Author's Notes: *Sigh* I don't understand you people. First, I get yelled at for not updating..then I update, and only one person reviews! I cried myself to sleep, I really did.
Okay, no I didn't, but I could have. Now don't you feel guilty? But have no fear, for I have the answer -- Review!

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Catch me as i fall
Say you're here and it's all over now
- Evanescence
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Seasa's eyes flickered shut as they closed the heavy metal gates. Old tears dried on her cracked lips, sliding off her chin -- evidence of her complete breakdown. The guards snapped the bars shut with a satisfied click, as a second pair of bars slid shut with a definite clang, and she shivered. She could sense they were still there -- Astalder, probably -- but she couldn't bear to face them. Exhausted tears still leaked out from her tightly shut lids, and she hung her head, ashamed. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned away, facing the shadows of the darkness of her cell. She waited until she heard them walk away, their footsteps slowly fading into echoes. Slowly, trying desperately to regain control, she exhaled, dropping her arms to her side. With a faint sigh, she opened her eyes, then immeaditely snapped them shut again. She couldn't believe this was her fate. This. Wearily, she opened her eyes once more, waiting for her eyesight to adjust to the gloomy darkness.

All it took was one look. It took all her self control to stop the bile that rose in her throat, the gag reflex triggering in her system. She clutched her stomach, bending over as she took several loud, exhausted breaths. Not this. .

"Stop it Seasa," she muttered to herself, her voice catching. "Open your eyes. It can't be that bad.."

With only the faintest worry that she was talking to herself, Seasa opened her eyes, and then couldn't help but cringe. "Okay," she affirmed. "So it is that bad."

She forced a last puff of air into her lungs, said a quiet prayer -- was anyone listening ? -- for strength, and opened her eyes.

Dim, dusty gray light filtered through the miniature window perched in highest corner of the cell. It was smaller then even she expected -- but then again, she was a betrayer. It was funny how her conscience had never registered that before. The word had just suddenly floated across her mind now. She paused. Then she ignored it, continuing to study the place that would be her home until Thranduil set the date for her execut--

She abruptly stopped the thought, instead choosing to walk over to a decaying wooden bench -- the only fixture in the room. Guessing from the sheet haphazardly thrown over it, and the deflated pillow squashed under the bench's legs, it must serve as a bed as well. She ran a finger over the dusty sheet, her hand coming away covered in a fine gray film. She wrinkled her nose, and with a helpless sigh, eased herself down onto the dirty floor of the cell. She leaned her head back against the wall -- a spider dangled from the ceiling, performing age-old gymnastics on the fine silver strand dangling from the dark, unlimited depths of gloom above her. The cell was higher then it was longer; she couldn't even see the actual ceiling, but she imagined it was filled with other spider-like creatures. You better get used to them, she thought with a sigh as she tucked her chin into her knees. She as afraid to climb onto the bench, as it didn't look as it would hold her, so she shivered on the grubby dirt floor. The spiders may soon be all you have.

The sun was setting outside her window, darkness infiltrating into the already present gloom of her cell. She dropped her head into her hands, and unwillingly, a single thought slithered across her mind. What would Ada say if he could see me now?

The thought brought another comment to mind, thundering in her ears and she tiredly brushed a stray strand of hair from her frightened eyes. 'Let your father come for you!', Thranduil had spat. Spoken with such hatred, such sadistic pleasure..he had enjoyed watching the color drain from her face, enjoyed watching her knees buckle and watching her nearly swoon with fear. He had enjoyed it. Thranduil had, at first, seemed like a kindly old uncle -- patient, regal, and wise. The gratitude she had seen in his eyes as he learned of her daring move to warn the Guard before it was too late haunted her. That a captive would do good by her captors clearly startled him.

Seasa wished feverishly now that she had never done it. For then she wouldn't have ever seen the necklace in Legolas's pocket, never would have been consumed by the fiery rage that compelled her to attack like an uncivilized beast..

The transformation when the King had seen evidence of her identity was startling. 'Throw her in the dungeons!' He had ordered ruthlessly, no trace of mercy in the stark lines of his face. She had heard someone say once that one good deed was not enough to atone for a life time of wickedness, and apparently in this case, it was true. However, it seemed enough to condemn one.

