Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Responses to Reviewers: Shi Ryuu, you too? I looooove L/twins! :) Sunn-Kissed, you're not blind, I'm probably just confusing, lol. LEGOSGURL, you should like this chappie, and I'm not sure about that other fic. we'll see! SkotosEnigma, you are so right. it does not get any hotter than elvin twins! :P harry-fanfic-reader, thanks! glad you like it! Daeomae, THANK YOU! Nikkiling, thanks, and you'll have to wait and see! Hearts Corruption, thanks, and your review had me cracking up!lol Incessant Darkness, okay the twins share a bond because they're twins, and they share one with Legolas because they're bound to him. It'll be explained farther later. And as for the timeline, this is all taking place before the War of the Ring, in the Year 2933 of the Third Age, whereas the destruction of Sauron happened in 3019. :) Bookworm, .303, what can I say? Legolas deserves some props, damn it! lol Thanks for reviewing!!!! Goddess Of the Fallen, thank you to eternity and back for that lovely comment! Love ya!!!! morphed, sorry if it's repetitive for you, but I never said it would be a short story, lol! :P VirginGoddess, blackmail! oh, that is so cold! I'm wounded! (swoons and faints dead away) Psi, thank you, oh faithful reviewer! love ya!

Quick Note: 'Adar' means 'father', 'Ada' means, basically, 'Dad', 'Edain' means 'Man' or 'Human', and 'elleth' means 'she-elf'. Just letting you know since they're the only things not translated.

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"Telpe-aran!" A voice rang through the high branches of the Golden Wood, startling more than a few other Elves that were used to the quiet, undisturbed peace of Lothlórien. "Celeborn! Come quickly! 'Tis the Lady Galadriel!" ((Silver-lord))

"What?" Celeborn called back, excusing himself from the mid-day lunch he was sharing with a few of the nobles and swiftly striding from the room and out onto the balcony. Looking down, he saw Orophin twenty or so feet below him, easily perched on a snowy, outstretched branch of one of the mallorns.

"Oh, thank the Valar!" The Galadhrim exclaimed when he saw Celeborn appear through the creamy, floor-length drapes. "You must come now, my lord, for the Lady…It's not as bad as the last time, but nearly, and…It's Elladan and Elrohir, my lord."

Celeborn had never seen the warrior so lost for words before, except when he'd come, climbing and shouting up a tree just as he was now, to tell him much the same, except it had regarded Celebrían, his darling Celebrían. And now, now he came with such a similar warning, such a similar summons, and Celeborn felt his heart grow cold with dread. He reached out for Galadriel through their bond, just the smallest bit, but he met a wall of icy resistance and sighed. Not bothering to go back and in and waste time with explanations and long flights of stairs, he leapt over the balcony and onto the branch that held Orophin.

"Let's go then." He said, and they were off, going from tree to tree nimbly and making their way to Galadriel's garden.

They found the Lady of Lórien by her silver basin, but she was not gazing down into the waters that let her see so many things. No, his beautiful wife was staring off into the trees, her eyes wide and pained, the blue orbs glistening with the diamond-like tears that were slowly trickling down her pale cheeks. Thanking Orophin quietly, he made his way to her slowly, not wishing to startle her. She didn't turn at all, not even when he was standing less than a foot behind her, and he slid his arms around her waist, offering comfort even as his own heart beat madly. She would not be so upset if it weren't something horrible.

"A'maelamin, what troubles you so?" He asked softly into that spill of golden hair, and a fine shaking started just underneath her skin. ((Beloved))

"Legolas was wounded by the blade of the Black Captain."

He said nothing, the many implications of that sinking in and hitting hard. He knew that Legolas was on a patrol with his granddaughter, deep in the Misty Mountains, which meant that help from any of the three Realms would almost assuredly be too late. Arwen was strong, she could look after her friend, but only if she didn't begin fading, which was a very real, very frightening possibility. The twins would know, of course, and they would most certainly start fading during the journey to reach him. Hopefully, they had Glorfindel, Elrond or both with them to keep them from doing anything…rash. Which they were wont to do. And as for Thranduil…

Well, Thranduil reminded him of his wife.

