The morning after the feast, Thranduil went straight to his study, not even bothering to inform Círhael, as he had done so for the past few days, that he would once again be absent from breakfast. The words that had been spoken by his furious brother-in-law still rang in his ears, and now that he had gotten over the shock of being treated so, anger that he had not known the previous night was beginning to enter his heart.

'How dare he stop me from seeing my own son?' the King asked silently. 'What right did he think himself to have?'

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Thranduil could not help but wonder if Círhael had not done the wrong thing. If he had been let in to see Legolas, would he have taken the boy in his arms and held him close; or would he, as his brother-in-law suspected, have verbally attacked him for behaviour that was not becoming of a Prince? If he was honest with himself…probably the latter.

It was not that he would have wanted to, of course not. No, instead it would have been because every time he looked into the face of his son, the King saw his wife gazing back at him. And when that happened, he heard her screaming his name as the Orcs brutally assaulted her body; and he would see himself, powerless to move until it was too late, and he also was caught by the servants of Sauron.

And it was that, and so much more, which fuelled his anger; which made him snap and berate when what he meant and wanted to do was quite the opposite. Because he knew, and would never forget, that if not for him, Ithilwen would still be alive. He would still have a wife; Círhael would still have a sister; and Legolas would still have a mother. His guilt was turning him into someone that he did not wish to become, and he could not stop it.

"I have prayed to the Valar every night since it happened. I have asked them for strength and help, but they give me nothing," he murmured, staring unseeingly at the floor. "Why? Is this their way of punishing me? If so, then so be it. I will accept it. But they cannot punish my child for something that he has not done, they-

The Elven-king was cut off mid-sentence, and he jerked his head up sharply to glare at the door opposite him. The knock had been quiet, timid almost, but still loud enough to pull him painfully from his thoughts. Exhaling deeply, he closed his eyes as he called out permission for whichever advisor it was who had decided to come and hassle him, to enter. But it was no advisor.

"Good morning, Ada," Legolas said shyly. "You weren't at breakfast."

"No," Thranduil replied. "I have work to catch up on."

"Uncle Círhael said that too. So I…well, I brought you this, just in case you get hungry," Legolas said, stepping forwards so that he stood in front of the desk.

The King glanced at the apple in his son's outstretched hand, and inclined his head briefly. "Did you ask permission to take that?"

"Yes, I did. I'll take it back, though, if you don't want it," Legolas replied. "I just didn't want you to be hungry, Ada."

"That…that was considerate of you. Just leave it here, then," Thranduil said. He picked up a quill and rested the tip of it on a piece of parchment, preparing to write a letter long put off. "Forgive me, Legolas. This work will not do itself."

"Oh, are you busy?" the Prince asked.

"Hmm. I have…" Falling into silence, Thranduil leaned forwards slightly, and gazed at his son. "What do you have behind your back?"

Flushing, Legolas brought his other arm out of hiding, producing parchment and various drawing implements. "Well, I don't have any lessons today, and I don't want to be on my own again. Uncle Círhael is busy doing something, and the twins are still at breakfast, so I was wondering…if you don't mind…could I sit in here and draw? I won't disturb you, but if you don't want me, I'll go, and-

"Yes!" Thranduil cut in irritably. "Yes, stay in here. But if you make too much noise, you can leave again."

Legolas nodded quickly, and without another word, sat down on the floor and began to let his pen move over the parchment. He was vaguely aware of a pair of cool eyes fixed on him, and with a flick of his head, a curtain of hair fell down to hide his face. Scrutiny always made him feel uncomfortable, even more so when it was his father who was watching him.

'This is a chance to try and right your wrongs,' Thranduil told himself. 'Are you going to pass it up? If you do, you are a fool. All you have to do is speak. Is that so hard?'

Sighing, he looked down at the empty piece of parchment, and shook himself mentally. He had work, very important work that had piled up over the days since Ithilwen's death. And if it was not done soon, he would have some irate advisors to deal with. But who was he supposed to be writing to? And why? He could not remember. But if he was honest with himself, he did not want to. Nor did he care. For his mind was being taken over by thoughts much darker.

Flashback

As he listened with only one ear to his wife's description of their son's antics at breakfast that morning, Thranduil turned away, gazing into the surrounding foliage. Something was not right, he could feel it. Something was going to happen. But what? The trees murmured uneasily, they whispered of approaching danger. He shuddered and closed his eyes, trying to decipher their hints.

