Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

Summary: A war he disagreed with, a love he would do anything for, jealousy and rage, coming to terms with power- and himself. The story you don't know about Legolas, son of Thranduil, and overcoming challenges that even the fairest of creatures could face...

Rating: PG13

This chapter contains a lot of violence/blood and I suppose battle scenes. It also contains a lot of angst. And (I have to say it like this for a friend of mine) corpse mentionment- aka descriptive of the battle scenes. I say that so you can decide if you wanna read it! Pretty much why there's such thing as a rating so people can choose if they want to read a story of not...anyway

I hope you will enjoy this story! It's not perfected yet, and yes, it will have more than one chapter!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!

Ok enough of the authors notes on this story and onto, well, the story!!!!

Legolas son of Thranduil, the fairest and wisest of his kind, gentle and yet so firm in strengths, returned from a voyage so long and heart-breaking that his head drooped in a heavy sadness. His mien impressed all, as it remained royal despite the fact that Mirkwood had succumbed to the requests of a dwarven army.

His father rode alongside him, prouder than his son, for he carried many treasures with him. He, in many ways, had been built much stronger in both strength and spirit than Legolas. Treasure was everything in the king Thranduil's eyes, for treasure for centuries stood as the weakness of the woodland elves. His long golden hair danced about him as his horse fell into a heavy trot at the front of the army, guards along all sides and he had a golden wreathe of flowers that had been placed upon his head. Summer had begun and the freshness of them glowed radiant, along with his complexion, which shined as well.

Legolas, however, grew different from his father. Although, they looked quite similar, Legolas having the blondest of hairs and the bluest of eyes like his father, Legolas by far came across as much more handsome. Their attitudes remained strained apart as well, for Legolas cared naught about treasure, and cared only for love, the kind of love that rushed from the sweet waters of the coolest streams of the forest.

War had been glorified for both of them, Legolas having been taught to fight as well as his father and Thranduil already having been skilled with archery and blades. Stronger than other elves of their kind, they came across to their people as strong warriors to trust, strong warriors that would look after them until the end of their days.

Legolas that war, however, left the battlefield in shame, while his father left victorious. To his father, receiving treasure, what they set out for, named them victorious, but for Legolas, victory still called for defeating an enemy army.

They had just left the battle of the five armies, the battle for treasure on the top of the Lonely Mountain, where the dragon Smaug dwelt, the creature that Bard of Dale victoriously slain when attacking Lake Town.

Legolas's eyes were narrowed in annoyance as the horse beneath him bounced with an eager heart, for it awaited its return where it would receive fine rest and feed from the stable servants. The elf patted the horse and voiced loudly, as they were still far from Mirkwood, "We have a shortage in supplies and it has not stopped raining for days."

It was true! The elves had left too much supplies back at the battle site so that they could account for the taking of more treasures! It had indeed been raining as well! The lands were a deep dark gray before them, misty, a large swamp that the horses tread through effortlessly.

Thranduil's eyes traced him slowly, as to find why his son had, since the previous day, been making such comments and outbursts, when the rest of the army remained so quiet. He did not reply, but turned his eyes back to the old path before them, muddy and heavily pounded with rain.

Legolas pulled the hood of his cloak further over his eyes and patted his horse's side once more. Although the cold did not bother him, the fact of being wet and far from home did. "I wish we could have won the battle."

Thranduil looked at him questioningly, "We –did- win the battle."

"Against those dwarves." Legolas nodded, "Against them."

Thranduil reached his hand into his pack and grasped three gold coins within his hands. He brought them in front of Legolas's eyes and said, "We have so much of it, our bags are overflowing."

"We should have brought more food, Adar." Legolas replied sternly.

"The battle was not against the dwarves, it was against goblins," Thranduil corrected, "I'd say we've won a spectacular battle." He placed the gold coins into Legolas's hand as they rode, causing the elf to smile. Thranduil laughed and clapped his son on the shoulder. "My son."

Legolas replied, beginning to laugh alongside him, "My Adar." This was a common thing that they had done for many years, as if to express that they were to never be torn apart- 'my son' Thranduil would say and Legolas would always reply with, 'my Adar.'

