This is Princess of sMirkwood again, receiving the baton after a grueling period of exams, so forgive me if the quality of this chapter is even more compromised than usual.

Disclaimer: All characters are courtesy of our beloved J R R Tolkien, and graciously loaned to us for a longer period(ok ok so we 'snatched' them away).No profit is expected for this...what shall I call it...meddling with the original novel, save the pleasure derived from writing and encouraging reviews from you the reader. Thanks.:-P

Chapter 6

The face of one, once so noble, so fair, had assumed a very unusual _expression. That of a cold, calculating, malevolent criminal; concocting some evil plot that would undoubtedly involve the cruel removal of innocent lives.

So uncharacteristic of what Men termed the 'fair kindred'. The hearts and minds of the Firstborn did not easily succumb to unsavoury, evil thoughts. Elves had always been known for their goodness.

Still, even the good, noble Firstborn were not immune to the temptations of that emotion which has wrecked havoc on human for time immemorial--- greed, the desire for power. For it was clear, with the forging of the Three Rings, that the intention was for power...the power to shape the world as they saw fit, to retain all things they considered beautiful .Something that was as insidious as the One Ring, forged purely on a foundation of evil, once having tainted the mind of the possessor, was almost indelible. The coming of the One, for the Lady of the Golden Wood, was as a stone that had been dropped into a lake, its influence spreading rapidly even now, like the concentric ripples.

The perfect plan was brewing in her mind. It was all so simple, so beautiful.

They would never dream of such a move.

It would hardly be pinned on her.It would catch them completely off guard, and possibly reduce their strength. The rest, she would bring under her control. While she was at it, Men would be almost wiped out. The Eldar were not that easily destroyed, but it would probably rid Men cleanly.

She gazed into her Mirror.

"So, peredhil, you send troops, in the direction of my land. "

Elrond was mighty among both Elves and Men, and one of the Eldar. But he was, after all, impure. Tainted with the blood of Men, such a weak race.

A fool he was, and now he was playing into her hands.

"Galadriel?"

The Lady of Lorien spun around, to see her husband walking towards her.

"What is wrong? Your behaviour is...strange. Changed."

"Naught is wrong, my love. Naught at all." Galadriel held up her long, slender white hand. "In fact, all is well. Very well, indeed."

The One on one of her fingers flared in the sunshine; the fiery Elvish lettering glowing visibly. The white gem of Nenya glimmered like starlight.

Gimli was continuously stealing a glance at his elven companion as he walked. They were now many leagues from Lorien, but Gimli was still uneasy. Unconsciously, every two minutes, he was spinning around, as though expecting some foe to attack from behind.

The land was completely quiet. Too silent. The only sound that could be heard was his own footsteps, and occasional imperceptible sounds from Legolas when he stepped on a twig. Gimli found it rather unsettling that the normally alert Elf had apparently not noticed the unusual silence of the land.

"Am I so alluring that you have to look at me every two seconds?"

The Dwarf jumped. "What-?"He snapped incredulously, face turning slightly red.

Suddenly, the ground shook.

Before Gimli even comprehended what had happened, he was bowled over, tumbling heavily onto the ground.

It was not the tremor that had felled him though. It was Legolas, who was now sprawled on top of the dwarf. The latter stared at his friend, questions in his eyes, and not withstanding a little ire as well.

The Elf pointed silently to the huge tree that lay beside them. Instantly Gimli realized what had happened. His friend had shoved him out of the trajectory of the tree that must have been uprooted by the tremor.

Gimli muttered his thanks as he got to his feet.

Inexplicably, the ground had stopped shaking.

"What do you make of that?" Gimli asked.

"I know not," Legolas answered, seemingly having shaken off his strange mood earlier. "It seems like a small earthquake. In that case, we should move faster, for I fear that these lands are not safe any longer. Are you all right?" His eyes were genuinely concerned, and this eased the Dwarf a great deal. Legolas had just shown more normal. Granted, Legolas was strange, at any given point in time, or so it seemed to the dwarf, but he had been stranger than usual, and even a little crazed perhaps...

Aragorn let out a great shout as he felt the ground shake. He lost his balance and fell. Inches away, Boromir had fallen too. With a surge forward Aragorn seized Boromir's arm, for fear that they would be separated. The Gondorian roared something unintelligible.

Fleetingly Aragorn wondered what had become of the hobbits, and Legolas and Gimli. Were they, even now, at the mercy of this sudden earthquake?

It was impossible to stand, for the tremors were strong, so they were forced to lie where they were. Boromir held up his round shield against the pebbles and stones that came skittering at them, and Aragorn threw up his arm to protect his face.

The ground shuddered as a great tree crashed near them, the tips of the branches jutting into Boromir, startling them considerably.

