rest of the crowd misread his smirk and failing to spot the hardening if his gaze and the straightening of his spine as he listened intently as one by one they tried to give him a recap of how his wife faired. Back-handed compliments he spotted so well delivered with no remorse that only made him simmer more on the inside. One elf beside him spoke closely and complimented at his choice of wife, using his own words to taunt him and insult Alex at the same time that he whipped his head around, scanning the crowd for the only possible person that phrase would come from.

Enyelwen looked around like a fox searching for a bolt-hole, her glance skidding to a stop in every direction that might inadvertently put her in Greenwood's line of vision. Helpless to move, she pressed back against the wall and unthinkingly lifted Callon's glass to her lips, just as her eyes encountered Alden off to her right. The King's closest advisor sent her an odd, quelling look, then turned and spoke rapidly to Aredhel. A moment later, Aredhel was winding her way around the crowd surrounding Legolas, moving toward Enyelwen and Callon.

"Lord Alden says," Aredhel said in an urgent voice as soon as she reached Enyelwen, "to pray not choose tonight of all nights to overindulge for the first time in your life, and not to worry because he says Greenwood will know exactly how to act when he realizes you're wager."

"Did he say anything else?" Enyelwen begged, desperately needing reassurance."Yes," Aredhel said with a vigorous nod. "He said I am to stick to your side like glue and not leave you, no matter what happens tonight."

"Sweet Elbereth!" Enyelwen burst out. "I thought he was going to say there was nothing to worry about!"

Callon shrugged mildly. "Greenwood may not know of your wager yet, so don't look so overwrought."

"I'm not worried solely about the wager," Enyelwen informed him darkly, watching Legolas, trying to anticipate in which direction he would ultimately move when he disentangled himself from the large crowd around him, so that she could slide in the opposite one. "I'm worried he'll discover what I said about his—"

Someone on Legolas' right said something to him and he turned his head; his gaze sliding swiftly, searchingly along the wall where Enyelwen stood... past Aredhel, past Callon, past Enyelwen... and then slashed back, leveling on her like a pair of deadly black arrows. "—wife," Enyelwen finished weakly, while Legolas looked straight at her, impaling her on his gaze, leaving her in no doubt that he intended to seek her out at the first possible moment.

"I think he's just discovered it," Callon teased.

Jerking her eyes from Greenwood's, Enyelwen looked around for a safe place to conceal herself until he moved out of her only path of escape—somewhere where it would not seem to anyone she was hiding. The safest thing to do, she decided quickly, was simply to stroll into the midst of the seven hundred guests and try to melt into the crowd until Legolas lost sight of her.

"Shall we 'mingle,' my dear?" Callon suggested, obviously arriving at the same conclusion.

Slightly relieved, Enyelwen nodded, but the idea of "mingling" lost its appeal a few minutes later when she passed by Lord Filvalian and Lord Daeron, who were all standing on the sidelines near the mirrored wall that ran the width of the ballroom. Lord Filvalian held out his hand, detaining Enyelwen as he said in a laughing voice tinged with sarcasm, "I heard about your wager, Enyelwen."

Enyelwen's polite smile froze on her face.

"It—it was merely a jest," Aredhel put in, materializing at Enyelwen's side, in accordance with the Alden's earlier instruction.

Regarding Enyelwen with a disapproving look, Lord Daeron said stiffly, "I wonder if Greenwood will find it amusing."

"I wouldn't, I assure you," Alden darkly informed Enyelwen, materializing out of nowhere to chastise the elleth with a disapproving look. Then with a curt nod, firmly followed Daeron away from Enyelwen, with Lord Filvalian right beside him.

"I'll be damned!" Callon said softly, glowering at the elves rigid backs. After a long, thoughtful moment, he slowly transferred his gaze to Enyelwen's stricken face, regarding her with a combination of contrition, annoyance, and irony. "I fear I've done you a grave wrong by placing that wager at Aerel's," he said. "I naturally expected a few of the more prudish of my kin to frown on our little wager. Regrettably, I failed to consider that in openly defying a royal with that wager, you would outrage every other royalist in the room."

Enyelwen scarcely heard him. "Callon," she said hastily, "you're very sweet to stay by my side, but you're quite tall and—"

"And you'd be less easily spotted without me at your side?" Callon guessed, and Enyelwen nodded. "In that case," he said contritely, "I shall take myself off."

"Thank you."

"Inasmuch as I feel inadvertently responsible for part of your dilemma, the least I can do is make myself scarce so you can escape it for now." With a brief bow, he strode into the crowd, heading in the opposite direction from Enyelwen and Aredhel.

Legolas knew without a doubt that Enyelwen was avoiding him. The fear-filled gaze she shot him earlier had only fueled more his assumption that Enyelwen had contributed in Alex's sudden departure. With grim sadness, his anger quickly dissipated. Like the sea retreating back onto the wide expanse of body of water leaving the shore, Legolas felt his anger slither away. In the two hours he endured, surrounded by the Greenwood's nobility, Legolas concluded with damning finality that he felt lost. These are not the people whom he once found camaraderie in. In the recesses of his mind, he knew that his anger was due to his injured ego. Alex left. There was no way around it. Inasmuch as he tried to justify, with a thirst to point finger to whoever was responsible, he was in denial that he could may very well be part of the reason Alex left.

In the last ten years of his life, he distracted himself with chores to allow himself to deny the one thought he refused to acknowledge. He was very much at fault just as the people around him were. He was the product of the very condescending and discriminatory crowd he once called his people. He embodied the same prejudice and judgement of a race superior than all others. Shame swam within him and without strength defeat sagged on his shoulders. Sadness and guilt crept unbidden onto his eyes. The laughter around him blurring, the riot of colors and merriment lacked their usual luster fading to a dull gray and offered him no solace as he wallowed in his realization. Placing his crystal glass down, he excused himself from the gathered crowd, not bothering to acknowledge that he made no attempt for a conversation, not once had he shared a story or allowed himself to enjoy, only throwing around an empty smile that did not reach his eyes, a nod here and there. With an empty heart, the Prince made his way up the stairway, back to the comforts of his quiet solitude and away from all the gaiety.

The King was not the only one who watched his son leave—he knew an empty elf when he saw one for his son perfectly mirrored his own pain—a great many other guests did so as well, and they were not at all fooled by his apparently harmonious departure from the feast.

"Greenwood's not fooling anyone. He may have missed a few feasts in his self imposed seclusion but I've known him since he was an elfling. Without the princess here, he'll undoubtedly return to his old ways," Lord Callon assured the large group of people around him, praying that his magic'll work of persuading the nobles in his corner. "You can be sure he won't return home without an elleth in his arm. We might be entertained with a new scandal before the week's end."

"To be sure!" Agreed by Lord Caelaron. "Indubitably!" seconded by Lord Gerodrim. "No doubt about it," declared another elf toutly.

Lady Nienna looked at the Prince of Greenwood, who was ascending the staircase, and bravely declared, "I hope all of you are wrong." Noting that the prince they saw tonight was a far cry from the boyish and immature elf they had all come to know and love in his young years. Here was a Prince who like any other elf, had been silently grieving and undoubtedly his anger was directed at the entire elven society. "Greenwood has broken hearts from all over the elven realm. It's time a woman broke his!"

Lord Caelaron's shy young wife put up her chin and seconded that opinion. "I hope the Princess gives him a lesson on modesty!"

"Don't be ridiculous," said her husband. "I'm going to wager fifty gold coins that she'll give in to his charms as soon as she returns. Lady Enyelwen's wager might have seen reason now that I think about it." Announcing his wager with gaiety while looking around him to the amused faces of the elf lords.

The two elleths looked at each other and then at the elf-lords. "My lord," the lady informed her scandalized husband as she withdrew fifty gold shining coins from her reticule, "I'll take that wager."

"So will I!" Lady Nienna declared thoroughly challenging the elves around them.