Seasa stared blankly into the gathering dark, her soul weighing upon her heart. And she began to get angry.

How else could she feel? She was emotionally spent! Her -- shall we call it, episode -- in Thranduil's Hall had dragged all the tears, despair, and hopelessness out of her system. She couldn't cry anymore -- she couldn't even scream. The minute her guards had dragged her out of the light, and into the narrow passages leading down to the dungeons buried deepest in the caverns, away from the forest and the brightest pockets of the area, it was like something in her had died. Died.

She was an elf. She couldn't be without light, without air..without stars.

Never before had she truly longed for their twinkling light, for their hopeful glimmer..She had never truly noticed their beauty before, not until now, now when she needed them most. She needed them to reignite that flame -- that spark -- inside her, that flicker of light that had dimmed with every step she took towards her cell, towards her death. Death. Seasa couldn't help but snicker slightly. Death? Who needed death? She was already dying, dying a slow, agonizing death, drowning in her own emotions, drowning in the darkness.

Seasa's head suddenly straightened up. She was dying anyway, wasn't she?

Yes. Her self conscience answered defiantly. I am.

She paused. Then why not do it on her own terms?

"I'll deal with the arrangements for her execution later." Arrangements? Was the whole kingdom going to turn up to watch her hanged? Or would they make it less dramatic -- an arrow in the heart? In front of only the nobility of the Kingdom?

Seasa scoffed. The darkness was beginning to muddle her thoughts -- she needed to see sky, stars. It wasn't that she hadn't see them for this amount of time -- wasn't that she hadn't been outside for this amount of time, because for an elf, she was unusually not in tune with nature. But the very thought of knowing she couldn't see them, even if she needed to, bothered her. Elves draw their strength from their surroundings, but her surroundings had all the life of a grave yard.

She shook her head. What was she thinking about? Oh, yes. Death. Hers. Would they slowly starve her to death? Let her waste away to skin and bones? Or perhaps they would stone her -- letting each member of community throw at her, as they all would have been harmed by her deeds. It didn't matter. Either way, she was dead.

She sighed. From this point on, she was a dead soul. She raised her eyes to the window, and a deep, slow breath worked its way past her lips. She was going to die -- why not do it on her own terms?

Elves can die of battle, they can die of poison, they can die of starvation. And they can die of heartbreak.

Seasa glanced up at the window, her eyes latching on to the thick, silver moon that was perched in the inky sky. There were no stars visible -- but she hadn't expected there to be. She didn't believe in stars anymore anyway. She closed her eyes tightly - and felt her spirit begin to flee.

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Legolas rubbed his fingers into his temple, his head thrown back against the light silk of the plush pillows and sheets. His gaze unfocused slightly, as sleep slowly crept up and began to creep into his gaze, as elves sleep with their eyes open. But immediately, he jerked awake, his gaze at once alert and aggravated. Every time he slipped into the world of dreams, he could hear a scream. Pleading. Imploring. Begging.

For mercy. A pure and simple concept. But it was compassion he could not afford to give. Give the spies, the traitors a mere inch, and they would stretch it into a mile. A mile lost now would mean the kingdom lost, and though his heart may sometimes scream in protest, the kingdom must come first.

He was a Prince of the royal house of Mirkwood. His father was King, and the lord of these lands. It was his duty to protect his people – he didn't choose this role, this life. He was born into it.

The kingdom must come first.

Legolas shut his eyes from the pounding headache that throbbed beneath his fingertips. Every muscle was tensed as he lay in the darkened bed chamber. Shadows were born and lengthened upon the brightly painted walls; beneath his sweaty fingers, the silk of his emerald sheets felt rough and coarse. The pillow beneath his head was as soft as a rock, and the large, beech chests and wardrobes, filled to the brim with his prized passions – his first bow, his father's dagger, his mother's favorite flowers, pressed into a book of the history of Mirkwood forest, the first arrow he ever shot – all seemed to be mocking his discomfort now. The spacious room seemed to shrink in that one instant; the cheerful, sinking sun that had cast the room in a golden glue withered and turned into ash. His room seemed gray now – even the brightly painted pictures. The vivid turquoise colors that made up the painting of the sea Legolas would one day sail wilted into a faded backdrop; the brilliant greens of the forests poking in through his open balconey lost their feveor. The bright flowing chestnut manes of glorious horses in the wooden etchings above his bed diminished into floppy brown strands; the intense brightness of seven stars, and one white tree, portrayed on a flowing tapestry, died, .