So it was likely that he knew as well. And no matter if the help of the Laurelindórenan would take too long or not, Celeborn himself would go immediately, taking the best of his warriors and healers with him. He would have done so anyway for any bonded of his grandchildren, but he also would have done so had Legolas not been bound to the twins, since he was kin of his kin through his sister, Tyelpië, who had wedded Oropher millennia ago and faded when he died. He'd loved the Greenleaf of the Greenwood centuries before the twins were even born, and he remembered the mischievous elfling that he had been.

It was that elfling who had melted his heart, the elfling that had his sister's smile. He had been captivated since he'd first met those emerald eyes when Legolas had only just been born, and he clearly recalled his sister's elation. Her grandson had been her pride and joy along with Thranduil, and she'd had too short of a time with him, much too short. So he would have gone searching for the young prince anyway, even if the twins didn't love him, even if he himself didn't love him. But they did, and it was not a single blow that his corruption or death would cause should it come to pass. Had they not lost enough already?

"Yes, we have, saelon." His wife replied, and he'd been unaware until then that he had spoken that last aloud. "But there is always more to lose." ((wise one))

"Too true, pen-vanima, too true." He sighed again, and kissed her cheek. "I will leave at once. How long ago did this occur?" ((beautiful one))

"Four days." Galadriel said after a slight pause, and her voice wavered the slightest bit, like silk rustling in the wind. His head swam.

"Lau!" ((No))

"I know, meldanya. It has been too long for my gift to have done us any good." There was such sorrow in that sweet tone, such sorrow emanating from every inch of her and him as well, and he straightened, drawing her around and looking in those ancient, youthful eyes. ((my dear))

"I will go now, and we will ride for the Misty Mountains with all haste. And I…I will send a message to a friend of mine that dwells there. If they can get to Legolas and Arwen, then all hope may not be lost."

"Celeborn, you are not thinking of…"

"Hush, melmenya. You know I must. What other choice do we have at this point?" He cut her off gently, and she was the one to sigh that time. Laying her head on his shoulder, the shaking grew just a bit worse. ((my love))

"None. They are on the eastern side, a hundred leagues to the north of the Weeping Stone. Go then, and by the Valar, return to me."

Who was he to disobey Artanis? Nodding and kissing those lips hungrily, he was as lost in her as he always was for countless moments, knowing nothing but her delectable taste. Then, with great reluctance, he ripped himself away and stalked out of the garden, because if he'd stayed a moment longer, he wouldn't have been able to leave her. It was always like that. She was the light of his existence, and the desire to be with her constantly hadn't lessened a bit over the passing Ages. Thoughts racing through his head, he exited the garden, for once not noticing the lulling sound of the brook or the peaceful sound of the light snow hitting the golden trees.

"Orophin!"

"Heruamin?" The soft voice called back, dropping to the earth out of the branches that still bore leaves even in the current season, and the fair-haired elf regarded Celeborn warily. ((My lord? /familiar/))

"Find your brothers and the rest of my guard, as well as the head healer and his apprentice. Prepare for a hard journey and meet me at the northern paddock as soon as you can. We ride at once."

"As you command, heruamin."

Orophin was gone in a moment's time, back in the trees soundlessly and searching for his siblings and fellow guards. Celeborn took to the trees himself, making his way swiftly from limb to limb until he'd reached his and Galadriel's talan. Upon entering, he hurriedly threw a pack together and changed out of his robes into a winter riding tunic. Heavy boots went on next, their laces done in a flash, then a light cloak and a thicker, leather one on top of that, which was lined in thick fur and oiled to help keep the inside dry. There was one more thing he had to do before joining his guards, though, and he felt himself fall into a drifting trance.

'Morion...' He called with his mind, reaching over the long leagues until he brushed against the other Elf's consciousness.

'Celeborn? You have not contacted me in such a way for centuries.' The reply came after a minute or so, and Celeborn would have smiled had the situation not been so dire.

'Forgive me, but it is a matter of great importance.' Celeborn told him, and he could feel Morion's instant caution.

'Mani naa ta?' He asked, and Celeborn felt like sighing again. He explained what had happened quickly, but he didn't need to explain the consequences if Legolas was corrupted or if he died. Morion knew well what would happen in the days and weeks afterwards. ((What is it?))

'Mankenaa lle? Galadriel says they are north of the Weeping Stone.' Celeborn said when he was finished, and Morion answered after a short pause. ((Where are you?))