By the time Legolas had climbed into his horse, enough money had already been wagered in that room to fatten a farmer's coffers for years, and the odds had soared to elves versus the elleths in the prince's favor. Only the younger elleths held out any hope that Alexandria would be the first female to resist the "irresistible" Prince of Greenwood. And prove Enyelwen wrong.

Stage 2: Anger —Where denial may be considered a coping mechanism, anger is a masking effect. Anger is hiding many of the emotions and pain that one carries. This anger may be redirected at other people, and in this case—such as the person who left. That person may even aim their anger at inanimate objects. While their rational brain knows the object of their anger isn't to blame, their feelings in that moment are too intense to feel that. Anger may mask itself in feelings like bitterness or resentment. It may not be clear-cut fury or rage. Not everyone will experience this stage, and some may linger here. As the anger subsides, however, the person may begin to think more rationally about what's happening and feel the emotions they have been pushing aside.

"Where've they been keepin' you all this time? I haven't seen you since you took us from that flea infested cave we were hiding in ten years ago and your sudden reincarnation back to society last night."

"I've had private accommodations and personal attention," Legolas sardonically replied, referring to the his home in the east where he kept himself in isolation.

Daeron stared at Legolas' calm facade with a worried frown, but he tried to keep his voice light. "I did wonder, what did you tell to the members of the elven society to make them dislike you so much more than me?"

Legolas cleared his throat and gritted his teeth against the searing pain in his chest. "I told them nothing."

"And?"

"And I am still debating on who to behead first,"—he gasped, fighting the pain that started out as a tickle in his chest, now expanding and making it hard for him to breathe—"those who had the audacity to look me in the eye or those who cannot."

Daeron's brows drew together in bewilderment. "Since when are we into beheading?"

Aerel's, the most exclusive private noble elves coterie in Greenwood, looked exactly as it had when Legolas had last walked past its wide windows more than ten years ago. And yet, the moment he walked into its hallowed confines, he was aware that something was subtly different tonight.

It was different, yet everything was the same: Comfortable chairs were still grouped around low tables so an elf could lean back and relax while casually losing or acquiring a fortune on the turn of a card. The large book where bets were recorded—a book as sacrosanct to the gamblers of Aerel's as the Palantir to a maiar—was still in its usual place. Except tonight there was a much larger crowd than normal gathered around it, Legolas noted as he strode forward.

"Greenwood!" a hearty voice exclaimed—too heartily, and the group of elves at the betting book lurched erect, then hastily started forward in a group. "Good to have you back, your grace, forgive me for missing you last night at the feast, I thought the crowd would drown you out." Lord Callon said with forced humor, patting Legolas' shoulder. "Wonderful to see you back, Greenwood," someone else said as his friends and acquaintances pressed around him, all eager to welcome him back.

A little too desperately eager, Legolas thought."Have a drink, Legolas," Daeron said grimly and unceremoniously snatched a glass of wine from a passing footman, thrusting it into Legolas' hand.

With a faint, puzzled smile at Daeron's odd behavior, Legolas handed the wine back to the footman. "Dwarfinian Ale?" he said succinctly and, excusing himself, he started toward the betting book. "What sort of nonsense are the young bucks betting on these days?" he asked trying for light banter hoping no one would suspect the growing anxiety at the sudden barrage of attention his way. The feeling was foreign and he had to hide his inhale behind the goblet of ale that was passed his way. Something was not right, a feeling akin to panic and claustrophobia was hovering over him like a dark cloud. "No more pig races, I hope." Legolas added, effectively hiding his inner turmoil with a jest.

Six elves abruptly blocked his path, fanning around the betting book in a semicircle and all six simultaneously burst into agitated conversation. "Odd weather we're…—Wrath of Eru of a time you had…—Tell us about how you escaped…—How's the King?…—I hope our relations with Imladris and Lorien are fairing well?"

Unseen by Legolas, Daeron shook his head, indicating the futility of their blockade of the betting book, and the loyal band of sympathetic elves trying to block Legolas' path all stepped awkwardly aside.

"My adar is fine, Callon. I thought you of all people knew since you saw him more regularly than me," Legolas said as he strolled through their midst to the book. The anxiety leaving him momentarily as it was replaced by irritation over Callon's obvious attempt at a diversion. "And so is our political relations." Bracing his hand on the back of the chair, Legolas leaned slightly forward, flipping backward through the pages as he had flipped backward through old copies of the parchment newsletters earlier today, bringing himself up to date with the world. There were bets on everything, from the anticipated date of the next snowstorm to the weight of an old elven lord's firstborn elfling.

Eight months ago, Legolas noted derisively, young Lord Caelaron had bet eighty gold coins that his young friend Gerodrim would take to his bed with a stomach ailment two months later, on December 20. On December 19, Filvalian had bet Caelaron double the amount and placed a side wager that he couldn't eat two dozen apples at one sitting. Filvalian won the side wager. But he lost twice the next day. Legolas chuckled shaking his head at the absurdity and pettiness of the wager, glancing up at his friends, and remarked dryly: "I see Filvalian is still as gullible as ever."

It was traditional, this remarking upon the betting follies of the younger set by the older, wiser, more worldly set. The fathers of the six men gathered around the betting book—and their fathers before them —had all stood there, doing exactly that.

In the past, Legolas' remark would have caused his friends to reply with amusing stories about other bets, or with good-natured reminders about some of his reckless foibles. Today all six elves gave him uneasy smiles and said nothing.

With a puzzled, encompassing glance at them, Legolas returned his attention to the book. Stillness descended on the entire room as the noble elves at the gaming tables ceased their play, waiting. A moment later, Legolas felt certain he knew the reason for the peculiar atmosphere all around him—throughout all of May and June ten years prior, page after page of the betting book was suddenly covered with wagers on which elf— and there had been dozens of them—Alexandria would dance with. Or which she would snub.

Annoyed but not surprised, Legolas turned the page and saw bets cropping up about the a dinner feast on Lady Nienna's property and whether the princess would regale another tale of her 'adoration' on the prince.

He was livid. He saw as he glanced idly down the names in the book, a vast favorite to succeed... although, near the bottom of the page, there were a few familiar names betting against her: Callon, Legolas noted wryly, had bet one hundred gold coins against her earlier that day. Typical!

The next wager was also against her—a large one in a very odd amount—two hundred gold coins—guaranteed by Callon but placed on behalf of...

Rage exploded in Legolas' brain as he straightened and turned to his friends. "Excuse me," he bit out in a soft, murderous voice, "I have just remembered that I have another engagement tonight." Without a glance at anyone else, he stalked out.

The six elves surrounding the betting book gazed at one another in helpless consternation. "He's going after Enyelwen." Daeron announced nonchalantly, and they all nodded grimly in agreement.

They were wrong.

Legolas left but not in search of the fabled elleth. Jumping from his horse and handing the reigns to the elf that greeted him, Legolas did not stop until he made his way to his father's study. Legolas did not even bother to knock, surprising his father who was in deep council with Alden as they went over the latest plans for the border watch.

Thranduil masked his surprise with indifference but not the same could be said with Alden who felt a sudden sense that a repeat of ten years ago was about to ensue. Thranduil raised an inquiring brow to his son's sudden arrival and offered no other words.

"She was ridiculed." Legolas hissed, anger cursing in his veins making his ears ring. His thoughts running rampant in his mind as he pieced everything he knew. The comments from last night's festival to the wagers placed on the book from ten years ago. It was suddenly all painting a very ugly picture of what Alex unknowingly was subjected through.

Feigning ignorance at who his son was referring to, Thranduil looked his son up and down and returned to the map of Greenwood laid out before him. When Thranduil accepted that his night of council was inevitably disrupted, he looked at his son again. "Care to expound?"

"How dare—" Legolas began, his voice deadly quiet and his stance arrestingly calm but all that was cut off as his father matched his tone.

"Do not mock me, boy, for I am in a foul disposition." Thranduil warned. His eyes blazing and trying to study his son. Ten years since he had last talked to him. Much has changed since, Thranduil noted with sadness.

"Why?" Legolas asked, looking at his father. "Why did you keep it from me?"

