a/n: okay, in honor of Mr. Bloom's birthday (yes, I know it was a little while ago, but you're talking to a procrastinator here) and RoTK finally getting its recognition at the Golden Globes (how could you not tear up a bit during Peter Jackson's speech for "Best Director"- honestly?), I will write and hopefully post this new chapter. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and/or will review- i love and appreciate it! There won't be that many regular, consistent updates for this story, partly because i'm incredibly, horribly busy and partly because i don't know how much of a reader response i'm getting… but i do love responses, don't get me wrong! ; ) Oh, and while i'm sucking up (or trying to), i desperately need the web address of a good elvish translation site, please please please give suggestions? i might need it for this story and a new one I'm thinking of writing (more on that at the end of this chapter, if you stay awake that long. Hey, is this what rambling really sounds like? … i better go…

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

CHAPTER 5: NIGHTMARES

            "My father. I'll have to kill him."

            Elrohir froze at Legolas' words. "Kill him?" Legolas didn't answer, his eyes sad, weary, and much older than they needed to be. "I'll admit, in these past couple of hours, I've felt like it myself, but actual Kinslaying? I don't-"

            "I don't want to," Legolas interrupted. "Above all things, I don't want to have another Kinslaying. But I… I don't see any other way to end this. Something has to be done, I see that now. If not for me, then for our people and for what used to be Greenwood the Great. For my mother and our family as it used to be. For my brother…" Legolas' voice grew soft. "Wherever he may be."

            He saw Elrohir's eyes darken at the mention of Radames. The Crown Prince of Mirkwood whom had yet to be found. He could be anywhere from here to Mordor at this point, Legolas thought angrily.

            He faltered slightly, stumbling from exhaustion yet again. Elrohir, himself being too weak to support him, nearly fell along with him. "Maybe we should rest for awhile here, you can catch your breath for a bit?" the Rivendell Elf suggested coyly.

            Legolas gave a lopsided smile, both sheepish and accusing. "And of course, you feel fine, do you not?"

            Playing along, Elrohir held his head higher, atleast as much as he could on a sore and tired neck. "I do not tire easily, Prince of Mirkwood."

            "Uh-huh…" Legolas gave Elrohir a quick poke in his ribs, causing the other Elf to almost immediately double over with a slight groan. Elrohir straightened back up to see Legolas grinning unabashedly now and Elrohir smiled back in spite of himself.

            "You're just lucky you have that smile to get you out of trouble, Greenleaf. Otherwise-"

            "Otherwise, we'd both fall on our faces trying to prove we were stronger than the other. I think resting is a good idea," he interjected. They both settled themselves down on the floor, leaning their backs against the dusty, brick walls of the maze. It was a minute, maybe less, when Legolas realized Elrohir was still looking at him. "What?" he asked without turning his head.

            Elrohir blushed slightly but did not drop his gaze. "I'm just… glad that you still smile, Legolas. You've been a friend to me and Elladan and Arwen for so long, and now Estel, and… and I need you to keep your smile and your spirit. For now and for the future. It's a light for all of us, you know. When this is all over-" he stressed the when as opposed to if, "-You won't have to worry about not having a family… you'll always have one in Rivendell. Remember that, okay?"

            Legolas felt his throat tighten, overwhelmed by Elrohir's words and the meaning behind them. "Ro…" he began quietly.

            "Save it, Las," he said, using their elfling nicknames. "You're stuck with us now, all right? I'm too tired at the moment to get all weepy."

            Legolas chuckled wearily. "Agreed." And with that, the two Elves closed their eyes- a sign of just how weak and tired they were- and fell into a light sleep.

            Little did they know of the nightmares that waited for one of them.

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

            He was back in the armory again, all those years ago, a curious young elfling who had heard about the ancient weapons stored there from his older brother. His mother had died several months ago, an ill-fated spider attack, and while Legolas still mourned her grievously, the restraints of the "Royal Mourning Process" were starting to wear on his nerves. His father had not allowed him to run and play outside with his friends since his mother's funeral. He had not even seen most of his friends in the last five months, with the exception of Mekahb. Lord Elrond and his family had come and gone already, and Legolas had only been allowed to talk to the twins and Arwen for an hour, maybe less. What is a confined Elf to do? Legolas decided on sneaking in to see the giant bows and swords that had been used by warriors in his grandfather's time.

