Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

Legolas looked into the expansive blue sky above him and sniffed the air. Winter had chosen to exit gracefully and was finally giving way to early spring in the northern reaches of Middle Earth. He stood at the edge of his mother's gardens, a walled sanctuary at the side of the palace. The Queen was a skilled healer, and her gardens were not only beautiful, but a source for many herbs used in caring for the sick and injured.

After a few hesitant steps down the rough stone path, Legolas saw his mother, Queen Myallore, kneeling to collect an armful of dried flower heads. Legolas approached her quietly, but she sensed him and stood.

"Legolas," she tilted her head to the side, her clear blue eyes rimmed with sadness, "You have only just returned to us...and yet your father tells me you must leave again."

"Did Father tell you where I was going?" Legolas asked carefully.

"No. He seemed in a bad humor, so I did not press him about it."

"Mother, I am going to find Moraelin."

Myallore looked down quickly, a myriad of emotions flitting across her gentle face.

"Are you sure that is wise? After what Talendil did-"

"I don't know," the normally confident elf sighed shakily, "I don't know anything. I...I have to try something. I cannot just leave Talendil there to die."

Myallore caught her son's troubled gaze and smiled softly. She lifted a hand to his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. "You do what you must, Legolas. I know you will do what is best for Moraelin. From the time you were tiny children, she always had you to protect her. You will not fail her now."

Legolas ground his jaw for a second. He thought such dark times were behind him. When the great evil of Mordor had been thrown down, he had seen ahead of him only rebuilding and renewal, not dredging up the pains of the past.

"Yes, Mother. I will bring her back safe."

She stood taller to kiss Legolas's forehead, and he felt suddenly strengthened by the contact. Warmth seemed to spread down his face and throughout his body and deep into his bones. Myallore was not simply a healer in practice, but was blessed with a healer's touch. She was known to be able to cure many by the touch of her hands alone. Legolas's grim face cracked into a half smile for a moment. Without another word, he turned down the path and left his mother to her flowers.

When Legolas was gone, Myallore carelessly cast the plants she had been gathering to the cold ground. Her normal grace was conspicuously absent as she stumbled to a stone bench and sank down onto it. She twisted her slender hands together anxiously, her mind a turmoil of ancient memories. It had been long since she had thought of Moraelin.

Myallore had been the midwife that brought Moraelin into this world. She had befriended Moraelin's mother Kirali, who was treated with suspicion and scorn by the other elves of Mirkwood. It was to be expected, she was a dwarf brought to live in an elven city, and the rift between the two races went back farther than any could recall. But, despite these hardships, Kirali had been one of the most vibrant, interesting beings Myallore had known. She had shared in Kirali's joy upon discovering her pregnancy and had easily agreed to oversee the birth.

With an intensity of recall only elves can experience, Myallore could still hear the wild, animal screams rending the air the night Kirali was to bear Moraelin. The sound of it seemed to surround Myallore, coming at her from all sides as she knelt on the floor of Eregos and Kirali's tiny bedroom. She could smell blood, she was covered in it, everything was covered in it. Something was wrong, it had been nearly a full day since the labor had begun, and still the baby would not come. Myallore had not known enough about Dwarves to know what to do for Kirali, so she had provided a stream of encouraging words whenever the screaming subsided enough for her to be heard. She had tried to ignore the pale, terrified face of Eregos as he held his wife's hand and looked on helplessly. The tension of that room was matched only by the natural fury being unleashed outside. Four months of drought had finally broken, and a storm of magnificent anger was whipping the great trees of Mirkwood about as if they were no more than tender saplings. But, the much-needed rain refused to fall, and in its stead came constant lightning and howling winds.

Myallore gripped the edges of the stone bench and gasped. She could not stop the memory. It had to run its course, no matter how much she hated to watch it all happen again.

"Push. Now. Push, Kirali." Her voice, no matter how she tried to temper it, was coming out shrill and panicked. And then, with one last feral cry, a baby lay in Myallore's arms. She smiled, her chest heaving in relief. The child whimpered and then wailed weakly.

"A girl! Kirali, oh, she's..." Myallore looked up as a bolt of lightning lit up the room and flashed on Kirali's face. Kirali's eyes were glazed, a smile etched across her lips. She made no sound, she was perfectly still. Myallore felt her chest tighten, shock coursing through her body. No. No, this was all wrong. Kirali had a beautiful little daughter to watch grow, to love. She could not...die. Eregos's voice seemed very far away, he was calling Kirali's name, crying out in pain. Dazedly, Myallore looked down at the tiny, squirming child in her hands. Tears were pouring from her eyes onto the baby's blotchy skin. She cradled the baby against her chest, feeling its warmth and life in stark contrast to the senselessness and unfairness of the death that had just happened next to it. Eregos was looking up now as someone burst into the room.

