Mirkwood's Ring: Chapter Two

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Legolas slowly made his way down a darkened hallway leading to his 
father's new rooms in the depths of Mirkwood's palace. Thranduil had 
moved his chambers several weeks ago and had been acting rather oddly 
for the past month. Mirkwood's prince and heir was getting rather 
worried about his sire he had become reclusive and irritable, and he 
had begun spending an awful lot of time in the dark quiet places away 
from the usual light and nature elves, especially elves of his own 
land, thrived on. If this wasn't enough, Thranduil had become moody 
and withdrawn. True, he was never all that personable or 
lighthearted to begin with, especially not when compared to the 
disposition of his son, but Legolas had never really had cause to 
fear his wrath in anything but a paternally disappointed sense. 

The shadows loomed in an oddly threatening manner as the prince 
passed by each doorway along the sparsely lit corridor. He wasn't 
all that fond of even the most airy parts of the castle, being 
secretly a little claustrophobic, but these were areas of the palace 
he would never have tread of his own accord even when they were in 
their original states. As it was, Thranduil, in his odd mood had 
ordered only every other lamp lit for the first stretch of hallway, 
and every second lamp as the walk progressed. He d had the servants 
remove his things to the remotest suite of rooms in this distant 
hallway without even the slightest bit of explanation and he'd been 
leaving his new accommodations less and less since the threats at his 
border had mysteriously begun to disappear. 

Legolas had spent the last week on the edges of their territory 
surveying the odd retreat of evil from their lands and had only 
returned hours ago to find the palace in a state of confusion. In 
the two weeks prior to his leaving, Thranduil had at least been 
attending to his duties for a small part of each day. Evidently since 
he had left, his father had let his duties go undone while he did 
whatever he was so set upon within his own chambers. 

At first several of the advisors had attempted to speak to him to 
find out what was wrong with their sovereign, but he would have none 
of it. There was no illness about him and he took regular meals in 
his rooms, but he had become pale and his features seemed sharper. 
His infamous tempers became more frequent and lately they had turned 
violent. After he had struck the last man brave enough to approach 
him it had been decided that there was nothing for it but to recall 
Legolas from his investigations. The Queen had died when the archer 
was quite young and so the prince was the only family left to their 
long time king. He was not an affectionate father, but it had always 
been plain to see that he was proud of his son's accomplishments as a 
warrior and dignitary, and the prince had often escaped his father's 
wrath with his quick wit and even the king was often forced to cave 
under the power of his pleading icy blue eyes. 

Legolas had been disgusted with his father's court upon his return, 
but his anxiety over his sire and what was becoming of their kingdom, 
over-ruled his distaste. So it was that he found himself in a part 
of the palace that he despised trying to hide his discomfort with his 
surroundings and feeling himself oddly ill at ease about talking to 
his father. While that, in itself wasn't an unusual sensation, 
usually he had done something to warrant the trepidation he was now 
feeling about the upcoming conversation. 

He took a deep breath to center himself and smoothed down the hunting 
tunic he had not had time to change out of, then ran a hand over his 
immaculate blond braids. Ready as he could be, he raised his hand 
and gently rapped on his sire's door. "My Lord Father?" he called 
quietly, not wanting to set the king off if he were napping. Quietly 
he opened the door, feeling his unwarranted sense of wrongness 
increase exponentially as he did so, and carefully he entered the 
room. 

"Adar? Are you here?" The darkness of the chambers was complete and 
a cold spike of fear thrilled down his spine. Something was not 
right. Immediately he felt himself shift into the cold calmness he 
assumed during battle and automatically he took on a defensive 
stance, resting lightly on the balls of his feet. He could make out 
nothing in the utter pitch of the space before him and without 
knowledge of the new layout of these chambers, he dared not move 
farther within. 

Just as he was about to back out slowly and go for a torch and a set 
of guards he felt cold hands grip his shoulders and slam his back 
into the wall beside the door. A pained gasp left his lips before he 
could stop it when the back of his head met the stone wall and tiny 
lights began to dance in his vision. 

"What are you doing here? I left orders that no one was to bother 
me!" A voice rough from disuse emitted from his attacker, and Legolas 
froze in the midst of executing a move to free himself. 

"My Lord Father?" He was disconcerted to hear the pitch of his voice 
was higher than normal with surprise and anxiety. 

"SILENCE!" 

The word was like a physical blow and the prince felt as if the 
command took the air from his lungs. The unnaturally powerful hit 
that followed from the back of his father's hand added to whatever 
evil force was at work here and he felt the skin of his cheek split 
from Thranduil's ring as the strength of the blow sent his head 
slamming into the wall behind him again and then sent him to the 
ground. His head spun and he couldn't seem to breathe; the cut on 
his cheek burned oddly, but even if he could summon the strength to 
free himself from whatever held his lungs immobile, he had no idea 
how to proceed He could not raise a hand against his own father. 

