Disclaimer: Do I have to say it every time? I own squat...

A/N: Well, here I am again! There are going to be weird developments in this chapter.

Guess where they are. Seriously, guess. We also have...a visit to Rivendell! So that you can meet the unfortunates who got a Really Long Journey!

With all that said, welcome to chapter six, and all reviewers will get cyber-sweets in the flavour of their choice. Oh, and read the AN at the end of the chapter for explanations.

(By the way, the El-twins are, in this story, full-grown Elves with some habits for acting a bit younger than they are.)

Now edited! Thanks to Parmalokwen for pointing out my mistakes!

Flame Trap

Legolas woke slowly.

He was lying against a warm body. Pale corn-coloured locks trailed over his side. His father was holding him close, the Sinda's arms wrapped around him. The older Elf's eyes were glazed in sleep. His gentle hold told the child volumes.

They were safe.

Golden light lanced between branches, dappling the forest floor in brilliant shades. He remained still, content to watch the scenery quietly.

Tall columns, branching out overhead into dozens of strong limbs. Brown bark coating the huge, ancient trees. The immense sentinels were close about the tiny clearing- on all sides but one.

They were at the edge of Mirkwood's gigantic spread. One great oak stood between them and the open plain. Through the thinner undergrowth around it, it was possible to glimpse the vast expanse of thick green grass that swept the distances. To one side, it was just possible to see the foot of the Misty Mountains, as the mighty stone colossi reared proudly against the soft tints of dawn.

He relaxed against his father. The firm, wondrous beauty of the new morning was not lost upon the child, who regarded it all silently. He was utterly at peace, but there was almost a slight tinge of fear in his mind as well. He wasn't entirely sure if all of this glory was real, or if it was but a longing dream. For the most part, he didn't really care.

Thranduil shifted slightly about half an hour later. Legolas nudged against him gently. The calm of the day was all very well for rest and contemplation, but it would probably be a good idea to start moving soon, to get to Lothlorien. Both were eager to meet their friends and family once more. The stress of the last few weeks would need both time and familiar company to be obliterated completely.

Graceful as a cat, the Prince slipped out of his father's lap. The Elvenking got to his feet and stretched, yawning.

"Are you coming?"

"What?" The child glanced up, momentarily confused by the unexpected question. He quickly realized what the older Elf meant, however.

"Yes. Yes, I am coming...now?"

"If you are able."

Legolas met the Sinda's serious gaze. The grey eyes seemed to pierce his skull and penetrate his thoughts. In the face of those apparently all-seeing eyes, nobody could stand and speak that which was not his mind. All was laid bare. All secrets were revealed.

"I am able."

"Good."

And then...

The Elfling had never been beyond Mirkwood's borders. There had been no need. Contact with those from other lands had been limited to travellers passing through the forest. There had been no cause for him to go beyond the realm.

And so the sight of the open plain was overwhelming. Never had he thought that such a great area could be free from the trees. The simple emptiness of it stunned him into silence. Something of that magnitude not only held him...but also scared him. It was too big, it offered too little protection...

Then again, there was less chance of an enemy being able to sneak up unseen.

Slowly, he stepped forwards. His father moved slightly before him, so that the child's right hand was gripping his Ada's left arm. The golden light of morning brightened behind them as they began their journey.

It was to be a journey that defied all intentions, all wishes. Theirs was to become a travel that would take them miles out of their desired course. It was nothing that they anticipated, for if they had, they would perhaps have remained where they stood.

But Legolas didn't know. He had no cares on that bright morning, with song in his heart and laughter on his lips.

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"Meleth-nin?"

Elrond looked up from his work. His face relaxed into a smile when he saw his wife.

"Celebrian." He didn't bother to say anything else. He didn't need to.

"What are you doing?"

The Peredhil glanced back down at the document, which was partially filled with a flowing, delicate script. The rest was mostly blank, apart from a rather interestingly shaped 'stain' in one corner.

"Trying to recall the exact details of the forming of the Last Great Alliance of Elves and Men."

