Legolas froze in his tracks as they entered the main mourning hall. There were too many marble tablets built up from the ground – in case of a large number of deaths – to count, but it was clear to see that on just over seven, at least, there lay the dead bodies of the warriors who had so valiantly faced the blaze and perished in doing so.

"Legolas," Thranduil said softly.

"So many lives have been lost," the Prince muttered, watching sadly as an inconsolable Elf-maiden wept over a loved one. "But it is not just the lives of those warriors; it is also the lives of their families and friends. I did not stop to think that they would be facing what we are."

"I did not expect you to," Thranduil said. He turned his gaze away and swept it over the fallen soldiers who had so willingly served him over the past years. He could remember laughing with all of them, shouting commands at them, fighting beside them. Most of them had been there for him and his family when his wife had died.

They had fought the Shadow of Mirkwood ever since it descended all those years back, and had helped greatly to rid the forest of evil, had fought for the beauty it once was. Constantly they would battle Orcs, cut down spiders, and would return to the palace dirty and grim, but alive none the less. It was tragic that Nature had been the one to steal their lives, after so many years.

"I suppose we must do this," Legolas sighed, taking a deep breath and walking forwards. But no sooner had he done that, he jumped back again.

The Elven-king drew in a deep breath, and touched his son's shoulder. "What is it?"

"Suithien….he is dead," the Prince whispered.

"Ai, not Suithien," Thranduil muttered.

He walked forwards and looked down sadly at the commanding officer of Mirkwood's troops. The veteran warrior's blond hair lay fanned out across his shoulders, blue eyes closed to the world, and hands folded across his chest. The King sighed deeply, and motioned for Legolas to come forwards. The younger Elf did so, albeit very hesitantly. Never had he seen so many who had lost their lives.

"He should not have fallen," the Prince said softly.

"There is no-one in here who should have fallen," Thranduil replied. "But life is crueller than we know. It is strange that something so valuable can be swept out from under us when we least expect it."

"Very." Legolas touched a hand to Suithien's shoulder, and looked up at his father. "Ada, can we go to see Airëlus? I do not mean to be disrespectful, but…"

"Of course," Thranduil said. "You are still too young to look on something like that. But, you do understand that Calaen's body will be in there also? It is custom to have all members of the Royal Family together if…" He trailed off, and made a slight gesture with his hands.

Legolas nodded slowly, wondering if he really was ready to look on the one who had killed Airëlus, but then had also been killed at his own hands. As they walked through the dimly lit corridors to the Royal mourning room, the Prince kept his gaze fixed on the candles lining the walls, smiling without humour as he remembered jumping up to blow them out when he was an Elfling, before he had looked on his mother's body.

"I remember that also," Thranduil said softly, following his son's gaze. "You plunged us into complete darkness before long."

"You told me to stop, so I did," Legolas continued distantly. "And then I said that I wanted to see Naneth, so you took me to see her."

The Elven-king winced at the memory. "I handled that the wrong way. I should have told you before, instead of letting you see her for yourself."

"But you did try," Legolas said. "Even I remember that. I was naïve, I was stupid."

Thranduil sighed, and flung an arm out in front of his son. "Stop."

"Ada?"

"I just…I just want to know if you really are ready for this. If you want to go back to the palace and do this at another time, I will understand. Because once we go into that room, there is no turning back, and-

"Ada, I am ready," Legolas cut in.

"Very well." Thranduil hesitated for a moment, before turning to the guards and nodding at them to open the doors.

The mourning room was no different than the last time that they had been in there. Precious little light shone through the small window set in the far wall, despite the fact that the sun had risen to her full height outside. That had also been the case when they had come to look on Findilan's body, all those years back.

"Ada, I thought you said that Calaen would be in here," Legolas whispered, flicking his eyes around the room.

Thranduil looked up, and started as he realised that his son spoke truthfully. Only one tablet was being used, and it was not occupied by a dark haired figure. Unable to properly answer the question that Legolas clearly wanted to ask, the Elven-king shook his head. He did not voice his thoughts, but he could not help feeling that something was far from right.

"Maybe he is being kept elsewhere," he said quietly, though it sounded lame even to his own ears.

Legolas did not reply as he went forwards, and dropped to one knee in front of the marble tablet that bore his brother. He bowed his head, and closed his eyes. "Airëlus…"

Thranduil reached down and touched a tender hand to his eldest son's pale forehead, running his eyes over the fallen Elf's body. In place of the light brown tunic and dark leggings that he had previously been wearing, he wore long robes of sapphire blue, and on his fair head there rested a golden circlet. He looked every inch the regal Crown Prince that he had been.

"Never have I seen him look so…so…" Legolas trailed off, and shook his head.