"You are the Crown Prince of Greenwood."

"And it is my life."

"She is not here!"

"She is my wife!" Legolas roared and for the first time in ten years, Legolas lost all control of his carefully monitored emotions.

"She left. If that is what you craved to know. She left and she is not coming back." Thranduil countered, immediately regretting the words as it flew from his mouth. Regret swam in his eyes as he studied his son.

Legolas studied his father, the emotions flickering in his eyes. Pain, regret and guilt. Trying to keep his breathing to calm down. "It's been ten years, Adar." Legolas' defeated voice broke the silence. Suddenly he was tired. So very tired of the lies, the deceit and the politics.

"What is it about her departure that bothers you so?" Thranduil spoke softly.

Legolas sat on the nearest chair, and hung his head low. His composure remained stoic and silent, but inside him was a battle of thoughts and emotions he could not organize in a one cohesive sentence, feeling frustration coil in his gut. "There was no word." Was the only explanation he could come up with. Pain started to flow in his chest again. This time it spread from his chest to all corners of his body. "It's not like her to leave without a word." Feeling the cold start from his fingers and toes. Elves are impervious to extreme temperatures but this feeling was slowly engulfing him followed by a sense of dread. "Adar?" His voice whispered, his eyes watching his hands, moving his fingers as he examined each digit.

"What is it?" Thranduil moved closer to his son, reaching out and taking his son extended hand and feeling alarm rise in him at the temperature of his hand. His panicked eyes searching his sons.

"Something is not right." Legolas muttered, his brow furrowing. Their earlier spat forgotten as both elves' attention now focused on the sudden shift of energy in the room, and to Legolas' hand who was still clasped around his father's.

Thranduil's mind raced with concern over his son, his mind recalling the same feeling almost two thousand years ago. His son's state seemingly eerily similar. The king's mind drifted to the death of his wife. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tried to sound calm but the words caused his son to pause. "Is it…Alex?"

Legolas stared at his father with renewed vigor mixed with anger and panic. His eyes darting back to his hands and he stared at them with newfound horror. "No." He whispered in despair. As soon as the word left his mouth, the coldness increased, reaching up to his arms. Shrugging his coat off, Legolas tried to spot the frost that crept up his arms but found none. This time he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand, a crippling feeling of emptiness was starting to settle in his gut. Time seemed to stretch on, leaving the father and son in bewilderment.

What almost felt like an hour, the iciness disappeared making Legolas gasp and grip the arm of the chair in fright and shock. Making him question how long was he holding his breath. His eyes darting around but he spotted only his father and Alden bent down in concern and alarm.

"Son," Thranduil approached with extreme caution, "are you…alright?"

Legolas eyes stayed glued to the stone floor, his mind racing, his face for once unable to mask the pain and horror as he tried to grasp what just happened. It couldn't be! With all his skill and all his strength and all the power and influence his title brought him, he was powerless.

For the first time in his long life he felt utterly defeated. A connection suddenly slipped and an all encompassing feeling of being incomplete, like a vital piece of him went missing.

He felt Alex's feä weaken. No! His throat clenched with a choked growl of helplessness before he stood and snatched his discarded coat off the floor and fled the his father's study leaving his father and Alden in deep worry over what just occurred. The Princess—Alex—is gone?

Thranduil sagged in defeat on the vacated seat and lifted his tired eyes to Alden, "Something's happened to her. Anel nin...she's suffering. My son felt it, I am sure of it."

Alden's horrified gaze shifted to the King. Their grave getting deeper and deeper as time passes as they kept whatever and all information Legolas was searching for. "Bond strong enough to cross worlds?" Alden's voice becoming grave as he regarded the King.

"There is only one plausible reason for her feä, despite being weak, to have called for him..." Thranduil trailed off his eyes panicked. The memories of how it felt when his own wife was tortured and slaughtered, the feeling returning full force and haunting him despite his years of practiced control.

"Your grace, if I may," Alden started and without waiting for the King to acknowledge he continued, "I think..I suggest it would be best if we tell him everything."

With heavy sigh, Thranduil nodded his head in defeat and exhaustion. "Alden, my son is bound to be unpredictable. He might do something reckless. I need you to..."

Alden nodded not waiting for the King to finish his sentence before yanking the door open and yelling for Emeril leaving the elf with strict instructions, as his mind raced with preparations of how to face Legolas. This was not the first time he was called to serve the royal family and it will not be the last.

"Alden," Thranduil called softly halting the advisor, "When he calms down. Inform him I need to have a word with him."

Alden nodded in understanding, picking up the word 'need' instead of the King's usual flippant term in having someone called forth. This was a dire need, an immediate subject that needed addressing. They have prolonged it long enough. It is time to admit to their fault.

Stage 3: Bargaining—during grief, one may feel vulnerable and helpless. In those moments of intense emotions, it's not uncommon to look for ways to regain control or to want to feel like the person can affect the outcome of an event. In the bargaining stage of grief, one may find themselves creating a lot of "what if" and "if only" statements. It's also not uncommon for religious individuals to try to make a deal or promise to a higher power in return for healing or relief from the grief and pain. Bargaining is a line of defense against the emotions of grief. It helps the person postpone the sadness, confusion, or hurt.

For the next six years, Legolas avoided his father like a plague. Any and all requests made to have a private word with him where all ignored. The coldness he felt that night continued to haunt his thoughts. The most scary ones turning nightmarish was when he found himself in the palace, during the convening with the advisors of when he was summoned to be deployed.

What was a quiet two decades that passed was interrupted when the threat from Mordor suddenly sprung again, this time with more ferocity than ever. Orcs scouts where once again spotted by the mountain pass near Moria and the growth of the spiders ascending from the south. Whatever silver lining it offered, Legolas took solace in. Knowing that it provided him with the right distraction to immerse himself in his responsibilities. Telling himself that the sun will rise again, despite trying to keep himself from drowning from all the darkness threatening to consume him from all sides.

The craving for freedom once again fluttering in the far recesses of his mind. Thoughts of traveling and never returning offering a seductive allure for him to drop his title and all that came with it. It was only the thought of Alex and her possible return that kept him rooted to Greenwood and all that weighed him down. As another fourteen years continued to pass in a blur, Legolas found himself on the brink of begging the universe for anything just to free him of this bondage. The chains of his title and duty to a non-existent wife made him almost want to drop down on his knees. The fate had dealt him with a cruelty for all his transgressions and he wondered was he ever that savage to have deserved it all and more. It was in one of his plummet down the rabbit hole of his mind that a memory of Alex—young and fiery—on the river bank was debating with him on governance. The image blurred and sharpened into another scenario just before she bound herself to him, her mouth moving as she reminded him about the privileges someone like him was born with. Like those moments inside the cave, when pain would wrack his body, it was his mind that found a way to ease up and administer a sedative to keep pain on the edges of his thoughts. With a startle, his mind started conjuring up an image of Alex in Greenwood, an older version of her, but with the same tenacity as she fought for the Utopia that she read about.

"What in the world has him locked up in his study all week?" Thranduil asked, turning the parchment he had been reading about for half an hour, the words not registering in his mind, his eyes reflecting the excitement that his son had stayed in the palace for a week. It was a rare occasion for Legolas to be found at the heart of Greenwood kingdom and the people were all abuzz with excitement.

"Give him time, your grace. The Prince is…ruminating." Alden swallowed, grateful to have found the right word to describe what in Eru's name Legolas was up to.

"About what—?"

"Your highness." Legolas surprised Thranduil and Alden, whose shocked expressions bore the embarrassment of having been caught at spying on the young prince.

"Speak." Thranduil nodded in acknowledgment as Legolas stood stoic.

"I would like to build the largest library in all of eastern Rhovanion region."

Alden was the first to break the silence that engulf the room, his face boring an expression as he studied the elf prince like he had suddenly grown two heads, "But, we already have a royal library."

"I want to build the largest public library where anyone can study no matter their station and race."

A pregnant pause followed the unexpected proposal before a barely concealed chuckle interrupted the silent stand off between father and son. "Are you alright, Greenwood? Pray tell us what brought this on." Callon interrupted, making his presence known in the room.

