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Chapter 14: Missing

Thranduil's head shot up as a heart-wrenching scream rang through the air. His adept elven hearing could immediately tell that it was not from an elf.

It was from a human, Estel, the young mortal his son had befriended.

The king stood up quickly and raced outside, the cool winter wind whipping at his elegant robes as he made his way swiftly to the site of the sound. Other elves had heard it too, and were heading to see the situation.

"My lord! It's Prince Legolas!" he heard an elf cry from a small cluster of trees.

Thranduil instantly felt his heart beat faster, sensing the distress in the elf's voice. Thousands of horrific possibilities ran through his mind of what his only son could have possibly done this time.

A large circle of elves came into view, surrounding something.

"Out of the way!" The king snapped, his worry for Legolas leaving him with no patience or consideration as he shoved elves roughly from his path.

Then he froze.

On the ground, Legolas lay unmoving, blood covering his chest, freely flowing from a wound that's exact location was indistinguishable in the crimson liquid. His skin was already unnaturally pale and his eyes were tightly closed, his mouth open, gasping weakly for air. One of the surrounding elves had taken off their cloak and knelt beside the prince, anxiously holding it against the injury, trying to stop the bleeding.

"What happened?" Thranduil exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside his son.

"He's been stabbed, my lord," the elf said uncertainly, shocked that anyone would do such a thing to the prince, whom everyone loved. No one had ever shown any reason to try to harm Legolas.

"We must get him inside quickly," the king said sternly as he gently picked up his son. He held the long flowing fabric of his robes tightly against the wound as he raced inside.

Legolas opened his eyes painfully as he felt himself being lifted off of the ground. 'Where's Estel?' his mind screamed but his weak body allowed no sound to escape his mouth. He groaned inwardly at the horrid pain in his chest, feeling like his organs were being twisted.

But where was Estel? Had Roneinen taken him? He couldn't have let that happen...if the boy was hurt again, he would never forgive himself.

Then his mind darkened.

Thranduil reached the first healing room and quickly laid his son on the bed, blood already covering the both of them. By now, almost everyone had heard, and a healer was ready, immediately tending to the wound.

"Will he be alright?" Thranduil asked nervously, holding his son's limp hand.

Nienithar's brow was furrowed in concentration as he held bandages to staunch the wound and gently took off the prince's bloody shirt, other healers readying water and stitches.

"It's close to his heart," the healer explained quickly. "And he's lost a lot of blood, but I don't believe it hit any major arteries. It's too soon to be certain, but I believe he'll be fine," he smiled wryly, "Seeing as he's been through a lot worse..."

Thranduil nodded in relief, pulling a chair to the edge of the bed.

Hours later, Legolas lay on clean sheets, a white bandage covering his otherwise bare torso. His breaths were slow, his body still pale and motionless, but it was assured that he'd live. It had been a short dagger, and treated quickly, so the blood loss hadn't been life-threatening.

Thranduil gently ran his fingers through his son's long blonde hair, absently fingering the delicate braids. He sighed again. Who in Mirkwood would ever harm Legolas?

And where was young Estel? He had already sent many elves to look for the human, with no luck so far. He had a foreboding feeling and he knew, albeit without proof, that whoever had stabbed the child weeks ago had also stabbed the prince.

Suddenly, Legolas' sapphire eyes flew open, darting around frantically.

"Where am I?" he gasped. "Where's Estel?"

"Stay still, ionamin," Thranduil whispered softly, laying a hand on his son's shoulder, having a slight sense of dèjà vu at this being the second time this month his son had been injured and bed-ridden.

"Estel!" Legolas exclaimed loudly. "Roneinen! Where are they?"

Roneinen? What did the catering elf have to do with it? "Estel is being looked for, why do you worry about Roneinen?" Thranduil inquired.

"He was the one who hurt Estel!" Legolas cried, clutching his injury carefully as he sat up. "He was going to do it again and when I tried to stop him, he...." He looked down and gestured at the bandage with a frown.

Thranduil's eyes widened in shock.

Legolas' breath raced as he ran his fingers frantically through his hair, continuing as he tried to contain his worry that it might already be too late to help his friend. "I came outside to see him grabbing and yelling at Estel. He had a sword! We have to find them, Ada!"

"Calm, Greenleaf, there are many looking for him, as I told you. They will not stop until he's found."

"They do not care what happens to him." Legolas said flatly, his eyes blazing with frustration.

"True," Thranduil sighed. Most of the elves living in his realm did not hate humans, but they weren't particularly fond of them either. "They know that who hurt you has the boy and will search for him out of their love for you, ionamin."

"It's not enough! He'll do anything!" Legolas exclaimed, close to tears. His voice lowered sadly and he looked into his father's eyes pleadingly. "Ada," he whispered. "What if he kills him?"

