Author's notes: I believe I owe everyone another "Aïe!". A very big one at that. Hope someone will still be reading. After all, it has been what?... Five months since I last wrote anything?... Aïe! And I do hope there isn't anyone out there who owns a collection of knives and/ or swords and wants to try them out... on me. Aïe! Sorry... Well, here's a real "note" for you: chapters VI and VII are both part of the same situation, in truth they should be just one, but I split it in two so that I'd have something to post... It's probably not as good as the previous chapters, but I hope you still enjoy it! Let me know what you think of it, pleease! ;)

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Chapter VI: Clepsydra (I)

A high corridor of marble walls. Green and grey, red and gold. It was both regal and imponent, as would suit the dwelling of King Thranduil from Greenwood, the Great. Sindarin relics dating back to the First and Second Ages of Arda, and Sylvan artifacts of timeless and humbler craftmanship adorned the cold stone, breaking through its severity and giving a more welcoming touch. Several tapestries were hung throughout the corridor: some with mere hunting scenes, others ilustrating some finer point of Elvish History.

An artisan had captured the figure of an archer with his bow drawn and taking only the time to adjust the aim on an unknown prey. Whether he readied to shoot a wild boar or an orc, whether he was a hunter or a soldier, the sole thing that transpired through the elf's stance, the one thing that truly mattered, was his focus and his determination. Muscles tense and ready to jump into action whenever needed and eyes fixed on his mark. As such did Prince Legolas came into that corridor, silent in his walk and not sparing attention to anything except the door at the end.

That door made everything else shrink to nothing, so impressive it was, both in size and in terms of art. But that was not all that had caught the Prince's eyes, it was what laid beyond it. Upon approaching, the two guards that flanked it did not move, close imitations of the two heavy and solid pillars standing behind each of them, but neither would have Legolas paid them any importance had they moved. He proceeded to lean his hand against the door and, making good use of his weight, he opened it.

The finely and intricately sculpted wood gave way to another fabulous hall - the throne room. Some of the light from within was caught on the door's silver engravings, light that came from both torch and window. But that did not perturb the Prince either, as he walked the path that started at the door and connected it to the other end of the chamber, making his way towards his father.

"You sent for me, father?" he said, bowing his head in respect for his King.

"Yes, my son. It has been long since the first warning we received that orcs were nearing our Realm, has it not?" The King was thoughtful and, even though it was more of a rethorical question, the Prince agreed. Greenwood would not forget that day lightly, and Thranduil and Legolas least of all: it had been the time when the Queen had passed on to Mandos.

"And ever since, our situation has not improved. On the contrary, foul creatures lurk among the trees now and everyday I see our people go to the healing rooms instead of their homes, because of some attack." The King's frustration was palpable in his voice, as was his wish of fighting to protect his people and his Kingdom. Once again, the Prince nodded his unnecessary assent, waiting to hear what Thranduil really had to say. "That is why I have decided to send Moralphwen to Lothlórien."

"Nay!" Legolas' graveness and silence dissipated into startlement.

"I fear for her, Legolas. She is still too young and this place has become too perilous. Our kin to the South shall guard her well." The King reasoned.

"Was I not young also when you left for the Battle of the Last Alliance? Those times were more dangerous and distressful than these, and home was safe enough for me then. Why not for her now?" Legolas pleaded, for parting with his sister was the last thing he wished. Thranduil, however, had been upset by his words, he still kept bitter memories of those unfortunate days, and, after a brief moment of musings, he answered.

"Do not argue with me! You will take her to Lórien. Things are different now. I wish only for her well-fare. I am confident it is the best to do."

"I do not see how separating Moralphwen from her family can be the best! She has lived without a mother thus far, how can you deny her what's left of this family?" He didn't mean to make any sort of accusation, but that was all he heard as the words left his lips. And he regreted them instantly.

"Enough, Legolas."

"You know she adores you, father. And all the time she spends with you is as precious as it is rare! Do not take that away. I beg you, father, please reconsider!" Legolas spoke with his heart on his hands, but Thranduil would have none of it.

"I have said it is enough! It is for the best. You are to leave in the morning." Behind Thranduil's determined expression, one more piece of his heart was tore, but not even Legolas' sharp senses could see or hear that. He bowed forcefully and then turned to leave, and even though the marble on the floor didn't seem as stable to him as it once had, his footsteps now echoed loudly throughout empty corridors as he left the palace.

Reaching the grounds, he found everything was the same as when he had left to speak to his father, and it felt strangely odd, all of a sudden. It seemed nothing had changed with the talk he'd had with his father, when the world had actually been turned upside down, as far as he was concerned.

He had been teaching Moralphwen how to ride a horse, when the servant told him the King wished to see him, and, as such, had left her with his good friend Hallathon. He found them with ease, but decided to watch from afar for a moment. She had grown more comfortable and more confident atop the horse and Hallathon didn't have to be always next to her any more. She was wandering around, smiling in the purest of satisfactions, and Legolas found it was a contagious mood.

He neared them then, temporarily casting the shadows in his thoughts to the back of his mind. Moralphwen saw him first and waved. He responded in kind, but turned more seriously to Hallathon.

"I need to speak with you, mellon." Hallathon nodded, but before Legolas could say anything else, a small cry came to their ears. For some reason, Moralphwen seemed to have panicked and had fallen off the grey horse. Legolas hurried to her.

"Are you hurt, little sister?" He asked, worry etched across his fair features. But all Moralphwen did was grin, while lying beneath. "You silly... don't you do that again!" He jestingly warned her, relieved, while raising to help her up. Moralphwen noticed the dagger in his boot and remembered something.

"Is it time?" Legolas didn't understand what she meant. "Am I old enough to have that dagger already?" It was something she had been asking for years now, but Legolas' reply was always the same.

"No, you are not. Be patient, little alph! I will not forget when the time comes, rest assured." And they shared another smile.

After delivering Moralphwen to her nurse (the lady had nearly fainted when she heard the little Princess had fallen off the horse), Legolas told Hallathon of what the King had decided.

"I cannot believe he would say that!" Hallathon was as disbelieving as Legolas.

"Alas!, unfortunately it is true, he has fully convinced himself of it. So, will you accompany me tomorrow on this journey?" Legolas asked.

"Of course I will, mellon nin. I could not leave you by yourself on such a time. And besides," he added when he saw a familiar group of elves passing by, "unlike others, I love Moralphwen dearly. I shall miss her as much as you." Legolas had seen the elves also. He knew there were many who resented his sister for living instead of the Queen, even if she was still naught but a child. He bitterly spoke.

"Not as much as me, Hallathon. And I would wish that sorrow upon no one." He turned to face his friend. "Thank you."