"Boromir!" Aragorn shouted above the din," We have to move! Fly!" They scrambled up, but another tremor felled them.

The duo could only look on in horror as a huge boulder loomed right in front and descended upon them...

"That was extremely strange, for the ground to shake so and then cease trembling so quickly," Gimli rambled. "If you want to know my opinion, I think it might have been the work of the Lady Galadriel. Her arm has grown long."

The two companions had marched so fast (with numerous complaints from Gimli regarding the lack of food and rest) that they were now under the eaves of Mirkwood, using the elf-road that Legolas' people had paved.

Legolas spun around so abruptly that Gimli jumped and shrank back.

"No one asked for your opinion," the Elf exploded, his eyes blazing. He advanced menacingly towards the Dwarf, knife drawn upon the latter's throat. The smaller being, eyes round as saucers, jerked back reflexively and narrowly avoided having his neck punctured by the sharp blade.

Legolas sheathed his knife, his steely eyes glittering in the darkness with wrath.

"Follow this road out of my home yourself."

The Elf proceeded on his way, without so much as a glance backward, leaving the Dwarf, far in his wake, staring after him.

Legolas was nearing the parts where his people inhabited. Fallen trees lay strewn about, undoubtedly the work of the earthquake, their branches splayed onto the ground. The mangled remains of huts and talons were tangled with the debris from the fallen flora. But Legolas hardly deigned to spare the destruction a glance as he skillfully and gracefully threaded his way through the mess.

His mind was entirely on his destination, the palace.

Relief rose when he found the stout gates still standing, with sentinels before it.

"Ai na vedui, nin caun! Mae Govannen!* " Naurwe cried gladly.

Naturally Legolas was readily admitted as he gave the command that would open the gates. Without preamble he requested for the location of his father. Where he walked, he was greeted respectfully and joyfully. King Thranduil's son was respected and loved by his people.

Legolas barged into his father's study without knocking, and Thranduil looked up with a frown, about to snap at the intruder, for the King of Mirkwood was very particular about his privacy, and the mannerisms of all his subjects as well, family included. Thranduil stopped mid-sentence and strode forward to his son.

"Kill him. Now. It is your only chance."

Legolas blinked rapidly, stunned. Who did that voice belong to, that had just...commanded him to...commit patricide? Who?

"Legolas?"

"Forgive me, Father, what were you saying?"

"The mission is completed?" Thranduil's keen eyes looked concerned.

"Well...not exactly," Legolas hedged. "Father, we must..."

"Kill him."

"Legolas?"

"Settle this now. Kill him."

"Legolas!"

The younger Elf forced himself to focus on his liege.

"Is everything well?" Thranduil now looked anxious. Legolas nodded silently, his eyes bleak.

"Kill him. Kill him. Kill him...." The chants grew stronger and louder each time, until they were mingled into an unintelligible dull roar, and Legolas stopped his ears, trying to drown out this bizarre instruction, to no avail.

"My son?" The Elvenking grew panicked and seized his son's shoulders.

Legolas studied his father's frantic face dispassionately. Suddenly, right before him, the anxious face dissolved.

In place of it was a mocking one that spat out spiteful words. "You have always been foolish and useless, have you not? You have come back so soon after setting out. And why is that? You must have failed the mission. As usual, is it not? Failure is no stranger to you, but a familiar figure!"

It was the same look that had appeared on his father's face when he had mercilessly berated Legolas, in front of the whole Mirkwood counsel, over the escape of Gollum, the prisoner that had been under his charge.

Something in Legolas snapped; his bruised ego would take no more battering.

"Kill him. "

This time, Legolas obeyed the command, and before he truly realized what he was doing, he had swept out his knife and had plunged it into his father's heart.

The voice vanished.

Legolas blinked yet again, and his eyes focused on Thranduil's stunned face.

"Father?"

Thranduil's arms were still circled about his son in the comforting embrace that he had been in the process of giving. He slid soundlessly onto the floor, eyes wide open in stunned surprise.

"Father!"

Legolas was dumbstruck when he saw the handle of his long knife protruding from his father's chest, the blade partially buried in his body. Near it, his father's silver tunic was already stained red. The stain was rapidly growing. Legolas forced his shaking hand to move and pressed it against Thranduil's neck. No pulse.

"Adar! "

The knife was the only thing that was visible to Legolas now. His knife. His own knife. He had just murdered his own father.

Valar, no! What did I do? What possessed me to do this?

Legolas looked down at his own hands. They were red. He had his father's blood on his hands.

Letting out a strangled, choked, pitiful cry, Legolas stumbled back in panic and horror and fled.

He had to go somewhere, as far away as possible, away from these place. Anywhere away from his father's body. Any place where he could not see this atrocity that he had committed, intentional or no.