"Fire...burning...to the palace," snippets of words reached Myallore's ears and she felt hands hauling her to her feet. She was led in confusion to the door with the newborn still held against her. She stopped, and looked back through her tears at Eregos. He was bending to gently lift the body of his wife in his arms. He was smiling down at her, his eyes full of such tenderness that for a moment Myallore heard not the roaring of flames or the yelling of elves, she was hypnotized by the tragic beauty of Eregos's love for Kirali. Then, she was being dragged through the storm, as leaves were whipped into her face and branches rained down about her. Though it was the deepest part of the night, the city was cast in an eerie orange glow as a great wall of fire cut hungrily through the forest. She now saw Thranduil running toward her, and he quickly kissed her, his eyes burning into hers for a charged moment. Then he was gone again, rallying the army to combat the fire that was rushing headlong into his kingdom.

Myallore had taken the Moraelin to her chambers and cleaned her, dressed her in the clothes that Kirali had made for her, and watched over the weak life of the child. Her healer's touch seemed to soothe the child, and by some miracle, Moraelin survived the night. In the morning, Myallore discovered that half of the expansive forest of Mirkwood had burned before the rain had finally, mercifully fallen. She had been oblivious to it though, sitting in a chair in her bedroom singing ancient songs to Moraelin. It was only a few days later that she dared leave the child alone and heard the terrible whisperings. Acidic comments about an abomination, a cursed, half-blooded child that had brought the fury of nature down on Mirkwood. She had curled her lip with uncharacteristic venom at the narrow-minded elves who dared blame this tragedy on an innocent baby. It was not until she caught Thranduil joining in such dark speculation that she knew how prevalent these attitudes were. Even her own wise, noble husband was indulging in this superstitious foolishness.

Myallore had retreated into the sanctuary of her chamber, convinced she could shield Moraelin from the hurtful things being spoken about her. Only Eregos was allowed near the child as Myallore cared for her day and night. Moraelin was sickly and did not respond well to the horse milk that was given to her as a substitute for her mother's milk. Myallore had given birth to Legolas more than three years earlier and there were no new mothers in the city. There was no one to nurse Moraelin in Kirali's place, so the child was always hovering just beyond death's reach.

Eregos would come to see his daughter often, but he was a different elf after Kirali died. Many times in those first few months, he would enter the room and shuffle uncertainly to the side of Moraelin's crib. He would look down at the child, maybe brush a careful finger over her fine black hair. But, it would not be long before tears would gather in his normally stern blue eyes. He would turn then and quickly leave the room, before Myallore could see him weep. He never said a word. Myallore knew seeing the child caused him pain beyond that which he could bear.

Myallore sighed and rose from the bench, bending to gather the discarded flowers and continue her work. Though her heart burned with the searing pain of those memories now relived, she tried to ignore it and reassemble her mask of serene composure. It was more difficult than usual. Stopping the shaking in her hands by sheer will alone, she re-entered the palace, and none, not even Thranduil, noticed the tiny glimmer of hurt in her eyes.

* * * * *

Legolas cracked a dry twig in his hands and tossed it absently into the fire. He was leaning back against a downed tree as night gathered around him. He tried not to think about the time he was losing by indulging in such a rest. Although he physically needed little rest, his mount was exhausted. And, at least until he was in the mountains, he would need the horse to cover the distance to Rivendell swiftly.

Legolas hoped to talk to Elrond's sons and find what they knew of Moraelin's whereabouts, or news of the Rangers that she had befriended. The firelight reflected in Legolas's blue eyes as he watched the flames thoughtfully. He wondered what Rivendell would be like now that Elrond had gone over the sea. Legolas had traveled there numerous times on behalf of his father, and could not even imagine what those peaceful balconies and walkways would feel like without the powerful presence of Elrond Halfelven reverberating throughout the valley.

He tried to rest, but doubts haunted him. Maybe his mother was right, maybe he should not trouble Moraelin with what had happened to Talendil. He realized she really had no obligation to help Talendil...not after what had happened.

Although they had been very close as children, after their father died, Moraelin and Talendil's relationship had changed dramatically. Talendil had become more cold, more calculating, driven not only by his own ambitions, but also by his shrewd mother, Ilianel. He was poised to take over Mirkwood's army, but many elves questioned his worthiness, and speculated how being raised alongside "the cursed child" might have affected him. He was at risk of losing his power, losing everything his parents had groomed him from birth to accomplish. This could not be tolerated. So, he had done what he felt was his only option...he had rid himself of Moraelin.

Talendil had sent her away, telling her that she did not belong among full- elves, and it would be better for everyone involved if she left Mirkwood and never returned. He told her that he never wanted to see her again. And she had gone. This had, of course, all taken place while Legolas was away on a mission for his father. He still burned with anger to think of the night he had returned to find her gone. He had hunted down Talendil in the middle of the night, he had been nearly angry enough to kill the arrogant elf. But, somehow, over the years he had made his peace with Talendil.

So, Moraelin would probably laugh in his face at his request, if he were able to find her at all. Legolas snapped his wrist, sending another twig into the fire. He cursed under his breath at the mess Talendil had created. Ever since he was a child, he had always been trouble. Of course, he had had the mischievous Prince Legolas to learn from. Legolas chuckled reluctantly, shaking his head. He remembered the time they had put dye in the washbasin of the stuffy ambassador from Lothlorien that had turned his hair green for a fortnight.

*Just a few more days* Legolas thought as sleep finally took him, *Just a few more days and I will be in Rivendell. And I will see where the fates take me from there.*