Disclaimer: See chapter one.

A/N: Sorry for the long delay, I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season!

Legolas watched Moraelin carefully as they rode on, and saw that her color soon returned and she seemed just as she had been before. Maybe it was nothing, maybe he had imagined it. A silence had fallen over them again, both horse and rider alert for any sign of danger. But, they continued unchallenged until well after dusk.

Legolas's voice, gruff with lack of use, finally cut through the imposing darkness, "We should let the horses rest, and take a brief respite ourselves."

"Is that pretty horse of yours tired already?" Moraelin teased, and in the blue moonlight Legolas saw the mocking lift of an eyebrow.

Legolas smiled, nodding in reluctant agreement, "I admit I'm beginning to see the advantages of that terrible animal. There seems no end to his energy."

"I'm glad to hear you are warming up to him. Just as Aldruid told you, there are not many who have."

Legolas's easy smile had returned. He trained his sharp eyes on a shelf of land jutting out from the side of the canyon. "Do you think we can get up there to make camp? We will be able to easily spot any danger from that position."

"We could also become trapped up there if we are attacked. But, I must admit I would feel safer there than down here. Let us go."

They dismounted and led their horses up a narrow trail along the rock face that delivered them to the cliff. As Moraelin unsaddled Rock, she sniffed the air. It smelled like rain, the storm that had threatened for most of their journey seemed finally to be upon them. Moments later, she felt a fat, ice cold rain drop impact the top of her head and seep into her hair. She groaned slightly, tossing her hood up over her head and depositing her saddle under a tree. She hunched her shoulders as the clouds above ripped open like an overfilled sack of grain and pummeled the humble travelers with sheets of rain. Moraelin let Rock go, bundling her few possessions under her cloak and next to her body to keep them dry.

Moraelin wandered to the brink of the cliff, staring out over the shadowed ravine as cold raindrops pelted her body. From where Legolas stood a little behind her, he could not see the grim, weary expression on her face. She seemed to feel the elements not at all, though the rain had clearly soaked through all of her layers. "This weather does not bode well for us," she growled, spinning away from the precipice to the meager shelter of the few pine trees. "We should press on, there will be landslides for certain if this rain keeps up."

Legolas followed her, facing the girl as she leaned back against a rough tree trunk. Though her face was impassive, he caught a slight chatter of her mouth from the chilling downpour. "Are you sure you can continue," Legolas asked in concern, wincing as a raindrop splashed into his right eye, "Maybe we would both do well to stay out of the elements tonight."

Moraelin looked up at him, watching water flow in glistening rivulets down his angular face. Suddenly, she grinned, but as he had learned was often the case, the expression did not warm her eyes.

"Leave it to my brother to be captured during the height of the rainy season, eh? I must admit I am not surprised." Moraelin's head fell back against the solid support of the tree. "You are right, Legolas. We will just have to hope this lets up and our way is still clear by morning. But, we will make it no further tonight."

Legolas nodded, and went to a cluster of younger pines, their low boughs offering some shielding from the relentless downpour. Moraelin followed him, watching in amusement as he bent double to go underneath them. Elves were so unnaturally tall, it was a wonder they could get around at all!

Moraelin dropped down next to the trunk of a fallen tree, and huddled within the billowing confines of her cloak. Like most of her clothes, the cloak was an article designed for a man, which she had altered to suit her much smaller stature. She was glad now for the excessive size of the cape, which she could easily cocoon her entire body in. She looked up at Legolas, who was sitting with his back against a tree, a look of mild misery and annoyance marring his face. Moraelin was not tired, and she knew Legolas would not sleep. It seemed they should be speaking of something, but an awkward quiet hung in the air. Finally, Legolas spoke up over the sound of raindrops falling from the pine needles above to heavily patter the bare ground.

"That axe is beautiful," he commented, inclining his head to the large battle-axe she had unstrapped from her back and set beside her. Its wide head was accented with Dwarvish runes that followed the curve of each ruthlessly sharp edge. The handle grip was wrapped with pale doe hide. In the middle of the axe head was set a diamond of staggering size with the design of a star etched about it.

Moraelin lifted the weapon easily, a smile of obvious pride crossing her face as she handed it to him. "My grandfather made it for me. The symbol of the star is not often part of Dwarf craft, but he included it to represent my elf blood. I stayed for several years with my kin in the mines."

Legolas hefted the weighty weapon, feeling the flawless balance and artistry of it. "His skill is admirable," Legolas said sincerely as he handed the axe back to her.

Moraelin took it with one hand as she drew back part of her hood with the other. "It was in that time that I was given my ear chains as well." Legolas had noticed earlier the small strands of metal dangling from each ear, "Every Dwarf woman wears them, an unmarried woman has two in each ear to represent her mother and her father. When a Dwarf woman marries, she is given a third chain, to represent her husband."