Legolas was drowning, drowning in his own emotions, in his own guilt.

The kingdom must come first.

But who in the kingdom was she hurting?! Yes, she was Valneuma's own daughter. Yes, she belonged to the forbidden village of Single Star, buried deep in the forest – right next to Dol-Guldur. Yes, she wore the necklace of legend, the necklace that the single star dangled off of. Yes. She was the heir to Valneuma's wasted life.

But what of that was her? What of that was her choice? What of that was not her father – her father's doing?

She didn't choose that life. She was born into it.

Legolas froze, the unspoken phrase sounding eerily familiar as it circled around in his befuddled mind.

I didn't choose this life, Legolas thought. I was born into it.. Legolas sat up, and swung his feet over the side of the canopied bed, his thoughts reeling. Her situation could have easily been his.

Her father sent her to spy on an enemy. As a dutiful daughter, she complied.

His father sent him to catch a spy of the enemy. As a dutiful son, he complied.

She began to feel sorry for her actions, to worry if she was taking the right course. She warned them before their lives, the lives of the best warriors of her enemies, were taken.

He began to wonder if she was truly guilty; he instructed his men to treat her with kindness. He tried to ease her nerves with gentle banter and quiet conversation.

Then he turned her over to his father. As she would have done with him.

Their situations were suddenly so alike it was startling; and yet, she would suffer the ultimate sacrifice. Why? For being someone's daughter? What had she, herself, done? Beside the attack on him of course. He frowned. But then the decision to execute her should come from him, not his father!

She was an elf. Blessed with eternal life. Blessed with a divine connection to the earth, the sea, the stars. And now she was taken away from all of that, thrown into the darkest pit his father could find.

For what? Being someone's daughter? And why did he stand by and let this happen, when he knew the crime she herself committed deserved a punishment much less severe – because he was someone's son?

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Legolas bounded out of his room, hurrying through the well-lit corridor. He had to speak to his father, to make him see – Seasa didn't deserve to die! She couldn't very well be set free, though. She had seen enough of the palace – she probably even knew where the armory was by now. But her parting words rung in his head – "Mercy! Mercy! I'll do anything!" Perhaps she could become a servant of sorts, bound eternally to the Palace and the royal family. That was better than death, surely---

Legolas hastily turned the corner, deciding to cut through the Great Halls when the doors leading out to the main courtyard slammed open. At first, there was nothing there but darkness, and Legolas frowned – since when do the main gates open by themselves? But then something moved in the doorway, something came into the light and Legolas froze, stopping dead in his tracks, halfway across the great hall.

Aragorn grinned, Elladan and Elrohir flanking him on either side. Dark streaks of mud, and faint specs of blood splattered the human's young, smiling face, but Elrohir and Elladan looked a bit more forbidding.

"Aragorn?" Legolas breathed, and the human let out a bark of a laugh, leaving his adopted brothers standing motionless at the door and bounding towards his long-time friend.

"Legolas! Mellon nin! We came as soon as we could---"

But Legolas was just shaking his head, a wide smile stretched across his exhausted features. Several servants who were tidying up the Hall for the next day paused to watch the reunion.

Legolas grasped his friend's shoulder tightly, smiling into his friend's young silver eyes. Aragorn returned the gesture, squeezing his friend's arm with a reassuring look. "It has been too long, my friend," the human whispered, his young eyes excited at the sight of his friend, but it could not mask the worry veiled in his gaze.

Some of the servants muttered. Humans were not truly well liked in Mirkwood's palace, but Legolas and Aragorn's past was generally well known.

