Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews and advice, everyone who sent them. I just got the most brilliant, evil genius idea for the second to last chapter! I know its way ahead, and I can't wait to get there! Muuwahahahaha!

Disclaimer: Tolkien's world, not mine.

Chapter Eight

The Adventures of a King and his Companion

King Thranduil always enjoyed the pre-dawn stillness in the palace beneath the Mountains. Often, unable to find comfort in his elven dreams, he would wander throughout the empty halls, listening to the echo of his footsteps against the cold stone. Occasionally the soft sounds of a snoring elf would reach his ears, bringing a smile to his lips.

Contrary to popular opinion, some elves do snore.

He smiled not only at the thought, but also at the small comfort derived from the knowledge that at least some of his people were sleeping soundly.

For the king, however, peaceful, undisturbed nights were becoming a rare thing. No sooner would the Elf close his eyes and wander off into the realm of waking dreams than the shadows would return to accost his mind. Fearing to strengthen their hold, he would sometimes lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. Thranduil remembered the many times he had been wrenched from a deep sleep by the cries of his son in the next room, as the prince fought with his own nightmares. Of all of them, Legolas had been afflicted the worst. Over the last few months, Thranduil had watched him struggle with his dreams, until the pain had compelled him to seek the advice of Celeborn and Galadriel. Under the eaves of Lorien, Thranduil and his son found at last the rest they had been seeking, and the wisdom of two of the oldest elves in Middle Earth. The Golden Wood was a positive change from the tensions of life in Mirkwood; no shadows lurked beneath its trees and Celeborn's elven warriors ensured well-protected borders. But ultimately the real protection of Lothlorien, Thranduil admitted with a slight pang of resentment, resided in the power of an unseen resource.

Although the elves never spoke of it, it was obvious to anyone with a reasonable amount of intelligence that at least one of the Three was being kept in Lothlorien.

His thoughts shifted inadvertently to Elrond, whom he suspected of bearing another of the Three. In fact, Thranduil had gone so far as to conclude that in Rivendell was hidden Vilya, the ring of Air. During their last meeting some years ago, Thranduil had been on the verge of asking Elrond outright, but time and prudence prevented him from carrying out his wish. The lord of Imladris had promised some advice about the nightmares, but he dwelt far over the Misty Mountains, and communication between the two realms was slow. Thoughts of Elrond, safely nestled in his house between the mountains, brought renewed resentment into Thranduil's heart. Why was it that he, of all rulers the one responsible for the largest realm in Middle Earth, had not been given one of the Three to protect? After the death of Oropher, it seemed as if the other rulers had abandoned Mirkwood to its own designs. And although he would never admit it, Thranduil craved their advice, their help, and most of all- their power. The few gifts he had inherited from his father were apparently not enough to-

"Can I have a drink of water?"

Like a call in the wilderness, the question jolted Thranduil back to the present. Blinking in surprise, he turned to face the man who was standing behind him. Easily standing eye to eye with the Elf, the man had smooth tan skin, and a brow that displayed the weathering of many seasons. His light gray eyes peered out questioningly from the mass of tangled dark hair that fell down to his shoulders.

"What did you say?" Thranduil stammered, trying to put a name on his face.

"Will you get me a drink of water?"

Obviously, the poor man had no idea who Thranduil was.

The king stared at him, waiting for recognition and an apology. However, the darkness of the hall prevented the man from realizing who he was talking to; the Elf's face was one in a hundred he had seen so far.

"You live here, don't you?" the man asked when the Elf did not respond.

Thranduil found his voice. "I would hope so!"

"Then, can you get me a drink of water or should I find one myself?"

The Elf's face was a mask of disbelief. Not once, in over three thousand years had anyone ever mistaken him for a servant. He found himself answering sharply,

 "No one is allowed to go out this late. You'll have to wait until tomorrow." Slightly miffed, Thranduil shrugged his cloak closer about his shoulders and continued down the hallway. He wasn't sure whether to be angry, amused, or offended, but his current expression held a little touch of each. The man stared at the retreating Elf, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

 "Why?"

Shoulders stiffening, the king paused in midstep. "What?"

"Why is no one allowed out?"

"Because the king commands it."

"Where are you going then?"

"It is not your business. If you are so eager to rush into danger you can get some water from the river outside."

"But you said-"

"On second thought," Thranduil paused, pursing his lips. Even if the man did find the way, he would never be able to open the door. Having lost peasants wandering around the palace all night would simply not do. Still, there were no servants around to help him…

"You'd better come with me."

 With a curt gesture, Thranduil continued walking. He quickly brought them to the very edge of the palace interior, where only the stone doors separated them from the world outside. The elvenking opened them with a soft command, motioning the man ahead of him. Outside, the forest still slept under the blanket of night, but Thranduil could sense the rising sun on its threshold in the East. The lanterns along the bridge had long since been extinguished and the light was not yet strong enough to penetrate the surface of the dark water. Beyond the bridge, the trees stood tall and majestic alongside the riverbed, their voices subdued or altogether silent. The man threw Thranduil a wary glare as the Elf stopped walking to smooth the bark of a beech tree planted beside the door. Ignoring the questioning glance, Thranduil whispered a few words of greeting to his silent friend. He smiled as the tree responded with the faintest rippling of branches.