Celebrian seemed to be slightly disconcerted at that.

"Why?"

He shrugged- and wondered the same thing. He'd been driven indoors by the rain, which had prevented a 'family lunch' that they had planned to eat in one of the gardens. Then his sons had begun soaking everything in sight- he supposed that the water must have had some effect on their energy; since they could not run it off when indoors, they resorted to driving everyone mad. His wife had taken the twins away to persuade them to dry off, and Elrond, for a lack of anything better to do, had decided to record the most mundane events that he could think of.

It was odd how even the most mundane events imaginable could have some very interesting elements to them.

Deciding that there was no point in continuing his mental debate over issues having unexpected developments, he rose and embraced his silver-haired wife. She leaned into him, nuzzling gently against his neck.

"You do not normally draw on your manuscripts, love," she murmured.

"No, I do not. Are the twins dry? No, let me rephrase that question- are the twins dry, and are they causing as little damage as possible?"

She laughed softly, pulling away from him teasingly. "Yes, beloved, they are dry...they are also currently so entangled in their blankets and sheets that they are almost incapable of moving. Why do you ask?"

"Merely curiosity," he replied. "And a desire to know whether or not they would desire our attention soon..." He followed this statement up by kissing his wife soundly.

"Perhaps you should accompany me to Lothlorien at some time," she suggested, as they broke away from each other. "Certainly the change would do you good. I swear, our sons are wearing you down- and it doesn't help matters when you consider who is their ally in their misdemeanours!"

"Mmm, maybe that would be an excellent idea- "

He was cut off by the sound of approaching horses. It sounded as though their riders were urging them on almost fanatically, although Elrond could think of no real reason for them to do so. With a sigh, he turned from Celebrian and headed down to the courtyard.

The two riders slowed their mounts to a halt as they entered Imladris. They wore somewhat surprised and grim expressions. Dismounting swiftly, they nodded to the Half-Elf and went to put their steeds to pasture. The Peredhil wondered what message they bore.

A short while later, the pair returned. One remained in the entrance to the yard, while the other approached the Elf Lord and bowed.

"My Lord," he began, speaking formally, "we bring news of a group of Sindar in the Southeast. They claimed to be from Thranduil's realm, having left their homes after the city was attacked at noon. There were but few of them, maybe forty-six, and they have been travelling for many weeks through the Misty Mountains. They have little food, and bear no weapons. They bade us return and inform you of their whereabouts."

The Peredhil had frozen as he heard the tidings. What? They hail from Mirkwood? But how? If Greenwood has fallen, then this is ill news indeed. But for her warriors, Middle-Earth would have been overrun decades ago; there are many evil creatures that could multiply swiftly in her depths. And as few as forty-six -what of the remainder? There are as many as four hundreds that have lived there...where are they?

Nay, think. Surely they will have travelled to Lothlorien, their closer sister-realm. We knew that they might have to come. And yet none of us expected it! Still, hesitation does no good for those who have come to our lands. We must seek and aid them, before other actions may be taken.

He reached a decision. "Where are they?" he inquired, moving back to the entrance of his house. He would have to arrange for some of his people to go with him to the travellers. They would need food, possibly warmer clothing. Some might have been injured on the road. It was by no means safe to take the paths that led through the Misty Mountains.

"Approximately thirty miles to the Southeast, milord."

"Saddle your horse. We will need you to lead us to them." Elrond turned, and went to gather some of his people.

Barely half an hour later, twenty-three riders, including the 'guide', set out from Rivendell at a furious pace. The horses were being pushed on urgently, their masters giving them little chance for respite. Beneath the scattered trees, the group galloped madly.

Elrond was hanging on tightly. It had been at least half a century since there had been cause for him to ride like this, and he was remembering the incredible, bone-shaking speed with more clarity than ever. The knowledge that he was only slightly in control of the animal beneath him was a fearful one. If he misjudged even vaguely...the creature had a mind of its own, it could easily panic and bolt. Worse, they might slide into the valley. Here, the walls of the gorge that guarded the Brunien were steep. One single slip...just one tiny error...

