A/N: My apologies (boy, I bet anyone still reading this is sick of apologies). I have been moving. Joyous… I do still want to reiterate that this is indeed a complete story. All chapters are written. I will not leave you hanging, and now that I have moved and now have internet access at home, this should go much smoother. Thanks for patient with me, mellyn nin!

Part Seven

by Kellen

Legolas dug frantically, peripherally aware of Eldabeth moving rocks away beside him. He knew, had they been able to see a little more clearly, that blood would smear most of the rocks. He winced as rough rock tore into his already battered fingers, and hissed. He shoved at a particularly big boulder, nearly pounding it in frustration when it refused to budge. He picked up his knife, trying to use it as leverage against the rock. He pulled and his blood-slickened fingers slipped. He fell sideways, bumping Eldabeth. A startled gasp escaped the younger Elf as she scrambled for balance.

Legolas apologized and steadied them both. A lock of Eldabeth's coppery hair fell into her face, and she blew it away. Dirt coated her face and hands, and her hair seemed dull, lifeless and beyond dirty. The tear tracks on her cheeks left her with a look that spoke of great grief and hardship. Legolas barely refrained from snorting; that wasn't far off, and he doubted he looked much better. In fact, he probably looked worse, given the blood that was caked on the side of his head.

"Need help?" she asked.

"Trying to move this rock."

She nodded, pressing her lips together, and bent to help him.

They tried their best to block out the sounds of digging behind them. One did not have to listen for very long to come to the conclusion that the orcs were digging much more effectively than the Elves. Before long, though, the sounds behind them wore on their already worn defenses.

"Thank the Valar for small mercies," Eldabeth snarled. "The cave in didn't kill us."

Legolas bit back a sigh; he was extremely irritated with Eldabeth's unpredictable emotion.

"They left us for the orcs," she continued, heedless of Legolas' growing frustration. "The rocks should have either killed them or us, and the way things are happening, I'd rather it be us."

That was too much. Legolas caught her wrist, and pulled her around so that she faced him. "If you wish death on youself, so be it," he snapped, "but my life or death is my own decision."

Eldabeth actually snarled at her uncle. "Do you see a way out?"

"Have a little faith, Beth!"

"Oh, have faith." She laughed a mocking, nearly mad laugh. "Faith. Faith in what? The Valar that allowed my father to die and us to be trapped here waiting for them to have at us? In Iluvatar, who, for all I know, planned all this? In you? In me?" She raised her voice. "Perhaps a miracle will come and we will be rescued from the verge of death." She raised her gaze upward, and continued in a mockery of prayer. "Oh, Valar, oh Iluvatar, sweet Eru, we await your mercies! Rain them down upon us!" She pulled her wrist out of Legolas' grasp. "Maybe another cave in will kill us this time," she spat.

Legolas' hands fisted and his countenance hardened. "You go too far."

"Where should I have stopped, then?"

"Before you ran into this damned place." His eyes flashed, and even as angered as she was,

Eldabeth shrank back from him. "What was your purpose, youngling? Were you too afraid to fade away in peace, that you had to have someone else do you the favor of killing you? You knew the dangers inherent in running, in coming in this place in times as dark as these. You knew, and yet you heeded it not. Reckless, Eldabeth. Too reckless by far when you involve others in your games."

"This is not a game," she shouted.

"Is it not? You deny nothing else, neice." He lowered his voice, abruptly realizing he was nearly shouting. "Fade away, leave us for Mandos' Halls if you will, but do not take us all with you, you selfish fool."

"Selfish?" she nearly shrieked, choking on her own outrage. "I drown in my grief, and yet I've seen nothing from you."

Legolas raised a fist before forcing himself to put his hand back on his knee, appalled at his inclination to hit the child. "Nothing? Have you not looked, Beth? I've been so busy keeping you alive to bring you back to your mother so that she may have some peace that I've not the time to allow myself to even think of my brother." He paused. "Or do you forget that Taricir was not only your father, but also a son, a brother, a husband and a friend?"

Her breathing hitched and she made no answer.

"Stop digging then, and resign yourself to your so-called fate. I will not resign hope yet," he snapped quietly before turning back to his task.

The sounds of black speech and frenzied digging grew ever closer. Eldabeth leaned against the wall and closed her eyes against her tears while Legolas continued his near hopeless rail against fate.

Thranduil almost had to physically reign in Kirwen. She was so intent on rescuing her daughter and brother-in-law that she constantly usurped the Elvenking in front of his advisors and warriors, and Thranduil only tolerated it for two reasons. She was not herself -- vaguely, he wondered if she would ever return to the graceful, quiet Elf he first knew -- and his warriors and advisors didn't make a single move until he confirmed or denied her order. Unfortunately, he had yet to be able to deny an order; they had all made sense thus far, and he found himself moving to obey Kirwen more than once before checking himself.

It was when Mener moved to with them that Kirwen and Thranduil reached their first disagreement.

"Mener, stay," Thranduil ordered wearily when the dark haired Elf appeared in the contingent, sword at his side.

"My lord," Kirwen interupted, "he can show us the way."

"He has described it well enough," Thranduil responded, "and several here know of which cave he speaks."

"I'd rather not take the chance we end up going the wrong way entirely," Kirwen replied, an edge to her voice.

"He is injured, and needs tended."

"It can wait."

Thranduil turned to her and spoke in a low enough voice that, hopefully, only she would hear him. "Keep this up, and you will be residing in the darkest, deepest places below the palace with only the insects and the rats to keep you company."

She stared at him, her green eyes filled with rage before abruptly turning and waiting near the young mare that was her mount.

Thranduil held back a sigh; this was tearing his small family to peices. He turned to Mener. "Stay, warrior. Your bravery is commended; now let us pick up the effort."

Mener, even circumspectly related to the king, had never dared say anything that could possibly be construed as argumentative. Now, though, when he spoke, he defied a direct order. "I would go with you, my Lord." He swallowed, letting his gaze slide to Kirwen. "If only to keep an eye on my cousin Kirwen." He lowered his voice. "She concerns me; I would not let her away from my sight."

"Or your protection." Thranduil sighed. "I do understand, Mener, and I do relent, this time. Question my authority again, though, and you will never have the opportunity to do so again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Thranduil turned, ordering his warriors out, wondering darkly just who actually ruled Mirkwood. Your fault, Taricir, he thought, his heart constricting. Had you not left us, we would still be whole. He eyed Mener, arm still bound in its sling, as he sidled his mount next to Kirwen. He watched Kirwen's proud, haughty, but ultimately pained demeanor. One son dead, the other, missing, presumably in a cave that was also full of foul creatures. A young granddaughter so full of heartache that she sought solace and found nothing but more pain and more fighting.

Presumably.

Thranduil held onto that word. Presumed. It was all presumed that Legolas and Eldabeth ran into trouble, but the truth was that Thranduil had a terrible feeling, a horrible sense that no matter how many "presumably"s were tacked onto the situation, it was still true.

Legolas promised his ada that he'd be back soon. He did not make promises lightly, and it was the faith in his son's character that kept Thranduil from drowning in all that was wrong right now.

"Garo bronwe," Thranduil whispered, willing Kirwen and Mener to hear. "Lasto beth nin, Kirwen.

Garo bronwe."

Have faith.

Now he just needed to grasp faith, and hold it close, no matter how fate railed at them.

He patted his stallion's dark neck and, to direct his attention elsewhere before he drove himself mad, started looking into the forest, letting the sympathies and the hope of the trees fall upon him. He smiled at the form he saw running somewhat akwardly beside the contingent, and wished the dark horse strength and luck.

Bronwe followed.

TBC