'I am nearby.'

'Oh, thank Vána! Will you go?'

'That was a foolish question, Celeborn. Is your age catching up with you?'

'Now I remember why we couldn't stop fighting when we were elflings. Enough with this, it tires me to hold the connection so long from so far away. Tenna' ento lye omenta.' Celeborn said, very nearly laughing. Morion was not your typical Elf, but he could make Celeborn laugh through just about anything. ((Until next we meet))

'Tenna' ento lye omenta.' Morion called back, and then the link closed and Celeborn was alone inside his mind again.

Throwing his pack over his shoulder, he used the stairs that time, since the long, winding way to the forest floor gave him time to braid his hair in tiny plaits, keeping it out of his face. Jumping the last flight and hitting the snow lightly, he ignored the courtesans trying to get his attention and ran to the northern paddock, not particularly caring what the others thought about their lord dashing past as if Sauron himself were at his heels. He refused to waste a single second in getting to his grandchildren and the prince, and stopping for them would waste much more than mere seconds. Reaching the paddock, he was mounted before most of the guards even knew he was near.

"Lle desiel?" He asked, his voice carrying through the afternoon air and startling those that hadn't felt his swift approach. ((Are you ready?))

"Maer, heruamin." Haldir, the Captain of his guard, responded immediately, being one of the few who'd witnessed his arrival. ((Yes, my lord. /familiar/))

"Let us be off, then." He said, and the fifteen warriors and two healers that were finishing up the last of the preparations leapt onto their horses' backs. Orophin and Élion went out of the paddock first, and Celeborn followed with the rest trailing, Haldir and Rúmil on either side of him, their bodies meant to be shields. Haldir kept shooting him nervous glances and opening his lips the barest bit, as if he wished to speak but couldn't find the words, and since they couldn't gallop through the thick mallorns just yet anyway, Celeborn inquired as to what was bothering him, already knowing the answer.

"I was just…" The Marchwarden started, glancing briefly away before his eyes came back to his lord. "Are the twins truly in danger?"

Oh, how to explain this to an Elf he loved like the son he'd never had? After Haldir and his brothers' parents had died in the War of the Last Alliance, Celeborn and Galadriel had taken the three of them in, being their parents' best friends. Only Haldir had been old enough to fight in that battle, and he had seen his parents fall, he had seen his father killed from behind and his mother's murderous fury, which had led her to attack an entire group of orcs, killing dozens before she was riddled with arrows. And Haldir, Haldir had been at Celeborn's side where he had sworn to stay, duty and oaths keeping him there against everything.

Had Celeborn seen what was happening, he would have released the young Elf from his service and told him to go to them, but the fighting had been too hectic, too frenzied, and he had not seen. Haldir's only comfort on the long trek back had been that he had fulfilled his promise to his father and guarded their lord throughout it all. And Celeborn, Celeborn didn't forget that sacrifice, and never would. He trained the young one from then on, him and his brothers, and they were as much his family as his grandchildren or his daughter. And now, now he was supposed to tell them that not only might they lose the twins and Arwen, but more, as well.

Orophin and Rúmil were both going to be heartbroken, but Haldir…Legolas was his best friend, his sworn brother. They had known each other since they were barely four years of age, their births barely a year apart, which had been rare before the surge of breeding in the Greenwood after the War, an effort to repopulate their decimated numbers. Haldir's father had been a good friend of Thranduil as well, and he'd often journeyed to Eryn Galen, taking little Haldir with him. The two elflings had clicked instantly, and the absolute horror they'd put the household through had been hair-raising. Impish minds most certainly do think alike.

If they weren't throwing berries at their elders, hiding Oropher's crown, or trying to see just how much it took to make Thranduil's head explode, they were coloring the warriors' tunics pink with irremovable (and quite questionable) pigments and mixing dye into the wine at dinner so that every Elf in the Hall left with lips stained a dark crimson. Celeborn vividly remembered coming home to Lórien after visiting the Greenwood during such fiascos, and fervently thanking the Valar that Legolas had yet to express an interest in coming to the Golden Wood. The Greenwood Elves understood their prince, but the Lothlórien Elves would have been appalled.