"Gimli never mentioned such a tradition," Legolas said, his interest piqued.

"Gimli is not, to the best of my knowledge, a Dwarf woman." Moraelin replied lightly.

Legolas smiled sheepishly, "I suppose you are right. He did tell me of armbands. Is it true they are given to warriors to represent their lineage and exploits in battle?"

Moraelin nodded. She stuck one arm out from the protection of her cloak and rolled up her oversized sleeve to display the gold band encircling her upper arm. Legolas's eyes were drawn for a moment from the beautiful ornament to a jagged white scar that snaked its way along her arm. She did not notice his distraction, for she was absorbed in explaining the runes on her armband. Legolas blinked, finally listening to her, "My grandfather even instructed the metal-smith in Elvish so that he could inscribe my father's name and title as Mirkwood's high captain."

Her arm disappeared beneath the rough material again, and Legolas found his eyes were caught by another old wound, a thick scar that traced her cheekbone underneath her right eye. How he had not noticed before, he did not know. But, it occurred to him then that such old injuries were a more effective record of one's battle experience than dry runes on a piece of jewelry. It was becoming increasingly clear that Moraelin's life had been a rough one since leaving Eryn Lasgalen far behind.

Moraelin's smaller axes sat at her side with the rest of her weapons. "Did your grandfather make those for you as well?" Legolas asked.

"Yes," Moraelin said, looking down at them. She glanced up at Legolas to catch him staring intently at the sheathed sword tucked closest to her side. He met her eyes, but both looked away quickly, suddenly uncomfortable. Legolas had seen that blade before. It was a magnificent weapon, and ancient beyond recall. The hilt was encrusted with rubies, all accenting one monstrous red gem set on the end of the handle. Caransûl it was called, the Red Wind.

"Was Talendil angry when he found I had taken it?" Moraelin asked flatly.

"I don't think he was surprised. I heard that all you took was the sword, you left all else behind."

"I don't even know why I took it," Moraelin said, gazing into the darkness over his shoulder, "It just seemed right at the time."

"It should have been yours anyway," Legolas said evenly.

"I know. But I care very little for such things as inheritance and bloodlines anymore. Such things don't matter out here. It has served me well, though," Moraelin said thoughtfully, drawing it and holding it before her. It made a soft whoosh as it cut through the air, and Legolas stared at it, thinking of the last time he had seen it draw blood. It had been in Eregos's hand, it had been gripped there when he died. Legolas gritted his teeth, resisting the long dead memories that threatened to return, to torment him again.

Moraelin saw Legolas's eyes had grown distant, and mistook such a gaze for fatigue. "I will stay up and watch if you wish to rest," she offered.

"No, you sleep Moraelin. I will be all right."

The rain had let up considerably, replaced instead by a frigid dampness in the air. She had to admit her eyelids felt heavy. She dropped onto her side, tucking her back tightly against the downed tree to conserve warmth and wrapping the cloak close around her. Her face was soon relaxed in sleep and Legolas watched her, smiling in amazement that she could curl her body into such a tiny ball. It was clear that sleeping on the wet, chilled ground was a familiar experience to her, and she dealt with it as easily as any woodland creature might.

Legolas shifted his body to a more comfortable position against the tree and settled in for a night as a diligent sentry. But, in the still midnight air, he found that his mind wandered inevitably to the memory he had forced away earlier. It was as if he could faintly hear the echoes of combat coming from somewhere in the mountains, the ringing of metal on metal and the groaning of the wounded. He had fought in many wars, but his first battle was the only that truly haunted him. The pain had faded, but the bewildered horror of an elf who was barely more than a child being thrust into such raw violence was a feeling he couldn't forget. The echoing noise of battle was growing louder, seeming to draw nearer to him as the scene played once again before his cold eyes.

Legolas dodged a knife thrust by the greasy orc before him, nearly tripping over the body of a fallen elf as he jumped back. His arm burned with fatigue from the grueling battle, but from somewhere deep within he dredged up the strength to slash his sword across his opponent's middle. Legolas's breath came in choppy gasps as he looked around wildly, watching for an attack from all sides.

This, his first battle, was fought in a once sunny and peaceful meadow by the river. Moraelin and Talendil had begged to go to war as soldiers in their father's army, but Eregos had been firm in telling them they were too young and inexperienced. Legolas envied them now, and cursed his own foolishness for convincing his father he was ready. What he wouldn't give now to be safe in the palace with Talendil and Moraelin, awaiting the army's return with the queen.

Battle had not been anything like what Legolas had expected. The chaos, the noise, the foul tongue of the orcs yelled throughout the battlefield, grating on his too-sensitive ears. As he stood amid the corpses, his sword gripped in a shaking hand, Legolas saw that no more orcs approached him. He looked up at the sky, a pure blue belying the gore all around him, and was more grateful at that moment for his life than he had ever been. As he finally let relief wash over him, a familiar voice reached his ears.