He could sense the other elf bending over him and feel his malevolent 
intent as the blackness of unconsciousness began to overcome the 
room's natural oppressive darkness, lack of air and very likely a 
concussion contriving to pull him under. Summoning the last of his 
strength he managed to gasp out Ada!..." before the world went 
completely dark. 

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Several weeks later, Rivendell found the usual messenger from 
Mirkwood awaiting an audience with one of Elrond's advisors to 
deliver the monthly report. Despite his words to Glorfindel, Elrond 
had been unable to quite put aside his worries over Thranduil's realm 
and had been on edge for the entirety of the preceding month. So it 
was that he came to meet the messenger himself this time, and 
personally accepted the normal looking package from the runner while 
silently gesturing for a groom to see to the man's horse. 

"I thank you, messenger, you are welcome to your usual room and of 
course, the merriment of my halls for your stay here." The dark 
haired elf lord told his obviously weary guest. "I shall have my 
reply ready for your departure on the morrow." 

"My duty and my pleasure milord." The silivan elf bowed low at the 
waist and made the sweeping hand gesture of respect common to elven 
kind. "I thank you for your hospitality." 

The half-elf nodded, only distantly aware of the pleasantries as he 
began opening the parchments even as he turned to re-enter his home. 
Under the usual accounts of the scribes, which looked a little more 
hastened than usual, Elrond found what he had been looking for. 

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Peredhel, 

I've gotten rid of the evil. Disregard the last missive. It was 
only a precaution anyway. My item worked as it was supposed to with 
only a slight complication I had not foreseen, but have well in hand 
now. 

Don't ask. I'm not telling, and no, you can't have it. 

Thranduil. 

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Elrond sighed. How was it that Thranduil could give him a migraine 
without even being present? Though he claimed all was well, 
something was not quite right about his letter. There had been no 
gloating about having taken care of the problem himself and the fact 
that the "complication" was great enough to mention meant that it 
probably hadn't been a small thing at all, if the king had even 
managed to take care of it yet. Thranduil was anything but humble, 
and he hated admitting even small hitches in his plans. No, 
something had gone terribly wrong with whatever it was. Reading 
between the lines told him that, but whatever it had been was most 
likely nearly cleaned up by now. 

Imaldris's lord realized he had somehow made it back to his study in 
his reading and musing and had taken up pacing once more before his 
large hearth Looking down he did, indeed, think he could make out the 
damage this habit was causing his floor and he resolved to get rid of 
the inane repetitive compulsion. He was too old for bad habits 
anyway. 

So thinking, he very deliberately sat himself down in one of the 
comfortable burgundy chairs and propped his chin on his hand as he 
rested against the arm rest. Something else had been bothering him 
about this whole ordeal, and it was perhaps the most important 
issue. What in Middle Earth could Thranduil have been hiding away in 
that horde of his which could immediately begin to drive the evil 
from his borders? Such an artifact would have to be incredibly 
powerful, or enhance the king's own connection with his land enough 
to let him force them out. As far as his spies had been able to 
deduce, Mirkwood was nearly cleared out down to the southern part 
which Thranduil had not been able to hold for centuries. It put him 
a little at ease to know that whatever he had wasn't quite powerful 
enough to empty even Southern Mirkwood, but still, it was definitely 
a force to be reckoned with, and probably not something that should 
be used lightly. 

With something of the parameters of the object's power in mind, he'd 
begun to research on what it might be, but so far he'd had no luck. 
He simply could not think of or locate any written record of anything 
still existing that fit the description. 

A loud clatter and an outraged squawk from the kitchens made him 
groan and begin to massage the bridge of his nose in irritation. His 
research definitely had not been helped by his son's boredom. The 
were once more raising the Last Homely House with their pranks and 
mischief. He hoped they hadn't done irreparable damage to tonight's 
dinner. He had been too consumed with his work to take lunch. 

He watched as a flour covered Erestor stalked past his study from the 
direction of the disturbance and couldn't help but smirk a bit, but 
still.. this had to stop...The Twins needed something to do, and he 
needed to find out what was really happening in Mirkwood. He would 
kill two birds with one stone, or would that be two birds with two 
stones, as he was going to use the twins? ...Elrond decided he needed 
a nap, or a vacation. 

"ELLADAN! ELROHIR! Since you seem to have so much extra energy, I 
have a job for you!" 

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Elvish: 
Adar: Father (respectful) 
Ada: Daddy/Dad 
Peredhel: Half-elf