Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR.

Rating: PG – 13

Author's Note: The Strength of One Green Leaf has won the Flame of Anor Award for Best Action/Adventure. I want to thank the readers who encouraged me to keep making it better!

Many thanks to Le Chapelier fou, who reviewed To Live Another Day and Beasts of Burden! Your words really encouraged me!

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by Kasmi Kassim

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From Twilight to Dawn

Chapter 10: The Deadly Game

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The palace was in a subtle state of unsettlement. The humans did not know, of course, being strangers to the dwelling; however, Legolas sharply noted that his people felt a strange vibration of darkness. They were courteous as they guided the humans to the dining hall, but the glances they exchanged as they passed by in the halls were clearly restless. The whole palace was nervous. But that was not surprising, considering that they had humans walking in these halls. Legolas could not remember seeing any creature other than elves set foot in this land in his short life – save Mithrandir.

In fact, his father was strangely adamant when it came to humans. Though the elves of his home generally disliked dwarves, their haughtiness toward the race of men was beyond rational, in Legolas' point of view. Of course, if he thought back to his learning in history, it was a leader of men who destroyed the hope of the land by giving into the temptation of the evil ring. Stemming from that fact, it was highly justifiable for his father – or any elf, in fact – to regard humans as weak and hold distaste for them. Countless elves had died like flies to win the one chance that the man had selfishly betrayed his allies to destroy.

But knowing his father, it still seemed odd to Legolas that humans were so abominated in the court of Mirkwood. He knew that the valley of Imladris, an elven sanctuary, was open to all creatures who sought shelter; though Elrond was said to be one who tasted the bitterness of betrayal firsthand in the great war, he did not hold such intense distrust for men. No, his past was behind him, and though he perhaps thought humans weak, he did not look upon them with such utter disdain and contempt. Perhaps it was because of his partial human blood. Even so, the king of the woodland realm was no less generous and forgiving than the lord of the hidden valley. It was unlike him to begrudge the entire human race for the scar in history; though his eyes held a dark sorrow and foreboding in the rare instance that he spoke of the war – Legolas felt that his father wanted to shelter him from the knowledge of the unimaginable pain and terror that made the king shudder – he still spoke of the last alliance of men and elves with longing and respect. Though it had turned into a bloody cry of anguish and bitterness, the last alliance was a grim spark of hope, a proud brotherhood of the children of Arda, which even the grief-stricken Prince Thranduil did not think to taint with hatred.

Had there been another incident, then, which turned his father away from the race of men altogether?

Legolas sank into deep contemplation, his legs mechanically carrying him to the dining hall with the rest of the men. Pulling his dark hood lower over his eyes, he lowered his head, and stared at his moving feet. He did not remember seeing his father talk much about men in his childhood. Legolas was a born diplomat; he had quick intelligence and genuine understanding of people that aided him in dealing with various people in conversation, and his gentle speech worked well to quell intense emotion and persuade disbelieving opponents. Though he was young, he took on his share of discussions and knowledge of ongoing politics, not because of interest, but because he considered it a responsibility of a leader. And throughout his years, he did not once hear his father speak ill of humans – until a few years ago.

It was the prince who had naively agreed with the advisors when they tentatively suggested that trading with humans promised benefits. Without a word, the king had turned a smoldering gaze toward the circle of councilors, and they had fallen silent, bowing to the king's unspoken wrath. Legolas had later asked the advisors if there had been an incident of which he did not know, but none of them had given a clear answer. And his father always curtly replied that there had been none; humans were simply not worth trusting, and he knew from experience. And Legolas had to settle for his own explanation of the history of the war.

But now that he thought about it, something was clearly amiss. There was something he did not know – something important. And did the men not say that his father had massacred their people? Legolas frowned deeply. He had to speak with his father about that particular subject as soon as he had a private moment with him. Though he had left his father in ill terms, and somewhat dreaded facing him again, the urge to discover the truth was greater. Besides, his people were in danger. He could only hope that he would be able to expose these men and lead them into a trap before any more damage was done.

But he was in a bind; the blade that pressed against his side constantly was an ever-present disturbance in his mind. Though he had succeeded in bringing them right where they wished – the very heart of their doom – seeking a chance to turn the tides on them, now he was pressed to improvise, and quickly too, as they were leading him to his father the king. He could still raise a shout, he knew – but such an act could cost his life, and the young prince had fought in enough bloodbath to know better than to waste his life thus. Besides, there were still a fair number of them, and creating havoc would result in injury for his people. He had done what he could in order to separate the men into two parties; he could only count on his kinsmen to take care of the group of men that he had sent away, out of his sight. And as for the party he was accompanying to the halls – he could only hope that his father still held the same wary distrust for men.

He glanced back tentatively, eying the corridors through which they walked. Half of the men had stayed behind in their rooms, feigning fatigue and sickness from the long travel. They were by now probably seeking out some of the Silvan elves, whom Legolas had described in much detail earlier, with instructions on how to find them. Their duty was to convince them to join forces with the men and usurp the throne. Such a bold plan, mused Legolas. He briefly wondered how the elves would react. Though he was doted on and pampered, and knew that the people held a deep respect – closer to a divine worship than loyalty – and love for his father, he could not help but wonder if his father's subjects would not be swayed in the least by the temptations offered by the men.

"Please, enter."

The guide moved out of the way, and stood to the side as the men nervously entered the dining hall. Legolas bowed his head and averted his gaze as he passed by the elf. He hoped that the elf had not recognized him under the dark hood. Now was not the time to bring suspicion upon himself and create violence. Gama's possessive hand around his waist, and the hidden dagger that gleamed in his hand, clearly proved that. No, he would wait, and concentrate on his trials of the present moment. Though the reaction of the Silvan elves piqued his interest, he harbored no true fear, for his trust in his people was great. Elves in his kingdom were not weak or tainted with greed.

