See part one for disclaimer. Responses to reviews at end of chapter.
Encroaching Darkness Part 20
By Ecri
Legolas heard the voices all around him calling to Estel, and he longed to join his own voice to such a cry. His body would not heed his commands, however, and, no matter how hard he struggled, there was no chance that he could do something even as simple as opening his eyes.
He felt then a hand on his own left hand, and someone came behind him, shifting him slightly, gently, so that his battered body would lean against this solid strength. Another touch upon his right hand, and another solid presence on that side of him and he was bathed in that longed for feeling of security he'd thought he'd lost forever. He lost himself for some time–a moment or a year, he could not tell–as he drifted in this comfort, this warmth, this soothing feeling that impregnable protection surrounded him.
A voice called out to him then, softly, but urgently, seeking some sign that he yet lived beyond the shallow breath that was all the movement he could accomplish. "Legolas," the voice called. A familiar voice to be sure, which lent itself to this cloak of safety he felt wrapped around him.
"Legolas, come, my son, awake."
Sonson? The voicecould it behe struggled to open his eyes, but failing once again, thought of speaking. His throat was sore and felt as though something was lodged there still, but, trying to ignore this, he swallowed and tried to speak.
"Ada" He croaked out the word, his voice sounding all the more human to his ears for its hoarseness.
The grips on both his hands tightened slightly. He cleared his throat, but instead of improving his voice, he began to choke as the utter dryness of it demanded water.
He felt a cup placed to his lips. A trickle of clear cold water touched his throat and he began to gulp greedily. "Easy, my son!" The voice was alarmed and Legolas almost smiled, but he had not the strength for such a thing. "You must not drink too much at once."
Forcing his eyes open regardless of how they fought him, Legolas looked up into his father's face. He could barely believe it. "Ada?" He whispered the word again unintentionally making it a question.
Thranduil smiled. "Yes, my son, I am here."
Legolas watched Thranduil look across him to someone else even as he heard another familiar voice.
"Legolas, it is good to see you awake."
Legolas heard his brother's voice and turned too quickly towards it aggravating a pain in his head that he had felt for so long that he had managed to forget it, accepting it as normal. "Aglarelen!" He squeezed his brother's hand. "How did you wake from that unnatural sleep?"
He saw his brother cast a wary look at his father, and realized it was a look he had not seen in decades. It was one his brother wore whenever he had been caught trying to keep something from his father. "Ada, I"
"Later, my son." The King whispered, and Legolas smiled to hear the light, teasing tone. "I will hear all about the things you have kept from me once Legolas is well."
Legolas coughed again, the pain of it forcing his eyes shut. When it was at last dispelled, he took a shallow breath. With a start, the young prince sat up, ignoring the pain and protests of his family. "Estel!" He looked with wide eyes at his father. "How is Estel? I heard voices calling to him! Is he well?"
When his father refused to answer, he began to struggle until Thranduil finally spoke. "Hush, my son. He is being cared for."
"Where? Where is he?" When Thranduil did not reply, Legolas called out to his friend. "Estel? Estel, mellonin!"
Thranduil gestured to Aglarelen and the two carefully maneuvered Legolas into a position from which he could look upon Estel even as the others tended his injuries. Legolas watched in fear as his dearest friend seemed not to respond.
**
Saruman approached the human trying to appear concerned for the young man's life. He needed to get closer to the whelp to be able to attempt this spell. It would not tax him overmuch if he were close enough to lay his hands upon the young man. Any great distance between him and his target and perhaps the use of magic might be detected. The others had crowded around the youth in their fear for him, and certainly his own assistance would be lauded.
He listened to the elves and Gandalf as they spoke of their worries, whispered of medicines, and conferred over treatments. Always there was a fear behind Elrond's eyes, which astonished Saruman. He had known Elrond had taken the child in long ago, but why so much worry for one man? It was no matter to him, however. The Lord of Imladris could take in whatever pets he wished.
Elrond, of all the Elf Lords, had always shown an inappropriate interest in the World of Men. Saruman had presumed it was out of some remnant of loyalty to his centuries dead brother. Elros' choice, some said, haunted the Elf Lord to this day, and Saruman found it puzzling. To choose a mortal life when immortality was yours for the asking was stupefying to Saruman's mind.