"Is something else wrong Legolas?" inquired Thranduil once their laughing had died down into only a crisp sigh from the younger elf.

"No Adar," lied the elf. "Nothing is wrong." He handed the golden coins back to his father and continued his gaze on the ground before them. A rain drop fell squarely on his nose and he shuddered.

It was then that a scout on a horse ran up beside Thranduil. "Your highness," he said, trotting alongside him. "There is a nice sized clearing in the clouds up ahead. Perhaps there you may give the army a rest. There is also a small cave for you to rest in if it is much too muddy out in the rain."

"I will do as you have counseled," replied Thranduil.

There was nothing more said until what the scout had spoken of proved true. There indeed lay before them a break in the clouds and a cave, large enough for the royals of the party.

Not an hour later, camp already sat up, the only thing visible of elves for miles in that vast land. The armies started fires and began to cook, the soft wavering smell of all kinds of foods coming to the senses. Tents were drawn up and the area was scouted for enemies and food.

The royals sat inside the dry cave, which had been set up especially for them, comfortable and safe. Legolas lounged on a bit of rock, watching little droplets of water fall from the stalactites into a tiny puddle at his feet. "Adar," he said, the fire illuminating his bright elven eyes. "Are you sure that we will be safe here?"

"I am quite sure Legolas," Thranduil replied, glancing at his counselors sitting cross legged by the fire, his cooks bustling about the flames preparing food and mainly his guards, standing strictly by the mouth of the cave.

"There has been no sign of Mirkwood for days," Legolas broke off a piece of rock and chucked it at the wall.

Thranduil scowled and said in reply, "The rocks do not grow back. Do you not hear their cries?" Thranduil had always lectured the utmost respect for the beauty of nature, as orcs in that land had begun burning all that was once sweet and beautiful.
Legolas snorted indignantly, pulling himself up to a sitting position.

"Something is still bothering you my son, I can feel it." Thranduil questioned. "Now I would like to know what it is that you are thinking."

Legolas shook his head as Thranduil sat beside his son, his eyes tracing him for any slight difference, but there was none. Deciding that perhaps Legolas was correct and that maybe it was all inside of his mind that portrayed the elf as unhappy, he changed the subject quite abruptly. "When we arrive in Mirkwood, what are you to do there? First thing?"

"Sleep." Legolas offered. "Bathe in warm waters. Feast on fresh meats."

Thranduil chuckled, "Yes, I too desire such things."

"To breathe the air of our halls, and smell the freshness of summer in its forests." He smiled lightly, "And it is raining so late in the season, so it now carries scents of spring."

"Awaiting home, my son? Is that what is bothering you?" inquired Thranduil.

Legolas sighed and replied, "I suppose so Adar." He paused and said, "Adar, I wonder how you got us into that war."

Thranduil blinked back surprise and asked, "I got us into this war?"

"Yes Adar. Over treasure. That is what has been bothering me. We did not defeat our enemy...But what was our purpose? To plunder their earnings?" Legolas asked boldly.

"To plunder their earnings?" Thranduil repeated, anger growing in his voice. "Now Legolas, you know perfectly well that we had a share in their wealth. We provided them shelter on their voyage to the Lonely Mountain!"

"Did not!" Legolas accused. "You held them back, locked them in the dungeon-" his voice slowed and he said calmly, "I've said something again, haven't I? I fear I am growing too outspoken."

"Yes Legolas, and I am afraid that I am agreeing with you on that matter." Thranduil answered, shifting his jaw. "Is that how you –really- feel? That I rob halflings?"

"N-No Adar," Legolas replied quickly. "Not at all- I was just- outspoken. I do not yet fully comprehend battles and things of such complicated matters as you do."

"Perhaps not," Thranduil answered, turning his attention to a dark figure running into the cave from the outside.

