Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all- except for this really weird and twisted plotline.

A/N: Cool. You liked Funloving!Galadriel and found her amusing! And I have not received any flames as of yet! NOT that I'm eager for that to happen in any shape or form. If you leave constructive criticism, then please, try to be civil. I would like this story to be good, so I will appreciate your comments. As a matter of fact, I always have done. But please, don't be excessively harsh. Flames, and badly put CC, can really destroy someone's self-confidence.

That being said, I have managed to get rid of the mental scars caused by the badfics that I read. Yay for brain bleach.

A Night-Zephyr.

The gleam of silver at the edge of the courtyard went unnoticed. All that the casual observer would have noticed was the slim flickers of white-gold light that sped by. The glimmers were gone too soon for any other details to be noted.

Legolas pressed his battered body against the doorframe. He was trembling, both from half-acknowledged fear and giddy anticipation. They were nearly out...just a few steps and they would have left the building. Beyond the empty doorway only unroofed, gated walls would hinder their departure. They were almost as good as free, but not quite completely there yet. They still had to evade capture until they had passed the guards that patrolled the high outer walls. But still...so close to escape...

The feeling of impending freedom was so intense that he could practically taste it, and, if he had truly been able to, it would have been as sweet as honey. Nay, he thought, sweeter. It was a half-expected thought.

Those few moments branded themselves into the child's memory for eternity. His senses were heightened by the adrenaline pumping through his system. He could make out every silver-bathed stone, every slight movement of the leaves of the single tree visible from where he stood. His ears, suddenly even more sensitive than normal, were able to detect the tinniest whisper in the near-silent night air. The rich scent of earth and tree bombarded him.

A cool breeze gently brushed his skin, causing him to shiver. The zephyr danced lightly over his body, murmuring of tall trees and silver branches, and golden flowers falling softly from those branches, to light on the children playing below. It breathed of sweeping plains and grey forests, of towering mountains, and of peace in a realm where a Lady sat, ancient and fair as the day. It blew softly over him, firing his mind with the knowledge of what awaited him beyond these high walls, and he moved his head, impatient for them to go on their way.

"Shhh..."

His father's delicate whisper touched his ears lightly. His slate-blue eyes slid sideways, catching his father's steel-grey ones. Why should they not move? Nobody was there, were they? Or at least, he could see none. Could the Elvenking detect things that he was unable to? Legolas didn't doubt it. His father was older and wiser than he. But that didn't make this waiting any easier. If only he could somehow sense whatever it was! Then he would not mind the delay.

Thud-ud-creeeee. Thump-ump-kraaaaakt.

A door banged open at the other side of the courtyard. The Sinda Lord stiffened, pulling his child back against his body. The pair pressed backwards into the shadows that hung just inside the door, tense and nervous. The blackness wreathed them both in strange patterns, making it seem as if only parts of their bodies were there, and the rest had been faded out. It was an eerie effect, and one that blended them perfectly in with the dark stone of the wall. They were no more than twining shadows. Invisible.

The...thing that stepped out of the opposite entrance was a creature that neither of them had ever seen before. It appeared to be some disgusting hybrid of two different kinds of orc and a Warg. Its teeth were long, slashing canines. A type of rough, shaggy fur covered its back and limbs. It had a squat, low-slung body; its legs were compact and short, while its arms were long, trailing back along the ground. It looked undeniably strong. Thick layers of muscle rippled visibly under the dark skin.

Legolas' breath caught as the beast turned its head toward their 'hiding place'. It raised its long snout, sniffing, as though it believed itself capable of finding their location entirely by scent.

At that point, the Elfling was in rather the same frame of mind. The animal was something unknown, something dangerous. Normally, he would not have feared the unknown, but he was different now. Dol Guldor had changed him, if not drastically. Even though his general ways of thinking- the ways he viewed the world- were untransformed, he was frightened by those things that might cause him the slightest harm. More so if he had never encountered them before. It was, although unbeknown to the child, a startlingly swift change, and one that should never have taken place.