Saruman watched as Gandalf assessed Estel's condition, then waited for the Grey Wizard to defer to his judgement. When Gandalf looked at him, a question plain in his eyes, Saruman placed a hand on Aragorn's chest, closed his eyes, and forced a frown upon his face so that they who watched him would assume he was troubled over the Ranger's condition.
The White Wizard delved deep into the man's mind. He found a surprising strength of will, and found it more difficult than he had expected to keep himself unnoticed. Not that it truly mattered, as there was only one way this could end.
The Wizard sifted through memories, waded through fears and nightmares, and yet he could find no way to confirm this Estel as Heir of Isildur. No matter. If he was, the man would die soon, and that problem would be eliminated. If he was not, he would still die soon, and Sauron would be none the wiser when Saruman reported that the Future King had been killed.
Ignoring the Ranger's mind, Saruman focused on his heart. He sought the rhythm of the body, and, when he had found it, he disrupted it. It was a simple spell to cast, but it would be difficult, even for a Maia, to trace the problem back to the intervention of magic. Human hearts were so fragile after all. Once the heartbeat became irregular, the skipped beats would only increase. By morning, the man would be no more.
Saruman pulled his hand away and allowed a look of sadness to cloud his eyes. "There is naught we can do. He is dying." He laced the words with grief, with compassion, and with the smallest hint of disbelief to convey that he had been certain he could help. He would laugh over the gullibility of elves once he was safely in Orthanc.
**
Aragorn was adrift in pain. He sensed naught but the pounding in his head. He felt it with each breath, with each beat of his heart. So distracted was he by this agony that he almost missed the strange sensation when it came. It was a subtle thing at first; the disturbing touch of a small insect crawling upon your arm; the feather-light caress of a line of webbing from a spider web hanging in the branches of Mirkwood.
Then it grew, and the ferocity of it made him struggle. He felt as though he was backed into a corner trying in vain to escape the inescapable. Something held him more firmly than a web. Something walked through his mind more insidiously then an insect might stroll across his bare skin.
It sought something from him. It tore at his mind and seemed not to care what disarray and destruction it left in its wake. He felt violated as this force, this vile evil, moved through his mind, his memories, and became more and more determined to force some secret from him.
He concentrated on his mind, imagining walls around his most treasured memories. The ones he built around his love for Arwen and around his true identity as Heir of Isildur he imagined unassailable. In truth, he knew the only secret worth possessing about him was the carefully guarded secret of his lineage. If that were discovered, his love for Arwen, and hers for him, could become a more insidious weapon than orc poison.
Desperation to shield himself, to keep safe all that he loved, drove him. More sturdy than the Tower of Ecthelion, more enduring than the thickest rock walls, stronger then mithril, he built the walls around himselfaround his identity, his secrets, and his love. With each passing moment, the walls became thicker and sturdier, and he hoped only to feel the intruder leave him. The more impregnable his defenses, however, the more insidious was the enemy. Each time he thought he had won, the assault would begin again.
It has to end soon, he thought. Ada! Help me! His cries went unanswered.
He felt the sensation shift again, but he could not trust it and did not cease. He continued to build the walls of his defense, and when he could conceive of no way to make them stronger, he huddled behind them pleading Eru to protect him.
He felt the strange alteration in the rhythm of his heart but was neither immediately nor consciously aware of it. After a few moments, however, the increased irregularity was hard to ignore.
Pain shot out from his heart, and Aragorn wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and lose himself to it, but fear stopped him. Fear held him firm. What if this were some distraction? What if the pain was meant to draw his attention from the defenses he'd built? What if someone sought the Heir of Isildur and thought, perhaps, it was him? He could not let such a thing be revealed. He made a choice sure he would never know if it was genius or foolhardiness. He clung to the pain as he would to a raft on a swiftly flowing river until it robbed him of conscious thought.
**
Celeborn knew there was little he could do. He was no healer, and Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir were quite capable of healing their young oneassuming he could be healed. He watched from a short distance away, concern creasing his brow when young Estel failed to respond. The worry in his wife's eyes told him things did not go well for the Hope of Men.
He was relived to see Gandalf approach the small group, but Saruman's approach surprised him. Saruman was not considered a healer. Gandalf on occasion had practiced the healing arts, but Saruman showed little interest in such things preferring to study ancient lore.
Celeborn drifted closer watching the two Wizards. Saruman held a hand out over Estel and placed it upon his chest. His eyes were closed, and it seemed the Istar could sense the human's condition. With a great and weary sigh, Saruman, the image of sorrow, spoke to the elves. "There is naught that we can do. He is dying."
