Disclaimer: I do not own.

Well hello again! I apologize for not updating for a very long time. I had the chapter written and everything. I just didn't update. I was, however, inspired to update because of cherryfaerie's wonderful review!

Thank you cherryfaerie for your review!!! I'm soooo glad you're enjoying the story!! Sorry, can't tell ya about Faerfain and Astald yet!!! But you'll find out soon! Anyway, that was a really nice inspiring review, and I'll try my best to update soon! I do try to update a lot...I just wasn't quite sure if I was happy with the ending on this chapter...Ive decided I'm gonna keep it like this...Hope you'll like it! More chapters after this one to come! Enjoy!

And thank yous to everyone else who reviews!

Legolas awoke with surprise, as he had not expected himself to be able to fall asleep. Rest had indeed caused him to feel much better. It had broken him away from his thoughts for a while, long enough for him to feel he could face his problems. He felt stronger once he stood up out of his bed, even when he finally remembered that he was to attend Termara's burial that morning.

He stretched and quietly creaked open his wardrobe. Reaching in the back of the storage he finally pulled out a black garment, a royal robe only made for mourners. As he held it out in front of him he wondered if it would in any way still fit him, hoping desperately that it would not as if it would change the fact that there was a funeral in the first place.

He slipped into the garments and repressed a shudder as he surveyed himself within a looking glass. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, perhaps in his dreams, although he did not realize it. His features were pale and he was haggard from such terrible events that had befallen him.

There was suddenly a knock at the door and when Legolas permitted entrance to whoever it was, a maid entered. The maid, to Legolas's disappointment, was not Faerfain, but another by the name of Aradiel.

Aradiel preferred to saunter than to walk, and never lost her eye contact with whichever royal she spoke before. Her eyes sparkled a deep blue and her straight light hair fell gracefully at her waist. As she glanced upon him, Legolas looked up, her entrance always being made known, even though she remained a mere maid in his castle. Her voice was smooth and harmonious and she could speak without any objection by the listener.

"Your highness," Aradiel said, as she placed herself at his side, "If you will pardon my being so bold, but you do not look fitting in black."

Legolas ruffled the collars of his robes and replied quietly, "Black I must wear, Aradiel. I am to attend with my father the burial of our good counselor Termara this morning. Black is the color of mourners." He let his gaze fall upon the blue eyes that held such a strong enchantment.

"If I may be allowed, your highness, to suggest another color?" she twittered within her voice, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Legolas brushed her off of himself with one sweep of his left hand toward his right shoulder and replied, "I am engaged Aradiel. You are not my affianced."
"Aye, your highness." Aradiel agreed, a tear flitting into her eye. "I apologize for loving you. For always loving you."

"Aradiel," Legolas said softly, "I am not fitting for you. You must find another elf to spend your days with, for I belong only to Faerfain. Our hearts are one, dear maiden. Do not weep."

Aradiel fell into a fit of uncontrollable sobs, falling to her knees before Legolas. "Please take me your highness! I am beautiful! I will serve you! You made me believe that you loved me! Please! I love you your highness!"

Legolas closed his eyes in disbelief. He had never shown Aradiel any sign that he had loved her. All he had ever done was request for her to be his maid because she worked and cleaned to the best of her abilities. He loved her as his maid, not as one to be his wife. She was indeed beautiful, but her heart was confused and in dire need of direction.

The door softly creaked open and Legolas looked up to find his father, glaring down at Aradiel and snarling, "Get up! Get up! I cannot have you groveling at his feet!"

"Adar, do not scream at her. For she is lost in her own mind and emotions." Legolas begged quietly, finding pity to take upon Aradiel, "Please Adar."

"Oh, you are kind and wise and merciful your highness!" Aradiel whispered to Legolas, tugging at the hem of his robes. "You are handsome your highness..."

"I know." Legolas replied simply, for a moment having arrogance cross his mind.

Thranduil glanced at him sharply, before glaring down at Aradiel, who dared not stay a moment longer or else face the wrath of the elven king. She bowed out quickly and shut the door behind her. She still never lost her graceful stance.

"Why are you glaring at me?" Legolas asked finally, when Thranduil just stood there, an angry expression on his face. "I did nothing to lead her to think that I loved her. I only love Faerfain."