Lord Elrond of Rivendell and Thranduil King of Mirkwood have always had their differences. The Last Great Alliance of Men and Elves had severed the gap between the two elven kingdoms – Mirkwood had not wanted to enter the war, but at the prompting of Rivendell, finally lent her skills. Despite the wonder of Mirkwood's Guard and their supreme skill, however, Mirkwood elves wore no armor and suffered great causalities. Mirkwood had never truly forgiven Rivendell, and Thranduil had never truly forgiven Elrond. Mirkwood's dislike of strangers, in especially humans, only increased over the years, so when the news reached Thranduil's ears that Elrond was adopting a misfit human child, somehow distantly related to the half-elf, Thranduil had been furious. Communication between the two kingdoms all but stopped.

But nevertheless, the child had grown in spirit and in statue, and as time went on, he began to long for independence. Humans are all embedded with that longing to roam, that inability to settle down and it took hold of young Aragorn – or Estel, as his elven name was – when he was just a young man. He roamed into Mirkwood, though warned by his adoptive father not to, and stumbled on the Crown Prince of Mirkwood.

Suspicion raged on both sides; Legolas was wary of this strange human who spoke elven with such perfection, and Aragorn wondered at the cool aloofness from an elf, as elves are normally friendly. They parted ways, and gladly - Legolas left the young man with a few strong words of warning about the danger of Mirkwood; Aragorn left him with a few strong warnings of what haughtiness will do to you. They didn't see each other again for three days. Then, one day, Legolas was making his way home. He was only on a brief scouting mission, a solo mission, and he longed for company. It was time to return to the Palace, where servants knew their place and humans spoke with respect for the superior elven race. So muddled in his thoughts was he, that Legolas let his guard down. And after that day, the young elf would never again criticize the human race.

Legolas had never had a warning -- just the faint, low growl of a warg before it charged.

There was nothing Legolas could do -- he spun, but the sharp jaws of wolf-like animal had clamped tightly down on his neck, dangerously close to his throat, and the animal was dragging him down to the ground. Desperately, Legolas flailed, trying to get the warg to present a hittable target. But as he struggled, Orcs -- the warg's masters -- appeared out of the forest, materializing with hasty speed, their velocity increased with the delight of finally catching an elf to play with. Fear had filled the young Prince's eyes -- he was skilled in battle, but he was on his knees, the warg bending him backwards as the animal tried to tear his throat apart. It was all he could do to continue jabbing the animal to keep it from succeeding, and he could not protect himself from the Orcs.

Aragorn watched, perched high in a tree, his face creased with worry. He had seen neither orc nor warg, but he had seen the Prince. Legolas had been muttering to himself about 'stupid humans', and Aragorn was just thinking up a nice streak of dwarfish curses to send off when out of the forest came a heart-stopping growl.

The human took one look at the fray below him, the large number of Orcs and considered what the odds were that he would escape this battle alive. Slim to none were his options, and with that settled, Aragorn quickly unsheathed his sword and jumped.

It was over in a matter of minutes. Aragorn's first order of business had been to slaughter the troublesome warg, and once Legolas was standing -- and recovered from his shock, as it isn't every day human saviors drop from trees -- he was a deadly fighting machine. Orc after orc went down, and the pair was amazed to see just how well they worked together. It took less than an hour to kill off the large party of orcs, and when they stopped, victorious, they took one look at each other's messy, bloody, exhausted faces and laughed.

And they had been friends ever since.

Now, Legolas grinned at the young human, raising an amused brow. "You are well met indeed, my friend. I am desperately in need of council."

"What is it?" Aragorn asked immediately, and the pair started walking unconsciously back towards Legolas's suite. Aragorn always stayed in the adjoining guest rooms, but a cough from behind them stopped them.

Legolas grinned sheepishly at the twin sons of Elrond, who now moved further into the hall. Both were covered in dirt and sweat, and both looked exhausted. "Nice to see you too, Prince Legolas," Elladan said wryly at their dry reception. Legolas flushed, leaving Aragorn's side and walking over to embrace Elrond's sons. He had met the twins after he had met Aragorn but their wit, gentleness, and intelligence had greatly impressed him. Almost identical, but not quite, the two elves were exceptionally close. With their wide gray eyes, dark hair and fair skin, they looked a lot like their father -- yet their was a mischievous sparkle in their gaze that Lord Elrond often lacked.