"Did you know that the first sign of losing one's mind is when one starts to speak to oneself?" Queen Ithilwen smiled, standing behind her husband to wrap both arms around his chest. "However, if there is another individual present, then-

"Let go of me," Thranduil cut in. He turned to face her, and as she began to protest, he held a finger to her lips. "No, listen. Do you not hear it?"

The Queen fell silent and tilted her head to the side, all the while gazing into the other Elf's eyes. She could see the barely concealed fear in the blue pools; and as sudden realisation hit, her own grey eyes widened in horror. She let out a deep breath and felt for her husband's hand, seeking reassurance, safety.

"Orcs," Thranduil muttered. "There is no time to flee. They are close, too close. The trees will offer us sanctuary."

"Then come," Ithilwen said quickly.

The Elven-king pulled his wife across to a beech, and nodded towards it. "Climb this one. Stay out of sight, make no noise, and you will be safe. Do not get down until I come for you."

"And you?" the Queen asked.

Thranduil made a vague gesture with his hands, and turned away. His gaze fell on the two long knives that he had dropped to the ground only an hour ago, and he cursed himself silently. They were all the way on the other side of the clearing. Not far, but still far enough for him to possibly risk both his life and his wife's, without need. He wanted his weapons; he would not feel safe without them, but-

"What are you waiting for?" Ithilwen hissed.

"I-

As Thranduil took a step forward to retrieve his knives, the oak they lay beneath drooped slightly, and one of its branches curled underneath the blades, to pull them both back into the foliage. The King cursed aloud this time, although later on, he would realise that the tree's act had been a kind one – for no sooner had he turned and hidden himself in the branches of a beech, the Orcs came pouring through into the clearing, he would have had no time. But his gaze was not on them. It had been drawn instead, to the tree that his wife was hiding in. Trailing through the leaves was a sash. A lilac sash, which had caught and snagged on the branches – Queen Ithilwen's sash.

End Flashback

"Ada? Ada? Ada!"

"What?" Thranduil snapped, slamming a hand against his desk. "What do you want? I told you not to disturb me."

"Yes, but you…you looked scared," Legolas replied softly. "I've never seen you scared before. Are you alright?"

"Of course I am," the King said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. "Just…just leave me to do my work."

Nodding, the Elfling turned away, but he was at his father's side only a second later. "Ada, I'm drawing you a picture. It's not finished yet, but I need your help, because I'm not sure if…well, I'm having trouble with something, and I want to know what you think. Will you look at it quickly?"

"Very well…"

"Thank you. Well, this is it," Legolas explained, passing the parchment to the King, and leaning over him to point at the figures before their eyes. "That Elf is Uncle Círhael – I gave him green eyes; and that one is you – I gave you a crown; and that one is me – you can tell it's me because it's small."

"Then, where does the problem lie?" Thranduil asked.

Legolas bit down on his lip and lowered his eyes, drawing patterns on the floor with his feet. "Well, I'm in it, you're in it, and Uncle Círhael is in it…"

"I know that, I can see that," the Elven-king snapped. "For the love of the Valar, will you speak? Otherwise you can just leave."

"I want to put Nana in there," Legolas said quickly. "Just because she's gone, it doesn't mean she isn't still part of our family, so it's only right that I draw her too. But because this is for you, you can decide if you want her to be there or not. If it will upset you, I won't put her in this time. It's up to you, Ada."

Thranduil stared at the childish picture before him, playing for time so that he could compose his thoughts, and arrange the words he wanted to say into a sentence that would not sound harsh to his son's ears. But how? What was he supposed to say? He looked down and met Legolas' gaze, and as he did so, the Prince's eyes widened, and he shook his head violently.

"I'm sorry, Ada," he said quickly. "I didn't…"

Thranduil opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off even before he began. The door to his study flew open, and Saeldur, a captain of Mirkwood's forces, ran into the room, his eyes flashing in anger and pain as he tried to calm himself before his lord. Blood stained the front of his green tunic, and claw marks ran down the side of his face. The King's mind spun back momentarily to the attack on Ithilwen, but a noise of distress from his son jerked him back sharply to the present.

"Ada!" Legolas cried, burying his face into his father's robes.

"What happened?" Thranduil demanded, unconsciously reaching down to lay a hand on top of the child's head. "An attack? From where? By who?"

