"It was by all accounts a very ineffectual attack." Gandalf spoke to the King in a light-hearted tone regarding the recent Orc attack, although he sensed that Mirkwood's leader was not paying all that much attention. "Hardly any injuries to the Elves, many grievous on their part. You know your majesty, even high ranks of Elves would consider this to be a victory."

Thranduil nodded noncommittally, his stern eyes focused intently on the fertile soil of the forest beneath their feet. "I do not think it was their task to make it an effectual attack. No, I do not think that was their intent at all."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. He had bore the same thought that Thranduil spoke of, but did not wish to speak of it in the open. Gandalf nodded, still eyeing the King, wishing to know what troubled thoughts lay behind the stoic façade of Mirkwood's fair-haired leader.

If Thranduil noticed Gandalf staring at him, begging silently for him to continue his train of thoughts, he did not show it. He sighed as he reached up and grasped a low-hanging leaf, studying the intricate lines of its veins, contemplating Mirkwood's future. "The Orcs attack more often and in greater numbers. But I do not think they wish to wage war with us. Not yet at least."

"Then perhaps they are amassing." Gandalf suggested.

Thranduil shook his head. "Nay. I think the foul beasts toy with us." He turned and faced the wizened wizard fully. "I think they mean to distract us."

Gandalf's bushy grey eyebrows now popped up in surprise. "Then you have also heard the whispers."

Thranduil breathed in deeply. "Not directly. But one needs only to heed the wind's malcontent, to see the restlessness growing in the hearts' of his people, and to know the gnawing warning in his own heart. Something stirs in the south. I can feel it."

Gandalf felt an impulsive shiver within the core of his being. There was great unrest throughout the Elven realms west of Mirkwood, and now Mirkwood herself had fallen prey to the nameless fear. He resolved to be ever watchful of all goings on in Middle Earth. Something was about to rear its ugly head.

They made their way through the courtyard in silence, until they returned to the confines of Thranduil's halls. Even the Elven kingdom seemed to have lost much of its lustre of late. Gandalf found his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness after coming from a bright afternoon.

"How fares the Prince?" Gandalf asked. Gandalf – and many other visitors for that matter – had not been permitted to see Legolas. Although it was not hard to guess what had transpired.

At the mention of his son, Thranduil's eyes clouded and he frowned deeply. "He recovers from his physical wound with the speed typical of our kind. It is the first time Legolas has been bit by the foul Orc poison. I hope that this imparts upon him a terrible lesson; his life is not invincible. Even he can be touched by death's hand."

"I would think that his mother and brother's death would have already left their mark on his dealings with death."

The King stopped abruptly in his tracks. "Their deaths were drowning him in his grief." Thranduil looked to the floor, his entire face hardened by the vivid memory of Legolas' struggle to release his grief and embrace life once more. "I would not see him touched by melancholy like that again."

"You cannot shelter the Prince, your highness. In his future travels Legolas will undoubtedly encounter death again, in scores perhaps."

It was Thranduil's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Future travels? Legolas is needed in Mirkwood. This is his home, and this is where he shall stay. Mirkwood Elves are not as flighty as our kindred in the west. We are ever pressing to return to our former life as Greenwood the Great, and until that day comes none under my house shall flee these boundaries."

Gandalf hummed under his breath. He disagreed with the King entirely on the matter of Legolas' future, but he would not argue with Thranduil. Thranduil was of a stubborn mind and nature, and no Elf nor wizard had yet won a battle of the wits with him.

As the two rounded a corner, they found themselves rather unintentionally at the door of Legolas' room. And it was slightly open. Gandalf kept his eyes glued to Thranduil's back, wondering if the King would eavesdrop or not. For indeed there were two voices coming from the room and one just happened to be his wife's.

But Thranduil was above eavesdropping. Instead he just rapped softly before entering completely.

Sitting upright in his bed – propped by many pillows behind his back – was Legolas, talking softly to his stepmother who sat beside him. The two were smiling, discussing what, Gandalf did not know, but it warmed his heart greatly to see Legolas well.

Thranduil could not suppress a smile either. "You are hale, my son?"

Legolas nodded earnestly at his father. "I am. Unfortunately the Healers keep me prisoner in my own room."

Thranduil looked around the room. "For a dungeon it is marvelously well furnished."

"Perhaps it would inspire you to reform the dungeons as well then, your highness." Gandalf jokingly added. Legolas and Faerla let out a hearty laugh while Thranuil merely harrumphed the idea off.

"I have interrupted. Please continue. Gandalf and I have much to discuss." Thranduil was about to leave when he stopped. He turned back and faced his son, then quickly leaned down and kissed him on his forehead. Without another word, Thranduil strode out of the room.

Legolas' eyes grew to the size of saucers. Faerla looked to him questioningly. "He's never done that before." Legolas answered. A small smile crept to the corners of Faerla's mouth.

Bits of pulp went flying as a large sized fruit exploded with the contact of an arrow. An admiring whistle sailed on the wind as another fruit met its cruel fate.

"Well at least you have some remaining talent." Aragorn murmured.

Legolas sent a deadly glance in his direction, then shot another arrow precisely into its mark. "Those talents far outweigh your meager existence, human." He added as much venom to the human as he could muster, but he could not help but smile as he jested with the ranger.

"Your humour has something left to be desired though." Aragorn let loose his own arrow.

Legolas couldn't stifle the laughter as he countered Aragorn's remark. "So does your appearance."

Aragorn smirked in disagreement. "I'll have you know, pointy-ears, that a great many fair maiden has fallen prey to these appearances."

Legolas shrugged. "Young maidens should digress from ale consumption when around homely rangers. Obviously those young maidens have never met the likes of an Elf before."

"Obviously. Otherwise they would have no virtue whatsoever."

Legolas' mouth dropped, causing Aragorn to laugh. "Never thought I'd live to see the day when an Elf had nothing to say."

"Aragorn! Are you ready to depart?" Both Aragorn and Legolas turned to see the sons of Elrond waving at them. Aragorn waved back, but turned to Legolas and spoke in sincerity.

"I would not leave until you are completely healed."

Legolas smiled at the human's concern, and placed a hand on his new friend's shoulder. "I am, with much thanks to you."

"Ai! Aragorn!" Elrohir was urging the young man impatiently. Aragorn waved him off again.

"You best depart with your brothers Aragorn. Lest you wish to face spiders on your own."

Aragorn smirked, then gathered his pack onto his shoulders. "Perhaps the spiders can be convinced to go after two Elves of Rivendell though."

"Farewell Aragorn. I hope that we meet again."

Aragorn smiled warmly at the Prince, whose eyes sparkled with the sunlight once more. "I am sure we will. Until that day, farewell."

As Aragorn neared his brother's Legolas could already hear the starts to a verbal war that he guessed would follow them all the way back to Rivendell. He laughed softly at the thought. Legolas watched the trio until they were well into the forest. He was about to return to his home, when the sound of shuffling feet and heavy breathing caught his attention.

"Confounded sons of Elrond! I will make mincemeat of them!" Gandalf hurriedly wished Legolas a fond farewell as he chased the disappearing forms of Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn. Shrugging his shoulders and sighing, Legolas turned and made for his home.