"Your highness!" a scout shouted, running in through the rain that had begun again and the thick night air that had pulled itself down upon them all. "Your highness, they're coming! We have not defeated all of the goblins! Some have returned for us!"
Legolas bit his lip and lowered his head as his father spoke gravely, "Prepare for battle."
"Shall I make arrangements to locate the camp someplace new?" inquired a counselor.

"No!" Legolas snapped suddenly, removing a blade from his pocket. "Where is my steed? We must go out and fight our enemies, not run from their eyes when they suddenly find us!"

Thranduil said in reply to his counselor. "Yes, we will go to battle, but also, you must move this camp. Send our outside men on this hunt."

"They will not return, for they are the weariest," Legolas pleaded, "I will go. I will go to make up the things I have said."

"Us of the royal house shall not fight this battle." Thranduil replied.

"But what of us who no longer deserve to be a part of the royal house?" Legolas argued, "Such as myself, as I have deeply shamed this family with my words. I have always done so."

Thranduil sighed heavily and turned to look at his son, who was gripping his knife with determination. "If those be the words that describe the warriors I send out, you would not be amongst them. My son."
"My Adar," Legolas replied, sheathing his knife.

Thranduil beckoned for a messenger from the far warriors, the scout behind him shouting things such as, "Above all else make haste! They will be here by morning!"

Legolas took his place again, lounging beneath a group of stalactites, as he knew he had earned rest for not fighting this battle and closed his eyes softly, slowly, peacefully. All of the voices and colors were swirling out of his mind, becoming parts of another world, drifting him on a raft through a river of time and people and places.

He opened one eye at the sound of rattling above him, and rolled in alarm just in time for three stalactites that had previously been above him to fall to the place he laid only momentarily before. It was much later than he had expected he would sleep, as elves do not need such long rests, and his eyes traced the cave for any sign of the royal family. It was chaos. The scout had been incorrect and the goblins and wargs had reached them –before- morning. The night air was still heavy and thick and the cave was so filled with the spoiled breath of other fouler creatures that Legolas had to gasp for any sort of air he could find.

He drew his knife and thrust it deep into a goblin beside him. "One..." he said nervously. He usually had counted his killings, but this time confusion came above all as did family. Where was the rest of his royal household? His father? The counselors? The guard? What of the scout? What of anyone?

Legolas stood on the rock that he had earlier cornered himself into and drew his bow, his eyes tracing the room. It was then that a goblin with a crossbow turned his attention to the elf, preparing a shot... But Legolas was much faster and quite prepared enough already as an arrow whished directly between its eyes. "Adar." He whispered, stepping through the goblins, half dead, few alive. His feet stepped around the bodies nimbly, but he knew that if what he so dreaded, his father dead on that hard rock floor, that he would trip over him and fall to his death himself.

Since when did the great warrior Legolas fall asleep directly before a battle and miss half of it? Since when did the great elf prince Legolas neglect to protect his camp and people? Only that once had he failed and only that once did he shed a tear of disbelief and anger at himself. Bitterly, he strung another arrow, aiming it through the heart of a goblin.

They were all dead. Legolas had not stopped until he heard the last body thud to the ground. Every single one of them lay at his feet, malignant pools of orc blood forming instead of the peaceful water puddles beneath the stalactites.

"Adar!" Legolas shouted, his voice echoing about the cave in desperateness and volume. "Adar!" It was a pleading scream this time, but no answer came to his ears. Legolas the warrior had fought a one elf battle against many orcs, but a moment too late. He could feel something awful drawing near, something so great in evil that Legolas's heart would turn to ice. He stepped along the loose rock at the edge of the cave, barely even putting any effort toward not losing his balance (though he did not waver). "Adar!" He gasped as he saw a hand buried deep beneath a pile of rock and earth. "Adar!" He began to dig deeper and deeper until the possessor of the hand came known and he fell to his knees.

Their counselor, Termara, had been tortured mercilessly. His long elven locks had been torn short and his skin had been sheered a layer thinner. His eyes lost their sparkle, possibly from the many bruises that represented beatings around the cranium. His clothes were little, as he had been stripped down by the goblin army so that they could find and use whatever they needed that perhaps was on each elven body, such as boots and skillfully made weaponry. He lay in a pool of silver elven blood and his chest did not heave up and down as many an injured elf's would. He was, to the elf prince's dismay, dead.