Resisting the urge to imitate Alex and roll his eyes, Legolas focused his attention on his father who sat silently praising him. Thranduil raised his eyebrow at his son, challenging him to convince his advisors.

Not one to back down from a fight, Legolas turned his attention to Lord Callon, "If you suffer your people to be ill-educated and their manners corrupted from infancy and then punish them for those crimes in which their first education disposed them, then what is to be concluded from this, but that you first make criminals and then punish them."

Alden stared in awe, but also in sickeningly familiarity at who Legolas' sounded like—Alex.

"Preposterous! We simply do not have the manpower to allocate for such a project. Let alone, what your grace is suggesting, that we let people from all other races, inside our border when we cannot barely even protect our own."

"Mirkwood's army has doubled in strength and efficiency since I have taken over. Although I do not deny that we have faced challenges with the evil growing from our neighbouring countries, we have successfully and relentlessly provided security for our people for ages. And we will continue to do so for many more ages to come." Legolas icy tone paired with his icy glare almost silence his father's advisor. "We must start thinking long term."

"How?" Interest lacing the Mirkwood King's tone.

"Education. Educate people how to grow their lands, how to reap their growth. Give them the opportunity to better themselves. Give them access to books, to knowledge. Allow them to color their imagination with literary works. Give them something to aspire to."

"You speak as if they are not doing well enough as it is." Callon challenged with a scoff, turning around the room to inspect the room full of advisors who all tried to conceal their bafflement behind their eyes.

"Who said that?" Thranduil inquired slowly to his son, interrupting Callon and effectively dismissing the advisor before he witnessed a murder right in his very study. Seeing a glimmer of light back to his son's eyes as he said those words.

"Thomas Moore. A brilliant author who wrote the book Utopia. Alex quoted him when she schooled me on proper governance when she was barely nine."

"and where is The Princess, if I may be so bold to ask?" Callon asked callously oblivious to the growing murderous glint in the prince's icy stare. Callon's sarcasm delivered in masked humor and found himself overstepping the line between camaraderie and courtesy to the royal family.

As if Eru himself embodied Legolas, his back stiffened at the question and unintended challenge and insult hidden behind the question. Legolas' face became stoic. His demeanor changed from a prince to a warrior in an instant. His eyes became hard and cold. His body unmoving albeit his neck who turned calmly, his eyes staring Callon.

The silence stretched on, making the advisor squirm in his seat. Attempting to squash the fear that formed a lump in his throat, he tried poorly to hold his ground, but the Prince just kept staring. His face blank and calm masking the pure unadulterated rage that swam in his eye and the hard lines that framed his eyes. It was mere seconds but felt like hours as Legolas raised an eyebrow in challenge. A move he surely have gotten from his father who was also known for the cold stare.

Callon cleared his throat, breaking the eye contact first and admitting defeat. His eyes darting everywhere but the Prince who was still glaring daggers at him. Alden had chosen that moment to remain quiet. Uneasy with the sudden stoic Legolas. Nobody dared speak about the Princess so outwardly before. Since she disappeared almost twenty five years ago.

"Leave us." Thranduil chose that moment to interrupt the uncomfortable silence that engulfed the room and he could almost spot from his peripheral how Callon almost gave out a sigh of relief. Swiftly standing up and almost running from the room. Callon's head remaining low as he passed the Prince who played the part of ignoring him but was sure that the royal was plotting ways to murder him in his sleep for his callous slip of the tongue.

"I think it is a brilliant idea, son." Thranduil offered softly, giving Legolas a silent praising. "What would you like to name it?"

"No need to be emotional." Legolas spat standing abruptly. He was not prepared for the pang of pain in his chest at the question. He had thought of the logistics. The architecture and planning, the costs and the management of workers to accomplish the ambitious project. He had thought of the inspiration every night. He had thought of her every waking day and she had haunted his nights. But not a name. He could not think of a name.

"We can name the library after her. She would love tha—"

"You can call it whatever you want. I have not the time to dwell in such trivial matters. I will set to work on the project immediately. Hannon le." Gathering the parchment of plans on the oak table, giving his father a brief nod and silently leaving the room.

Legolas considered himself a logical being. Elves, from the moment they are born, accepted the idea that beings greater than them exists. But to him, having to run an entire kingdom one must need more than just omens and predictions to be able to govern. Inasmuch as magic exists in this world—the power of fate and circumstance, of good and evil—in his mind, it all boils down to where situations can only be broken into two aspects: Before and After. Cause and Effect. Fight or flight.

The construction of the library drew the elves to the conspiracy of how it started. Legolas never gave the talks much attention. In his mind, he was only focused on the after. The library would allow people of different races access to education. In his mind, this would help so many people and would open Greenwood's relations to other countries, elven and not. Most importantly, in his mind, this might bring Alex back. This is him bargaining the universe for her. The planning and subsequent construction of the library stretched on for a decade. With the completion of it on the Third Age, year three thousand and three, Legolas felt accomplished, but just as lost as when he started with the project. But rather than feeling sorry for himself, he felt only frustration and anger. Trying to recall the reason why, he found out he couldn't even pinpoint the exact reason for his melancholy.

Part of seeing the world in the before and after, is having to accept that one has the optimum control. Work now and reap the rewards later. The Prince of Greenwood did not barter on the idea that what he expected to be 'after' or the 'effect' was the opposite.

In the quiet confines of his study Legolas made one realization: Life before her was dull and monotonous, and life after her was no different. In the quiet of his isolation he had realized that despite his dedication to his work, to bring to life Alex's philosophies, to ensure that her inspiration was carved into whatever he chose his to do, life with Alex in it was much more colorful and fulfilling than without. In the quiet of his home, despite the increasing adoration of the people of Greenwood and the rising support of the court as a result of his actions, Legolas realized that there is one more transgression he had over looked, one that he should address if he was to move forward. A transgression that required him accepting his own fault, directing his anger at his own shortcoming instead of projecting it out in the world.

Legolas learned the hard way that in order to be free and for growth to occur, he must face the negative. In the quiet of his mind, he learned that to be honest with himself. And just like the ambitious endeavors he had invested in, this one required faith and strength to undertake the act of digging within himself. Identifying his own faults and working on changing for the better.

"I'll admit, I was quite surprised to receive your letter. I had the impression you did not want to see me."

"Lady Enyelwen, thank you for accepting my invitation." Legolas' curt greeting caught the graceful elleth by surprise.

Nodding her head and offering a curtsey, she approached the farthest seat, "Of course, your grace. May I inquire what this is about?" curiosity swimming her eyes as she regarded Greenwood's Prince. Noticing his calm features—his eyes warm, his countenance sincere, not an ounce of the cold judgmental elf she knew.

"There is no proper way to go about it...I..I would like to offer my sincerest apologies." Clearing his throat before continuing, "For how I treated you all those years ago. I was out of line."

Shock and bewilderment covered her entire being, "I..I am not sure I follow, my lord?"

"As much as I would like to offer excuses for my appalling behavior all those years ago...I... there is no excuse for how I treated you. You deserve the world and not only did I not offer it, I took you for a pawn in my own childish schemes. I am deeply sorry for everything."

A humorless laugh escaped her and she quickly squashed it down at seeing the seriousness of his expression. Composing her self and looking at the prince again, "Are you planning to apologize to every elleth you've had the chance of being 'acquainted' to?"

"I am, I will and I have." Legolas' eyes got impossibly sadder, "And I apologize if my apology is two thousand years late, and I understand if you want to curse me for the rest of my days."

Enyelwen's eyes swept over his frame. Her hand flying to her heart at the once proud prince asking for forgiveness. All of a sudden, the bitter anger and resentment seemed to melt in her heart and all she saw was an elf broken and lost, "I've never seen you like this." Soft voice drifted over to where he stood.

"I beg your pardon?" Straightening his stance and squaring his shoulders.

"Vulnerable." Moving closer to where the prince stood and offering a kind smile, "Her highness was the inspiration behind the library, I take it?"