"You let her continue with her groveling, expressing whatever she felt, instead of sharply instructing her to bite her wretched tongue!" Thranduil scolded.

"To tell any maiden, servant or not, Adar, to 'bite their wretched tongue' is not proper treatment," Legolas answered boldly. "If she wishes to love me, she may love me. I have no control over her emotions."

"You dare speak to me this way!" Thranduil replied with a growl.

"Let us not argue," Legolas cautioned, predicting that the king's anger would rise further more than it already had. "It is a terrible morning for the both of us, as our great counselor and friend is to be buried."

"Aye," Thranduil agreed, although he was still frowning from Legolas's words, "It is indeed a terrible morning. We are both draped in garments of black. Perhaps that is why we are holding our thoughts so uneasy. I came into your room to notify you that you are nearly late, as you have overslept. The burial will begin in very little time." At this, he turned, opened the room, beckoned for Legolas to follow and left, without glancing back.

The burial took place in a small, quaint area of garden, where the lilies and roses bloomed so sweetly around them. Much was said during that time, but Legolas's mind was elsewhere. His heart panged as he replayed the battle over and over again in his mind.

He had swiped the orc beside him and had crawled over the many that lay dead to find Termara's body. He had attempted to bury it, but had left it there. How so, then, was the body thrown at him in a hallway the previous night? It made him shiver that anyone so wicked could do such a thing to him.

The elves that Thranduil had sent off to fight the incoming orcs returned shortly after Thranduil and Legolas had left the caves. There, they found bodies of many great counselors and carefully moved as many as possible back with them to Mirkwood. This, for sure, had been how they had been found, and yet, why was Termara's so disrespectfully tossed in front of Legolas's eyes in the palace, to torment him? If all elves held so much respect for Termara why would they do such a thing?

Legolas began to sift all the people who hated him into his suspicions and that was how he occupied much of the burial service. Several family members of Termara's and a few friends had spoken, tear eyed, until the king was asked to say a few words. At this, Legolas's eyes fluttered open and he shuddered, watching his father walk solemnly to the front of the group. How did he ever manage, his father, Legolas wondered. He could listen to the words spoken, say even his own speech of grief, and not shed a tear?

Thranduil, having turned to face the crowd of tear-stricken onlookers, cleared his throat and began speaking. His words traveled them all back to days when the world was merrier, back to when Termara had first brought himself into the service of the royals. It was a long and indeed unnecessary story to be repeated, but it spoke of the bravery and loyalty that Termara had shown. It brought onlookers to the realization of how close Termara had been to them all and how important his position was.

The service had ended with Thranduil's final words and the crowd began to slither away from the casket, passing glances at the dead counselor before walking sorrowfully away.

The complexity of the situation was too much for Legolas, as he sat down on the ground beside the casket to think. He was experiencing the same strange feelings he had felt at his mother's funeral, remembering the speech that Thranduil had given that day as well, shedding no tears. Legolas curled his arms around his knees and said quietly to a guard, who was in the midst of placing roses on the lid of the casket, "He was a brave soldier."
"Brave, aye, he was, your highness," the guard answered quietly. "I respected him very much."

"Did you know him well?" Legolas inquired, picking a fallen rose petal off of the ground and holding it within his hands gingerly.

"Aye, your highness. I was under his command during a battle not too long ago. He was a strict leader, but certainly the best I'd ever had." The guard sighed, filled with the memories of his combat with the enemy and of his relations with his own army he had been enlisted within. War was not something that was easily forgotten in the hearts of even elves.

A hand touched the shoulder of Legolas comfortingly and Thranduil's voice whispered softly, "Come Legolas."

Legolas stood to his feet, bid the guard farewell and left the funeral with his father, who looked only solemn, but not too deeply affected. His eyes were a cloudy gray, but did not lose their determination and stern impression that they had always given anyone who dared look inside them.

"My son, you are weary of death." Thranduil stated, turning to face Legolas with a serious mien. "War has destroyed you. The deaths of many kinsman has shadowed upon you."

"Nothing has destroyed me Adar." Legolas answered, absentmindedly braiding a lock of his golden hair, a nervous habit that had been passed onto him by Thranduil and even Oropher. "War is my life. I must fight. I am a brave warrior for my people. I protect them. They know I protect them. I am their only dependency, other than on you, Adar."

