Faith

by Kellen

Notes, disclaimers, summary, etc are on the prologue.

Feedback: Please. Constructive, flames or otherwise. LoL. Either here or on my email at kellenanne@yahoo.com

Part One

Thranduil had been deeply involved in his work. Penning missives were never his favorite thing, and despite the seriousness of the situation he wrote about -- but lately, weren't they all serious? -- he smiled as he laid down the quill and in a move that some would call decided un-Elven, he rolled his neck, sighing as the kinks worked themselves out. Smiles and relief had been in short supply lately for the Elvenking. His family was still reeling from the loss of his wife, and his sons had been spending more and more time patroling the borders of Mirkwood.

With the arrival of the company Legolas served in yesterday, Thranduil felt more at ease. The day would come when Legolas would command his own patrol, but he was young yet. Thranduil's eldest son, Taricir, commanded a patrol to the south - an area that was, to put it mildly, hazardous. Taricir, however, had more experience and was, by all accounts, intelligent in such matters. Thranduil worried for his son's safety, but felt supremely confident in Taricir's abilities, and those in his patrol. Mener would give his life in place of Taricir's, and -- Thranduil had to smile wryly at his next thought -- Bronwe, his son's mount, was loyal to a fault.

Barring any unforeseen circumstances, Taricir should be returning quite soon. Thranduil left his study and went to roaming his halls as he was wont to do when the lazy afternoon hours sometimes came upon him. He had engaged himself in lightnearted banter with Galion when a commotion rose, emanating from the entryway into the palace. Thranduil strained, hearing the words he desparately wanted -- "the patrol's back" -- and Galion delighted in seeing his King's eyes light up like a youngling's at the promise of Taricir being back.

Thranduil smiled and excused himself from Galion's company and strode down the hallway. His smile faltered however, when he started hearing more and more bits of information. "Ambushed" was a word he always hated, "wounded" right up there with it, but he held hope still. Taricir, and even Legolas had come back with many, many war stories and both had sported injuries from an orc's blade upon returning to Mirkwood's halls. It was when he heard "dead" being bandied about that Thranduil stilled, a knife of icy despair striking his heart. He shook his head. "Dead" did not mean Taricir. They could be talking about anyone in the patrol.

But then, he hadn't heard Taricir's voice yet.

By why come to the palace except to bear bad news?

Thranduil steeled himself, expecting to be met by a somber son berating himself. That would explain the silence. That's why he hadn't heard Taricir's voice.

Wasn't it?

Thranduil stepped into the entryway, met instead by a bloodied, barely conscious Mener. The Elf stood on his feet, swaying precariously. Blood had pooled at his feet, and Thranduil, in the part of his mind that wasn't panicking, noted that he'd been bandaged and treated. His wound had most likely torn open again under the bandages quite recently. Thranduil's hand fisted even as he moved forward, past servants uncertain of how to proceed, and caught Mener's shoulders. "Mener?" His voice trembled.

Mener shook his head, dark locks limp, and turned fevered eyes on Thranduil. "My Lord... I..."

And Mener didn't have to say another word. Thranduil shook Mener's shoulders, mouthing a quiet "no." Mener clasped the King's wrists, the gentle shaking too much for his wounded body. The Elvenking caught the warrior and lowered him to the floor, sinking to his knees beside him.

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Legolas had to know.

Of course, deep in his heart, he did know. He just did not believe.

He burst into his father's private rooms, nearly falling his face as he skid to a stop. "Ada," he said breathlessly, panic making its presence known in his voice.

Thranduil looked up. The light had gone out of his eyes.

Legolas swallowed. The look of an old, tired soul in front of him was enough to convince him of the truth. Still, he asked. He had to know. "Tell me its not true."

Thranduil shook his head. "Oh, Legolas, ion nin," his voice broke, " that I cannot do."

The young Elf nodded once, swallowing sudden tears as panic turned to deep grief. He turned on his heel, walking slowly out of Thranduil's rooms. "Legolas," the King called.

His son looked back. "I will return, Ada. I promise," he said softly. "Not now."

