Alright, quick update, because NO, last chapter WAS NOT the end. Thought I should post this even if it is short to let y'all know. We're getting close, but we're not there just yet. I'll write "Complete" in the story description when it's done.

cupkate: Yup. Terian and Nenya's mother was the spider witch, her father some random elf who ended up lost in the wood and taken in by the spider-witch, and obviously Terian's father is Thranduil. Well, was, really, since he's dead. I was working on the thought that as long as there was blood between them, they couldn't be together. If Legolas were anyone but the prince, it probably would have been okay...

Tiffiany-45: Nope, they're not truly blood.

Thranduil was a shadow of his former self. All of his children killed within a few months, many of his people killed in a foolish war his son had helped instigate while Thranduil was lying weakly in bed. The weakness was there still, but he was on his throne. He had nothing else left. The only thing he could seem to grasp was even that wouldn't last long—he was dying.

The doors were suddenly thrown open, and four hideously filthy elves walked into the room with a demeanor of strength, power, success, and also failure that seemed totally at odds with their clothing. Black blood, and red blood too, covered them, from what he could see, head to toe.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked wearily.

"The task of the stone is complete," a voice answered with just as much hollow weariness. "The stone needs to be returned."

"How could she have completed it?"

"She gave her life to do so, Father. Please, give us the stone so we can collect the others, and put her things in order."

"How can you dare—" he paused as the impertinent elf in question came forward. In the firelight he could suddenly see past the shadows cast by the hood. "Legolas?"

The elf frowned slightly. "Who else, Father?" he asked softly, pushing his hood back. He ran a grimy hand through equally filthy hair.

Thranduil was astonished, and overjoyed. He pulled himself to his feet to hug his son and drew him into the rooms beyond the throne. "What of your sister?"

"Safe," Legolas answered with a frown. "Father, what is wrong?"

"Your horses were seen heading to Imladris without riders!"

Legolas winced slightly. "No one was supposed to see that."

Thranduil's eyes widened as realization dawned. "Nenya?"

Legolas's expression clouded, his eyes growing mistier than usual. "Yes, Father."

"What is it, my son?" My Son. He never thought the words would sound so wonderful.

"Nenya left us when the task was completed. Her wounds were extensive…" Legolas closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. "I do not believe she survived." When he opened his eyes, Thranduil was looking into Grief, kin to Death for the elves.

"Legolas, how close did you and she become?" he asked cautiously.

"You should have told me she was as a sister. It was your place to tell me. Your slight warning wasn't enough. By the time she told me the truth, I knew I could never think of her as a sister."

"Well," Thranduil murmured a bit gruffly. "It doesn't matter now, anyway. Teraien is dead. The restriction is released."

"If she lives. And if she has died…" Slowly Legolas shook his head. "Father, you may lose another son." His voice broke slightly, and for the first time in over two thousand years, Thranduil saw tears in his son's eyes. Legolas wiped at his eyes impatiently with the heel of his palm before any were shed. "I need the stone. She wished it returned to her mother's flet."

"It is its proper place," Thranduil agreed softly, moving to get the stone. He paused for a moment, and then pulled a chest from the side of the room. "It is also where these should go." He paused his son with a small smile. "But you must remain here for a while, before you deal with such grievous things, as long as Eirthriel is truly as safe as you claim."