In all his years of battle, Legolas was not quick enough to hide the pain that etched over his face at the mention of the Alexandria, nodding his head to acknowledge the truth.

"Then I would like to offer my apologies too."

"What ever for?"

"In thinking I had any chance at competing with her. And for the wager. But, I'll admit, I like this new you." Watching Legolas as he smiled but it did not reach his eyes. "She's good for you."

Looking up from the large oak desk he was staring at while his mind was elsewhere, he regarded Enyelwen, "I meant what I said. You deserve the world."

The elleth smiled and for the first time in ages, Enyelwen felt a kinship with the prince, "And apart from what you believe for yourself and despite of what you believe you have done that were considered retched and despicable, you deserve the world too. I pray to Eru she returns. You both deserve to be happy." Reaching up a hand wanting to stroke his face one last time but decided against it, the elleth made her way.

Legolas' hand gripped the edge of the desk, his hand turning white at what Enyelwen was saying. Another stab of pain pierced through him at the mention of Alex. "Lady Enyelwen, if..should you need my help in finding your husband, I can have my messenger send word to the Marchwarden of Lothlorien. I'd be happy to extend a hand. It's the least I could do."

"He's my mate, your grace. Trust me, I know how to find my own husband." A mischievous smile graced the elleth's face that made Legolas laugh silently. Turning his attention to the stack of parchment on his desk, he resumed his intense study of the report of the accounting of his estate.

Stage 4: Depression—may feel like a "quiet" stage of grief. In the early stages of loss, the person may be running from the emotions, trying to stay a step ahead of them. By this point, however, this person may be able to embrace and work through them in a more healthful manner. One may also choose to isolate themselves from others in order to fully cope with the loss. That doesn't mean, however, that depression is easy or well defined. Like the other stages of grief, depression can be difficult and messy. It can feel overwhelming. It may feel foggy, heavy, and confused. Depression may feel like the inevitable landing point of any loss.

Standing at the study window, Legolas watched a maid walking toward the stables with what appeared to be several books cradled in her arm. An almost overpowering image of Alex replacing the maid almost making him panic, his urge to call and offer to spend the day with her swept over him, surprising him with its intensity. He missed Alex terribly. He missed his friend. Unable to think beyond what she would be like as a wife since they had not the privilege to explore her new role. Would she support him all throughout? Would she stand beside him or would she counter his decisions? Blinking his eyes, he exhaled with a disappointment when the mirage of Alex disappeared and in its place was the maid he initially saw.

Two hours later, Legolas' father's bewildered advisory—Alden, who had been summoned for the usual afternoon of dictation, sat with his quill poised in readiness to take down the rest of a letter to Daeron, which his employer had been in the process of dictating. In the midst of dictating, the Prince of Greenwood's rapid-fire composition had slowed and he had fallen silent, gazing absently out the window.

Bewildered by the prince's unprecedented gaps in concentration—which had persisted all afternoon— Alden hesitantly cleared his throat, wondering if perhaps the prince's silence was a dismissal.

Legolas jerked his wandering attention from rapt contemplation of the growing flower beds outside his estate and straightened self-consciously, glancing at the loyal advisor. "Where was I?"

"Daeron's letter," Alden said. "You had just begun to issue instructions for the redistribution of the soldiers to cover certain borders susceptible to an incursion."

"Y…yes, of course," Legolas said, his eyes wandering back to the windows. The scent of the flowers outside wafted in and for the first time Legolas noted the fragrant smell that Alden took note when he arrived. How had he not notice it before? "Tell him to outfit the eastern border—er—the northern," Legolas amended, "with soldiers and guard the gates at once."

"The n…Northern border, your grace?" Alden asked, his face scrunching up in bewilderment.

The prince's gaze shifted reluctantly from the windows to Alden's confused face. "Isn't that what I just said?"

"Well, yes, it is. But a paragraph earlier, you'd desired Daeron to outfit southern border near Dol Guldur." Alden watched in amazement as an expression that could only be described as acute embarrassment crossed his employer's usual stoic face before the prince tossed the documents in his hand aside and curtly said, "That will be all for today, Alden. We'll continue tomorrow afternoon as usual."

While Alden was secretly wondering what momentous, dire event had caused his employer to cancel his afternoon work for the second time in fourty nine years—the first time occurring on the day of the prince's moment of genius about the library—his employer added blandly, "No, not tomorrow afternoon, either."

Already partway across the room, Alden turned round and looked at his employer in startled inquiry, more amazed than ever by this additional postponement of a stack of rather urgent correspondence.

"I'm engaged for the afternoon," the prince explained blandly, but offered no further reason to placate the already bewildered advisor.

Struggling valiantly to maintain an impassive visage, Alden nodded and bowed. Then he turned and tripped over a chair.

Telling himself that he was merely restless and too long cooped up indoors, Legolas walked out of the house and headed for the stables. But when a stable keep rushed out of the stables to ask if he wanted a mount, Legolas changed his mind and instead strolled along the path that led to the rows of flowers at the edge of the woods beyond the stables, where the people of Greenwood had started to offer flowers—in grieving—for their missing princess.

Flowers of every color and scent paraded the front gates leading to his home. His estate was bathed in an exquisite aroma he hadn't noticed before. It took Alden pointing to him the growing beds of flowers outside his gate for him to notice the scent wafting in every corner of his house.

For her.

They are still mourning her sudden departure. How in the short amount of time she had been exposed to the people that she had left such a salting effect for the elves to grieve her absence?

The elves admired her sincerity. That was what it was. She was genuine and grace, wrapped in child like naïveté. She had a magnet for attracting people and she had a talent for making them feel warm and welcomed. Fate had granted him a mate far more than he deserved. Bending to inspect one bouquet of wild flowers, he spotted a note with a handwriting neatly written in elvish, addressed to her.

Namàrië.

Turning swiftly and trying to soothe the aching pain radiating from his chest, Legolas failed to notice an elven warrior still garbed in armor as he maneuvered his way inside his home. "Milord?"

Legolas' head snapped at the direction of the title, unnerved that he had not heard the elf. Raising his eyebrow ink question, the elven warrior continued. "Lord Daeron is requesting your presence at the Southeastern Gate. He says it is urgent. The King has been informed as well."

"What is the matter?"

"We have a ranger, from the North, requesting an audience with you and the King. He did not say the cause, but Lord Daeron assumed it has something to do with the atrocity the ranger had dragged with him, wrapped in elven rope. The ranger also says, he knows you. That you two are well acquainted and that Mirthrandir will soon follow to further explain the gravity of the situation." Legolas' interest has been piqued. His posture transforming into a warrior. Nodding his head as he turned to leave the elf by the hallway. "I'll be there right away."

"Maë govannen." Legolas greeted, surprised as Aragorn hugged him, the ranger's smile controlled as he bowed to King Thranduil who stood a mere few meters away. "You majesty." A hand to his heart to indicate his respect. "I come baring terrible news. And we need your help."

"Of course." A screech unlike any other pierced the night air, making the soldiers surrounding them flinch. Aragorn moved aside as Daeron stepped forward dragging the accursed creature closer."Gollum." Legolas muttered, his brow furrowing in anger as he studied the squirming abomination who continued to whine and cry as the elven rope continued to burn his sickly pale gray skin.

"We need someplace to lock him and your dungeons are fabled to be impenetrable. He needs to be interrogated."

"On what?" Thranduil asked, raising his eyebrow as he gave a swift glance at the creature crouched on the forest floor, the King's face filled with disgust and contempt.

"It is about The Ring, you grace. The One Ring is close to being found." Aragorn answered bringing into attention the 'elephant in the room' that they all tired to ignore.

It all made sense now, Legolas thought as he stared at the squirming creature sprawled on the forest floor writhing in pain. In his mind, he was able to piece together a gruesome picture of the events of the recent years. The audacity of the spiders crawling and spreading from Dol Goldur, to the yrc scouts patrolling and crossing their lands.