They pounded on, away from the river. Now they drew a path over rockier ground. The trees were less spread out, and they had to slow to avoid the low branches.

He heard voices ahead. They were muted, and he had to strain his ears to hear them. But they were there. Soft, lilting voices, male and female, younger and older. Singing, almost silent, even to him. Sounds of motion.

But no laughter. Not one echo of mirth, not one ring of the humour customary to these people. Just half-heard whispers of sorrow and regret.

Closer and closer they came to the huddle of stragglers. Riding slowly, wishing that they could move faster. Rain-damped trees brushing at their faces. The clumph-thumf of the horses' hooves, treading the wet ground...

He pushed aside another clump of damp, trailing branches, and stopped.

The group that huddled in the small clearing that he had found presented a forlorn, listless appearance. The women were in the centre, tending to the tiniest of fires, which radiated almost no heat. They moved slowly, stiffly. The males sat around them, their hands wandering over sticks and stones. In hardly any more health than their wives and sisters, they regarded Elrond with calm faces, but not happy ones.

Only the few children were at all lively. There were five, and now they were gathered a little way from their elders. They stood in a circle, holding hands, and were shuffling around to a wandering, quiet song. They slowed somewhat at the Half-Elf's entry into the glade, glancing at him almost curiously. Their rain-slicked hair and drenched clothing clung to their thin frames.

He watched them for a short minute, unsure as to what he was supposed to do. Should he greet them? Or should he let them speak first? In the end, he urged his mount on gently. He was relieved to see that none of them seemed offended by his action.

The small group that had set out from Imladris had brought with them food, flasks, and some necessary items such as basic salves and cloaks. The two separate clusters- riders and refugees- swiftly merged as help was offered and accepted. The Peredhil was swept up in the movement, and willingly lost himself in the simplicity of healing and feeding.

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Aaahhh.

Cool wind breathing over his face, the dew-damped grass stroking his bare feet, the fresh air filling his lungs, the strain of neglected muscles- all tore at his senses as he pounded over the bare plain. But a tiny, almost insignificant figure beneath- very well, far from but it still felt like beneath- the looming mountains he passed; yet he was full of a strange sensation that made him feel incredibly powerful.

He had not run on clear ground for nigh on four centuries, and he found himself wondering why. The trees might be his true home, but the curious experience of an unblocked and even path was one that Thranduil discovered that he had missed- in a half-there, unnoticed way.

He recalled the last time that he had done this...

Flashback.

He raced his wife a little way, laughing. She stumbled along behind him, gasping in between her own shouts of mirth, staggering as she attempted to keep up. Her unbound hair stuck to her flushed face, and she reached up to brush the troublesome tendrils from her eyes. Panting, she collapsed beside him.

They were some miles from Mirkwood- Several of his chief advisors and close friends had practically ordered him to leave the realm and rest, at least for a few days. The Elvenking had been loath to abandon his duties, even for such a short while, but eventually persuasion and logic won out- he had been feeling more tired of late, and everyone unfortunate enough to have to spend excessive time with him noticed this fact.

Climbing back to his feet, he pulled Lothmiren to a standing position and, taking hold of her hands, he whirled her around in a dizzying, uneven dance. Their long hair flew out behind them. The brilliant golden sunlight lanced down upon them, turning them to shining stars, untouchable in their clean beauty.

Her blue-green eyes were rapturous at the splendour of the plain. It was as though she were an innocent child, who had not seen aught but darkness before. The simplicity of her acceptance and enjoyment stunned him briefly into silence.

They collapsed again, lying in each other's arms, sprawled over the grass in a breathless tangle. All troubles buried in the back of their minds, peacefully regarding the bright sky...

End flashback.

He felt a smile come to his lips as he remembered. That day...they had been so happy, lying under the sun on the soft grass, tangled in each other's arms. There had been no real urgency, just calm relaxation.