The 'Waorcg', as Legolas mentally named it, padded over to the vaster 'tower' that the pair occupied. The 'tower' was, in reality, simply the above-ground extension of the sprawling mass that was the dark fortress. Most of the atrocities and organizations were carried out below the earth. It's designer had found it easier to avoid discovery that way; if there was less to be seen, then the chances of some Elf stumbling across it were lowered. As an added bonus, the longer the unfortunate captives were unable to see the sky, or hear the wind, the more despair and listlessness began to creep up on them. Oppressed by the enclosed, trapped feeling, the only Elf to ever have been liberated had retained a fear for underground places. Now, the Prince understood his sentiments.

The creature appeared to look directly at him. Trying to flatten himself even harder against the wall, the child thought of several words that he would have liked to direct at it. None of them were remotely polite, and at least five should not have been known by any Elf, let alone the son of the King.

Any movement now...the slightest motion, and it will tear us apart. It suspects that we are here. If it thinks that it sees us, it will attack, of that I am sure. It is something that should never have happened! But then again, orcs are something that should never have happened, and yet they plague us. Alas, that Melkor should seek to corrupt every beauteous thing in this world! He stripped Valinor of her light, the Eldar of their innocence...Arda of her loveliness. He scored great wounds into the land itself. He mutilated the works of Iluvatar- he mocked all that has been cherished and revered in the Ages of this world. He deserved the Void- none have earned it more.

Why? Why did he choose to take those who could not defy him, and take away their purity? Did he even have a cause? When I once asked, Nana told me that it was jealousy. But why was he jealous in the first place? Whatever the reason, this is the result- and it falls on those who were never asked to fight him.

Closer. Closer. The beast paused, drawing its upper lip away from the long, curved, serrated fangs that it used to rip its prey apart. The child felt that his breathing was far too loud. He held his breath, but after a while his chest began to hurt, and he had to exhale as softly as possible. Two orangey-red eyes fixed upon the very spot where he stood, as he tried hard not to shake in terror.

Something moved at the edge of the yard. The 'Waorcg' raised its ugly, misshapen head, glanced back at them, and then set off toward the source of the disturbance. Legolas watched in paralysed, morbid fascination. What...?

The creature leapt at its meal. The huge rat that it was chasing sat up, squeaked, and made a dash for its hole. Its tiny eyes were wide with fear, its muscles racing as it made a final jump- too late!

The child's heart almost stopped as the animal pounced forwards. Sharp teeth flashed out, once, twice...and then the rodent appeared to shatter into tiny fragments, torn apart by the rough edges. The beast licked at it's bloodied jaws, grunted softly- a harsh, grating sound- and shuffled back towards the door from whence it had first come. The Prince took a deep, shaken breath. He wasn't sure exactly how that thing had missed finding them, but he was unmistakably relieved. They had come so far...to be defeated then would, although fatal and therefore not giving much time for emotion would have utterly shattered him.

He felt as though something large and heavy had slammed into his chest. The euphoria that had originally filled him at the sight of the freedom lying within his grasp had suddenly drained out of him. He now saw their situation clearly. He knew the real, non-clean-air-affected reality.

They were not out yet. They still had to get beyond the dark, constricting walls.

He leant into his father. The older Elf's warmth was some comfort to him. It reminded him of happier days, when there had been laughter, friendship, and safety. He remembered all those who had been there with him, making his life worth living, simply by their existence. He recalled the smiles of his friends, the voice of his mother...the times when his father had not had to go into battle and pain every single day.

But his father could still laugh, at least.

And that was something.

" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "

The mud and mire did not hold him back. It was a simple matter; up, over the top of the wall, and down the other side. Obstacles: a distinctive lack of handholds, a recent rainfall, and a sentry.

Thranduil studied the height that they were about to scale, planning his way up. There were several cracks in the stonework, making a passable route until within two-thirds of the way up. Beyond that, the stonework was smooth. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to get further.

