* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, King Thranduil sat on his throne, fighting a battle with himself. He gazed at the foliage colored tapestries. He rested his face in his hand, stricken with anxiety and depression. He remembered when this had all started. a long while ago it was, before even he had wed Louanniel. Oh Louanniel! If only it had never happened. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had finally come. The night when Thranduil was expected to pick the new queen of Mirkwood. Every young and eligible maiden stood in the grand throne room, lining the carpet and dressed in their finest. Thranduil walked up and down the rows of elf maidens, his heart despairing. He didn't want to pick his queen this way; he wanted to fall in love. Blast tradition. There were many maidens there, but only two held his attention. The first was Louanniel, a Galadrim who was born in Lothlorien. Her grace and beauty were breathtaking, with her long, golden flowing hair and emerald green eyes were full of laughter and happiness. Thranduil's spirit perked even at the sight of her, knowing that they could easily come to love one another. The other however, was one of the lower wood elves, daughter of a servant. She did not stand in the line of suitors, but off to the side with her eyes lowered. Her hair was the color of a tree in change, with strands of red, yellow, and gold all winding together to form a prism of radiance. Thranduil could see her eyes even at the distance at which she was standing. They were mournful and full of sorrow, and red from many nights of spilt tears. It had been an accident, something the king had never thought of happening. He had been drunk on wine that night, when he had stumbled across a young maiden. She had been puzzled at first, as to what her king was doing in a dark corridor that only the servants used. Thranduil hadn't been able to control himself; the wine had robbed him of all his rational thinking. He should have never allowed himself so much wine, though as an elf of Mirkwood it took quite a bit to leave him senseless. They two were so far down in the depths of the castle, away from the clamor of the celebration upstairs. No one had been there to hear the girl's screams of terror and sobs of rage. Gazing at the maiden, his heart took a wrench as she glanced up and met his eyes.

"You're decision, sire?" Asked Alcarinlore, one of the elvin counselors to the king.

Snapping his attention back to the suitors, he cleared his throat.

"Louanniel." He whispered. "I choose Louanniel."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * ** Sitting in his throne, Thranduil let out a sigh. He had been so horrified at what he did, he had released the girl from servitude and gave her free reign of the castle, even allowing her to move outside the castle grounds into her own tree dwelling. This had caused many raised eyebrows, but Thranduil didn't care. He had only hoped that nothing would have come of it, but nine months later she had given birth to a baby elfling, a boy.

Consulting with his advisors, they planned an ambush that night for the elf babe's father, and had him banished from the kingdom. The king still had many nightmares, about what might have become of the child, and whether or not the family was safe from the spiders. The boy shouldn't know anything, the only mirrors in Mirkwood were in the palace, and the water around his home was always disturbed by the waterfall. Oh Eru, now he couldn't even remember the poor girl's name. Wait, yes he could. It was Indil.

Further thoughts of anything else were driven from his mind however when a young messenger elf stumbled through the door.

"Sire!" He gasped.

"What? What is it?" Thranduil asked, standing up.

"The prisoner, .Prince Legolas,. his sword!" The poor boy collapsed onto the floor. Thranduil caught him as he fell and carried him as he raced down towards the dungeons. Reaching the cell where the boy was being kept, he gently handed the young messenger to another elf who was standing outside the door.

"Your highness!" The elf sputtered. "I don't know what happened! Prince Legolas tried to execute the prisoner and the sword came down and there was the light."

"Calm down," Thranduil ordered, cutting the elf off. "Take this boy up to his mother, let him have the rest of the day off to recover." The elf nodded wordlessly and sped away. Thranduil then approached the door, and yanked it open with tremendous force. A pale blue light flooded his senses and he not ready for the sight that awaited him when the light subsided. There in the cell, suspended in the air, was his son, Legolas, and the prisoner, apparently beaten and bruised. They were both surrounded by a blue light, and were bound together by Legolas' sword, Famkil. The sword had forced both elves' hands to grab hold of the hilt, and a deep voice rang out, as if coming from the sword itself.

"Ve ta techne mii wande an I Valinor, serke kaiuu nwalya serke!" (As it was written in the way of the Valinor, blood shall not harm blood!)

And with that, the sword glowed red, and seemed to scorch the hands of those holding it. Legolas and Eruan were thrown to the ground, and the sword dropped to the stone floor and lay silent. Thranduil rushed immediately to the aid of his son, and bid his guards to help Eruan. The two were taken to the private chambers of the king himself, and were laid out on two cots. There they were cared for by the she-elf Lindale, who was extremely skilled in the art of healing. She tended mainly to Eruan's shoulder, and left Legolas's elven abilities to heal him. After Lindale was through, Thranduil had three elves carry Eruan to his own chamber next door.

"Lock the door, be sure no enters, and no one leaves."