"NO!"
The voice was loud and assured and so unexpected that every head swiveled to look at he who had spoken. Legolas, unable to hold himself erect–still cradled by his father and brother–looked defiantly at the White Wizard. "That cannot be so! He must live! He will live!" He tore his eyes from the Istar's face and directed his next words to Aragorn.
"Estel!" He spoke in tones so loud that Celeborn's eyes grew wide. The young prince had always been so soft spoken that he would never have guessed him capable of so stentorian a tone, especially given his current state of exhaustion. "Estel! Lasto beth nin! Tolo dan nan galad! Tolo, gwadornin! Tolo dan nan galad!"
Celeborn's attention drifted back to Elrond, whom he could not help but look upon as a son. As Legolas continued to speak, Elrond's anxiety seemed to melt away to be replaced by something else. When Elrond looked up and caught Celeborn's eye, Celeborn knew what change the Prince had wrought. If Legolas' cries had not revived his friend, they had certainly stirred Lord Elrond's determination to see his son live.
Celeborn stepped closer to the knot of elves and wizards that encircled the Ranger, and asked softly if there was anything he could do.
Elrond nodded. "I will need to bring more medicines." With that he rose, and gestured for Celeborn to sit where he had been. Celeborn did and, taking Aragorn's hand, looked to his wife. Galadriel offered him a small smile, a slight nod, and took Aragorn's other hand.
Quietly, with no one the wiser, the two ancient elves offered their grace to this young Ranger who had touched the lives of their family. The Lord and Lady, speaking spirit to spirit, sought to strengthen the mortal's tenuous hold on life.
Come, Estel. You cannot leave Middle-earth this way. Celeborn could not say if Aragorn would hear his thoughts, but he offered them anyway.
Estel moaned.
Celeborn spoke loudly, using his most commanding tone. "Estel Elrondion, your life cannot yet end! Tolo dan nan galad!"
Galadriel did not speak aloud, choosing instead to offer her own words directly to Aragorn's heart and mind. Elessar I have named you and Elessar you shall be. Do not throw away this life you have barely begun to lead. Tolo dan nan galad. Am meleth dînam Arwen Undomieltolo dan nan galad. (Come back to the light. For her lovefor Arwen Undomielcome back to the light.)
Celeborn did not know how long they remained with Estel, but he became aware of Elrond rejoining them and of the sweet smell of athelas and the clean aroma of other healing herbs, which Elrond used to chase Shadow and treat the bruised body of his son.
When at last they heard Elrond's authoritative voice commanding Estel not to give in to the darkness, Celeborn and Galadriel opened their eyes.
Celeborn felt the hand he held, Estel's hand, squeeze his own. He smiled at the progress they had made. He looked to Galadriel who merely nodded, but he knew what that nod meant. Estel had not given up. He was fighting for his life.
**
Elrond knelt by Estel's side, his mind automatically ticking off which herbs in what combinations he should try should his current attempt bring about no change in his son. He was glad for the company of Galadriel, Celeborn, and of Gandalf, for, even if they could do nothing, their silent support bolstered him.
Elrond placed a hand on Estel's head, feeling for changes. He was barely aware of Saruman's approach, and, as the White Wizard asked after Estel's condition, Elrond was seized by the unshakable conviction that his son would die.
His thoughts were confirmed when Saruman, checking Estel for himself, made his own dire diagnosis. "There is naught that we can do. He is dying."
"NO!"
Elrond whipped around to stare at Legolas whom he had not known was conscious. Though he was weak and pale, the strength in Legolas' eyes, the passion of his convictions, shook the Elf Lord, making him blink as though coming awake from some strange dream.
Legolas spoke again. Trembling with barely contained rage at the White Wizard who had announced his friend's imminent end, Legolas spit his words at the Istar. "That cannot be so! He must live! He will live!" He tore his eyes from the Istar's face and directed his next words to Aragorn. "Estel!" He cried, and Elrond glanced at Celeborn seeing that the Lord shared his surprise at the sheer strength in Legolas' voice as the young prince's words echoed through Middle-earth. "Estel! Lasto beth nin! Tolo dan nan galad! Tolo, gwadornin! Tolo dan nan galad!"