Ah, well. It is the best option we have. Considering that the other two are either A: burning down the gate, or B: disguising ourselves as orcs, neither of which have the remotest chance of being successful.

A wry smile. In conclusion, that would make the option that we have chosen the only option.

He took a stride forwards, his son following him so closely that it was almost as if the boy was attached to him. The Elvenking felt a kind of warmth spread throughout his body at the simple, almost childish trust that the Elfling was displaying. So, he can still remember how to be as he should be...to act as one so young should.

He set his fingers carefully into the deep cracks decorating the walls, and began to climb. The heat of his son's form remained pressed close to him, and he gave the child a warm, unseen smile. Feeling the love that coursed through his veins and his son's gave him the strength to carry on.

The strain of lifting his weight, up, up, up, ended after some time. He half-sat, half-hung from the highest gap, peering upwards. The clouds practically blocked the moon's pale light, but he could just make out the silvery-white shape, riding on the top of the sky. The stars, however, were completely concealed. Thranduil wasn't sure if he was glad or not. On one hand, they could not afford to fall into a star-induced haze for half an hour. On the other, a bit of starlight would have helped his mind considerably, after being imprisoned for so long. Normally, the sight of the stars would not cause him to drift into a daze, but having been unable to see them, and the hope they symbolized- it would, he reluctantly admitted, have been a problem.

And then the damp, chipped rock slid 'beneath' him as he ascended the final stretch that separated them from the forest beyond. Fingers tensing against the pitted stone, his bare feet finding the tiniest holds, arms reaching and pulling in a final run for escape, the Elvenking climbed up the nearly smooth face that was the last part of the wall. Legolas was almost beside him; the child's features were turned up to the Sinda Lord. Slowly, they rose, less certain this time, but steadily moving upward towards the top of the wall, and closer to freedom.

Stretch...catch...pull...just one more reach and I shall be out, I shall have escaped! Just one more moment, just one more strain. So soon, so soon, we will be free from here- ha, hear me now! All this time that I have thought of freedom...freedom. I think as though I am a slave, to talk of freedom! This place never held me as a slave. In a way, I always have been free. I was...not unchained, but at least the actions that I made were my own. I chose what I did, to a certain extent. I fought my own fight. I was no being's 'property'! I was my own person. I had no master, and I have none now! Nor, if it is within my ability to ensure it, shall I ever be owned. And neither shall any Elf- or even any Man- under my protection. I will never allow any who are sheltered by my family to be taken to labour against their will. For if I allowed that...it would be as abominable as sending a slaver my own wife or son. I will never let servitude come upon one whom I protect. If Dol Guldor was a terrible place, we, at least, were not boasted of as possessions!

Ah, Legolas, my little Greenleaf. My child, we are almost there, we are nearly away...see! Dear Elbereth- we are out!

Mirkwood lay before them, slightly silvered by moonlight. But mostly she was dark, deeply shadowed and wrapped in evil. And yet Thranduil barely noticed this. The time for thinking of the lingering evils of the wood had come and passed. Now was the time to run.

And so they ran.

His muscles tensed, gathered- pushed! He sprang through the air, the drop to the cold ground huge beneath him, and all that he felt was pure excitement. He was balanced, for one wonderful moment, between falling and flying. The gentle night time zephyrs blew over his skin; he could see his landing point with perfect clarity. He was soaring, knowing that he could easily fall, but filled with the assurance that he would not. He knew, somehow, that he would land safely. It was nothing definite that gave him this answer. It was simply confidence and exhilaration, and an inner instinct that said, Look, you use this much energy, and you jump at this angle, and the wind is this strong, and that is where you land...

The silver-tinted branch dipped slightly as he landed, gripping it lightly. Straightening, he turned, pale gold hair lifting a little on the quiet breezes. He looked at the top of the wall, where his son still stood, unsure of what to do. The hesitation was evident in his stance and face.

