"None can enter the Woodland Realm during the time of mourning." Even the guards sounded like they had been crying, and Elrond was close to full-fledged panic as he turned to face the voice that had spoken from the trees, fear bringing anger in its wake as he glared down at the figure in Mirkwood green and brown. He was fully aware of the arrows – still loose to the strings, but quite able to be drawn long before he could act to protect himself – all pointed towards him if he should dare try to bolt into the trees past them.

"Do you know me, Guardsman?" He knew he must look quite intimidating with his honour guard flanking him and his most belittling stare fixed upon his brow.

"Who you are is nothing to me, My Lord. None means just that. No person no matter their position." The guard replied, showing remarkable courage against the show of force.

He longed for Mithrandir's wisdom. Or at least his keen common sense. He would be able to talk these guards out of this curious defiance, and would have them leading them both peacefully into Mirkwood, mourning or no. It occurred to Elrond that announcing his identity would probably not help his case in the middle of Mirkwood.

"My sons are within your realm. I fear they are injured, for their horses returned home without them. I must see them."

"You will wait here until the mourning is done."

"Who do you mourn, Guardsman? How long must I wait?"

"A troupe of guards, seven in all, fell into the trap of Dol Guldur. They were brought home by a man, a stranger to our lands. Rumour says none survived."

"Soldiers are lost often in times of strife, this uncertain peace has been hard on all of us; why such severe mourning? Do your borders close every time you lose a soldier?"

"These were our youngest, and our best. It has been harsh on all, and there is cause for mourning. But… there have been other rumours…" Looking from side to side to ensure they were not being circled by foes as he talked to this newcomer, the soldier they had been speaking with stepped out of the trees.

"Tell me." Elrond urged.

"Rumours that say our Prince was among them." The guard allowed a moment for Elrond to absorb this news. "We have long known that he chose to join one of the guards; but which one is kept a secret, so that duties can be assigned without bias. His King does not approve of these actions; he would have him learning politics and law, not warfare. But Mirkwood has too much need for him to be turned down, and he is highly skilled and well trained. There has long been a rumour that he was invited into the troupe of young ones – our very best. The troupe that now lies in our Kings halls dead."

"Your… your youngest Prince?" Elrond brought himself to say.

"Mirkwood has only one Prince. The elder died shortly after the war of the last alliance. He was too young to see such grief, such immortal death." The soldier frowned at the elven lord. "Word is slow indeed to the Last Homely House if you have not heard this news." Elrond was startled for a moment before he realised that they were all wearing the colours of Imladris.

"Imladris has long been deaf to the word of Mirkwood."

"And yet you now come…"

"What do you know of those that returned? What of the man?"

"I know only what filters through as the guards change. I know only what others speak of."

"And what do others speak of?" The soldier looked away, composed himself.

"That the Prince knew the sons of Elrond… intimately. That they may have been with him in the end." A sideways look. The soldier knew who he was, Elrond realised, or thought he did and wanted confirmation. The look of horror on his face was probably enough to confirm it.

"Then they are… they did not…"

"Only seven were taken into the halls. Three more there were also, two were taken in haste to the halls of healing. I know one of those three was the man… there is a chance the others were… But I know little, and none can enter into the woods in the times of mourning."

"How long must I wait? Would you send a runner for me? To ask your Kings permission to enter, and to plead for any news he might have of my sons and the man that returned his soldiers to him."

"Twelve days more, a fortnight from their return. After that we begin to rebuild lives that are broken and recover from this loss." A wave of his hand caused a rustle of leaves that was a messenger's departure.

"My thanks to you."

"Come. Share our camp. We will wait with you for news."

Regret now tainted the silence of contemplation that hung heavily between the twins. They knew that it had been their harsh words that had forced Aragorn into consenting to leave the wood, offering barely a word of farewell as he collected his belongings and rode for the border. Confusion brought new thoughts to them, for now it became obvious that if they were truly to strive for the light there was much that needed to be dealt with - wounds in their hearts that needed some treatment to stop them bleeding to death before they had a chance to heal.

Food was brought day after day, always with an invitation to join the King and his court for the next meal. Always turned down, the food often left untouched. Healers visited regularly to change dressings and check that healing was progressing. Though the flesh wounds were quick to disappear and fade to naught, still the wounds of the heart remained untouched, and only the oaths to each other held them to that path, forbidding their surrender. When alone they talked little, simply holding each other as they fought to conquer the most terrible pain of loss.