Quite like the Imladris Elves were at first, he thought ruefully. Oh yes, Elrond had very much despaired ever letting the twins step foot within that mighty, sprawling forest. They'd left as the perfect diplomats, studious and unfalteringly polite, and they'd returned with promise bands on their fingers and wicked gleams in their eyes that had boded very badly for the residents of Elrond's Realm, who'd quickly found themselves in some very unfortunate situations that their friends usually found all too funny until something even worse happened to them. Celebrían, he recalled, had found it all very amusing, but then again, they hadn't ever even tried to harass her.

Even he hadn't been so lucky, nor had Elrond nor Glorfindel nor Erestor…Galadriel had been, but the twins adored and respected her far too much to ever do something as blasphemous as cover her in swamp mud and live, wriggling minnows as soon as she entered the parlor, and then run away before blood could be drawn. Little balrogs, he thought absently, only then realizing what his prolonged silence had meant to Haldir when he saw his worried eyes and tight lips. Again wondering how to tell him, he decided that truth was the best option, because keeping it from him would only make it worse if they found Legolas and he'd been taken by shadow.

"Yes, pen-vuil, the twins are in danger. But not from what you are thinking." He said carefully, fully aware that the whole company was listening. ((dear one))

"Then from what, adar?" Valar, how long had it taken for Haldir to start calling him that? Years upon years, his mind whispered back, and he wished that he could save them this pain. But, regardless of what his people thought, he was not all-powerful, nor was his wife, and they couldn't just stop this, even though he wished it were so.

"From grief." He said, and he watched Haldir's face shut down completely, that arrogant mask that all of their kindred perfected over the long turns of the sun concealing any emotions he was feeling, but Celeborn knew him too well. He knew that the first Haldir would suspect to be the cause of the grief would be Legolas, and sadly enough, Celeborn couldn't refute that.

"No." Was all his foster-son said, shaking his silver head and ignoring his brothers, who were drawing closer to him, as if they feared what Celeborn would say as much as their brother, and feared even more what Haldir might do.

"Yes. But we will find him. I promise you this." Celeborn said, clasping the younger Elf's shoulder with one gloved hand as that mask cracked and a look of such utter, gut-wrenching dismay filled those handsome features that Celeborn felt the first tear slide down his cheek.

They rose in silence for a long while, too worried and contemplative to appreciate the beauty of the snow-covered wood as they usually would have. Orophin and Rúmil looked as if the world was ending, as they were good friends with the twins, Legolas and the Evenstar, but Haldir…He was the eldest of his brothers, the strongest, the one they looked up to in all things. And when he finally needed help, they could do nothing, and that intensified their own grief. The end of the forest was coming up, and the horses started pushing forward a bit more, feeling their riders' anxiousness to be out. His heart heavy, Celeborn was the first to break through them and into the sun.

They'd barely made it fifty yards when a familiar call rang out, one that he had not expected to hear this time.

"Namárië, mela en' coiamin, namárië!" Galadriel's harmonious voice carried over the field to them on the wind itself, and he turned to see her, her hair blowing out around her like golden wings, one slender, elegant arm raised. And suddenly, the weight in his chest wasn't as hard to bear.

Because no matter what happened, he would always have his Alatáriel.

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Glorfindel was furious. He'd been furious for three days, and it didn't look like he would ever be calm again, or so Lindir assumed. And it was, quite simply, not in the least bit comforting when you had to constantly deal with an enraged balrog slayer. Glorfindel had died once (by way of his hair, of all things), killing one of the most feared creatures alive in the progress, chatted with Mandos, come back, and taken the position of Seneschal and Captain of the guard for the Bearer of Vilya. No one in their right mind would do something to get him as angry as he was, but the twins had never cared about that when they were truly gripped by something. Personally, Lindir had expected their escape that first night.

And could Glorfindel have been anymore self-incriminating about it? Lindir had had half a mind to tell Elrond that he shouldn't be allowed to possess anything sharp, but Glorfindel had heard him muttering about it and threatened to tie his 'useless, harp-wielding' self to a tree. Lindir had wisely shut up. But that had been over two days ago, before this damnable blizzard had set in. He hadn't seen a snowstorm so vicious or so deadly cold in…in longer than he could easily recall, at any rate. Currently, they were huddled in one of the many caves that pocketed Hithaeglir, and a medium-sized fire was all they could keep going because of the shifting drafts.