"Come!" A soft word. Louder than a whisper, but quieter than normal. The Elfling would hear it, though. "Come! Do not linger! 'Tis a simple jump, Legolas. Do not worry. You will not fall. Your path is clear. Come, take the leap! You can make it with ease. And then we can leave this accursed place behind us for all eternity- all that you have to do is jump!"

His child crouched, face turned to the Elvenking. The Sinda could make out the obvious nervousness on the boy's face as he judged the distance and the height. It would be a simple leap- but a simple leap with a tiny misstep was what had caused the problems with Dol Guldor in the first place. Thranduil could understand why his son was afraid...afraid of falling like he had that one time. That last, unfortunate time.

"Ada, I- I'll fall! I can't..."

"Yes! Yes, you can! Think, child! You have often leapt this far, and suffered no ill consequences. Imagine that- imagine that you are at home, in that room with the low couches...you used to jump from one to another, much further than this. Come, now. Surely you will not fall- and if you do, I shall catch you. Hurry..."

He broke off, wondering if there was another way to coax the Elfling over. Another way to allay his fears- ah, there it was!

"Can you not smell the leaves, and the living wood? Can you not taste the sweetness of the fresh breeze as it touches the boughs? Can you not scent the rich earth, as it gives life and baseness to our home? Hear the leaves rustle and whisper, and the trees speak, in their own quiet manner? See the silver of the moonlight, and the open arms of the branches? Come, ion-nin, do you not wish to be amongst all this wonder? Jump!"

Legolas nodded slightly, visibly tensing as he chose a landing spot. Thranduil could see the fierce concentration in the child's eyes. He clamped his own mouth shut. He didn't want to distract his son at a crucial moment. Crouching back, the boy readied himself...

The lithe body bounded easily over the massive drop below. Legs trailing, arms outstretched, he reached forwards, grasped at the branch frantically...

...and dragged himself up, shaking badly, sweat pouring off his body. The Sinda Lord knelt beside his offspring, gently embracing the younger Elf. He murmured soft words of comfort and encouragement to the Elfling, who was sobbing slightly. The nearly unsuccessful leap had clearly jolted his nerves.

"Shh, little one. Hush, all is well, there is nothing wrong..." How can there be anything wrong? We have escaped! We have left the Necromancer's fortress alive! "Come now, hush, we must leave...can you move?"

"Y-yes, Ada, I think so. I think so..."

The Elvenking's heart ached for his child. The poor boy was clinging tightly to his father, obviously terrified, even now that he was safely in the tree. And yet he was trying to convince himself that all was well, that he was ready for the wild rush of running and jumping and catching and vaulting that would take them closer to the edge of the forest.

Moving in the trees was always an engaging experience. The swift, irregular, but always smooth motion consisted of springing from branch to branch, darting along the boughs, vaulting over the thick stems in one's path, and snatching at handholds to pull oneself through the air. The speed was coupled with the expectation of a sudden drop or an unforeseen rise, yet despite this expectation, one was still startled often enough, especially when in unfamiliar territory. The forest was never entirely predictable. Growth and weather left a distinct mark, and one that was always changing. A once level run could become a stooping, uneven route in just a few decades; a surprisingly short amount of time for an Elf.

Was his son really prepared for the focus-hard race? For the uncertain path? Thranduil had his doubts. But as long as they started slowly, cautiously, then all should be well. The boy would easily be able to manage a path that was not taken at the usual reckless pace. All would be well.

Or so he hoped.

" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "

The light emitting from the small talen was dim. Any Elf could see that there was only one lamp or candle lit inside the flet. But then, everyone supposed that it was the business of the solitary Elf inside what went on behind the barred door and drawn curtains. Not theirs. And besides, she had clearly wanted her own space to herself.

Lothmiren had shut herself up in the little 'house' about a day ago. She had given no explanations, she had simply wandered down to where the tapestry cloths and embroidery threads were kept, filled a basket with said threads and an oval of cloth, returned to her flet, and locked herself in. Nobody, save perhaps Galadriel (who had now had several of her normally white dresses dyed crimson in retaliation for attacking the children with dye herself), had any clue as to what in Arda she was doing there. And the Lady of Light wasn't telling.