Crossing the bridge, they descended the bank to the river.  

"Will I get you into trouble?" The man asked suddenly, catching the king off guard.

"What ever do you mean by that?"

"You aren't disobeying your king by coming out here?"

The Elf shrugged, picking up a handful of smooth stones. "It depends on how you look at it." He threw one out across the water, skipping it several times. The man watched him in silence. "I thought you were thirsty," Thranduil added, when the man continued to stare at him.

 "Your king must not be very particular about keeping the rules, if his slaves are so easy to disobey them."

Thranduil glared at him sharply. "The king does not have slaves."

"Whatever you call them then." The man shrugged. "Servant is just a nice word for slave."

Thranduil grimaced at the remark, trying to keep up a façade of indifferent concern. "Since you don't seem to be very thirsty, may I suggest you go inside and find another way to occupy yourself until morning? I have no time to talk with you." With a snort worthy of Legolas, Thranduil started to climb back up the bank.

"This must be a very difficult place to rule," the man called after him. "Full of difficult people," he added with a sneer.

Thranduil ground his teeth together in frustration, sighing inwardly. He wanted to leave, yet he felt reluctant to give up the argument so easily. Besides, he had a feeling the man knew who he was, and continued to taunt him in spite of it.

You must be one of the peasants Prince Legolas brought in earlier," Thranduil remarked sarcastically as he looked over his shoulder. He continued walking.

"Maybe I am."

From his vantage point on top of the bridge, the Elf looked down condescendingly.

"What is your name?"

Smiling as if he knew what Thranduil was thinking, the man said, "My name is Aronne."

Bending over, he scooped some of the water into his hand and sipped it slowly. When he looked up again, the Elf had left the bridge and was walking a ways down the bank. Aronne clambered to his feet, running after him.

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk," the Elf answered without stopping.

*Don't you dare ask…*

"May I join you?"

Sighing, Thranduil adopted a look of annoyed patience. "Aren't you tired or something? I thought mortals needed at least ten hours of sleep."

"Only when we're young," Aronne corrected him, trying hard to hide his smile. It was amusing how the Elf was constantly trying to get rid of him, and yet he kept asking questions. "Anyway, I'd prefer to walk." He slowed to match the Elf's pace, adopting a look of casual innocence. "Where are we going anyway?"

"Nowhere," said the Elf with a flat expression.

"Now that, my friend, is impossible."

"Does it matter?"

Thranduil blew out a breath of frustration, running a hand through his hair. He was tiring of the aimless conversation, and wished only for silence and breath of fresh air all to himself.

"You want me to stop talking," Aronne asked suddenly.

"I am not enjoying it," Thranduil admitted. "We hear little of the Common Tongue in Mirkwood."

Nodding, the man sighed wistfully. "It is true, our people have little dealings with each other these days, and communication is slow. The little information that we do receive has always mingled fact with fiction, and it is hard to separate truth from deceit." The hint of something uncertain flickered in the man's grey eyes. "It has been said, for instance, that the wood elves have been forced out of the southern forest, because their supplies have run out and they refused to trade with the men of those parts."

He looked up to see Thranduil's reaction, but the Elf's face was a mask of silence. With a sly smile, Aronne continued, "It has also been…reported that there are great shadows brewing within Mirkwood, and that the elves are powerless against them," Aronne voice was tinged with sarcasm. "But you look surprised. Haven't you heard? Or has your king kept all hidden within his hold of many secrets?"

Narrowing his eyes, Thranduil turned a suspicious glare on him. "You think you can read my mind."

Aronne smiled once more, but it was more of a sneer than a smile. "Aye, that I can," he answered.

"Well let me tell you something: I can read yours too," Quickening his pace, Thranduil continued, "You think we are weak, that we hide in our caves seeking riches and care nothing for the troubles of others. You think we are fools because we do not trust you mortals," the Elf stopped walking and stared at him, "Why should we trust you?"

"The people of Esgaroth are not so different from your own," Aronne interrupted hotly. "If you would open your eyes you would see that we are not your enemies. We would trust you."

"Then why do you carry a blade beneath your sleeve?" Thranduil accused, pointing out the hidden weapon.

"For the same reason that you carry one in your boot," the man countered quickly and placed a defensive hand over his sleeve. He fingered the blade lightly, noting how the Elf had suddenly grown tense. Aronne narrowed his eyes as Thranduil's face muscles twitched with concentration; he was no longer staring at the man but beyond him, into the vastness of the twilight forest.

"What is it?"

Thranduil silenced him with a glare, straining his senses in the direction of the forest. His hand strayed unconsciously toward his weapon.