"So be it then, that you walk these gardens each day with not the same air that you possessed when you were a child, if you are not destroyed?" Thranduil replied insistently. "War is a threat to all of us."

"Then why do you instill it!?" Legolas snapped, immediately abandoning the braid of his hair and using his hands to wipe the forming tears from his eyes. "I am strong enough to handle any battle brought upon me!"

"Then why do you cry my son?" Thranduil ensued. "Tears are but another evil."
"I cry not for war." Legolas answered, disheartened. "I cry for our people, who should have to see such times." He then turned on his heel and left toward the castle, his mind only focusing on the face of Termara, the once-beautiful face that had been reduced to peeled flesh and tainted bone, the once strong, handsome elf that had been brought to such grotesque torture, even after death!

Legolas paced lifelessly in his bedchamber, still wearing the color of the mourners. He was no longer crying, as his father's words had spoken truly to him. Tears were indeed another evil and were not possessions of a warrior.

His bow and arrows he had laid out simply on his bed, staring at them, wondering why they had originally been invented. The bow had, he, after many long moments of deep reflection, concluded, been established for hunting food. Then occurred the corruption of the hearts of even the fairest, wisest of creatures: the elves. They began eventually to hunt one another out of pure spite- not for survival.

Legolas ran his hand along the deep wood, reminded of how he had received it. It had been with him for all of his years, seeming, as if through some force, to always remain the correct size for him. He closed his eyes in meditation on the moment he was given such an honorable gift...

Legolas had long, regal braids in his hair and a light crown of spring flowers within his hair. He wore the finest of white robes, with gold trim, and the proudest of miens. He was young, very young, and was attending his coming of age ceremony.

His father glanced at his son proudly, unable to hide the emotion. His son was at the age to be considered a fully grown elf: a prince of Mirkwood. The ceremony was important for all males of royal blood in Mirkwood, as it proved their eligibility in becoming the next in line for the throne.

Legolas had received many gifts of gold, silver and other precious metals, but knew that his father, as hinted, carried something far more greater than the rest. He hadn't a clue as to what it was, but he knew that his father held excitement in giving it.

During the ceremony, Legolas had to walk in the most ridiculously slowest of ways, which, if he were not of elves, would have appeared awkward. His head was held high and he was instructed previous to the event to look straight ahead and never anyway else. Rose petals, which were rare in Mirkwood, were tossed delicately onto the floor before his feet as he walked, as if he were the groom in a wedding.

When he arrived before the throne, where his father sat, he kneeled before the king, who in turn gave a rather tiresome, but meaningful, speech on the subject of his son, who was most definitely his heir to the throne. After he had finished his last words, he removed the crown of flowers and replaced it with a crown of silver, which glittered most royally atop his son's golden hair. Satisfied with this, the king then gave a hand to his son, who in turn took it and seated himself in the throne beside his father's.

Immediately, clapping erupted. The prince had become an heir and an entry into society. All who watched as he sat beside his father knew that he would accomplish many great things, and would, as his heredity promised, become a great warrior.

Once the applause had died down to a silence, Thranduil motioned for the guards to bring him something. Legolas immediately knew that it was his father's gift to him by the proud air that Thranduil moved in. When the guards returned, Legolas stood to his feet before his father and the gift was presented.

"My son," Thranduil began, "-with this bow, you shall become the greatest warrior that Mirkwood will have ever seen. You shall possess greater strengths than even I. You shall follow in the footsteps of I, your father, and of your grandfather Oropher. To my only and beloved son, Legolas, I grant you this bow."

Legolas knew that it was customary for each male in his bloodline to receive a bow for their coming of age ceremonies, but he had not expected, for some strange reason, this gift from Thranduil, who had hinted it was something very spectacular and unusual. This thought was proven wrong, however, by Thranduil's words.

"The bow will not splinter. I have made sure of this. And you shall use it in every battle, unlike your ancestors of old, such as even myself, who have regarded the bow as delicate and breakable, and have so kept it only at our castles to admire daily. You my son, however, will use this bow, as it will protect you in times of battle. The wood is strong and reliable! I have seen that magic constrict it from breaking or slipping from your hands. If you do not fail it, it will not fail you, my son."...