The Nanda/Sinda hybrid blinked tired grey eyes at her work. She'd always hated embroidery, unless it was something that she truly wanted to complete. What she was stitching right now certainly fell into that category. In fact, she wanted to finish it so much that she had barely thought to eat the last day. Now she was hungry, but her mind didn't notice. She was too absorbed in her embroidering.

Already, she had outlined the upper half of a body on a piece of cloth about three feet tall and two and a half wide. Now she was carefully detailing the beginnings of a face. Marking out the exact line of the jawbone, in precisely the right colour. Picking the perfect shade of pale corn yellow. Ensuring that every tiny detail was just right.

Her needle dipped and rose as she guided it through the cloth. Features were appearing with almost agonizing slowness, but she did no give in to frustration. She continued to sew carefully, dredging up the memories of her family. A mouth was forming now, curved in a small, proud smile. She paused, and then went on with her work.

Bit by bit, precise stitch by precise stitch, the image on the fabric was embroidered.

She stopped. Cut the thread and examined the work. Nodded, satisfied. And picked up her needle again.

This time she marked a smaller figure, standing beside its companion. Leaning into the taller form, this frame belonged to a child...

She didn't know how long she sat there, labouring over her tapestry. It was more than a few days, she knew that much, but she was so engrossed in every detail that she noticed little else. Everything that she did centred on her work.

He was standing before the window in the pale light of eventide. His face wore an almost dreamy expression, his eyes unfocused. He seemed to be regarding a sight that was invisible to her, and she was afraid to disturb him from his musings. He appeared so lost, so far away...so unlike himself.

"Melethen?" Her voice was tentative, she was not sure if speaking was wise. But her nature demanded that she somehow draw him out of this...shell-like trance. It was a mood that she had never seen him in before, and therefore it frightened her.

"Meleth-nin? My love? What do you see?"

Thranduil stirred, turning to face her, blinking the haze from his eyes. He smiled when he saw who it was.

It was as though his smile lit a candle inside her, warming her when she hadn't even known that she was cold. His entire face lit up, warmth visible in the steel grey eyes. He was as a golden vision, glowing radiantly, outlined against the silver of the mist that held the trees. She stepped forwards, catching him in a tight embrace, feeling the heat of his body.

"Lothen(1), my dearest. What brings you here?"

"Does a wife need a reason to go to her husband?" she returned gently. "What were you looking at?"

"Merely at the dawn," he murmured, his breath ruffling her hair.

She wove silver and black into the green and brown background, indicating a branch, a leaf, a hollow. Her fingers moved deftly, pushing the needle through the cloth.

There. Finished.

Her husband and son stood side by side, clear against the darkness of the forest behind them. It was as though someone had taken their exact images and had printed them onto the fabric. They were so realistic, it felt as if she could reach out and touch them...but they were smaller than life, and she knew that they were just pictures.

Still, she was triumphant. She had completed her task. She got to her feet- and realised that the candle had burned down, and that she was unusually hungry.

Lothmiren stumbled to the door of her flet, shoved it open, and went to get a meal.

" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "

Something slipped through the upper branches. No, two somethings, one large and one small. The larger paused, turning to its companion. The smaller leaned in, appearing to speak to it.

And then they took off at an incredible pace, gliding through the black branches, half-ethereal, akin to strands of mist, in all save that mist moves more slowly. Whitened silver they seemed in the darkness, as graceful beams of moonlight, somehow formed into vaguely real forms. They were beyond the comprehension of mortals- and even some Eldar.

When dawn came, they did not slow. On the contrary, their speed increased. They passed through Mirkwood as fast as the birds, the sunlight turning then into shimmers of gold. Not anything that could be caught or trapped, they were things that had been previously not thought of.

Thranduil was in ecstasy. The wind tore at him, sweeping his long, pale tresses back from his face. His eyes were narrowed, his lungs filled with the pure air. He felt as though he was soaring through the trees, needing nothing from life other than that glorious thrill of confidence.