Thranduil comfortingly wrapped his arms around his son. "He won't. We will find the child."

"How can you be sure?" The prince questioned miserably. "He came close to killing me, and I was just in the way. I don't know why, but he hates Estel, and he is determined to...." He rested his head against his father's chest with a tired sigh. "I don't understand why he hates him so much. Estel is so kind..."

Thranduil gently stroked his son's head. "We will find him." He repeated, though inside he was not confident.

Legolas nodded weakly and lay back down. "When can I go look?" he asked, trying to look as healthy as possible.

Thranduil smiled sadly and patted his shoulder. "Weeks," he told his son, who opened his mouth quickly to protest. "Rest, and it may be sooner," he added. Legolas' dejected look tugged at his heart. "And you will not leave your bed, is that clear?"

Legolas nodded, closing his teary eyes in exhaustion. 'Please be safe, Estel' he prayed. 'Wherever you are, I will find you.'

"Send for Elladan and Elrohir," he whispered as healing sleep overcame him. "They'll find him."

Legolas stayed in bed for two weeks, his wound healing quickly, even impressing the healers. They assumed his determination to find Estel was the cause of his swift recovery. Whatever it was, the prince was out of bed in fifteen days, wearing only a light bandage under his tunic.

"They still haven't found him?" Legolas asked sadly to the messenger from the search party that had just arrived, who shook his head in response. "And the sons of Elrond have been sent for?"

"Aye," the healer nodded. "Kaemin rode for Imladris the very day you ordered."

The prince nodded softly before mounting his horse. He hoped they'd come soon...he needed all the help he could get. The twins were especially close to the child, and had a higher chance of finding Estel.

Legolas frowned and closed his eyes as he gathered the reins in his hands and lightly kicked Tarienna's side, whispering softly in elvish to her and easing her into a swift gallop. What would Elladan and Elrohir say? He had let them down...he hadn't kept Estel safe, though he'd promised. Would they ever forgive him?

Legolas cursed at himself. What was he doing, worrying about himself while word was spreading that Estel would never be found?

'Selfish.' He scolded inwardly. He had no time to worry about himself...only Estel.

That morning, in fact, as Legolas prepared to join the search, he had nearly fallen down the stairs in a sudden wave of fatigue. Convincing himself that it was from the recent injury, he tried not to think about his suspicion about his long-ago healed wound on his back – that the poison was still there. He told himself he was being paranoid and to forgot about it for the time.

He did not worry what would happen to him...he just wanted with all his heart and soul to find Estel. The boy could be anywhere. The southern region of Mirkwood's forest had been inspected so far, so Legolas was heading for the north.

The task seemed impossible. Miles and miles of land, and the child could be in any small area, incredibly easy to miss. Valar, how could they possibly find him?

"I'm so sorry, Estel," he murmured as he eased his mount on faster. As he rode, worry grew, and so did anger. When he found Roneinen, there were a million ways he'd make that elf pay.

'Valar, Roneinen will pay....'

Estel opened his eyes quickly and sat up with a gasp. Darkness surrounded him. Pure darkness.

The boy whimpered softly and tried to move, finding, to his horror, that his wrists were tied behind his back and his ankles were bound together. His head throbbed horribly and images instantly entered his mind, memories of his time with the orcs, a time he had tried so hard to forget.

He remembered Legolas bring stabbed and abruptly called out his friend's name, only to be answered by a cruel laugh and the flicker of a torch being lit, illuminating the small hollow he was trapped in.

Estel looked up at the wickedly grinning face of Roneinen.

"Where's Legolas?" he whimpered.

Roneinen's smile faltered. "The Prince should not have gotten involved...I told you what would happen if you told anyone..."

"I didn't tell him!" Estel exclaimed tearfully, trying to suppress the horrible belief that Legolas was dead. "I swear!"

"Save your lies, edain," the elf snapped. "Do you think I wished to murder my own prince? Do you know what would happen if I was found out? Nay...but if I wish to follow what is right and extinguish your horrible kind, I must do whatever it takes..."

"You wish to kill me?" Estel whispered softly, trying not to panic.

Roneinen laughed, a maniacal sound that echoed eerily throughout the dark chamber – a heartless noise that scarcely seemed to be able to come from an elf, one from a kind known for their peaceful ways. Estel cringed and scooted backwards in fear.

"You think me to give you a quick demise?" Roneinen sneered. "Perhaps like your friend – a swift stab before your life leaves you? After all your kin has done? I think not! You will pay slowly and painfully, and will not be the only of the edain to suffer for their crimes."

Estel closed his eyes tightly, trembling, imagining the worst.

But even the horrible images that entered his terrified mind were nothing compared to what would happen later.

TBC!