He was just reaching up to touch a pair of ivory-handled knives when his father entered the chamber. Or, more accurately, stormed into the chamber. Suddenly, Legolas felt very nervous. He had not had much contact with his father lately, not wanting to bother him as Thranduil had to deal with grieving for his wife and managing a kingdom. Anytime he did talk to his father, the conversations were short and often one-sided, until Legolas finally gave up talking to him at all and almost began avoiding him.

Now, seeing his father, he noted some disturbing changes in his demeanor and appearance. In the young Elf's eyes, it was almost as if a shadow had been cast around the king, his eyes dark and hooded. He had called out to Legolas sharply, immediately reprimanding the elf-child for sneaking away and playing with things that were not toys. It almost had sounded like the lectures Thranduil used to give his children when they acted up, before their mother had died. Legolas had thought that maybe his father was all right, maybe everything was back to normal. He had run towards the king, expecting a hug, an affectionate hand on the shoulder, something that would tell him everything was okay.

Unfortunately, everything was not okay. His father had lightly pushed him away, scolding him again in a firm and detached voice. It had been void of any emotion, Legolas remembered. He had tried to hug his father; maybe he was the one who needed to be told everything was all right. But Thranduil had snapped, and without warning backhanded his son across his cheekbone. All of a sudden, it was as though time had stopped. Legolas sat on the floor at his father's feet, hand covering the rapidly-forming bruise, eyes wide. Thranduil was still, eyes just as wide looking back and forth between his stinging hand and his small son.

"Legolas…" he had whispered. The prince's eyes had filled with tears as he launched himself into his father's arms, both of them crying, crying from pain and grief and the times they knew were to come. His father had been so sorry.

He had been so sorry. So sorry…

Suddenly another memory surfaced in the dream, and another and another after them. Moments of his hidden past all came back to haunt him now. The time when Radames discovered what was going on, the first time Radames was beaten as well, the first and second and third and countless times his father began using objects, weapons at his disposal. When he had broken his first bone. When Mekahb found out. When Radames disappeared. His memory flashed to the library from this morning, when his father had pulled his favorite weapon out of a hidden pocket in his robes- a strong wooden rod, actually categorized as a club, with sharp knife-like points on either end. No matter where you were hit, it was guaranteed to draw blood or abrasions… or both.

            The memories came one after another, almost hitting him with force. Legolas struggled to rid himself of the nightmare, not realizing he was actually shaking and struggling as he slept. Elrohir slowly opened his eyes as the movement awoke him.

            "Legolas?" he murmured fuzzily, not really sure what was going on. The Prince didn't answer, turning slightly from side to side, unconsciously trying to find a way out of his dreams. Elrohir blinked, his brow furrowing in concern, and then realized. "Legolas," he said more firmly, grasping his friend by both shoulders. Legolas gave no answer, no recognition, still shaking under the mental assault.

            Elrohir shook him now, trying to wake him. He called his name again, this time more loudly. "It is but a dream, my friend. Please…"

            Legolas' eyes snapped open. Suddenly Elrohir could see all the emotions and torment running through his mind, and he was reminded once again of how serious this situation really was. Then, just as abruptly, the mask slid back into place, and Legolas was once again looking behind guarded eyes. He shook his head, still trembling lightly. "It was no dream," he said hoarsely. "It was a nightmare, disguised in memories."

            Elrohir kept a hand on one of his shoulders. "I'm here if you need to talk about it." He knew better than to ask directly. To prove his point:

            Legolas smiled but shook his head. "I'm fine." He had said it so quickly, both of them knew it was an automatic response.

            Elrohir had to laugh. "Now that's the Legolas I know and love," he stood up, stretching his arms and legs. "I'm guessing you don't want to rest anymore, so shall we continue walking?" Legolas' relieved nod was his answer. The two continued on through the maze, arms still around each other's shoulders; though if it was for physical support or emotional, neither Elf could tell.