"Yes, my Lord, an attack," Saeldur replied quickly. "Orcs coming from the South. They attacked us from all sides, our chances seemed slim. We defeated them, but that victory exists only because Alondir's patrol was out and came to our rescue. This blood is not mine, my Lord. We lost Tirithon."

Thranduil swore violently, his eyes blazing with fury as the words penetrated his mind. "Then, how can you call it a victory? It is not a victory if he has fallen!"

"But none of the Orcs survived," Saeldur replied. "His was the only life lost."

"Yes, from today's attack!"

"There are few casualties," the captain added quickly. "We could have been less lucky."

Drawing a deep breath and letting it out again, Thranduil reached down and turned his son's face away from his robes. "Leave us now. Go to Círhael and stay with him, I-

"No," Legolas whispered. "Blood. Ada, there's blood!"

"I know, and that is why I want you to get away from here," the King answered sharply. "I will not have you present whilst Saeldur and I discuss this matter. It cannot be heard by a child, so-

"Is he going to die?" Legolas' eyes filled with tears as he voiced the question, and he bit down hard on his lip. "Don't let the captain die, not like Nana. Ada, stop the blood, please. I don't like it; I don't want to see it!"

"Then instead of interrupting me, you will listen!" Thranduil shouted, gripping the child's shoulders, and holding him tightly. "Now, you leave this room, and you…Don't you dare shake your head at me!"

"Don't…"

The King held the tearful gaze only for a second, before pushing his chair back, and, with a hiss of anger, grabbing the Elfling's wrist. Fully aware of the apprehensive captain on the other side of the room, he pulled his son across to the door, and wrenched it open with such force that it slammed against the wall. But he gave it no attention as he reached down and caught the Prince's chin, forcing him to look up.

"Ada, you're hurting me," Legolas whispered.

"You should not have acted so, then," Thranduil hissed. "Rest assured that you and I will be speaking later of this. For now, I want you to do as you have been told, and leave."

With a last frightened look at his angry father, Legolas pulled himself free and fled from the room. Hot tears, tears of pain and fear streamed from his eyes, and as soon as he was a safe distance away from the study, he collapsed against the wall, using it as a support for his trembling body.

"What's happened to you, Ada?" he breathed. "You have never shouted at me before, and you've never hurt me. I don't understand…why?"

Back in the study, as he listened to Captain Saeldur's report, the very same thoughts played in the mind of the Elven-king of Mirkwood. What was happening? He did not understand. And perhaps the most eminent thought of all…why?

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hours passed by, and that evening, for the second time that day, Legolas stood nervously before the door of his father's study, preparing himself to seek permission to enter. He had been seated in the dining hall, just finishing his meal, when a servant had come in with a message for Círhael. Apparently the King requested his son's presence. And so, with a muttered apology as his uncle sighed irritably, the Prince had left the table as quickly as he could.

He knew why Thranduil wanted to see him. It would be to discuss his behaviour from that morning, and the way that he had reacted upon seeing the blood staining Captain Saeldur's clothes. What else? Even as he remembered the crimson flowering, he shivered. It was horrible. But shaking himself mentally, he raised one arm and knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Legolas closed his eyes briefly before obeying; and inclined his head as he stepped into the room. "Ada…"

"What kept you?" Thranduil asked coldly.

"I'm sorry that I kept you waiting, but Uncle Círhael wasn't sure whether he should let me leave during the meal," the Elfling replied. "I came as soon as I could, though."

The King made a non-committal noise, and nodded to a seat before his desk. "Sit. We have things to discuss."

"Yes. But Ada, may I say something first?"

"If you must."

Legolas took a deep breath, leaning forwards slightly as he began to speak. "I know that you are angry with me, and I know that you are going to punish me for this morning. I'm not going to ask you not to, because I also know that what I did wasn't good. But I just want you to know why I did it."

"Enlighten me," Thranduil said dryly.

"When I saw the blood, it reminded me of that day. That day when you came back from the forest, and Nana…was carried back by the soldiers," Legolas said, his voice quiet. "You were bleeding, Ada. And like Captain Saeldur, the Orcs had scratched your face. You were hurt, and even though you tried not to show it, I was scared for you. But then you fell. Uncle Círhael caught you before you hit the ground, and as he held you, the blood got onto his clothes and hands. I was crying, but no-one took any notice. I didn't know what was happening. All I could see was blood, and…and so when the Captain came in today, it scared me. I'm not trying to make excuses for myself. I'm just telling you the truth."