The men stared in awe as they entered the large hall. Carvings with mithril inlay adorned the ceiling, and various tapestries, paintings, and sculptures decorated the bright walls. A sweet aroma drifted in through the air, and shimmering light warmed the hall with welcome. Sentries armed with glittering armor and flashing weapons lined the walls. The men gulped with anticipation, seating themselves carefully along the long table in the center of the hall. No elf was present, except for the sentries. Perhaps the king would deal with them alone, without advisors. The men did not know whether to be relieved or agitated. They glanced at Gama, who strengthened his grip around the slender elf's waist. They all knew that he was holding the elf at knifepoint, ensuring his cooperation. After all, who knew if elves could be trusted? Perhaps he would seek pardon for his crime by turning them over to his king.

A slight flinch in the adolescent elf's lithe frame indicated that Gama had brutally dug his blade through the elf's clothes. His arm, hidden from view by the elf's dark cloak, was curled possessively around the elf, drawing him closer. He whispered something into the elf's ear and the elf nodded silently. The men began to poke one another and whisper among themselves. They had thought Rolof possessive, but Gama was becoming possessive too, though he lacked the sinister gleam in his eyes. Well, this elf was very desirable. Not fully grown yet, he was still a growing blossom, and though he was clearly male, his features were soft and sweet. Most elves they had seen so far in the palace seemed to straddle the blurred line of gender distinction. Perhaps all elves looked androgynous.

They rose quickly when the herald announced the arrival of the king. None of them, save the silent elf, seemed to note that the representatives of men were made to wait for the representative of elves. This was a loud statement in itself, but they were too busy going over their plan to notice.

When the great doors opened and a majestic swirl of robes waded into view, the men's mouths fell open. They stared, dumbfounded, as the king seemingly glided in a trail of gold toward his seat at the head of the table, his graceful movements radiating an aura of unquestionable power. Their eyes remained glued to the king as he seated himself and began to speak his welcome in a smooth, unaccented tongue of men.

The elf in their possession was undoubtedly beautiful, but he was still an adolescent; though his fair face and body promised great beauty, his features still bordered the two realities of childhood and adulthood, clashing in a sweet and innocent chaos, not yet molded to permanent perfection. And the elves they had so far seen walking in these halls, mostly dark-haired, were immensely beautiful as well, in their formidable arms and graceful bearings. But this king – he was beyond the dimensions of describable beauty.

Questions ran in their heads as they blankly raised their goblets for a toast, following the calm example of the elven king. How old was this monarch? He looked barely past twenty. Why was there an empty seat at his side? What was the source of this formidable dignity, when the lone figure before them was no more than an extremely fair face and a tall, well-muscled body?

A flowing blend of white and green wavered gently before their eyes, as the king raised his goblet to drink. His robes were stately and elegant, but simpler than what they were accustomed to seeing on the king that they had left behind long ago. Though rich and pleasing to the eye in design and fullness, the robes of the king lacked the glittering gems that graced the weapons of every warrior elf that patrolled the halls. Despite the splendor of the palace, extravagance did not seem to be on the top of the list of the king's personal interests. His crown was not even of precious metal or gem; it was a thin wreath of what looked like flowers and leaves. Though it was not what they had been expecting, it was very befitting an elf, and did nothing to diminish the king's dignity and aura of power; it seemed to only enhance his natural, flowing beauty.

Somewhere along his quiet talking, the king raised a question regarding the whereabouts of the rest of the merchants. The men tensed, and glanced at Gama. The young man held up his head stiffly, and replied in an even tone that they stayed in their rooms due to fatigue and sickness. The king showed sympathy and offered his healing quarters, which Gama accepted graciously.

It was clear by now that Gama was established as the leader of the men. The others relaxed, alternating between staring at the food before them and staring at the enthralling beauty of the king. Though his exquisite face was fair beyond their measure, his body was very well-toned beneath the robes, and his strong jaw line and glittering eyes set a distinctive masculine accent on his appearance. Despite his stunning magnificence, the king of elves was less androgynous than many of his subjects. The slender youth in their group, for example.

"Why does your companion hide in a cloak?" asked the king quietly, his expression unchanging from the calm attention that had been held ever since he entered the hall. Gama swallowed, and tightened his hold around the elf's waist.

"This young one here is my wife," he said, pulling the hood down lower. "It is not proper for women in our town to reveal their faces or voices to any male except their husbands."

The king nodded. "But they are fit to travel in a dangerous forest, I see." Turning his eyes away from Gama's momentary expression of panic, he studied the hooded figure by the man. The man tightened the slender figure's waist under the cloak. The king smiled.

"An interesting tradition. I hope that you find our place unoffending, my lady. The ladies in our realm have equal duties and rights as the men, but be assured that they will be delighted to entertain you."

The small figure nodded, and bowed deeper. The king turned his glittering eyes back toward the men.

"Now, my lords, shall we move onto the matter which has brought you to our realm?" Expression unchanging, he neatly intertwined his fingers and rested them on the table.

The men swallowed. The king's bright blue eyes regarded them with serenity, as he gently shook his head to remove a strand of glorious pale golden hair that cascaded down his shoulders. This elf was breathtaking. Their eyes turned to Gama, torn in indecision, as their leader produced a bottle of wine from under the table. The king could be their highest profit, if taken alive. Was assassination really necessary? Pleading eyes burned into Gama, but the leader ignored them, and raised the wine bottle.

"We bring you a gift as our token of goodwill," he announced, and opened the bottle. "Please accept our rare vintage wine, made by hands of men."

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To Be Continued

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