"So that is what they were looking for?" Daeron broke the uneasy silence that had descended upon the camp. The elf's eyes shifting between the ranger, the prince and the King. "The yrc scouts." He stated making the Legolas and Thranduil nod in understanding, leaving Aragorn confused.

"Bring that in." Thranduil nodded to Gollum, his eyes hardening as he regarded the filth. "It needs to be interrogated. And Aragorn," turning his attention to the ranger, "as soon as Mithrandir arrives, we have much to discuss."

The dim lighted stone staircase leading to the dungeons offered little comfort as Aragorn followed the elves deeper down into the intricate underground system they have carved under the mountain. Mithrandir had arrived not long after Aragorn was admitted into Greenwood, according the elves with the information of Gollum's recent capture at Barad Dûr and the discovery that he was brought to Mordor. Gandalf had attempted his own interrogation to gain information about Sauron's strategy, but to no avail. It was during one of Gollum's cries that he had let slip that he once had the ring in his possession, clarifying the unasked question of what Sauron's forces wanted with him in the first place. When questioned about the whereabouts of the ring, Gollum only screamed and cried in agony, often times yelling in anger and letting out a string of curses to an unknown character.

Thranduil stood on the side, as Gollum was tied with chains on the stone cold floor of the dungeon, Legolas was on the forefront as they tried to question the once peaceful hobbit, who had convoluted into a creature of lies, malice and deceit.

Legolas welcomed the distraction, in his mind this required his attention much more than what his personal woes would require of him at the moment. A real threat now lay in wait. The ring, that had passed down and faded in legend, is returning back to life. Ready to lay claim to all life on middle earth. "Where is the ring?" Legolas hissed, his eyes boring down on the creature.

"Mine! Mine!" Gollum screeched out, "My precious is ours!"

They had been down there for hours and they were nowhere near closer to the discovery of the whereabouts of the ring. "Smeagol," Gandalf's voice wafter through, his tone warm and kind as he tried a different tactic to get the creature to speak. "How did you lose the ring?"

"Riddles! A game of riddles under the Goblin King!" Gollum yelled again, his voice scratching at their ears. No sooner had he yelled, then he started to cough, violently. Hacking his throat and forming the word 'gollum' as he tried to yack out whatever is scratching his throat.

Thranduil watched on disgusted by what he saw. "He is of no use." The King hissed annoyed. "The ring has effectively poisoned ring's influence had twisted his body as well as his mind. He will offer us no help in finding that wretched ring."

The group silently agreed, before their attention was distracted again as Gollum started to mutter incoherent words and phrases. Gollum's voice becoming louder and louder. His head lolling helplessly to the side, tears unshed, but he continued to cry despite, mourning for the ring. He was not speaking to anyone in particular in the room. The phrases leaving his mouth was all gurgled curses and promises and words of comfort and anger all mixed together.

It was with a disturbing realization that he was talking and answering to himself.

It was late at night when the group finally settled after hours of pouring over maps and historical accounts of the one ring. The map spread over the table marked were orcs were spotted and the lands that would easily fall prey as soon as Sauron decides to take over Middle Earth again. Agreeing not only are the orcs were a threat, but also the presence of goblins and stories of wild men scouring wherever they went are also taken into account. "Lord Elrond must be informed of this latest news." Gandalf's voice disrupting the stillness of the room. Thranduil inwardly flinched at the mention of the Imladris Lord, recalling the confrontation that occurred in the very same room fifty years ago.

"You said, 'it all made sense'," Aragorn started turning his attention to Legolas whose face was a mask of calm facade. Effectively hiding the worry that was swimming in his mind.

"I did." Legolas sighed, standing to pour himself a glass of wine from the decanter on the far side of the room. "We've been having some problems with orcs throughout the years. Scouts sent in hundreds scouring the land for something we don't know. The threat of spiders coming from Dol Guldur had also started getting brazen." Taking drink from the glass and looking at the attendees in the vast study, "We thought it was an invasion. Surely we were not the only country to have skirmish with Sauron's forces."

"Indeed you are right, your grace." Gandalf added, nodding his head as the wizard slumped at his seat, his gray robe sweeping across the stone floor. "We have to find that Ring and we must seek to destroy it. Gollum holds the answer and he is the only way we can save Middle Earth from falling. Sauron's powers are getting stronger, The Ring has a will of its own." Grey eyes stern as his gazes locked with every eye in the room, "The Ring wants to be found, and we have to stop it."

"They are desperate." Alden commented, "That is why the orcs resulted to your ambush with a plan to use you as gambling card in exchange for the ring." At the information, all eyes turned to Legolas who seemed unperturbed by the news.

"Elves poses the greatest threat to Sauron's powers. It is no wonder he had been trying to wipe Middle Earth of elves for ages." Gandalf offered, "If that was so, then you are not the first elf they had tried to eliminate."

"The time of the elves are over. Our people are leaving this shores." Thranduil countered, feeling the rise of panic at where the conversation might lead. Every elven death up to that point had been all for evil. His wife, Lady Celebrian…and Lady Aemilia. Legolas is still not aware, he cannot afford to have his son find out this way. "You can trust us to get the information out of Gollum. He will talk or he can perish." Ending the conversation with finality.

Legolas' mind strayed to Alex. Evil is spreading and try as they may, they might never hold it this time. Maybe it is better that Alex never came back, his mind treacherous but logical. Remembering his time inside the cave, recalling the images he could remember of her and images his exhausted mind had conjured up to keep the pain at bay. He had promised to rid the earth of evil, to show her an Arda full of life and color and with sadness, that he may not keep his promise.

"We'll have your quarters prepared. You are welcome to stay for as long as you need." Thranduil offered, nodding to Emeril as the footman dutifully left the room to see to his recent appointed duty.

"You are too kind, you grace," Gandalf thanked the Elven King, his eyes straying to Aragron who looked too worn out, "But we can only stay a night. We must be off in the morning. This information cannot be delayed." Aragorn agreed with the Maiar, his own thoughts straying to Imladris and certain dark haired elleth that he could not get his mind out of.

The sun was already high up in the sky as Legolas accompanied Aragorn down the stables. The ranger's horse had been prepped and fed and cleaned in time for his long journey, as well as supplies that had been restocked. "Where will you go?" Legolas' voice interrupted the solemn silence.

"Imladris. I have to see Lord Elrond about Gollum. Gandalf travels to Lorien, he seeks council with Lord Celeborn and the Lady of the Light." Legolas nodded, his mind running with thoughts. Thoughts about the security of Greenwood, Gollum's interrogation and the threat of Mordor rising again.

"What ails you, mellon?" Aragorn's gruff voice pulling the elf from his thoughts. "You have been particularly distracted since yesterday."

"The weight of the crown gets heavier each day."

"You seek to travel again." It was not question but a statement. Aragorn continued to watch the elf prince battle with himself.

"I seek…" Alex. Legolas began but trailed off, shaking his head of the thousands of thoughts running in his head. He debated should he tell Aragorn about Alex and about their binding, but changed his mind. It had been fifty years, not a word, not a single sighting. Was it still logical to hold on? When is it the right time to let go? He felt as if he was now the only one who honored their bond. Despite all the weight of his duties, he felt a calm settle in his heart. Perhaps it is time to move on. Giving Aragorn a small smile, he clapped his friend on the back and gave him a final advise on the trail to follow outside of Greenwood. "It does not matter what I seek, mellon. An elf's life is long. At times monotonous, often times filled with purpose, most of the time filled with appreciation for life. I have hope we'll see each other again."

Acceptance—is not necessarily a happy or uplifting stage of grief. It doesn't mean the person has moved past the grief or loss. It does, however, mean that one has accepted it and have come to understand what it means in their life now. One may feel very different in this stage. That's entirely expected. The person had a major change in their life, and that upends the way they feel about many things. As Legolas looked to acceptance as a way to see that there may be more good days than bad, but there may still be bad—and that's alright.

The soldiers continued to scatter about the palace as news of Gollum's escape spread to the royal council, Legolas made his way to his father's study where a dozen royal guards were summoned.