"I'm sorry, my friends. You know you are more than welcome, and I am greatly pleased to see you all. Please, some of the servants --" Legolas looked up, raised a commanding brow and immediately, two young stewards who weren't truly doing anything materialized, "-- will be happy to show you to your regular rooms. My father will be greatly pleased to see you all come the morrow. Have you brought any new information from your father?"

The twins shook their heads in unison. "No. Father -- Lord Elrond," Elrohir amended, attempting to remain professional, "sent only his prayers and hopes. There is no new news, which in reality, is good news."

"Well said." Legolas allowed with a smile. "I'm sure we all have much to discuss, but let us converse over breakfast tomorrow. I just returned to the Palace from my rounds with the Guards this morning."

Elrohir nodded. "Yes. It's been a long day and a long trip. Indeed, we have much to discuss, but nothing so pressing it cannot wait 'till morning."

Legolas nodded. "Enjoy your stay here, my friends. My heart gladdens at the very sight of you." The twins nodded, returning the polite sentiments, dark bags in their fair faces betraying their true desire to shut up and sleep. With his other guests taken care of, Legolas and Aragorn returned to Legolas's chamber.

Aragorn changed out of his ranger's garb and into the spare clothes he always kept at Mirkwood's palace -- his visits were always frequent and usually unplanned. Legolas, in turn, also kept many of his spare things in his regular chambers in Rivendell. Both were amazed at how well their friendships had continued, but there was a bond between them; they understood each other well.

Aragorn materialized in Legolas's chamber, his mind questioning.

"How did your rounds with the Guard go?" he asked, his light silver eyes curious. Aragorn had completed several rounds as a honorary member of the Mirkwood Guard and knew the trials and routines.

Legolas shrugged. "As well as can be expected. We met with unforeseen complications, and there was a large group of Orcs by Old Forest Road. They stopped there, however, but I called you here because the Palace is vulnerable. I assumed, if you were willing, you and I could ride out and reconfirm the capital's protections against attack. My heart is uneasy; I feel the Orcs are too bold."

Aragorn nodded instantly, his dark locks falling into his face. Time had strengthened the boy's face into a man's, and one unusually skilled in battle. He raised a dark brow. "What unforeseen complications?"

Legolas shot him a grim look. "A spy."

"A elven spy?"

Legolas nodded; "It was as your father predicted."

Aragorn's brow furrowed. "You took him captive?"

Legolas sighed. "No. We took her captive."

"Her?" Aragorn echoed, surprised. "That's enlightening."

Legolas continued, eager to listen to Aragorn's point of veiw.

"Not just a she. Valneuma's daughter."

Aragorn's clear gray eyes widened. He knew who Valneuma was and everything that entailed. "You have her here in the palace?"

"The lower dungeons."

"The *lower* dungeons?" Aragorn echoed, then whistled through his teeth. "She's in for a difficult night." Legolas sighed. "I know. And the issue that worries me is I'm not sure she deserves it." Legolas quickly filled his friend in on Seasa's action and his newfound conclusions. "...I was on my way to talk to my Father when you arrived."

Aragorn was silent a few minutes, then sighed. "I wouldn't approach your father just yet, nin mellon. I understand your attentions are honorable, but offering her an eternity of servitude in return for death might not be a deal she's willing to take -- if she's as you described her. And you run the risk of infuriating your father even more and having him speed up the execution date."

Legolas sighed, running a hand through his golden locks. "I suppose. But you agree with me that the punishment does not fit the crime?"

Aragorn hesitated. If she was indeed a spy, then Aragorn couldn't help but think she deserved whatever she got. But wisely observing the look in his friend's eye and the worried crease of his brow, he chose not to say this. He didn't know how and he didn't know why, but something about this girl -- this spy -- had gotten under his friends skin. He took a breath and flashed hs friend a weak smile.

"I trust your judgement, my friend." He said carefully.

"If you say she deserves life, she deserves life."

Legolas frowned, dropping his head into his hands. "I don't know," he sighed. "I just...don't know."