Elrond blinked rapidly shaking his head. He had developed a minor ache behind his eyes, and as it increased, so, too, did his conviction that Legolas was right. Estel must live.
Designating Lord Celeborn to take his place by Estel's side, Elrond busied himself with his herbs and mixtures wondering why he had thought to give up on his son so soon. He would normally not have thought of such a thing, and certainly, if he had, his twins would have berated him for it. Instead, Elladan had agreed with Saruman that there was little they could do. Elrohir, on the other hand, still pleaded with Estel to awaken.
It wasn't until Elrond had heard Legolas' voice–Legolas, whom he had assumed was near death himself!–that he had realized that there were still some things he could try. Aragorn must be allowed every chance to recover.
As he worked, the Lord of Imladris became aware of Glorfindel sitting by the fire, and only then did he realize how late it had become. "Are you well, my friend?" His question seemed to take his dear friend by surprise for Glorfindel appeared startled.
"I am well. Tend to your son. When you have cured Estel, look to Elrohir, and do not let him tell you he is fine."
Glorfindel's words stopped Elrond's heart. He looked at Elrohir, who sat near his young brother, pleading with Estel to return to them. He had not given up.
He blinked then in surprise when he noted that Saruman had moved. It seemed sudden and strange, but Saruman must have followed Elrond when he left his son's side to fix more medicine. Saruman was at his elbow and the Istar's eyes were on him. When the White Wizard spoke, he used sympathetic words telling Elrond to look to Elrohirthat Elrond must save the living before they joined the dead.
Fear gripped him. He could not lose Estel and Elrohir both! Frantic eyes searched Elrohir for some sign or clue that would bear out both Saruman's and Glorfindel's words as well as his own fear. His son seemed well, but there was something about him. There was a look of great fatigue around the eyes, and, every few moments, he seemed to shake his head as though to clear it. Yes, Elrohir needed attention.
A hand reached up and gripped his arm hard enough to leave bruises. Elrond looked to the source of that surprisingly firm grip and saw Glorfindel looking up at him with a reassuring smile. "See to him after you have saved Estel, Elrond. You run out of time."
Elrond nodded, unsure what had happened. His thoughts for Estel had raced from his mindfor Elrohir's sake, certainly, but still, his worry for Elrohir had seemed abruptly to grow to encompass his entire being. Glorfindel's touch had shifted his perspective back again, butwho was to say which son should be tended first?
I am to say! I am a healer! Elrond berated himself and blamed his strange state on the spell of the Blue Wizards, though he was not certain that truly was the source of his peculiarly shifting thoughts.
Shaking himself, he rushed once more to Estel's side. Administering no small amount of athelas onto the more serious wounds, he then held a small cup–a combination of water and several potent plants–to Aragorn's lips and forced him to drink. It took some help from Celeborn, but between the two, they were able to get the Ranger to drink every drop.
"I have done what I can." Elrond whispered, the cup still in his hand and his body slumped.
Saruman stepped closer to Elrond and reached out a hand to assist the Elf Lord in rising. "No one can do more than that. He will live or die now by Iluvatar's will."
Elrond nodded, feeling an odd sense of defeat and despair wash over him. Why Saruman's words should so affect him, he could not say, but they had. Elrond felt he had not the smallest hope that Estel would live.
The emotional extremes to which he found himself subject dizzied him. Intense and often contrary thoughts warred for dominance within him, and Elrond found his strength waning quickly.
His gaze fell upon Elrohir, and he remembered Glorfindel's words. "Elrohir, are you well?"
Elrohir nodded, but before he could say a word, Elrond cut him off. "The truth my son."
Elrohir closed his mouth and considered his answer. "I know not. I seem not myself. My perceptions seem off. Things go too slowly, or else I do. Ior perhaps the things around meseem to go either at great speed or at the most languid pace I could imagine."
Elrond frowned as Elrohir stopped. "What of your head?"
"Ithurts." Elrohir finished lamely. He looked a bit puzzled. "How did you know I was not myself?"
"Glorfindel"
"Glorfindel?" Elrohir cut off his father's words. "He suffers the same malady!"
Elrond turned to face a chagrined Glorfindel.
"I did not lie." He claimed. "I merely assumed that if you could cure him, I would then be able to ask you to give me the same remedy."
Elrond smiled. He would have laughed, but he lacked the energy. Wearily, the Lord looked from his son to his friend and back again. Gesturing for Elrohir to seat himself beside Glorfindel, he took a seat in front of them. "Tell me everything."