Thranduil stared at his son in shocked silence. That was the first time that Legolas had spoken of Ithilwen's death, the first time he had revealed what he had seen and suffered on the day that it had happened. And the King was frozen, unable to move. For once, his wife had faded from his mind, and all he wanted was to go forwards and hold his child, comfort and reassure him. He could see himself doing it in his mind. There it looked so easy. But in reality, it was a lot harder.

"Ada, I'm not making excuses," Legolas repeated. "I'm not trying to get myself out of trouble."

The Elven-king shook himself mentally, and nodded once. "I should hope not," he replied coolly.

"I just thought that you should know why I behaved like I did, and now you do know, and…well, I'm finished now, and I don't have anything else to say," Legolas ended lamely.

"The way you acted upon seeing the state of Saeldur's appearance is not what bothered me," Thranduil sighed. "A sight like that would shock anyone, be they child or no. So your initial reaction was perfectly acceptable. There is nothing to forgive for that. However…what made me lose my temper was your attitude towards me."

"It was wrong of me," Legolas muttered.

"Yes, it was. You cut me off whilst I was speaking; you raised your voice; you refused to do what I told you," Thranduil said angrily. "I will not tolerate behaviour like that from anyone, and especially you. I am not raising you to conduct yourself in such a manner. You are a Prince of this realm, and I expect you to act like one."

"I couldn't help it," the Elfling said quietly.

"Maybe not, but that is not…" Sighing deeply, Thranduil pushed a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes for a second. "There is no need for us to discuss this further. I have said all that I want to…on this subject. You are free to leave."

"Am I?" Legolas asked in surprise. "But I thought that…that you were going to punish me, I…"

The King shook his head, silently replying: 'I am punishing you enough as it is.'

"Well, I'll go then." The Prince turned to leave, but then hesitated, and glanced back over his shoulder. "Ada, I…nothing."

As his son came to a decision and quickly left the room, Thranduil leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to shut out the surrounding world. But the solitude of his mind was just as dangerous, just as chilling as his reality. For as he let himself be taken over by darkness, he began to remember. He tried to stop the images from returning, he tried to fight…he could not. He, the Elven-king of Mirkwood, warrior of countless wars and battles, was powerless.

Flashback

'Stay still, Ithilwen,' Thranduil thought desperately. 'Just stay still, please. The wind is down, but if you move, they will see you, and…no. No!'

One of the Orcs gathered below had caught sight of the lilac sash, and with a cruel grin plastered on his face, was busy spreading the word among his comrades. They knew, they knew that there was an Elf within reach. Biting hard on his lip, the King watched through horrified eyes as the creatures surrounded his wife's hiding place. He had to do something to distract them…a diversion…but what? What could he do without his weapons? Could he reveal himself before they got to Ithilwen? Yes, but would that give her time to flee?

And then, before his very eyes, laughing and shouting, the Orcs jumped, grabbed the sash…and their prey fell. Thranduil's cry of fear went unheeded, drowned out as the foul yells of Sauron's servants echoed in the clearing. And he could do nothing. He was weaponless, powerless, helpless as his beloved wife was thrown around the group.

"No, stop this," he whispered. "Stop…"

But he knew that would no nothing. As Ithilwen struck out blindly, one of the Orcs hit back with the hilt of his blade, knocking her to the ground. But they were quick to pull her to her feet once more, ruthlessly clawing at her as the blood ran in rivulets down her pale face. They laughed loudly at her; some pulled at her hair; and others were starting to…

"No!" the King snarled. "No!"

End Flashback

The study door flew open to bang against the wall, and Thranduil's eyes snapped up, his breathing heavy as he gazed upon the intruder. "What…what are you….?" He trailed into silence, and shook his head slowly. "Do not do that…"

"If you wish to be on your own, why do you not lock the door or go to your private rooms?" Círhael questioned, mentally noting the fear in the other Elf's eyes, and the visible trembling of his body as he struggled to calm himself.

"I…what?"

"I knocked three times without an answer, which is why I entered in such a fashion," the Elf-lord replied.

Thranduil looked confused, but nodded all the same. "Yes, well…what did you want with me?"

Putting both hands on the desk, Círhael leaned forwards, and fixed his brother-in-law with a penetrating stare. "You were absent from the dining hall at breakfast, luncheon and dinner. You have eaten nothing all day. Where have you been? In here?"

"I have been working," Thranduil sighed. "Tirithon was killed this morning."

