Disclaimer: Again, only certain characters are mine. We don't know if Legolas had brothers, so they are mine. Thranduil and Legolas aren't mine. Middle Earth and Mirkwood are of Tolkein's creation (sob, sob). If they weren't, I'd be in the Bahamas by now.

Author's Note- I am so sorry that I haven't updated in a while, but I have had a lot on my plate with essays and exams. My computer breaking down was also a lovely titbit on the side. So here we go and I hope that I can update more frequently.

Laniquendi- Yup, Sartarian is a nasty little pussy, ain't he?

Greenfly- Thanks for the comments. Legolas is my favourite character. No, Elrohir won't be included.

Arfeel snorted as he tossed his head back and forth. This forest wasn't where he wanted to be but he trusted his master implicitly and would follow him anywhere.

Legolas would have agreed with his horse if he could have heard him. All around him, the trees groaned in anguish, however, as soon as he passed them, they sang a lighter song of hope that a member of royalty had survived and pushed him forward.

He could hear the light footsteps of the elves around him but not one bowstring tightened. The elves were in shock. They thought that all of Thranduil's kin had been murdered when Sartarian took control with his few loyal followers, yet here was an elf that was clearly related to Thranduil somehow. Instead of challenging the rider, they decided that they would sit and watch this story pan out.

Legolas was beyond nervous but kept it hidden behind his schooled features.

He patted Arfeel's head and whispered in his ear, "Umuma dela mellon nin." (Don't worry my friend.) The horse snorted but still kept his eyes wide.

Legolas rode him down the pathway and into the palace courtyard. He was amazed that he still remembered the pathway after 80 or so years. As he had ridden through the houses around the palace, all the elves on either side had automatically stopped what they were doing and stared at him as if he were a ghost, though he supposed, after being supposedly dead for the past 80 years, one might be shocked to find said 'dead' elf calmly riding through their midst. Mirkwood was as much as he remembered: cold yet ethereal.

He glanced around him wary of the patrols on either side of him. He knew that they were escorting him for he would have been dead by now if they so wished (well, they thought that he could have been dead by now.)

Without realising it, he had entered before the great gates. Unsurprisingly, they didn't open. He thought for a few moments, feeling the patrolling elves around him, before opening his mouth and proclaiming,

"Daro! Eam Legolas Thranduilion!" (Open! I am Legolas, son of Thranduil!) The gates immediately began to open. The elves around him couldn't believe that the 15 year old prince had survived the coup 86 years before.

However surprised they were, they didn't attempt to stop him. As soon as a member of Thranduil's family showed up, they knew that it would be all over for Sartarian. Mirkwood had suffered terribly under his rule and no- one would contest the return of the royal family.