Still not mine. Still sorry I didn't post earlier. Still love every single person who reviews.

Thranduil watched Mercia leave the chamber with sadness in his heart. Truly, he felt no ill will towards Mercia, or if he did, it was so tangled up with pity and regret that it was almost unrecognisable. He had lost his most trusted advisor and now he alone would have to deal with the tangled web of his son and this Ranger. Even to the King, the loss of a friend such as Mercia could not fail to make an impact. Thranduil found that he was not so eager now to deal out vengeance and judgement. While he had ridden in the forest, searching for Mercia, his heart had burned with rage against this man, this human who had stolen away the trust of his own son and his closest advisor.

Now though, it was as though the banishment of Mercia had stolen from Thranduil his furious anger and left him exhausted, weary of the whole affair. He shifted in his throne and sighed, his mind racing. Suddenly, he knew what was to be done with the human. He called to a servant and gave his instructions. While he waited, he wondered what should be done about the final piece of the puzzle...his own son. Certainly, Legolas had some devotion to the Ranger, but Thranduil could not tell whether it was born simply of Legolas' love for almost all creatures that walked under the sun and stars or whether the devotion was more personal than that.

Before he could give the matter his full thought, however, the door to his chamber opened and the servant returned with five elves behind him. Two were dressed for combat, in darker clothes than usual, and bearing weapons. Thranduil could tell that they had only recently been relieved of their patrol duties on the borders of the realm. All five were well known throughout the Kingdom for their skill with weapons, but also for their bravery and their abilities to stay hidden, even from their fellow elves when necessary. Thranduil greeted each of them in turn by their names and, dismissing the servant, explained what he wanted from them. All five looked momentarily horror-struck but masked their feelings almost straight away.
"I do not order than any of you do this thing. I request it only. Should one or all of you be unable or unwilling to do so, I will not see it as a flaw in your characters, rather as a strength. All warriors have limits to what they can endure, and it is a blessing to know your own."

Thranduil then fell silent, leaving the five elves to their quiet contemplations.
"I will do so," one said eventually.
"And I"
"And I"
"And I"
"And I, also"
"My friends," said Thranduil. "My brothers of the woodland realm, you are truly mighty among your kin."

Then Thranduil again called for a servant, and this time, when the elf returned, he had before him the Heir of Isildur. His hands were tightly bound and he had no weapons though his eyes blazed still with anger and pride.
"I know not what magic, if any, you have used to ensnare my son and steal from me my closest advisor, but I wish for this matter to be ended," Thranduil said.
"I have used no magic," Aragorn said calmly, "and I likewise wish not for any resolution, simply for my freedom"
"So shall it be," Thranduil stated. "Tell me, man of Gondor, what know you of Dol Guldur?"

Aragorn was taken aback by the question, wondering what it could possibly have to do with his fate. He knew, of course, and had once spent long hours in a tavern in Bree discussing the matter with the wizard Gandalf. He decided to answer the King's question without making enquiries of his own.
"It is a fortress in Southern Mirkwood and was once the stronghold of the Dark Lord, before he was driven out by the White Council"
"You speak with wisdom, human"
"To wage war on a man, you must first know him"
"And you plan to go to war with the Dark Lord?" Thranduil asked, surprised. He had expected that this man, like those of his bloodline before him, would skulk in the shadows all his life.
"I am already at war with him. I was born at war with him, as are all who follow in Elendil's bloodline"
"Pride," said Thranduil softly, contemplatively. "Dol Guldur," he continued, "is now a dark and forsaken place, with the remnants of the Necromancer's evil all about. It is there, son of Isildur, that you shall be taken. There, you may strike out South, West or East. If your feet turn to the northbound path and guide you once more into my realm, you shall be killed on sight."

Aragorn stood for a moment in silence, contemplating what had been said. It was clear to him that the elven king was still, rightly or wrongly, angry with him and yet seemed to be warring between that anger and a desire to have mercy.
"My sword," Aragorn said finally. "I will do your bidding, O King, as I have little choice in the matter. But I will not leave Andúril, forged of the shards of Narsil, here to rust"
"My warriors will leave you bound in Dol Guldur with your sword close by. By the time that you free yourself, as I have no doubt that you will do, these fine elves will be far enough from you to ensure their safety"
"And where, O King, is the sense in that?" Aragorn asked, annoyed. "Surely your warriors will be armed with more than a simple sword? What have they to fear from me"
"They have to fear from you what we all have to fear from the sons of Isildur!" Thranduil snapped. "Your greed does not end with lands and power. Revenge, man of Gondor, is a powerful motivation among your people"
"It is," Aragorn said evenly. "Yet I shall never seek vengeance against those who have harmed me on the orders of another."

The five warriors also present in the chamber could perceive the power of their king, aged and mature, but also the power of the heir of Isildur. It was as though the man was still unused to the power of his voice, the command it could carry. His power, like himself, was young and raw and fiery, although it could be cloaked in an instant. The King's, by contrast, was cooled and ever-present, and he was much more used to exercising his power. In response to what was a thinly veiled threat, Thranduil merely leaned back in his throne and looked closely at the man before him.
"Shall we continue this fruitless argument, or do you accept my terms"
"Why do you ask for my acceptance when you are not willing to barter and I have not choice but to bend to your will"
"Do you accept?"