The Elven-king nodded his agreement, though he did not speak. He kept his gaze trained on Airëlus, though his vision was becoming obscured. He was so proud of his firstborn child, so proud that even if he had tried, he would have been unable to put the feeling into words. He closed his eyes, allowing silver tears to escape from under his lashes.

Legolas looked up, and was not surprised to see that his father, who was usually the epithet of strength, was crying. But he offered no comfort. He knew Thranduil well enough to be able to tell when he wanted consolation or not. So instead, the Prince contented himself with reaching out and putting his hand over Airëlus', letting his own tears fall silently.

"No i Melain na le, ion-nin," Thranduil murmured.

"Thank you, Airëlus," Legolas whispered. "Thank you for everything. Thank you for being the best brother, the best friend I could ever hope and wish for. Thank you for always being there for me, whenever I needed you. Im meleth le, gwador."

He clenched his fists and screwed up his eyes as grief overcame him. He had thought that he would be able to cope with seeing Airëlus' body, but it seemed that was not so. He wanted to cry out loud, and scream and cause destruction to everything around him. But more than anything, he wanted to bring his brother back. A sharp breath escaped his lips and he tried to hold it back, but couldn't. More and more came, until eventually he was sobbing, slamming his hand onto the side of the tablet that Airëlus lay on.

Pain flashed through Thranduil's eyes as he watched his youngest child losing control. "Don't do that," he breathed. "You must stop, for there is nothing that you can do."

"He is not dead," Legolas hissed. "He cannot be. Airëlus would not go where I cannot follow. I know that he would not do that to me." And then without warning, he grabbed his fallen brother by the front of his robes, and shook him.

"Legolas-

"Wake up, you're not dead!" the Prince said desperately. "You wouldn't do this to me, I know that you wouldn't."

Thranduil dropped to the ground next to his son, and pulled his hands away. "Cry as much as you want, but do not do that. You will only make yourself believe that he is still with us, but he is not. There is nothing that you can do."

"Why…?" Legolas shook his head helplessly as all the rage he had momentarily felt faded. "Why are you holding me back from him, Ada? Why…?"

"Because you will hurt yourself." Thranduil pulled the younger Elf close, and held him tightly. "Never would I hold you back from something that would not cause you pain, but this will. I cannot let you do this. Do you know what would happen to you if I did?"

Legolas shook his head mutely. 'Airëlus, forgive me,' he thought. 'I am so sorry.'

"If I let you carry on in the way that you were, you would eventually believe your own words," Thranduil said softly. "You would convince yourself that he is still here. I don't know, maybe merely resting. And then, when the time comes for his body to be buried, you would stay away from the service. I do not want that to happen to you."

The Prince looked up, and shook his head slowly. "I do not believe that he still lives. I had a moment of despair, and it got out of hand. Thank you for bringing me back to my senses. I think that…. No, I do not know what I would have done, had you not stopped me."

Thranduil inclined his head and got to his feet, pulling Legolas with him. "Come; let us return to the palace. His burial service will be tomorrow, but you can come to see him again before that if you so wish. But now I think it best that you have some rest."

Legolas nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. He turned back to his brother, and placed a hand above his own heart. He held it there for a few seconds, before sweeping it down and to the side, as was the customary farewell gesture for the Elves. The King did the same, and they stood in silence for a while, as they looked for one of the last times upon Airëlus' body.

"Come," Thranduil said softly. He put an arm around his son's shoulders, pulling him close. "Be strong, ion-nin. If not for yourself, then for your brother."

"I will be strong," Legolas replied, though his voice choked with emotion.

The Elven-king pulled open the doors, and watched sadly as his youngest child passed through them. Then he turned back to the tablets, and inclined his head. "Namaarie, Airëlus," he murmured.

Taking a deep breath, Thranduil left the room, and softly closed the doors behind him. He leant against them for a moment, using them as a support, but then he turned his gaze upon Legolas, and the look on the Prince's face made his heart pound. He stepped forwards to the two guards that his son had been speaking with, and tried to remain calm as he said, "What is it?"

"Your Highness, Prince Legolas has just questioned us about Prince Calaen's body," one of the guards said.

"And? What of it?" Thranduil demanded.

The guard, Galarth, shifted nervously under the flashing eyes. "Your Highness, do you not know?"

"If I knew anything, then I would not be standing here asking you questions," the Elven-king snapped. "Answer me! What of Calaen's body?"

"I am sorry, but myself and countless others scoured the clearing where the fire was in search of the Prince," Galarth replied. "We found nothing, Your Highness."

Thranduil inhaled deeply, and without another word to the guards, spun on his heel and swiftly left the room, Legolas right behind him. He could not believe it. Nor did he know how to feel at the news. There were so many feasible explanations. Calaen's body merely had not been found, or the fire had devoured it. Or he was still alive.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

No i Melain na le………………..May the Valar be with you

Im meleth le, gwador……………I love you, brother

Namaarie………………………..Farewell