Thranduil nodded. His younger son had always turned inward when confronted with grief. As it was, Thranduil had neither the strength or the patience to try to turn him from his path. "Soon?"

Legolas nodded. "Aye, Ada. Soon." With that, he left, seeking solace in the darkness.

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The soft sound of tears being shed was perhaps the most painful sound to hear, especially when those tears were shed by someone loved well. The palace was quieter than ever heard before. The servants went about their tasks with a muteness that was unusual for most Elves. It wasn't strange to find tears resting on the cheeks of the servants or bright, wide, shocked eyes. More than once, one of them had stopped in the middle of some task, broken down with sobs that would not be quieted.

Mener walked swiftly, trying to get where he was going in a great hurry but trying not to raise panic in an already wary and grieved household. He staggered a little; the healer's had been adamant about him resting, but he had a family to look after. He promised Taricir once.He found his quarry just exiting one of the smaller dens and Mener quickly grabbed the prince's upper arm and hauled him back into the room and into a far corner.

"What now?" Legolas sounded weary beyond any sort of relief.

"I am sorry, my lord, but there is a situation that demands attention." Mener said it hesitantly, as if afraid of the prince's reaction.

"Mener," Legolas sighed, "I doubt you could bring me worse tidings than what I have already heard today." He paused, immediately contrite. Mener had been part of Taricir's patrol and he kept his grief and guilt close. "You served my brother well, mellon nin, and loyally. His fall is no fault of yours. I know Taricir would have been proud of your actions and touched by your care for Kirwen and Eldabeth."

"It is of your niece I wish to speak." Mener sighed. "Kirwen does not wish to speak to King Thranduil."

"So she sends you to bother me?"

Mener sighed. "My lord, please, Eldabeth is gone."

The panic that took hold in Legolas' countenance caused Mener a moment of his own bewildered fright.

"Gone?"

"Not gone," Mener quickly corrected. "Disappeared."

"Where is she?"

"If Kirwen or I knew," Mener snapped, "we wouldn't be telling you she had disappeared." It took Mener a moment to register he'd just spoken so to the now heir of Mirkwood, and he apologized quickly. Legolas waved the apology away, and Mener took the opportunity to speak again. "I know you are deeply grieved by the loss of your brother Taricir," he said, "and his wife grieves as well, but Kirwen's concern is doubled now that her daughter has wandered off."

"No doubt caught in her own heartache."

Mener nodded. "Kirwen has no desire to worry the king with this."

Legolas laid a hand on the concerned elf's shoulder, mindful of the sling that kept Mener's arm immobile. He knew also that bandages decorated much of Mener's side. "Kirwen is right; I will search for Eldabeth. Go back to Kirwen. I'm sure my father would see her before too much time passes, but no one should be left alone long after such an event as this."

Mener bowed and spun on his heel, wobbling a bit as he did so. Legolas steadied him. Rather than ask the warrior if he was all right -- no one was, not right now -- the prince nodded his thanks.

"It is the least I can do," Mener said bitterly.

Legolas sighed. "Mener, I meant it: Taracir's death was through no fault of yours. Kirwen does not hold you responsible, nor do I, and neither does Thranduil."

Mener nodded. "My heart and my head are at odds with each other right now, my prince, and it is not your blame or the king's or even Kirwen's that worries me. It is Eldabeth that concerns me."

"She is but a child."

"She has a child's heart, one that is easily malleable. I would hate for her to hate her mother's cousin."

"Mener, what did she say?"

Mener sighed. "She blames me, I think. I had come to Kirwen to check on her -- she is my cousin and her husband was my commander -- and Eldabeth would take no quarter with me."

Legolas nodded. "Mener, go. I will find her. You stay with Kirwen. Rest, too. I know you are more injured than you appear."

Mener nodded, forgoing the usual formal pleasantries between commander and commanded. He spun, a little more gingerly this time, and quickly walked out of the room. Legolas sighed, watching him go. After a moment in which he did nothing but grieve, not for himself, but for Taricir's wife and daughter, he followed, exiting the palace, detouring to his rooms for his weapons.

One could never be too careful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TBC