For the purposes of this story, Arwen is about the equivalent of a five-year-old, in size and age.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

To reviewers: I promise to respond to each of you individually next chapter. For now, thanks for reading.

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Legolas awoke on the floor. The dagger lay under his cheek, and all night he had slept on it. The tip had poked into his cheek, and now a small stream of blood dribbled out. Though his arm no longer bled, it had darkened the floor and his hair was matted and reddened. Crust-like tissue had come over the gash, now re-forming his once perfect skin.

Immediately, Legolas regretted what he had done. His parents would see, and what would they think? They would ask themselves what had they done wrong, and they had done nothing. He had to hide it, had to protect his parents from everything that he was doing, from these terrible deeds that would so hurt them.

Jumping to his feet, Legolas raced to bathe. He scrubbed his hair thoroughly, many times, until the water that he wrung from his golden tresses came out clear as crystal. He made sure the pink of his skin was from rough soap, not blood. Once he was satisfied with his cleanliness, he dressed.

Clothing was of the utmost importance, for he could no longer wear short-sleeved tunics. He had chosen a long-sleeved light-blue tunic, far too big for him. The sleeves went out past his fingertips. This could be used to his advantage. Using strings he tied the sleeves around his wrists.

"Afraid your arms are going to fall off?" Naithon asked sarcastically.

"The sleeves are too long," Legolas explained. "I wanted to keep them as out-of-the-way as possible." Yet the truth was exactly the opposite. He wanted his arms as hidden as possible.

All day Legolas was afraid. He became skittish around his parents, afraid they would see. They didn't know that he knew that he was the reason they fought all the time, and he liked it that way. They would feel awful if they knew and feel the need to tell him that no, he wasn't the reason they yelled so often--but he was, and he knew it. Only Naithon would tell him the truth.

More and more Legolas left his home. Daily he would climb into the big trees, and run as far from his dwelling as possible. The fear of discovery remained behind him. No other children sought solace in the treetops, and their loud cries stayed far away. The guilt of what he had done lingered, he still hated himself for making his parents fight like that, but the multiple healing slits on his arms, causing the constant and terrible ache, reminded him that had been justly punished for his crimes.

Up in the green branches, Legolas got to thinking. What if I didn't go back? He wondered. What if I just stayed up here for ever? But then, that would hurt them, and I have done plenty of that. Perhaps these cuts are wrong? The blood flows like music, and wraps warmly around me, taking me away from the harsh reality of my crimes. Is my punishment really a blessing?

"How could you even think that?" He asked himself aloud. "How could you even consider no punitive action after what you did? Why, you only deserve to live because of all the pain you feel!" And in a terrible swarm of self-pity, he crumpled to the trunk of the tree.

*****

"I am all right! I--" Elladan stopped to sneeze. Wiping his eyes, he continued, "I am fine! You can take me to Mirkwood!" It had been a great disappointment to him to learn that he would not be accompanying his father and brother to Mirkwood, but he had fallen from a tree and broken his arm, and the journey would be extremely difficult in such a situation.

"Elladan, do not worry. You shall see your friend Legolas again. Just not now," Elrond tried to explain things in a way that would not make Elladan any more angry and upset than he already was.

"Legolas is Elrohir's friend. I want to see the giant spiders!"

"S-spiders?" a quaky voice asked.

"Oh, yes, Arwen. Huge spiders! So big they do not eat bugs, instead they eat full-grown elves! But the elves know better than to go near them--only children, whose tracking skills are not well honed, get caught in their webs!" Elladan smiled as he exclaimed these terrible non-facts. Arwen screamed and grabbed onto Elrond.

"Please, please, please don't make me go!" she howled, crying. Elladan smirked.

"Elladan!" Elrond said sharply. Then, lifting Arwen off the ground, he said softly, "Do not worry, Arwen. Elladan is only trying to frighten you."

"Then there are not any spiders that want to eat Elves?"

"No, there are not."

Many days later, Celebrian spoke to Elrond. "Perhaps it is best that Arwen goes with you. Elladan seems bored and has not stopped tormenting her, and he keeps on telling her frightening things. For example, he has not stopped going on about the spiders in Mirkwood."

Elrond sighed. "I had hoped Arwen could stay here. In fact, I was glad when Elladan was unable to go--I do not wish him to be hurt, but there is something wrong with Legolas, which I had hoped Elrohir could help with. However, if it is best for her that Arwen comes, then so be it."

A week later the three (Arwen, Elrohir, and Elrond) set out for Mirkwood. "Ada," Elrohir said, sure Arwen could not hear. "Are you sure that this is best--Arwen coming along and all?"

"It is for the best, one way or another."

*****

"It is good to see you again, Legolas!" Elrohir exclaimed. Legolas nodded. It had been an easy journey, though taxing on little Arwen, and Elrohir was glad to see his friend again. But something was wrong. Legolas's eyes were sunken and reddened, and his tunic sleeves covered his arms despite the warm weather. "I thought you hated to be so confined in warm clothing?"

"Well, I guess I have changed a bit," Legolas said nonchalantly. "Is that Arwen?" Legolas had never met Arwen, but he had heard Elrohir speak of her. Now she hid behind her brother.

"Yes, it is. Arwen, come on out, it is all right," Elrohir coaxed. "She is a little shy."

"That is all right," Legolas said. I'd understand anyone not wanting to meet me. Arwen stepped out from behind her brother. Her dark hair framed a pretty, childish face. It was clear she would be very beautiful one day. "Hello, Arwen," Legolas said in his least condescending voice.

"Who is he?" Arwen asked Elrohir. "How come he knows my name?"

"This is Legolas, he is my friend. I have spoken to him about you."

"All right. Mae govannen, Legolas."

Later, as the three headed to Legolas's room, Elrohir pulled him aside. "What's wrong, Legolas?" Elrohir asked, a hand on the other boy's shoulder.

"I. . ." Legolas racked his brain. It was his heart's greatest desire to tell Elrohir the truth, but who was he to burden another as such? He had to stall, had to buy more time--!

"Elrohir?" Arwen stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at them. "I do not want to get lost. It is scary without you!"

"Coming, Arwen!" Elrohir called. He returned his gaze to Legolas, but the moment had passed. Legolas trooped up the stairs to Arwen. Elrohir sighed and stood still. He might not get another chance for a while.