A week after Aragorn's departure they lay together, to find a release from the pain in the throes of passion. And for a time it seemed to work, and the pain seemed more distant. But it was soon revealed to be a temporary measure, and more temporary than most. When, nearing completion, Elrohir reached out for their third and had his hand close on naught but air, something caught on his heart as skin catches on a thorn. He screamed Legolas' name in climax, more pain than joy, and they came together in sorrow, Elladan wrapping his arms around Elrohir's middle as they sobbed for love lost.

Their eyes met, later, when the tears were finished for the day and both felt emptied and wrung out. It had felt like betrayal, they agreed, and silently promised that it would be done no more.

It was here that their fate was decided, for if no consolation or love can be found for the living after the love's death there is nothing but doom for them. Though there was still great love between the Peredhil twins, both needed more than the other to fill the wound left raw many centuries before.

They were shivering, as if humans wracked by chills. Elrohir lay curled in the lap of his brother, who sat in the corner of the room, supported by the two walls. And they shivered. Elrohir started as a pair of hands came into view, easing a thick blanket around their shoulders.

"It is not the cold that chills." Elladan spoke softly, looking up into the eyes of a father who had lost his son and felt the grief near as strong as they.

"I know. But a warm blanket is always a welcome comfort in times of strife, chill or no." Thranduil spoke, taking a seat nearby.

"Legolas… he used to hate leaving the bed each morn, for love of warm blankets." Elrohir fought the gathering tears with a clenched jaw. A splash of water on the crown of his head said that Elladan had been unable to restrain his.

"I have never had a chance to properly speak with you, sons of Elrond, for each time the name of your father got in the way of civil conversation. Now I think I have been unwise to allow such an age-old folly come between myself and those my son would love."

"There is time still, to ask what you would." Elladan acknowledged softly, understanding the contrition that brought the Elven-King to them.

"So little has been spoken, between the Woodland Realm and Imladris this last age. There is much I have missed in Middle Earth. I knew nothing of Elrond's sons until my son brought you to my doorstep with a guilty look in his eye."

"And nothing but love and innocence in his heart." Thranduil looked to Elrohir sharply then, but Elrohir's eyes were fixed upon the far wall, his mind reliving some horrific moment.

"Aye, he was innocent then, and thankfully so. Had he been born two and a half millenia earlier to my first wife he might have been witness to his brother's waning, and his mother's soon after. As a child of my second wife he has been more easily protected from such things. He was so young when his own mother fell to grief. Too young to remember."

"We had not known that you had lost your Queen in such a way." Elladan spoke into the pause left by the King, deep in his own thought for a moment.

"We know well of the grieving sickness in these halls." In these words there was a promise. Not of protection from the matters of heart that drew them into dark places, but for care and love whilst this journey took place. A small pocket of tension was loosened with those words, and a barrier of formality was brought down between the twins and the King.

"Our mother did not pass through her violation, though at times it seemed she might. She took another path to escape those thoughts that haunted her dreams."

"I have heard nothing of the wife of Elrond. Will you tell me of her?" There was a hesitation and Elrohir reached out to grasp Elladan's hand to his heart - a silent encouragement.

"We were all well in advance of 2000 years when the darkness came to our household. Our mother was waylaid on the snowy tracks of the Redhorn Pass by orcs. Her escort scattered and slain, she was taken and fearful torment was laid upon her… We retrieved her. All who had touched her were scoured from this land, but our father could not reach her, and she passed over sea a little less than a year later."

"Many were the years we spent grieving her loss," Elrohir took over, his voice soft. "Occupying our minds with battle, joining the Dúnedain against the orcs of the Misty Mountains. Striving to clear the passes again."

"Centuries of numbness, thinking of nothing but the sword, the bow, the enemy."

"That was no way to live." Thranduil spoke, breaking the twinned gaze and bringing their attention outwards once more.

"No, that was not living at all. We saw men come and go, love and lose, grow old and die before our eyes. Four generations of men fought alongside us."

"And it took us this long to find ourselves across the river, in to your lands and in to the arms of your son." They shared a smile at the thought of that first fateful meeting.