Legolas refused to leave him there. If he was not victorious he would not leave the bodies there to be mutilated anymore than they already were. He dug away at more rock and continued to stare down into the cold, unblinking eyes of the corpse. They were entrancing. Shaking his head at his nonsense he took the body by the arm and pulled it across the cave floor. He grimaced, as the hand was slipping out of his own because it was so drenched in blood. He then wrenched it by the mid arm and pulled, more rock falling away from the body. "Come along then..." he said to the corpse, but really to himself. "Almost there..." He dragged it with much strength, but not easily, as the corpse was downing him from the sight. It weakened him.

He managed to bring the corpse outside, where it was still raining fat drops and the skies were still dark with night and thunder. His eyes scanned the battlefield before finding more dead bodies and he said to himself. "I cannot bury each of them, but the members of my household I will not leave to rot on the doorstep of more goblins, or to be the feast of flesh that wargs desire so eagerly." Taking a shovel from alongside a shredded tent near the cave mouth, he began to dig a hole.

He worked for a long while, until even through the cold air, sweat began to drip off his brow, mingling with the rain, the blood and the dirt which was muddying him deeply. He was up to his knees in mud. The hole was turning into a giant puddle, filling up with so much water that if he were to lay the body inside, it would just float away within a few moments. In frustration he cried out and fell to his knees, knowing that he was completely alone with a massacre of bodies of those he once loved.

"My son," a voice came gravely from behind him.

"My Adar," Legolas replied, knowing that his mind was playing games with him as it had always done. When there was no answer, Legolas repeated, "My Adar!" In frustration he threw the shovel across the ground, where it splayed mud at the approaching voice through the downpour of rain.

"I should have taken more caution," the voice continued. "You were correct. We were not safe."
"Adar!" Legolas sprang to his feet and embraced the dark shadowy figure stumbling toward him out of the rain and mud and bushes. "I thought you fell."

"Nay Legolas," Thranduil answered, falling weakly to his knees. "But injured in pride and strength."

"Where are the armies Adar?" inquired Legolas. "There are fewer bodies than I expected."

Thranduil bowed his head and replied, "I sent them off, half to fight the incoming army and half to continue on to Mirkwood with the treasures. I expressed wishes to rest longer for your part, for you looked desperate in your eyes, weary, losing your glow. The scout was incorrect, as wargs came from a different direction with goblins astride their backs. They attacked only an hour later when our backs were turned collecting camp to be moved. The guard forced me to hide. I had no choice and- and this. I could not fight." He moved his hand away from a wound in his stomach.

Legolas supported him by the shoulders and led him into the cave as calmly as he could, setting him down on a rock and searching the ground for any leftover medical supplies. "Adar, I will help you. You will survive." There was a glint from a small box in the hand of a dead orc and he bent low to pick it up, his eyes lingering only momentarily on the face of the cadaver. He lifted the glint out of the box and gasped in anger, kicking over the orc. "Rotten thieves and plunderers! They can keep their treasure, but this was mine!" He unsheathed his sword and in a quick movement had sliced off the head.

Placing the heirloom about his neck he continued his search for bandages and herbs. By good fortune, he was able to locate several clothes and healing herbs which he quickly applied to his father's wounds. "Adar, you will not die. Your wounds are not fatal." He flashed a quick smile to the elven king who was lying there, like the corpse...Legolas traced his chest with his fingers until finally placing his head against it. He could hear the quickening of a heart beat and the heavy heaving of the lungs up and down. His face rose upon the chest and he sighed with relief. He was no corpse and as he had said the wounds would not be fatal.

Alright, that was my first chapter on this story! And believe it or not, I have the second chapter written and ready to go!! I do have work to do other than this story so my updates might not be –wow shes updating like every night or every waking hour of her life!- kind of updates.

I really really hope that you enjoyed this and that you will REVIEW THIS STORY PLEASE!!!!! Thank you for reading! More chapters will come!