And now, he realized, he was in another race. A race to get to Lothlorien before the power of Dol Guldor spread irrevocably. The sooner that they arrived there, the sooner they could order his people and return to Mirkwood. Once again, he, and one that he loved, were racing...but this time, it was against a different opponent. This time, they were not competing, but united. And the consequence of failure had swelled enormously...from almost nothing to the overrunning and ransacking of his home.

Not that there is much left there to ransack! But our houses and stores are by no means insignificant...thank the Valar that a good part of our city is underground. That is, if two-thirds of a palace count as 'a good part of our city'. It may be larger than more than a dozen houses, but does that make it a good part...?

Ah, well. I think that we are making good time. Maybe ten more days...make that twelve more days; neither of us is exactly in full health. But we are alone, so we shall perhaps be faster...I hope.

Why, I wonder, did we go so far out of our course? We should have been able to choose a route that would carry us straight to Lorien in a week. Instead, we appear to have taken a large detour south...ah, yes. There was a patrol in our way as we tried to reach the borders of the forest, and we were forced to turn away from them, only to find that their path coincided with ours, and it seemed a sensible course of action after that to move in the direction that they would least expect. Now I wish that we had not done that.

There were other differences too, of course, but he could not think of them now. Regretfully, the Elvenking turned his mind away from the joyous memories and back to their current location. The Misty Mountains reared forbiddingly to his right, casting dark shadows over the otherwise gleaming sweep of Calenardhon's prairie. Black crevices and caves were only just visible to their keen eyes from their position at what felt like the foot of the mighty range. It made the Sinda feel strangely small.

Warmth at his leg...ah, of course. His son was there, between his father and the high peaks. Clinging to the older Elf for safety and love, emotionally if not physically. Such an innocent, pure sight...

And yet...he did not at that moment seem to be as much of a child. Rather, he looked to be a young, confident adult, his face set in determination and delight as it was. The breeze of their running lifted his golden tresses behind him, as though he were standing with his face to a strong wind. He appeared to be almost as one of the captains that helped lead Mirkwood's armies- young, but intelligent and focused, knowing what was expected of him and willing to live up to those expectations.

Scanning the mountains, the Elven Lord was relieved to notice that there did not seem to be any hostile motion wherever he looked. So, they were most likely safe- his eyes were sharp, and he could easily spot that kind of danger. He felt mildly idiotic for looking for trouble from an area that was so far out of their course, but still...old habits died hard.

He looked to his left, over the wide expanse, and felt a sudden twinge of apprehension. He wasn't sure why he felt it, he just...did. Still, he hadn't lived to be over three thousand years old by ignoring his instincts, and right then his instincts were telling him that he should watch his left, watch the small, gentle hills that seemed incapable of concealing an attack, but possibly could do so. Possibly, if the attacker were to lie low, quietening his breathing and remaining still until the last moment.

Warily, he examined the stretch as best as he could while running on a relatively level surface. Nothing seemed to be amiss, and, after the three untroubled days since leaving Mirkwood, he was relaxing slightly into the unfamiliar surroundings. He was becoming more accustomed to the open space that was sharply interrupted by the looming peaks to his right. As he had no real knowledge of the main dangers of the plains- or if, indeed, there were any at all- he was uncertain as to what to look for. This had set him on edge for the last few days, but now he was beginning to accept it more. He would learn what was dangerous if it ever decided to attack them, and he had a natural intuition that helped him to determine the best way of defeating a previously non-experienced enemy.

Not that it was a good idea to leave all the energy to his intuition. Brute strength and speed were two factors that he did not want to disregard, as they had often proved essential in battle. The Sinda Lord was startlingly quick and strong when in full health, and, although those traits had become rather lacking as of the past four weeks, he was still fully capable of holding his own, at least for a small while.

There was nothing to be seen- or so he thought at first.