They'd been forced to stop when one of the guards had passed out, and they'd all been so shocked that no one had known what to do at first. Lord Elrond had taken control, though, and with a grim face, he'd ordered them to find shelter. There'd been whispers of the storm being a 'Quendi-killer', and they all feared leaving the stone shelter and returning into that raging force of nature. Many suspected that the only reason none of them had already been lost was because of Vilya, which glittered brightly on Lord Elrond's hand. Glorfindel suddenly stood again, paced for a moment, and then headed resolutely for the whistling whiteness outside. ((Elf))

"My lord, you cannot go back out in that yet!" Lindir exclaimed before he'd even thought about it, and the Seneschal spun, glaring for all he was worth. Lindir stumbled back a step, and the harsh look on the Elf-lord's face diminished slightly when he saw the fear on Lindir's own.

"Forgive me, dear minstrel, but I must." He said softly, and Lord Elrond, looking more haggard than anyone had seen him since Celebrían sailed, stood.

"He is right. You should all stay here, we'll manage just fine on our own."

Well, that wasn't going to happen, and twenty minutes and six fights later, they all poured back out into the cold, leaving their mounts in the cave with the fire, having made it safe by clearing all of the brush and debris from the floor of the large chamber when they'd first arrived. The first hour of their trek was uneventful if you didn't count falling into deceptive holes covered by thin layers of snow and, in accordance with their seemingly endless chain of bad luck, tiny ice particles that cut into any exposed skin like shards of flying glass. It was not a pleasant journey. And it got even less pleasant when one of the younger guards tripped over something sticking up out of the snow.

It was in an area where the thick flakes actually weren't too high, right around the base of a gigantic old tree, and it appeared, at first, to be a log, a broken limb of some sort, but no. It was a leg. A Man's leg. Digging the rest of the body from the snow was taxing, but what if the twins were buried under there, too? It was a horrible thought, but being around dead bodies tends to either make you numb and morbid or scared and useless. And they'd all seen plenty of death before, but Lindir didn't know how they would handle it if the two raven-haired princes really were buried under that frosty mass. But they weren't, as a half hour's work soon showed.

There were a slew of dead Men, but none of their kind at all, let alone the twins. They did, however, find one of Elrohir's many knives, covered in the Mortals' blood, and an arrow fletched with black feathers but for one, which was silver and marked it as Elladan's, whereas the opposite would have made it Elrohir's. It, too, was covered in blood, seeing as how they'd broken it out of the frozen body of one of the Men. More arrows were soon uncovered, but any tracks showing which direction the twins had left in were long gone. Soul-weary, Lindir stayed with the others as they continued on, wishing the children of his lord and the young woodland prince better luck than they were having.

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Galadriel stood motionless in the highest branches of the tallest tree in Lórien, the top of hers and Celeborn's talan some meters below her, and she watched the stars with half of her usual vigor. Too many things played through her mind, merging with memories of the long-lost years of the past that she recalled as clearly as yesterday, but which were nothing more than stories and legends even amongst her own people here on Arda. Nenya tried to comfort her, but after the things that she had seen…She would find no comfort this night, nor any night following for a very long time. She hadn't told Celeborn the half of it earlier.

She knew she would when he returned, but the visions were all her own until then, and they were like a never-ending parade that danced through her head, fogging the reality around her with ghostly images and whisping tendrils of thoughts, words, emotions. She had seen many things the first time she had looked upon her grandsons, greatness and strength and sorrow and purity, rage and darkness and hate and love. But for Arwen…Oh, it didn't seem right that she would lose her granddaughter just as she would soon be with her daughter again. Arwen was sentenced to a life of fear and devotion, of loss and pain and grief.

But for a while, she would be blindingly happy. That soothed the ache a little, but not enough for a grandmother that adored her little Evenstar above most else. And she had thought she knew the twins future, but now, now she wondered if she knew anything. Because their bonded…She had seen his fate long ago, the first time that she had lain her hand upon Isillinque's daintily bulging stomach. The queen had demanded she tell her what she saw after Galadriel's eyes had unglazed, returning from silver to their usual sapphire blue. But how could she have? How could she have told her what her son would one day face, would one day do?