"Track his steps. He wouldn't have gotten far." Alden commanded, addressing the array of guards lined up inside.

"How did it happen?" Legolas hissed in his full royal armor regalia. His eyes sweeping over the guards. One met his gaze and answered nervously, "The creature slipped past his chains and murdered one of the guards stationed outside his cell.

Legolas' heart broke at the news. A guard—an elf—dead. The blatant disregard for life making his blood boil. It had only been three months since Gollum was brought over by Aragorn and Gandalf, despite their efforts at interrogating the creature they were nowhere close to finding out where the one ring is. in addition to that, Gollum's escape was an insult to Greenwood. Gollum was entrusted to them and he got away. Their only chance at finding the Ring, gone.

"Gather the rest of the soldiers, track his steps." He barked, before turning farther into the room. "Imladris needs to be informed." He announced grimly to his father who stood looking liked the world just crumbled. The stress making the years of struggle clear in his father's eyes.

"And they will be." Thranduil answered, masking the utter exhaustion he suddenly felt. "I have already arranged for Alden to ride to Imladris. But not immediately." Surprise flickered across his son's face. The same blue eyes staring back at him, brows furrowed in perplexity.

"Gollum's escape will be placed on our hands. He was our only chance of finding the ring, they will not be forgiving. I place his re-capture in your hands." Giving his son a stern stare, "I am giving you three months and then Alden rides for Imladris."

Legolas turned over his father's words over in his head. He had been back in his seclusion for months since he had finally accepted that Alex is never coming back, but it was a good seclusion. He had spent the last few months venturing outside his home, getting to know his servants and the elves that worked his lands. Although he still avoided social gatherings by the nobles, he found camaraderie he was looking for with the common folk. Each elf he had a chance to talk to had regaled him of Alex's adventure to the market. He noted with clarity, how different her acceptance was from two very different but still very similar group of crowd and he noted—again—with disdain, how the crowd who was supposed to revered as most wise and blessed had the most prejudices. He also discovered that while the common-folk were taken by talking to him, he was able to manage the pain he felt at the mention of her.

For the next three months, Legolas exhausted whatever manpower Greenwood can afford to hunt down Gollum, but the creature had proven to be as slippery as a fish. Three months had gone by too quickly for Legolas' desire and soon his frustration grew and anger settled in his gut over the unfairness fate had bestowed upon him. Was it too much to ask to save the Greenwood?

The ever growing weight of his duties are now ever pressing on his shoulders as well as the ever pressing need to escape Greenwood had been more powerful than ever. Everywhere he looked at in Greenwood, he could not bare to linger any longer. The woods reminded him of never-ending battles, the palace a place of countless and pointless council meetings and his house blatantly stared at him with its darkness and the isolation that glared at him and no longer offered solace it once did. His absence from the social scene had been the only thing he delighted anymore and even the talks with the common folk continuously reminded him of the one person he needed to see.

He was getting suffocated.

On the day Alden was set to depart, Legolas appeared at his father's study informing him—and Alden much to his surprise—that he will be accompanying him to Imladris. Thranduil saw right through his son's agony, for he knew it all too well.

Dressed in dark green tunic, and dark brown breeches, his twin blades strapped to his back, his bow at the ready. "I will face Lord Elrond and inform him about Gollum's escape. It would be undiplomatic to send for an advisor. We accepted the responsibility of Gollum's imprisonment and interrogation and in both accounts we have failed. One of us should face the malfeasance of our actions. You cannot travel, but I can, it is only rational that I go."

"And I forbid you to leave?"

"I was not asking for your permission. I was informing you of my decision."

Five weeks after Legolas left—along with Alden, bound for Imladris—the advisor returned to Greenwood alone. The news of the One Ring reaching Imladris by the hands of the unlikely creature to be corrupted—a hobbit. Alden recounted the minutes of the council, starting with the long tale of the Ring's travel from Gollum's possession who brought it deep under the mountains and a hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins who stole it from right under the creature's nose, keeping the ring in his possession for years and passing it along to his only recognized family, Frodo Baggins. Who took it upon himself to bring the ring to Rivendell and volunteered to destroy the ring. Agreeing on throwing the ring back to the Cracks of Doom in Mount Doom.

It was strange work of fate that they were not the only guests at Rivendell at the time. A Lord Boromir from Gondor, first born son of the steward of Gondor had arrived seeking council from Lord Elrond regarding a disturbing dream he had with his younger brother—Faramir. As well as the surprising arrival of dwarves lead by Lord Gloin, who travelled with his son Gimli, who also spoke of evil messengers arriving at Lonely Mountain promising the return of the seven rings to be gifted to the dwarves in exchange for the return of the hobbit named Bilbo Baggins. Alden, with the unfortunate responsibility of regaling to the King the grim news that Gandalf also provided while at Rivendell, that Saruman had switched sides, and who kept Mithrandir imprisoned in Orthanc.

Thranduil felt the weight of what they are facing get heavier by the minute as Alden progressed on about the secret council Elrond had called forth to address the disturbing revelations from every allied country. Masking his face in a quiet ice cold indifference despite feeling drowning on the inside. The threat is bigger than what they originally thought.

On his report, Alden also mentioned that their arrival in Rivendell also sparked controversy since the announcement of Legolas' binding half a century ago.

"Had they said anything to him?" Thranduil asked, worry lacing his tone. He realized that it was a mistake to allow to his son to leave.

"None, you grace." Alden answered but his expression did not offer any comfort at the thought, "b..but that is the thing. They had not said anything to him. At all. Except for when the situation requires it. Lady Arwen is most gracious but the…" Alden trailed off unsure how to word out the bizarre treatment.

Thranduil raised his hand to silence Alden already knowing where his advisor was hinting at.

Alden continued on that they were not received particularly well by the twins and the cold indifference of Alex's extended family saved for when in formal functions where addressing him was required and that only Lady Arwen offered Legolas a kind welcome upon his arrival. All of which did not go unnoticed by Legolas—as added by Alden—but still kept his observations to himself, his usual company during his entire stay at Imladris had only been Mirthrandir, Aragorn or himself. "Make a note to summon Daeron," Thranduil ordered, "after my son, he is the second best commander of the Greenwood army. We have to prepare. War is coming."

Alden ended his report with a grim expression about Prince Legolas' decision to volunteer to join the Fellowship of the Ring—a direct outcome of a secret council Elrond spearheaded—comprised of nine companions made up a wizard, four hobbits, two men and a dwarf on a quest to destroy the one Ring. Thranduil slumped in seat, shocked but not surprised by what his son had chosen to do. The King berated himself. He should've seen it coming. The signs were written all around his son. Legolas had cared deeply for the world and he had seen to taking the world's miseries on his shoulders, sadly—Thranduil thought—nobody could rid his son of his own miseries. Save for one person alone. Fear unlike any other began to spread inside the Elven King, thoughts of burying his son flickered unbidden behind his closed eyes and despair settled in his gut. In an act of desperation, Thranduil prayed to Eru to spare his son.

The fire flickered and cracked as the fellowship rested. They had been on the road for three days now and an awkward silence had fallen over the group. The hobbits remained huddled close together beside Gandalf. The hobbit named Frodo, whose wide blue eyes seemed to never stray from the wizard. Gimli, the dwarf, seemed to be content with smoking from his pipe, as Boromir kept mostly to himself, quietly observing the group and their surroundings, always weary and suspicious of anything and anyone.

Only Aragorn, Legolas and Gandalf seemed to be comfortable enough to be one each other's presence indicating that they met and were well acquainted before the journey. Legolas nourished the gratefulness at being on the road again, despite the reason behind their journey. A purpose he finally found engulfing him with a passion. Despite that, a heaviness seemed to settle in his heart. He was not used being this close to evil before. His eyes darting to the ring bearer who sat silently, he remained on the look out, his senses on high alert for any threat.