He knew that Legolas was near him, that the boy was enjoying the exhilarating rush as much as his father was. But that knowledge was faint in comparison to the tremendous assault on his senses. The fire of joy that pounded through him was consuming him in a red-hot flame.

The day sped past him swiftly, as did the following night and the day after. All of it raced past in a blur of colour, save for the details immediately ahead. Exhilaration was flooding his system.

He was running free.

" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "

A/N: Well, here I am again! And with a bit of good news for you all: SCHOOL'S OUT! Which is a pretty good cause for relief...

(1) A nickname. Not entirely sure if Elves have nicknames.

My excuse for not updating this time? No plotbunny. I mean, the story was slower at 'coming' to me than it normally is. Oh, and I found some well- written Peredhil slash. I usually hate slash...but not that particular story, surprisingly. And I made a website. I'll link it at the profile SOON.

Hmmm...I've decided to do a rare reviewer response. Please note that this will not be a regular occurrence. After that, more notes to the general audience.

Dez: Yup, lurker status has been utterly ruined. And nope, you're not being remotely mean to me. You are being very nice. Fights between Elf Lords and Wraith Men are always fun? Good! That means I actually succeeded in doing it right! You bet poor Celebrian, what they did to her.../Growls angrily at writer. / And yeah, I guess that this could be called an unlabelled AU. I'm really just relying on the fact that we have very little information about Legolas' childhood...or events in Mirkwood in general. I mean, we know that Thranduil shrank the realm, and a bit more, but it's all rather sketchy, leaving anyone writing about that place and time with a bit of free rein. Point, Thranduil's capture would probably get a lot of attention, but it's possible that Tolkien died before he had a chance to write out a firm history for Mirkwood. And don't worry- I'm not nuking the USA. I hope no one is.

BM originally: You're hooked? Great! I consider it my duty as a writer to give you guys the best of my abilities, so it's good to hear that the work is appreciated. /Blushes at all the praise. / And it's also great for me to find Christians out there that read the Bible and Believe, because one can get lonely, thinking that they're one of a kind.

Kaye Thorn: I really know how to write and not lose your attention? /Is flattered. / Must stem from having a concentration disorder- I have to write stuff interestingly if I am to keep working on it. Suspense was good with the Nazgul? Ooh, good, I was trying to make that part very tense. And I suppose that, if Aragorn, who is a human with maybe sixty years of experience, knows about the fire trick, then it's quite likely that an immortal Elf knows it too. And Elves do just wanna have fun...unfortunately, I'm not giving them much.

Mistopurr: No. It was not very nice, whichever one you were referring to. Chocolate cake with Elflings on top is a good solution. Legolas is young but wise, isn't he? I wasn't sure if I'd got that bit across. And you loved the fight scene...that's great. Hmm- Funny!Galadriel, maybe?

Navaer Lalaith: Well, it's up there too, but someone asked for a link at the PPC Posting Board. Those unlucky enough to be nearby lost their lunch pretty soon.

Reiji Neko Mitsukai: Yup, ten year old Elves...technically they'd be babies, but a relatively ten year old Elf is cute.

Tonianne: I made you cry? Gee- sorry. And you think it's beautiful...and you're in love with it...thank you. Really, thanks.

To the general populace.

Look here, much more praise of this sort and my ego is going to explode! Please, if you have a complaint, tell me. I want to improve. If you don't, then no matter, just tell me what you think. I welcome it!

Also, to Martina and The-burglar, am I doing something wrong? Neither of you reviewed...I'm not forcing you to; it's just that Martina said that if she could complain, she would...or maybe you're both on holiday. Along with a few other people.

This is just a point, but I do care about my readers. It's like, once I know that you've read it, I kind of 'take you under my wing', so to speak. I know that some people don't review more than once, but I still worry. /Glances at all the OTHER people who haven't reviewed the last two or three chapters. /

Starwind Rohana, about to go out fossil hunting.