**
Gandalf watched Saruman as the White Wizard assessed the wounded Ranger. He had wished for Saruman's presence as he had fought Alatar, but he had not dared hope the other Maia would appear. It seemed a great gift.
His troubled eyes lingered on the Ranger, this Hope of Men, knowing that few in Middle-earth knew the truth of it. Elrond and his family knew, most certainly, and Legolas and his family knew as well. He smiled at that thought. The bonds of friendship these two most reluctant princes of Middle-earth had forged surpassed any thought of hiding such things. The loyalty between the two was unshakable, and, Gandalf knew, would serve each in good stead.
Aside from those few, and the one or two of the Dúnedain, Estel's identity as Heir of Isildur was a well-guarded secret. He had forbidden each who knew from passing the knowledge along. Already, too many knew this thing for his liking, and he would not have each pass the secret along to one other trusted friend, who might also pass it on in the same way. Everyone trusted someone, and it took only one who was not worthy of such trust to cause the ruin of all.
He had not told anyone himself of Estel's secret, including Saruman, the head of his order. Why he was reticent to share this secret he could not say, but, as in all things, he followed Iluvatar's will. He could think of no reason not to tell The White Wizard, but whenever in the past he had tried, the words would not come, and the secret remained unshared.
As he heard Saruman's reluctant words that Aragorn would die, he felt a great sorrow and depression engulf him, which was only partially dispelled by Legolas' cry. He could expect nothing else from the gentle soul. Bedraggled and beaten, wounded and weak, Legolas' first thought would forever be for the reluctant would-be King. Fellowship had grown between the two that rivaled any he had ever witnessed in all his long years. Saruman's words, however, could not be gainsaid. Gandalf had no cause to doubt it. If Saruman said Estel would die, it was unlikely the Ranger would live to see morning.
As Legolas insisted otherwise he felt an irrational hope blossom in his own soul. Why that should be so was a puzzle, but it was as though Legolas' words came from an authority even higher than Saruman. Preposterous, Gandalf thought, and yet
The Grey Wizard cast a critical eye over the injured Prince of Mirkwood. If only he had strength enough to examine Legolas now and determine what had stolen his immortal, elven nature. There was no familiar elven glow. He had indeed lost the Light of the Eldar. His labored breathing, his slow healing, the obvious intensity of the pain that wracked his frame no matter how he tried to hide it from those who loved himall proved him human.
What, then, would give a formerly elven human any insight into Estel's condition? Was it wishful thinking? Relatively unfamiliar with the concept of death was Legolas merely unwilling to taste that most bitter draught of the human experience? Was he projecting grief and fear when he demanded that Estel could not die?
Legolas turned then and his eyes locked on Gandalf's. Elf-turned-human and Wizard stared for some time into the depth of each other's souls. Gandalf was quick to note that Legolas' fëa seemed better than it had in the cave. He did not know if being inside the cave could have hurt one who was no longer an elf, but being in the open air certainly seemed to help. He put a question in his eyes, and Legolas, with a slight nod and a slighter upwards curve of the corners of his mouth–more of a suggestion of a smile than a smile itself–gave him the permission he sought.
He examined Legolas' spirit as he had not been able to since breaking the connection inside the cavern when he had gathered his strength to destroy Alatar. He was pleased with what he found. Legolas' fëa still showed some sign of his recent experience, but the healing was rapid. Strength was what he felt, and, though there was little of it, it was growing.
You are healing, Legolas. Gandalf did not expect an answer, and, when he got one, he smiled. This young one had spent his life surprising those around him.
Estel? Is Estel healing as well?
Gandalf's smile grew. Are your thoughts always for others, young prince, or is it something about this man that draws your loyalty? In Legolas' reply, the Grey Wizard heard his unshakable conviction.
He is well. He will be well.
How do you know this? Gandalf had to know.
Gandalf could not have been more surprised by the next words Legolas uttered.
How do you not know it?
After saying so, Legolas' fëa seemed to soar, strength pouring back into it from only Eru knew where. Gandalf watched in amazement as Legolas' certainty, loyalty, and convictionhis very faith in all in which he believedopened to him instantly. If it had been a light, the very glow of it would have blinded Gandalf. If it had been warmth, the very heat would have melted his bones. The gift then, of this particular child of Eru was in his faith. Once kindled, it seemed nigh impossible to alter it in any way. He believed Estel would be well, and truly could not comprehend why anyone would say or think otherwise. It was a gift surely, but Gandalf could not help but wonder, if he believed so resolutely in such things, what scars would he bear if the unthinkable were to happen?