To keep the darkness at bay over his heart, Legolas volunteered for the perimeter watch. Each time they where on the road, Legolas kept ahead of them, a scout for any impending danger or usually traveling behind, or atop treetops to keep a lookout on anyone looking to tracking their move. While at camp, Legolas, Aragorn and Boromir would switch night watch to ensure their camp would not get raided while they rest. The fire was kept to a minimum to avoid attention.

They were almost a week's ride away from Rivendell when Aragorn pulled him out his thoughts. "Care to tell me what had the elves of Rivendell cause for being distant around you?"

So Estel had also noticed, Legolas thought.

The hobbits, along with Gandalf, the dwarf and the Gondorian are already deep in slumber. Legolas remained quiet for a moment as he turned Aragorn's questioned in is head. It actually quite odd that none of the twins seemed to have given him a warm welcome, nor had Lord Elrond ever avoided to address him out of the formal meetings they both attended. It was also odd that none of Lord Elrond or his family had ever inquired about his binding, not that the common folk of Imladris did not have a problem talking about it despite with him being in hearing range.

Legolas watched the dimming fire and decided he would rather not put it out tonight. The air had already started to chill and unlike him, most of his companions are not used to the dropping temperatures—some more than others. With a sigh he turned his attention back to Aragorn who sat quietly waiting patiently for his answers. "I have not the slightest clue, mellon. But I would daresay, we Mirkwood elves are not the friendliest, so…"

Aragorn accepted his friend's explanation, seeing that Legolas was genuine about it and that the aloofness of Mirkwood elves are indeed noted among their kin. "Speaking of being friendly, have you had any word from our petite friend?" Aragorn offered a small smile as he recalled their little friend, a bizarre little girl who had the attitude of a hobbit, the mouth of a dwarf and the wit of a brandished scholar. Aragorn watched, surprised, as a look akin to discomfort seemingly crossed the elf's face who expertly masked it with a shake of his head and offered no talk about the child.

Legolas for his part had almost started to congratulate himself that he had not once thought of her since leaving Greenwood. A welcomed refuge from her ghost as none of Rivendell ever reminded him of her. His brazen decision to join the fellowship, if he was being honest with himself, was due to the fact that he actually despised returning to Greenwood and have her ghost haunt him at every corner. Suddenly standing up from his position, he offered Aragorn a kind smile, "I'll go have a look at our edges. I don't need much rest, when I return do not wake the Gondorian. I'll take the last watch for the night."

Aragorn watched baffled as Legolas seemed to run away. The ranger's mind jumbled at the sudden change in his friend's behavior. Legolas never really liked the child, his mind tried to rationalize for him. Maybe that was the reason the elf was visibly uncomfortable about talking about her. Aragorn decided to leave the subject of Alex and his mind strayed to more important matter at hand. The ring had to be destroyed. They must mind find a way to maneuver around the marshes undetected, and to enter Mordor and venture into Mt Doom stealthily. His mind also strayed over Arwen what her vow meant to him. His thoughts also conjuring up the memory of what the Lord of Imladris had said to him before his departure. Elrond had never spoken to him that way before. Of course before, he had never threatened the immortality of his only living daughter.

A rustle of leaves broke Aragorn from his thoughts as his eyes swept over the woods behind. Suspicion had started to grown in his mind, remembering that Legolas went the other way and its not like for an elf to make such a ruckus. Immediately putting the fire out and dump a heap of soil onto the dying embers, the ranger moved silently to wake Boromir and Gandalf, instructing them to keep their eyes peeled as he tracks the source of the sound.

"Something is beyond those patch of woods. Have everyone at the ready."

"Where is the elf?" Boromir whispered, pulling his boots on and grabbing for his sword.

"He went on the edges of the camp. My guess is that this is a wild boar, but it is best to be cautious." Boromir nodded and soon the ranger disappeared over the dark patch of woods, the moon high above the only thing providing them light as of the moment.

Legolas had prided himself on being a logical being, but his thoughts had taken a dark turn and with the threat of evil not too far away, he thought it best to distance himself. As he said, he was a logical elf. But the illogical part of him had decided for him and for this he could not fathom why his first thought at the mention of her after weeks of not having, was to flee. He was coward he chastised himself. There was nothing logical about he was doing or trying to accomplish.

He was running. After years of being confronted with the problem his own consciousness had decided for him. To run away. Running at the first sign that presented. He was nowhere near solving the problem of Alex's sudden disappearance and his own grief over, and so he ran, just as he was running away now, from Aragorn's innocent question. He never meant to stir up unwelcomed feelings and yet his subsconcious had recognized the challenge and he ran.

Deciding he had enough of 'checking' the edges of their camp, Legolas decided to return. It had been hours since he left the camp and the sky had turned eerily quiet, only the stars and the moon remained awake. Another thing he would have to apologize to Aragorn for. His friend had already been waiting for him for hours. His elven eyes adjusted to the darkness as he spotted the silhouette of the camp, noting for the first time they are all awake. Odd?

Ever so slowly his ears picked up a sound, soft yet warm and slightly deep but not deep as a man's voice. "This is not real…you are not real…" Legolas froze in his tracks, his heart hammering inside his chest, his breathing becoming erratic. He would know that voice anywhere.

"Milady," Gandalf's soft amused voiced interrupted the silent air, "I can assure, we are very much real."

A pull unlike any other had started to propel him closer. Half a century, it had been half a century and countless hours of questioning fate all boiling down to this one moment. She's finally here, with a silent sob Legolas felt his throat constrict. He felt claustrophobic. Craving for air, Legolas grabbed the nearest branched and with practiced ease, lifted himself up on the branch up where the air was cooler, dousing his burning lungs and his flushed face with much needed chill.

He was not even aware that his body was moving, closer and closer to camp, until he was right there, seeing clearly her face. She was much older now. Her dark tresses longer and framing a small face, but Sweet Eru, her eyes! The deep forest green that had come to haunt him, now wiser but weary as it flickered at everyone at the camp, framed by long thick lashes. Her cheeks flushed and a brush of dirt on them. Her pink lips parted with every breath she took and exhaled. Something akin to desire bloomed in his chest. The feeling foreign and yet familiar. He had spent the last half century ignoring his most basic need and now it comes thrashing like a tidal wave about to devour him whole. He realized too late what his body was doing as he landed softly behind Gandalf, right in front of her vision, just as Gimli made an offhanded comment about him seeing her. Oh, he had seen her alright!

"Alex…" Without restrain, and after jumping out her skin at his entrance. Finally, he thought after fifty years she was finally in front of him. Only then had he noticed the man holding on to her, whispering words that seemed to fly over his head. Jealousy unlike any other ignited in his veins, his eyes hardening to ice as he made to step closer choosing to ignore Aragorn who was holding him back. Suddenly, she turned her face to look at him but her eyes were not the usual familiar warm or welcoming or friendly. In her orbs were a fiery green defiance that stunned him into silence and holding him frozen in his place.

"Get the hell away from me."

0-0-0

AN: okay, don't kill me... *covers head in fear*

so sorry for the long wait. i had this drafted months ago and i was not or i did not want to upload this just for the sake of updating the story. i hope i made the right decision. this was longer and more detailed and had more twists than i had originally planned and for me, i thought it was great. we finally got to see legolas' side of the years they were apart. i am very sorry though that most of you had to wait this long.

i know most of you already knew this chapter was going to be our fav elf's flashback, but how many of you guessed it was going to be about the years they were apart? =)

this chapter makes me very happy and at the same time sad...its the last flashback for this story. yes, things are almost coming full circle now.

i know, in my last explanation, i said i based the characters off on the interpretation of the movies, but i also made an effort to reflect the events that really happened in the books. if you noticed, in the council of elrond and how each character arrived in rivendell and i could not just not mention gollum's capture (which was in the book too) in leggo's flashback, that is a crime in itself.

i hope, and hope that you enjoyed reading this. I will be posting the next chapter very soon (no long wait for the next one). =))

thank you once again, to all those who followed and favorited the story. much xoxo!

again, i welcome reviews so please scribble them down. =))

translations:

Namarië - goodbye

anel nin - my child/ daughter

mellon - friend