A Note From Sun Queen: Well, I'm baa-aacck...I think it was the threats that did it. God, don't you just hate it when an author starts a story, then doesn't update for ages and ages and...oh, we're talking about me, aren't we? Heh heh, oopsie.



Anyways, huge thank-yous to all you sweet reviewers, pixie-stix and cinnamon mocha lattes for all of you! I'm so very sorry this chapter took so long, and I hope you won't lynch me...*whimper whimper* Don't hurt me! *Flashes massive Frodo eyes at readers.*



Anyways, I won't bore you with the billion problems that got in the way of this chapter, which include tests, a pile of plans, and sheer laziness. But to my credit, I rewrote this chapter four bloody times, and I still don't like it. I originally tried to stick in a scene between Harry and Legolas, but I just couldn't make it work, much to my frustration. So this chapter is Harry-less. Grrrrrr...maybe, just maybe, I'll get him in later, but holes in the plot are getting tighter, so it's hard to slip in an extra scene. But I'll try.



Another reason I haven't been working on this is that I've been reading these really cool books, the Nightrunner Series by Lynn Flewelling. It's an amazing fantasy trilogy, Luck in the Shadows, Stalking Darkness, and Traitor's Moon, and I recommend it to all the LOTR and HP fans out there. It's slashy, but an excellent series for fans of the genre.



And god bless all you people who are still checking this for updates...after this chapter, plot development is finis. Over. Complete. Nada. It's gonna get fun soon...heh heh heh, look out, sweet prince...



Chapter 7: The Many Lives and Secret Sorrows of Rowena Ravenclaw



The sky had begun to lighten in the east when I slipped back into the castle.



A long walk under the stars had done little to soothe my soul, however. I had begun to sing, almost against my will, until every drop of rage and grief had been torn away, leaving me exhausted and in despair. My kindred, my brothers and sisters, now a ruined mockery of a noble, full-blooded people...



Enough. If I thought upon it anymore, I would scream, and this time, I might not be able to stop.



The castle was eerily silent, as though everything and everyone had settled in for a few more hours of sleep before the sun rose. But far away, muffled by thick stone walls, I was certain I heard someone weeping.



I slipped out of my dream-like trance. Somehow, my feet carried me back to the portrait I'd passed earlier during the day, accompanied by Albus and Minerva. Had it only been a few hours ago? It felt like a lifetime, and when you're immortal, that's saying something.



It was a painting of a woman, tall, beautiful, and poised despite her old age. Snowy hair streamed down her back, contrasting sharply with the deep violet of her robes. Dark eyes seemed to watch me, glowing with intelligence and curiosity. Around her neck, she wore a heavy golden chain, upon which hung a pendant of a great bird, wings spread wide. Suddenly, the old woman blinked once, twice, cleared her throat, then aimed a level gaze at me. Beneath her slippered feet, a nameplate winked in the moonlight. Rowena Ravenclaw.



"Well," she spoke, a voice that was distant and careworn, though her lips curved into a smile. "Your kind is back? I'm glad, I truly am."



It seemed rather ludicrous to stand and converse with a painting, but I stayed all the same. "What do you know of me?" I asked, perhaps more sharply than I'd intended. "More than I know at the moment, apparently. This world is cursed, and I no longer know who I am!"



"My dear boy," she scoffed, "I lived one thousand years ago, and your kind was cursed then, too."



"My kind..." I said softly, letting the quiet castle swallow my voice. "You mean the Elves."



"Yes, yes, exactly!" The old woman levelled me with another stare, then fluttered a hand about her face. "But dear me, I'm forgetting my manners! My name is Rowena Ravenclaw. I was one of the founders of this school. And you are?"



"Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. And you obviously know I'm an Elf, although I don't know how. Do you intend to enlighten me?"



"Of course, my dear!" She smiled at me, and I had a sudden fleeting memory of my mother, laughing at me as we danced in a sunlit meadow. Then she continued.



"I spent my life researching Elves, turning up lord knows how much drivel and myth, until I finally hit upon some fundamental truths." She smiled at me. "That's the amazing thing about life. Sometimes, the answers for which you're searching are actually bringing you your evening tea!" She sobered almost immediately, however, when she saw the horror on my face. Rowena sighed, as though she knew I didn't want to hear what she was going to say. "You saw the creatures in the shadows...these are the house-elves. This is the remnant of your people."