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

            The two Elves had been walking for what seemed like a century, and coming from two immortal beings, that said a lot. "Well, to look on the bright side, we haven't run into any more obstacles along the way," Elrohir mentioned to his friend. Legolas stopped abruptly, nearly causing Elrohir to pitch forward onto his knees. The Rivendell Elf looked questioningly at Legolas, who was staring straight ahead, muscles tense. "What? What is it?" he asked nervously, his voice dropping to a whisper in case some danger was lurking nearby.

            Legolas' answer came back just as soft. "I'm just waiting for it- the awful thing that is now bound to happen thanks to you jinxing us." He reached up then and weakly slapped Elrohir in the back of the head again. "Haven't you learned by now that you can't say things like that without the situation getting worse?"

            Elrohir gave a glare that would have made his brothers, and possibly his father, proud. "Well, now we're definitely jinxed." He lightly smacked Legolas in return.

            The younger Elf's reply came out in another language, one Elrohir could not quickly decipher. "Valar preserve me, I had no idea you could speak like a Dwarf," he teased a second later. Legolas opened his mouth for a comeback, but was abruptly silenced by the sight that found them around the next corner.

            It was another chamber, nearly identical to the last one they had been in. Only instead of Wargs, there was a giant Mirkwood spider lying in the opposite corner. Scattered bones littered the floor between them and the beast. Legolas immediately tensed, ready to act, when Elrohir help up a hand.

            "Wait… I think it's already dead…" They both moved forward cautiously, eyes not leaving the spider. Elrohir was right; it was dead, the hilt of a sword visible through a wound to its heart. Together breathing a sigh of relief, they turned to survey the room around them.

            "It looks like these Elves killed the spider for us," Elrohir commented as they began searching the debris and bones. "Do you think any of them escaped?"

            "It's possible, but there's no telling what they met next. I don't think this is the last obstacle," Legolas answered grimly. He moved to a set of bones covered by a cloak. "These bones look old, though. Maybe-"

            Elrohir looked up when Legolas didn't finish. "Maybe what?" Legolas was standing next to a pile of weapons and bones, a cloak in one tight fist. His eyes were closed and he was breathing in short, painful gasps. "What is it?" He rushed over to his friend.

            Instead of answering he shoved the cloak into Elrohir's hands and moved back to the spider. The Rivendell Elf inspected the material. It was a standard Mirkwood cloak that most warriors wore, except this one had an emblem on the front, the symbol for the Royal House. It was like the one Legolas wore… He looked up to see his friend pulling the rusty sword out of the spider. "Legolas?" he asked, still a little confused.

            For a second he was silent. Then the sword slipped out of his shaking hands to crash on the floor. Legolas backed up, more terrified than Elrohir had ever seen him, until his back met the wall. He slid to the ground as Elrohir came over and picked up the sword. "It's his," he whispered softly.

Elrohir looked over the sword, finally discovering what Legolas just had. An inscription just above the sword's hilt, though worn and rough, clearly read Radames Thranduilion. Elrohir could feel is heart freeze with fear. He looked back to his friend, for once unable to do or say anything. "Legolas…"

Legolas struggled to meet his eyes, tears streaming silently down his face. "I found my brother," his voice was pained, almost incredulous. "I found my brother… he's dead." With that he dropped his head into his hands and said no more.

END OF CHAPTER 8

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

surprise, another feeble attempt at a dramatic cliff-like ending. Whether it worked or not is up to you, i guess. Again, i'm going to take this time to thank those who review, and then plead with anybody who reads this (precious few, i know) to please help me find a website where i could translate some stuff into elvish- i need it desperately! I've got a few other story ideas in the works (a.k.a. in my head) that i would need translations. My favorite idea, which i will disclose right now, is a series of one-shot stories or vignettes or whatever based on Led Zeppelin songs. Sounds weird i know, but if you really look at their lyrics, there are a lot of Tolkien references. And since the members of the band have mentioned in the past that they are fans of the professor, i thought it would be a cool idea.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Elvish Translation website suggestions (I'm desperate, remember?) THEN LEAVE A REVIEW!

See ya'll in chapter 6!

p.s.- yay for Mr. Jackson and Co. for their 11 Oscar nominations- there will be hell to pay if we don't see a best director and best picture win- mark my words!