"We were retreating, the orcs had temporarily overwhelmed us." Elladan began speaking again slowly, unsure how these memories would come across at such a time, yet gathering momentum as a rock beginning a ponderous descent when it seemed that they were all desperate to talk of him - a near taboo topic. "We scattered into the trees as was out standard method of escape, but the orcs chose to follow us. We planned to rejoin the Dúnedain at the camp once we had lost the orcs. It was rare for them to be so determined, they followed us until dawn. We found we had crossed the ford and we were closer to your realm than home. Desperate for escape we headed for the trees, hoping to get under cover. As we approached arrows from your border guards cleared our retreat and we were accepted into your ranks for the day." The flow faltered, and Elrohir took over, his voice still dull and empty.

"We were offered treatment for our wounds and it was here that we met Legolas. He was barely eighty, yet carried himself like a warrior of many years more. It was only after all danger had passed that his true nature shone through and he was like a child again."

"Long did Mirkwood strive to protect her children from the darkness overtaking the south." Thranduil's voice startled them both from the shrinking world of the other's voice. "We did not wish to raise our children to the horror and pain of war. I lost my first daughter and son in the war of the last alliance. My wife soon after to the grief of the loss of my children. We isolated the woodland realm's children from the darkness, and yet as soon as they came of age they were thrust into it. We lost many youngsters before we realised that it was necessary to introduce them to the darkness, and train them to defend themselves against it to keep them safe when they were grown.

"Thus, training began at infancy. Soon we had created some of the best warriors this land had seen. Seven elves, the son of my second wife included, were brought up this way before the elves of this land decided that the forest was too darkened to take new life and nurture it as was needed. People think I know nothing of my son's actions because I have no wish to know. But how could I not? He and those few his age are those who's achievements are most bittersweet. We are so proud, and yet how can we be glad to see the innocents we have created turned into warriors of such formidable strength, such relentless fury?"

The next day, the twins woke from their extended slumber late in the day, the sun low and red-tinted as it caught through the drapes. Elrohir found his gaze drawn to the bedside table, where a parcel had been left. He reached over and drew a book out of the simple paper wrapping.

"What do you have there?" Elladan asked drowsily.

"'Firith has finally started,'" Elrohir read aloud, having opened the book to a random page. "'The leaves are turning, and I am to leave with the troupe tomorrow, a border patrol.'"

"His journals." Elladan smiled. "I remember him working on them once in Imladris." Elrohir turned a page, and his smile faltered as he read what was written there in the softened Tengwar scrawl that they knew so well.

"'Daef seems over excited, I think it is because Túrith is joining us. The two are very close.'" A glance exchanged.

"He did know their names." Some how this brought a lump to Elladan's throat. "He would have wanted them to know, I would wager he did not even realise what appearance his misled sense of propriety was giving."

"They loved him just the same, and they will know now while they are together in Mandos Halls." Elrohir soothed, reaching out to cup Elladan's cheek and meet his eyes.

"Damn his hard-headed father and his principals."

"Gently, Dan. He has lost his son in this blackest shadow."

"And would he have, had it not been for his blindness?"

"Legolas would not have allowed himself to be coddled in such a way. We cannot blame Thranduil for this any more than we can blame Legolas himself."

"And why not, how easy it would be to blame his recklessness for this darkness. This fugue that settles over my mind."

"We can not blame him for something that was not in his power to avoid. There is naught to do now save accept what has happened and look to what will happen next."

Later that day the two were wrapped in a thick blanket once more on the soft seat as they worked their way through the most intimate notes of their lover, long before any of them had met Daefindir or Minastir.

"'Two Noldor elves, wounded, arrived in camp. Lors is treating their wounds. Lindir and Erestor, they are too like to not be twins. I think they are lying about their names."

"I don't even remember hiding our identities.'" Elladan spoke with a smile.

"You were unconscious, but the deception didn't last very long. You came round and announced both of our names almost simultaneously in one sentence. It was quite embarrassing."

"I wonder when he stopped carrying the journals with him?" Elladan wondered, relieved that it was them reading these words, not the orcs that had captured Legolas.

"This one is full, perhaps he had another with him. I wish we could have some way of knowing how they were captured."

"That was my thought."

"Perhaps after a little time we might be able to ask them." It was the first time either of them had voiced what their hearts had long known. Neither of them would see the next winter.

"Perhaps."