I had already known this in my heart, but the confirmation hit me like a punch in the stomach. I sank to my heels, rubbing my temples. Ai, my people, my poor lost, damned people...



"Tell me everything." I whispered. This was like a knife in my heart, but I had to know what had happened to the Elves of this world.



Rowena's painted face grew thoughtful. "I don't know everything, Legolas. House-elves existed in my time and had existed long before. But writings had been preserved by my family through the ages, and by others wizards, too. They spoke of an ancient immortal race of Elves, beings of light and beauty who graced the Earth with a magic that is now lost. This, I presume, was your race."



"What happened to them?"



Rowena's brow furrowed. "Any trustworthy sources I ever found were sketchy at best, but there were indications that the beings now known as house-elves were exiles of some sort. They were a cursed people, and their origins were most definitely *not* earthly. House-elves were a much debated topic in my day." She scowled. "Now, they are little better than slaves, their magic twisted and controlled to serve their masters. And worst of all-" she shook her head in disgust, "-they enjoy it. They live to serve others."



"This society is based on slave labour?" I whispered, barely able to keep my voice steady. My people, a horrifying shadow of who they once were, and slaves as well? What other secrets was this awful world hiding? I tried to fight down my anger. It wasn't my place to judge these people, or their society, but this was appalling.

"It's a disgusting system." Rowena continued, looking as though she'd much rather discuss something else. "It was in my time, and it still is now. People who call themselves enlightened, who refuse to see a problem growing under their very noses. A slave who works with a smile on his face is still a slave regardless."



I was disgusted with this topic, and I could see Rowena felt the same way. I decided to probe another area. "Did these house-elves come from my world?" I asked somewhat wistfully. "If they came from Middle-Earth, perhaps there is some way for me to return." Memories of home flooded my mind, flashes of disconnected images. Mirkwood had been in the midst of a glorious high summer when I had left, a bright, beautiful season. Would I ever see it again?



"I don't know if they hailed from your world, Legolas. But if you recognized them as Elves, then you are most likely connected in some way. I'm afraid that I don't know what else to tell you."



"Thank you, Lady Rowena. You don't know what this means to me, finding someone who understands." I turned away, my mind whirling with everything the old woman had told me. Dawn was near, and I had a lot to think about.



"Legolas?"



I turned around. Rowena Ravenclaw was grinning at me. "If I hadn't been dead for a thousand years, and was just a spirit in a painting, I would give your braids a good yank. Or I would kiss you. You're even cuter than Godric was."



I smiled, my first real smile in days. "Good night, my lady."



"Peaceful dreams, sweet prince."



**********



My dreams were not sweet that night, however, nor peaceful. I wandered the halls in a sleeping-trance until dawn, taking little notice of the ghosts, spirits, or other denizens of the castle who pointed and whispered as I passed.



My people, slaves, their light extinguished, a world dark and cold.



Oh no. My eyes widened as I began to recognize the warning signs, outward manifestations of a problem that had been growing ever since I'd arrived in this strange place. I snapped out of my dream-filled haze, slowly running a hand along my face, wishing that it wasn't so, but knowing in my heart that it was...



I was beginning to pine.



Elves who pine are overwhelmed by their sorrows, and they fade away to nothing. This is the dark, insidious poison that destroys our souls the way disease will rot away at a man's; it will kill us just as surely, and as painfully.



I had to return to my own world, to my own kind.



Or else I was going to die.



**********



The sun was just peeking above the horizon, and Dobby the House-Elf was in a wonderful mood.



The other house-elves had chased him out of the kitchen, squealing at him that they had to make breakfast, and they couldn't do it with him nattering on with his foolishness about freedom, now could they?



So Dobby had skipped out, intent on polishing the bannister of the main stairs before any of the students were up and about. Straightening his tea-cozy hat, he scampered down the corridor, whistling cheerily as he went. It was a beautiful autumn morning, and Dobby the house-elf was happy to be alive.



Dobby's good mood lasted until he reached the doors to the Great Hall. For some strange reason, he paused and stared at his hands, his cheery demeanor broken by puzzlement.



How odd. Had his fingers always been so long?





To be continued...when you throw an inept Minister of Magic, a rampaging Acromantula, and a few very confused house-elves into the mix, what do you get? Anarchy, my friends, anarchy... mwahahaha...tune in next week for the exciting adventures of A Mirkwood Elf in Dumbledore's Court!