Legolas's glazed eyes focused on one last fight raging not far away. It was his father, cursing in several languages as he engaged an orc. His sword cut through the air mercilessly, tearing across the orc's chest and nearly dividing the creature in two. The king then dropped heavily to his knees, the sword falling from his hand. Legolas gasped, sure his father was hurt. He ran to him, leaping over fallen fighters in his haste. As he neared Thranduil, Legolas saw that he was unharmed, that it was something else that had brought him to his knees.

"No," Legolas whispered brokenly, "Oh no."

Eregos lay on his back as Thranduil leaned over him, weeping and touching his friend's face. Eregos's left arm had been cleaved cleanly from his body at the shoulder, and Legolas fought the need to wretch as he spotted it several feet away. A dagger had pierced the armor covering his torso and was buried to the hilt in Captain Eregos's stomach. The grass beneath him glistened a disgusting black-red with his blood.

Legolas hesitated, not sure if he could bear to watch. But, he steeled himself and approached them, standing very close behind his father. Eregos's eyes were darting in all directions, the fear and panic in them shocking Legolas. Then, it seemed he noticed Thranduil, felt the hand at the side of his neck.

"Thranduil," he rasped, "I am sorry. I am so sorry to desert you like this."

"No, no my friend, don't-" Thranduil insisted as a tear dropped from his cheek to Eregos's neck, where it trailed a path through the drying blood.

"Thranduil," Eregos said in an urgent voice, struggling to form the words, "Please watch over Talendil. He will need-need a firm hand. Please- care for him," Eregos coughed, sending a spray of blood across his cheek.

His eyes sought Legolas and his mouth moved weakly, "Le-Le-" he trailed off, his face desperate as he realized he had run out of time for the words he needed so terribly to say. But, the words were not needed.

"I know. I will." Legolas said, sucking in a deep breath to keep from sobbing, "I will keep her safe."

Eregos had the strength left only to nod once, his face calm as he held Legolas's eyes. Legolas felt humbled by the faith Eregos placed in him in his last moments. Tears flowed down his face as he watched Eregos's head loll to the side in death. Legolas looked on numbly as Thranduil took Caransûl from Eregos's frozen grip. At that moment, unbidden, he saw an image in his mind of Eregos and Moraelin in front of their simple home in the early morning. Before Eregos left to carry out his duties as captain, he always spent time training Moraelin in swordplay and fighting. Many times Legolas had joined them, as student or teacher depending on the day. Legolas could still see the smile of quiet pride on Eregos's face as Moraelin parried his attack easily.

Never again would Eregos teach Moraelin in the fresh dawn sunlight, no longer would he be protector when she was vulnerable. It fell to Legolas to do these things now.

The next several hours passed in a haze. Drained of all emotion, Legolas woodenly assisted with the wounded, with the burning of orcs and the burial of their own dead. The somber ride back to the city was also a blur, and suddenly, Legolas found himself in the darkened corridors of the palace, feeling as if he had been pulled from deep sleep. He blinked several times, limping toward the throne room. His eyes strayed to the straight back of his father. Thranduil carried himself with his usual silent dignity, betraying nothing of the crippling pain in his heart. Legolas cursed his own weakness. He could not hide the grief that assaulted him now, and wanted nothing more than to find a dark corner of the palace to collapse from the weight he carried.

Entering the throne room, he looked up to see Moraelin running toward him, tears of joy and relief shining in her eyes. Legolas's swallowed a large lump in his throat as he thought of the crushing news he brought her. She threw herself into his arms and Legolas squeezed her tight, a sigh slipping from his lips. He met his father's eyes over her head, and Thranduil could do no more than to bow his head and look away. Myallore went to her husband then, seeing the look shared between father and son and sensing something was terribly wrong.

Moraelin pulled away to look up at Legolas, her face set in a beaming smile. She brushed a hand over his bruised jaw and the smudges of orc and elf blood on his skin, "I feared for you Legolas. But, I knew you would come back."

She seemed so small to Legolas, her brown eyes filled with an innocence he knew she was about to lose. He looked helplessly at his father again, but saw he approached Talendil land Lady Ilianel where they sat across the room.

"Where is Father?" Moraelin asked simply. Legolas drew in a sharp breath, closing his eyes, "Is he coming soon?" her voice was unsteady now, apprehensive. She had thought it only weariness from battle that made Legolas seem sad, but she now sensed something else. "Is he caring for the wounded? Is he leading another company?"

Legolas shook his head, still unable to find the words. Moraelin suddenly tore herself from his arms.