Oh, yes, Galadriel knew that he would be one of the Nine, she knew that he would go and represent all of their people in the Great War of the Ring. But how could she have told Isillinquë that her then unborn son would one day go to Mordor on a hopeless Quest and fight the last fight at the Morannon itself? At the time, she'd still held out hope that the Last Alliance would be successful, but they had not been, and her suspicions were farther confirmed by the arrival of Mithrandir. But now…Now she saw him changing, being eaten by shadow and despair, and she didn't think that he would ever make it to the Black Gates again at this point.

She'd let Celeborn leave with a ray of hope, but she had none. Death after coming death passed before her open eyes, all stemming from one. Some, when just hearing tales of Legolas Thranduilion, wondered why people praised him so highly, saying that no one was that perfect. But what they didn't understand, until they'd met him themselves, was that it wasn't that he was perfect, but that he had a rare, natural ability to make others love him so much that they thought he was. She knew of not a single Elf that had left an encounter with him and not been utterly bewitched, spreading their own tales afterwards, any doubt gone.

When she'd shared those thoughts with Celeborn, he'd smiled his soft, secretive smile and said, 'You only notice this beguiling power now, meleth-nín? You yourself have possessed it for millennia', and she'd swatted him with one of his arrows. Those were much happier times, times when she didn't have such a burden on her as this recent knowledge provided. She almost wished she didn't, that the Valar would take her gift away from her, but it was only a half-formed thought. She'd accepted the two sides of the gift, the blessing and the curse, and she no longer tormented herself over what she saw. But this was different, this was…harder, so much harder. ((my love))

She wanted to leap up and rush from the forest as she would have done when she was young, riding off to their rescue with dreams of glory in her soul and a sword on her back. But she had a Realm to look after now, and her youth was literal Ages ago. Descending from the tree, she barely noticed the long climb down, heading back to her garden and staying as far away from her silver basin as possible. Sitting by the slowly churning brook, she let the water lull her, and caught her reflection sometime later. How? She wondered. How can my face be so very youthful, as youthful as my granddaughter's, and yet have seen so very much?

Their immortality still shocked even her every once in a while along the drifting centuries, and sometimes it came as a surprise on days like these, when her fëa felt so very old and worn, and yet she looked the same as she had during the Years of the Trees. Shouldn't lines mar her beauty, testimony to all that she had borne? Shouldn't gray streak her golden hair, strands upon strands for every loved one that she had lost and would still lose? She suddenly missed her brothers with a keen sharpness that did not seem dulled at all by the length of time she had harbored her grief for them, and she did not wish her fate upon Arwen.

Because the Evenstar might be fading, but she wouldn't in the end. Something would save her even if Legolas and her brothers died, because something had to in order to ensure any sort of livable future for Arda. She was needed, and she could not be spared. Legolas could not be spared, either, but she could see no way for him to come out of this without becoming a wraith. And then…No, she did not want to think of would have to be done should that be the case. The only hope she saw for him was for his death to be swift and painless, though she already knew that it was much too late for that. He suffered as even she thought of him.

She just hoped that the twins had time to tell him goodbye and kiss him before the end, that they had time to hug their sister before they, too, passed, that Elrond would be able to recover from this, that Thranduil's family would not come to lie in ruin as her own seemed to be…And she hoped for a miracle, because it was not eight that she saw leave from Imladris, but nine, and without that ninth destined figure, the entire vision fell apart into nothing more than crumbling embers of what had been a small flame of hope, the last hope for Arda's survival. And this other vision…what she had not told Celeborn was that they would find the prince, there was no doubt about that.

Find him only to lose him again.

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Slower chapter, and no Legolas or twins (although you did get Haldir and Co.), but never fear, the next will be stuffed with them! Unless…oh, I dunno…none of you review! So, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease REVIEW!!!! Or I shall go mad and conveniently forget how to work this computer, therefore never posting again! (cackles evilly)

((Laurelindórenan -- 'Land of the Valley of Singing Gold', another name for the Golden Wood))

((Artanis -- The name Galadriel's father gave her at her birth))

((Alatáriel -- An ancient form of the name 'Galadriel'))

((Hithaeglir -- The Elvish name for the Misty Mountains))

((Morannon -- Another name for the Black Gates of Mordor))

((Mithrandir -- The Elvish name for Gandalf))