Indeed the bow had never failed him. In all of its years it had never faltered or snapped! On leisure, it sang a sweet note as it released its arrows, but in times of battle where silence was indeed necessary, it would never creak or call out to the enemy, as if it knew the difference between leisure and war.

The greatest warrior in all of Mirkwood was the only proper yielder of this bow, the only who the bow seemingly would answer to- Legolas himself. He had brought the bow with him in every battle and skirmish after skirmish had ran his hand along its wood and felt its glory beneath his fingers.

He now began to doubt his bow. It was finely crafted and after so many centuries, deeply apart of him. Certainly, he did not doubt its strength or its loyalty, but he scoffed at its purpose.

Legolas placed the glass to his lips and took the smallest of sips from it. The wine was indeed good that year, the best of many years. He could smell its sweet fragrance, now which had placed itself on his warm breath. He swirled the glass and ran his finger along the rim, so that it made a soft humming sound, deep in thought about everything but wine.

His father peered over at him, as he sat at the head of the table, so close to his son. Legolas knew that he deeply worried for him, but said nothing as he delicately picked at his food and avoided eye contact.

"My son, what troubles you most?" Thranduil interrupted his son's brooding, knowing that conversation would not be accepted with open arms by Legolas.

Legolas swirled his wine glass and did not reply, but only stared into its depths, watching the red liquid move in patterns with his wrist.

"Legolas, answer me!" Thranduil ordered, perhaps more sharply than he should have, for Legolas dropped his glass in surprise and the crystal shattered into a million pieces.

"Apologies for my clumsiness Adar." Legolas begged as a servant quickly came to remove the broken shards from the floor. He knew that dropping the wine glass would only cause more worry. Elves were not supposed to break things, unless done on purpose. This had been a complete accident. He could feel his father's watchful eyes staring at him worriedly and he looked away as if he were an elfling again, being reproached for something he'd done wrong.

"Forgiven." Thranduil replied, waving off his apology. "Look at me Legolas." When Legolas averted his eyes noticeably at his request, Thranduil moved his hand under his son's chin and turned his head roughly toward him. "You will look into my eyes Legolas. There is nothing to be afraid of. I cannot see behind them as you once allowed me to. I can, however, trace that you are distressed and I could perhaps help you if you would only tell me why."

"You have not guessed why!?" Legolas snarled, breaking away, just as a servant entered the room, bowing and begging pardon. He handed Legolas another glass of red wine, but Thranduil snatched it quickly away and placed it onto the table as Legolas began pacing actively, muttering and expressing much that he had felt in the past few days. He spoke of his feelings for Faerfain, his thoughts of his mother, his grief for Termara, his worry for his own father, his disgust at himself and his hate for Astald.

All the while, Thranduil listened intently, his gaze never leaving his son as he spoke. He had the plainest of expressions upon his face, neither worried nor sympathetic. He nodded only twice: the first being when Legolas vehemently spoke of Astald's terrible deeds and the second being when Legolas brought up the subject of how he had seen his father cry after his mother's death. At this Thranduil stopped his plain gaze and seemed to be holding back hurt of his own, but awe at Legolas's open heart and how he spoke so truly of everything he had felt.

Legolas finally finished speaking and sat down in his chair, swirling his wine glass absent mindedly. He suddenly felt much better over everything and after clearing his throat, said delicately, "Well Adar. I apologize for being outspoken- again."

"It was not outspoken my son." Thranduil replied gently.

"My Adar." Legolas answered, the words rolling off his lips with comfort, knowing that he still had his father and that he felt stability within that aspect of his life, that their family would be together always.

Thranduil smiled and said, standing to his feet, "I toast to you for your valiantly spoken words. And to you also for becoming the first elf in the history of Mirkwood to break a wine glass on accident..." He held up his glass and Legolas smiled in reply, and both father and son laughed together, amidst all that darkness. They found hope inside of themselves, inside of knowing that they were together as they always had been.

There I actually ended on a happy note there...lol. Well I think it's happy compared to everything else so far lol. I hope you really enjoyed it! Please please please review it and tell me whatcha think!
More coming soon!