"There's something out there," he answered finally, "And whatever it is, it's not alone."

 He paused, glancing at Aronne. "In fact, I think they may just be too many for us. You may be glad that you brought your weapon before the night is through."

"Who are you talking about?" Aronne looked in the direction the Elf was staring.

"Don't move." Eyes widening, Thranduil's voice was an urgent whisper. He breathed deeply, trying to calm the wild beating of his heart. "Don't move or speak. I need to think."

"I'm not."

"Good. Several feet beneath us, I believe there is an opening in the cliff. It leads to a sort of underground passage. Do you understand? It's underwater, under the opposite bank. We're going to have to swim for it. On the count of three-"

"We're going to run?" Aronne interrupted in a hushed, but offended tone. "I would want to die of battle wounds, not of a stab in the back."

"This isn't a battle and I'm not going to let you get killed from stupidity!" Thranduil whispered harshly. "This is a hunt. I think it might be a warg."

"Only one?" Aronne's voice dripped with sarcasm.

*What is a warg?*

Thranduil smiled wryly; he had not been bragging when he said he could read men's minds. "What is a warg? Let me put it this way: You don't want to meet one alone. Because its friends are never far behind."

"Oh," the man sounded embarrassed. "Well how and why did it, or they, come so close to your palace?"

"I don't know, maybe the sound of your voice disturbed them from their beauty sleep."

Choosing to ignore the sarcastic comment, Aronne asked, "Do you think they're angry or merely passing by?"

A low growl from the underbrush forestalled further conversation. The darkness made seeing difficult, but Aronne thought he could see the bulk of something monstrous moving between the trees. Several pairs of luminous eyes glared out at them from the dark. He was so intent on discovering their owners that he failed to hear Thranduil's urgent whisper.

"On three. Aronne, are you listening? One, two…"

The Elf tensed for action, eyes darting toward the two rocks that marked the entrance to the underground passage. He measured the distance, fervently hoping they could make it…

"THREE!"

The Elf slid into the water with a loud splash, careful to avoid the submerged rocks along the banks. Aronne had jumped a few seconds after him, but he was not so particular of where he landed, and later on, he would have the bruises to prove it. The sound of breaking branches caused him to look back as the beasts charged from the underbrush, growling at the sight of their lost prey. Although Aronne had trouble distinguishing the beasts from their murky background, there was no mistaking the murderous intent in their eyes. One especially hungry warg plunged into the water and began swimming after them. Holding his breath, Thranduil dove deep into the water, feeling Aronne on his heels. He probed the dark bank with his hands, dislodging rocks and roots as he went.

Aronne looked up, and his eyes widened as he discerned the bulky shape of the beast swimming in circles above their hiding spot.

*Perfect. A swimming warg. I guess everyone will know what happened when they find our bodies floating home.*

 His lungs were crying out for air, and he grabbed Thranduil by the shoulder, indicating the danger they were in. The Elf shook him off, and as he did so, his shoulder brushed something hard that wasn't rock. He yanked the mud away to reveal a large metal grating, sunk deep into the earth. To his surprise, he found that it opened easily. Still holding his breath, Thranduil swam through the opening. He grasped Aronne by the shoulder and pulled the man inside. The grating swung closed behind them.

Once inside, Thranduil lifted his head and rose to the surface. The water tunnel was no more than a few feet wide; its upward slanting structure prevented the river water from flooding in. However, there was quite a bit of water to deal with, it was dark, and Thranduil was having a hard time getting his bearings. He had not used the passage in a long time, and a long time for an Elf is quite a long time indeed. The elves had lined the walls with pegs and handholds that they used to climb the slanting tunnel. Thranduil turned as Aronne emerged somewhere behind him, coughing and spluttering violently.

After watching him for a minute, Thranduil smiled understandingly, "Are you alright?"

Aronne held up a hand, indicating that he was not in a condition to answer any questions. Still gulping deep breaths of air, he brushed the tangle of hair from his eyes.

Thranduil's eyes were curious; he had not realized that being under water would affect the man in such a way. Aronne shivered, and glared daggers at him.

"That was *not* funny."

"I'm sorry," the smile grew wider.

"I can't swim."

"You did fine."

A waterlogged while caused of both them to pause, and Aronne edged farther away from the grating.

"I think he's stuck in the opening," he said, meaning the warg.

 "Well, he'll keep anyone from following us," Thranduil chuckled. Motioning for Aronne to follow, Thranduil began the short ascent to the top of the tunnel. The cries behind them died off to a pitiful whimper, and finally to silence.

"I guess that's that," Aronne murmured softly. He reached for the first handhold. "I guess they'll all be wondering where we are."

Thranduil shrugged, wringing out his long hair. "Legolas won't be. I'm sure he's fast asleep."

 TBC

Hehehe, little does he know.

Yeah, yeah, I know I completely skipped over the others in this chapter. Don't worry, I won't abandon them, they have a few more chapters to survive through…