Narrowing his eyes, Thranduil focused on a miniature cloud of dust, some way over to his left, maybe twenty miles away. Although a human could not see that far, an Elf might do so on a clear day, such as that one was. Elven sight was sharp, and the Elvenking was glad for that fact, for he was capable of seeing the riders approaching, whilst they could not see him and his son. Therefore, he had the time to determine if they were friend or foe- and in his situation, they were likely to be 'foe', as he did not wish to encounter anyone who might slow them down. As it was, that was just about anyone, though he was in no mood to initiate combat, and so they would hopefully be ignored.

The closer the riders came, the more nervous the Sinda became. They were clad in shining armour, and their horses were swift. The humans clearly knew what they were doing.

He wanted to get away from them. In other words, they were going to take a little trip closer to the mountains. Halting, he caught his son's arm and indicated the approaching warriors. Legolas nodded, and the two altered their course, now heading for the peaks.

The closer that they got, the more intimidated that they were. They didn't turn away, but Thranduil knew that the very sight of the range appearing apparently directly over one's head would be distinctly off-putting to most. It was as though a thousand tons of stone were about to crash down upon his head...

The riders were coming nearer...nearer...

And then, suddenly, they increased their speed, galloping towards the pair, and the Elvenking knew that they'd been seen.

He also knew that the riders were perfectly within their rights to stop them. They were passing, uninvited, through this territory, which, although not owned by the Men of Gondor, was more theirs than his, and therefore he would not resist their pursuers' right to apprehend them. But still...he would much rather have avoided this hindrance.

The riders closed about them. Their horses, restless from the long ride, shifted and huffed their protest. They were almost as swift as Elven horses, the Sinda reflected- being surrounded by well-armed mortals was not enough to divest him of his observant nature. In fact, compared to being trapped in an orc-infested stronghold, being surrounded by human cavalry was more of an annoyance than anything else.

"Who be you?" demanded the apparent captain of the riders. "And what business do you have in Calenardhon?"

Thranduil gave a mental sigh. I would much prefer it if we were to avoid this tedious procedure, but unfortunately that is impossible. Ah, well, I suppose that I must go through with it. I am intruding on 'their' lands, after all.

"I am..." he hesitated for a moment, "Thranduil Oropherion. This is my son, Legolas. We are passing through Calenardhon in our travels to Lothlorien, and sought not to intrude, yet this route seemed safer to us than walking through the mountains. We follow our companions, who passed hither but a month ago. We ask your pardon for our trespass, and your leave to continue on our way." There. No mention of kingship or of Mirkwood to give them cause for suspicion, merely names, and simple, truthful facts. Let us hope that it works.

It seemed to, for the Man regarded them with more friendliness in his gaze. Sympathy, as well, which slightly surprised the Sinda, who had not thought to earn pity from them.

"So, you were a part of their numbers? Too weak to be any threat to us, passing inside the borders of a land considered a possible danger, we allowed them passage, not hindering them. And yet you are fed and strong, and fleet you both run, with warriors' eyes. How may you be a part of their kin, moving such a time behind them?"

"We have- have fallen on better parts as we journeyed. Taking a different route around a difficult piece of terrain, we were delayed. Yet we knew our destination, and so did not falter." Certain parts of Mirkwood are most definitely 'difficult terrain', and we have fed well enough on these plains. And Dol Guldor delayed us significantly. "Our kin are in need of our assistance, we guide them on certain important matters. We would thank you to move."

The other considered him briefly.

"If they are, as you say, in need of your guidance, then we shall not delay you. Come, Men of Gondor!" With that, they spurred their mounts away from the pair of Elves.

Thranduil could have laughed with gratitude. The hearts of mortals were great indeed.

They had left a horse.

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"They approach us with speed."

The Lady saw the slight confusion on he husband's face, and smiled gently.

"My Mirror has shown me. King Thranduil and his son are crossing Calenardhon swiftly. They shall be here in a week's time."

Celeborn's face slowly took on an expression of great delight. Then, to her great amusement, he bounded up from his seat, fairly leapt across the room, embraced her warmly, and lifted her off her feet- no small accomplishment, as Galadriel was almost as tall as he was.