"Where is my father, Legolas?" she demanded, her eyes flashing.

"Moraelin," he finally choked out, but paused.

"Where is he?"

"Moraelin," Legolas said, gripping the sides of her arms. The unveiled feeling in his eyes seared into her and Moraelin quieted immediately.

"Your father fell in battle. . .he died."

Moraelin drew in a shaky breath, "No," she whispered. A grimace crossed her face as she clutched at her chest, the hurt inside her so strong she felt as if she were being turned inside out. Legolas made to pull her to him, but Moraelin turned and flew from him, her boots pounding along the marble floor. Legolas followed her, ignoring his protesting muscles. He caught her in the hallway, but she fought him feebly, screaming in frustration and impotent anger. He dragged her down next to a pillar, his grip on her firm. Finally, she gave up the struggle and collapsed against Legolas. The silence of the corridor was shattered as great sobs tore their way up her throat. Legolas held Moraelin's shuddering body to him and pressed his face into her hair.

"He can't be gone, Legolas," Moraelin whispered, "He can't. What am I to do? Only he understands me. Only he cares for me. I am alone now."

"No," Legolas lifted his head and took her face in both of his hands, "You are never alone. I will take care of you. I swear I will always take care of you."

Moraelin's face twisted as she sobbed once more. She leaned in to rest her forehead against Legolas's. For many minutes they sat, both trying to regain composure. At long last, Moraelin said, "I should go to my brother. He will need me."

"Yes," Legolas said and reluctantly rose. As he lifted Moraelin to her feet, she doubled over for a moment, an alarming pallor washing over her features. The pain seemed to burn through her body in waves, and she feared her weak legs would not carry her. Finally, she turned for the throne room. She felt Legolas's hand come to rest gently on the small of her back to keep her steady. His face was drawn tight with concern for Moraelin, but he remained silent as he steered her to the main chamber. She scrubbed her eyes quickly with her sleeve before reaching the sight of the king.

But, what Moraelin saw as she crossed the threshold hit her like a physical blow, dragging her lower into the depths of misery. For, Thranduil stood next to his throne, presenting Talendil with Caransûl, the ancient sword Eregos had carried proudly in all his years as captain.

Moraelin's face fell and she turned away quickly. Legolas stepped forward, his voice sharp with anger, "Father, what are you doing?"

"I am passing Caransûl on to Eregos's child, just as he would have wished."

"The father's sword goes to the eldest child, it is tradition. Moraelin should wield Caransûl."

Thranduil placed the sword in Talendil's hands and turned to face Legolas in open annoyance, "That blade has a long and honorable history among our people. *Our* people, not hers. It belongs in the hands of an elf, as it has been for thousands of years, it cannot pass to a dwarf."

Moraelin stepped from behind Legolas, her fear of Thranduil melting in the heat of her fury. "How dare you deprive me of my rights as Eregos's heir because of my dwarf blood. I am just as much Eregos's child as Talendil and just as skilled a warrior. Caransûl belongs in my hand."

Talendil stepped up to the king's side, his eyes narrowed in arrogant defiance at Moraelin. As Talendil tied Caransûl to his belt, he did not need to say anything to his sister. His actions spoke clearly enough, and showed that he agreed with the king, that Moraelin had no rights. A line was drawn that day, with Legolas and Moraelin on one side and Thranduil and Talendil on the other. And, when the death of their father might have brought the children of Eregos closer, it only drove them apart.

Legolas was brought back to the present by a renewal of the rain. Legolas looked to Moraelin, watching her sleeping face thoughtfully. What would her father say if he knew Legolas had neglected his promise, that he had left her to fend for herself in the wilds when he had sworn to protect her? Though some of it had been beyond his control, and he had searched in vain for her before, these excuses felt hollow now that he was with her again. His guilt drove him to his feet as he drew the Lorien cloak from around his shoulders. He bent over Moraelin to drape it across her sodden form.

A noise rose up from behind him, a great rumbling and tearing, and Moraelin was on her feet, the gray cloak dropping forgotten to the ground. She grabbed Legolas's arm and dragged him to the bare rock of the canyon wall. He turned, gazing through the barrier of rain to the lip of the cliff. Two huge pines were slipping from the edge, tumbling with a great chunk of earth to the ravine below. Legolas could feel Moraelin's hand still clutching his sleeve, and as the noise subsided, looked over at her.

Moraelin's racing heart finally slowed and she released him. The rain was relentless, flowing down the mountainside to loosen the soggy earth and send it toppling to lower ground. She sucked in a deep breath, "We need to leave."

"Yes," Legolas agreed, "And Moraelin?"

She froze mid-step and glanced back at him.

"Next time, you pick the campsite."

She chuckled, a half-smile crossing her face and he even thought he caught a little twinkle in her eyes, "Agreed."