If someone he believed would not die, did in fact move on to the next life, would this young one then follow, or would he live irrevocably altered in the face of such a thing that he must surely view as betrayal?
He sighed heavily, weary from the turnings of his own mind. Legolas was right and that was all he need consider at the moment. Estel, the Hope of Men, could not be allowed to slip away without every effort being made to save him. He could forgive Saruman's words, for, by Gandalf's own failures–or Eru's will–Saruman knew not of whom he spoke.
Gandalf looked to Elrond who had even now moved off to mix another of his medicines as Celeborn took his place offering what comfort could be offered to a man whose awareness was questionable.
Once Elrond returned, Gandalf tried to touch Aragorn's fëa in much the way he had touched Legolas'. As Elrond's elixir was forced down the man's throat, Gandalf sought some hint that the man's recovery was imminent. Instead, he felt nothing.
The Ranger yet breathed, and his heart seemed still to beat, though with a growing irregularity, but why then could Gandalf find no hint of his intelligence, his spirit, his identity? His fëa was gone. It was as though Elrond worked to heal an empty shell.
To Be Continued
Joee1: and thenthis? Hope you liked it!
Fire Eagle: Thanks! Next chapter soon, too!
Mcat: Glad to hear it! Okay, I won't let up!
Strider's Girl: I can't have everyone figuring out Saruman is evil before Tolkien intends them to find out. Well, maybe I canI don't know. I have to think about it.
Silvertoekee: Saruman's sneaky, isn't he? Thanks for the review. I hope you like this chapter!
Tychen: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like the characters! Plenty more to come!
Leggylover03: Sorrycan't help it. Cliffie's Anonymous doesn't really help.
Grumpy: Yeah, I've got some plans for Glorfindel!
Catherinexxix: Thank you thank you thank you! I'm glad you like Thranduil and the other characters and relationships. It means a lot. I'm forever trying to find a balance between emotion and action, and I'm a little close to the story and can't always tell if I'm doing it. Thanks again! Hope you liked this chapter.
White Wolf1: Thanks! I wanted to put in more about the brothers left behind in Mirkwood, but the muse is demanding! I'm glad you liked what I did include! Saruman always overestimates himself! More of him in future chapters.
Isadora2: Thanks! Wow, your review was good for my ego! Yes, it is pure bliss when a story takes over like this one has, only I can't seem to type fast enough to keep up with the thoughts in my head!
Asha Dreamweaver: I won't know that for a while. My muse is rather tight-lipped. I'm glad you like the story. Thanks for reviewing.
Jadesaber: Thanks! I'm thrilled you like it! Thanks for reviewing. More soon!
Gwyn: Thanks! Thranduil is becoming rather popular! Glad you like it!
Chloe Amethyst: You've got me blushing! Thanks! I work really hard on those family relationships, and it means so much when it comes through to the reader! Elrond has been through the ringer. He's had a lot to deal with, and neither son is out of the woods yet! I haven't decided yet if Legolas will remember what Saruman did, but I do have some plans for Saruman!
Elven Kitten: Aww. You don't really think I'd kill him, do you?
Templa Otmena: Thanks! You're reviews are wonderful! Longer than some fic chapters I've read! Hee! There's definitely more with Elrohir and Glorfindel. I'm still working out some of the details, but there will be more in the next couple of chapters. (LOL! I've never been called a "canny" author before! I like it! Oh, I suppose that wasn't really a compliment? Hee!) I'm thrilled you like the little lines you keep quoting back to me! It makes my day when some line particularly resonates with someone. To me, the emotional level, the emotional involvement in a story is what draws me. I guess that's why I write it this way! I love that you love Legolas' family and the way I've written them. Especially since most of them are OC, and based only on what I've read about elves in general and then projected onto the situation in Mirkwood and what little (frustratingly little) Tolkien tells us about Legolas and Thranduil. LOL! I can see you do tend to dissect Saruman's character! Glad to oblige! This fic will be a learning experience for him, because there is a lot he's misinterpreting. Thanks so much for taking the time to give me such a detailed review! It's always a joy to read what you've got to say!