"Maybe we should inform Lothmiren," he suggested, after putting her down. "She would be glad to hear of this news."

"Yes," she replied, a distinctly out-of-place smirk of mischief appearing on her fair features. "But imagine what a surprise she would receive if they were to arrive unannounced!"

"No," he said firmly, surprising her a little. He had been more devious than she by far, these past few weeks. "Artanis, she has been far too upset and withdrawn for all of her time here. I do not think that she would thank us to withhold this knowledge from her, hmm?"

"Very well- we shall inform her presently. Still, I cannot help thinking that she is occasionally keeping her laughter inside. Our home has been far from peaceful of late."

"Very much so. And I shall not question you about her mind! But why in all Arda did she choose to shut herself away for nigh on four full days? She did not even think to eat!"

"The flesh embodies what the mind cherishes," she replied cryptically, and left him to try and decode it for himself.

He found her a short while later, gazing out over the city (today it was purple and gold), her head propped on her hands. Her mind wandered over all the events of the recent times.

I will miss it all, she realised, not without some shock. It has been so amusing to just let go and enjoy myself with them. Ha, that is one thing that even my cousins and brothers would never have thought of me. Nerwen, the stern princess, acting like a young Elfling! I am somewhat glad that they never did think of it. They were disruptive enough as it was, and although I may have aided them occasionally- very well, a good deal of the time- I became colder as we aged. A wry smile. Being left to cross the Helcaraxe did not help matters.

Celeborn nudged her sharply, diverting her thoughts. He wore a vaguely sly expression.

"Embroidery or drawing?"

She didn't bother to wonder what he meant. "Embroidery."

"Ah. Shall we tell her of them now?"

"Nay, let us wait until she is- more secluded, as it were. I would like to inform her in as discreet a manner as possible. Nobody else need know. 'Tis a great thing, to be true, but still...I have met Thranduil. You know how he is. He should not take well to being greeted by all of our numbers, especially after his ordeals...and his child will need rest, much rest, as will he. Just Lothmiren, I think."

"Very well. She ought to be passing near the kitchens soon. She always does, around this time of the day."

Galadriel nodded, and vaulted out of the window. It was a decidedly undignified action, but it served her purpose.

The sand-haired Elf-maiden near the kitchens looked up only to acknowledge and properly greet the Lady. Then Lothmiren returned to whatever small task it was that she had assigned to herself this time.

Why does she shut everyone out so? No, Nerwen (1), you know why...she hurts too much. And I can cure that.

"Lothmiren?" she said softly, and the other looked up inquiringly. "Lothmiren..." How do I say this? "Your husband- he is coming to Lothlorien as we speak. Your child is with him."

The look on the hybrid's face was worth a Silmaril, Galadriel decided later. Almost never in her long life had she seen such profound shock, mingled with a delight so intense that a warm glow lit inside the Lady's chest at the very sight. She had no need to touch the woman's thoughts with her mind; the reaction was written all over the maiden's face.

She left the hybrid alone, walking regally and gracefully toward the tallest mallorn that she could see. She had earned a little last-minute chaos, after the madness of the last month.

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A/N: Well, here I am again!

(1) Galadriel actually has three names. Her mother-name was Nerwen, her father-name was Artanis, and Celeborn called her Galadriel.

Just to say, I'm going away for about a week on this Sunday. I will have no computer access during that time. The next update can be expected in about three or four weeks.

Now, in The Two Towers the riders leave two horses for the Three Walkers. Why wouldn't they do so for Legolas and his father? Also, about the geography, I see it this way:

Standing on Elrond's side of the Misty Mountains and facing them, you have Lothlorien to your right and Mirkwood to your left. I do not think that the two forests are in any way connected. Henceforth, something must go between them. I think that it's Rohan, judging by how close Rohan is to Lorien anyway. But I don't have my maps on me right now, so I may be severely wrong.

This tale is more than halfway done. It'll be sad, having to stop, but I'll manage. Although it's been great.

Starwind Rohana, a solitary kid with Too Much Imagination.