For a moment, elf and man's gazes locked and fire and ice battled one another for control between the two of them. Finally, Aragorn lowered his gaze.
"I accept"
"Very good," Thranduil said. "Begone now from my land and if we meet again under sun or stars, it will go ill with you"
"It will go ill," Aragorn agreed.

Mercia stumbled on the Old Forest road that cut through the wood south of the Mountains. One of the two guards escorting him to the border righted him gently and Mercia nodded his thanks. He tried, as they walked, to absorb as much of his surroundings as his senses would allow. He listened to the sounds of the wind in the trees and the rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of insects.

All too soon, the small party reached the Western border of the forest and the two guards stepped out into the world with Mercia one pace ahead of them.
"Mercia Brethil-Dîn, you are henceforth banished from the realm of Mirkwood, under pain of death. Fare thee well, but never return," the taller of the two guards said. With that, they turned and retreated into the forest that they were still able to call their home.

Mercia stood silently in the night, alone and exiled. He did not know where he should wander, nor where he would be welcomed. Finally, he decided to go forth, towards the Great River and from thence turn south and follow the river's course to the sea. The longing for the ocean that came upon all elves after a time was not yet alive within Mercia, but he hoped that in time he would find either a place where he could live alone with his thoughts, or an ending to all earthly struggles.

Pulling his travelling a cloak a little tighter around his body, Mercia knelt and cast around on the ground with his bare hands until he found a branch that had fallen and lain forgotten on the ground. Lifting it, he used it to feel the ground immediately ahead of him. Inside the forest that he had known so well, his feet had been sure upon the ground and in recent years, he had grown so accustomed to walking in darkness that the loss of his sight hardly troubled him. But now, outside in a world into which he had not ventured alone since the wild days that followed Hanfrith's death, Mercia felt alone and lost and terribly, terribly vulnerable.

Moving slowly, with the branch held out in front of him, sweeping from side to side on the uneven ground, Mercia Brethil-Dîn went forth from the lad of his birth, an exile in the wilderness.

Legolas was still sitting upon the low couch when his father entered the room. Quietly, Thranduil joined his son, not making any movement to touch him lest Legolas fear that some of the King's anger was directed towards him.
"Greenleaf," he said softly.
"What have you done with them, Ada?" Legolas asked, his voice trembling.
"Less than the law allowed me to in each case," Thranduil told his son. "Mercia has been a friend and confidant to me for many years and I would not see him killed. Thus he is exiled. And as is traditional, I allowed him one request before his banishment began. It was that request that saved the life of the human"
"What did he request? And what did you do to Estel"
"He is also banished," Thranduil said. "Mercia asked nothing for himself but implored me to be merciful in this matter. I have been so"
"Where are they now?" Legolas asked.
"Mercia should already be beyond the borders," the King said, with a note of sadness in his voice, "and the heir of Isildur will already be many miles from here now. He is being led by some of my finest warriors"
"You will not harm him," Legolas said, his voice carrying half and plea and half an order.
"No," Thranduil agreed, "I will not harm him. Nor will I see him again within the borders of my land. He has agreed my terms - he must leave at once and should he return, it will be under pain of death"
"I see," Legolas said slowly. "And what of myself"
"What of it?" Thranduil asked.
"What is my punishment to be? For surely, if crossing the border once by accident and once by force warrants exile on pain of death, attempting to release one of the King's prisoners cannot go unpunished?" Thranduil knew that his son was testing him, pushing him, pushing for an answer that Thranduil was not willing to give. "Surely if your most trusted advisor can be banished for doing as I requested, then I myself can not be allowed to go free of punishment for my crimes"
"Legolas," Thranduil said softly and Legolas' mouth snapped shut. It was a voice that Thranduil did not use often in his son's hearing, but it was low and calm and dangerous. "You are my son, and a beloved prince of Mirkwood. Yet I will not tolerate your insolence. As you already know, you shall have no punishment. I choose to believe that you have acted under another's influence and are therefore absolved of all blame."

Thranduil stood and moved towards the door but Legolas remained frozen on the couch, his eyes transfixed upon his hands, upon the fingers that had so recently rasped across the stubble of Estel's face, and wondered if he would ever see the man again.
"I love him, Ada," Legolas said, softly, very softly.

In the doorway, Thranduil stopped, his hand upon the doorframe, his posture stiff and tense. He opened his mouth as though to speak and then closed it again, turning back to his son and laying a gentle hand on his arm.
"This bewitchment will pass," the King said.

Some bewitchments fade away with the passage of time, crumbling gradually until a day comes when they are gone entirely. A person can think and act in a certain way for years, centuries in the case of the Eldar and then, like the blink of an eye, all can change and the person will be left to wonder how they could have ever believed the whispered words of enchantment in the back of their minds. The sudden, certain love that had descended upon the Prince of Mirkwood was not such a bewitchment and Legolas knew that as certainly as he knew his own name.

tbc