The fair haired Elf lowered his eyes, and nodded once. "I know. It is a grievous loss, but from what I hear, it could not have been avoided. But really, we have been lucky. There could have been more deaths."

"So I have been told," Thranduil nodded. "Saeldur was with me for a long while, we were speaking with the military advisors and the other captains. I have had no time to eat. If I am honest, eating is the very last thing on my mind. So please, stop fussing. You know how much I am irritated by it."

"I am merely worried for you!" Círhael snapped. Sighing, he turned away, and shook his head sadly. When he next spoke, his voice was soft. "We all are, but you do not see it. You see it instead as interference, and I only wish that you knew otherwise."

Thranduil was silent as he played absently with a quill that lay on his desk. Yes, he knew that everyone was trying to help him, and he knew that he should accept it. But he could not. He would not admit that he needed help to…to what? Love his son? No, just to sort himself and his life out. That first notion was a ridiculous one. Of course he didn't need help with that.

"Do you remember when your father died?" Círhael asked softly.

"What?" Thranduil shook his head angrily, and threw the quill back onto the desk. "Why do you bring this up now?"

The elder Elf sighed deeply, but his expression was sympathetic. "He was proud, so proud. And you inherited that from him, there is no doubting it. But it is time for you to lay aside your pride, because it is that which keeps you from accepting the truth and the help that you need."

"You speak folly," the King said scornfully.

"Do I? When Oropher was forced to march under Gil-galad's banner, he was resentful," Círhael replied, his voice level. "But his pride got the better of him, did it not? We were both there, Thranduil. We both saw it. He could not bear to be commanded by the High King of the Noldor. So he charged, he charged before the signal was given to do so. And he was slain in the first assault, leaving you to lead home just a third of the warriors that had left Greenwood."

Thranduil stood, pushing his chair viciously away as he went before his brother-in-law, eyes blazing with fury. "I ask that you leave this subject now. There is nothing more to say here."

"There is." Círhael's voice was cool, but not without pity. "Pride led your father to death. Do not be a victim to a similar fate. Save yourself, before time runs out."

The two Elves kept their gazes locked for a moment, before the elder nodded once, and left the study without another word. Alone again, Thranduil closed his eyes in despair. "Save myself," he murmured. "How can I do that, when I do not know how to?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Utsuri: Yeah, you're right there. None of my others have been particularly pleasant, but this one focuses a lot more on emotional pain than physical. I hope you enjoyed your mocha latte!

Elven Kitten: Thank you!

Irish Anor: I'm glad that you feel bad for him, rather than wanting to beat him over the head with a saucepan for being not nice to Legolas.

Kelsey Estel: Poor you, doing all of that work! Yes, the relationship between Thranduil and Círhael is not particularly good at this moment in time. And you're right: he is, in a way, standing between father and son. His only concern is Legolas, though, and he feels as though he's doing the right thing, and protecting him.

SivanShemesh: Tissue warnings…yeah, maybe I should bring those in!

Kel: I don't think I could write a story and not involve the twins in some way or another!

Rutu: I think it would be interesting to write the alternate ending for 'Captured', and although I've had a few ideas about it, it doesn't look too promising at the moment – mostly because of all the work that I've got on, and because my current stories have to take precedence. But if I do get around to writing it, I probably won't post it on here – the general response I've got from people isn't very promising – a lot have said that the stories of Calaen and Airëlus have gone as far as they possibly can, and there's no room for further development. However…if you would like to see the alternate ending, I can write it and e-mail you a copy of it?

Haldir's Heart and Soul: Yes, he definitely should!

Legolas-gurl88: I saw KOH last night!

Coolio02: Oops. More sadness!

Pirates of the carr: Yay, I'm glad that you smiled last chapter!

Brazgirl: Legolas is quite young in this. He's not younger than five, but he's not older than eight. So probably about six/seven years old. Mortal years, obviously. Hope that helps!

Lilan: Yes, pretending is definitely a very exhausting thing to do! And not a very healthy thing to do, either!

Opalkitty: I'm glad you're liking it!

I am so sorry about the delay with this chapter; it's just that my life is so horribly busy at the moment. I'm studying for my AS levels which start on Wednesday, and then go on for about another month or so, which I'm not really looking forwards to. However…I go on study leave next Monday, so that's good.

I've decided that I can't post chapters every three days. I'm afraid that it's gonna have to be a longer space between updates, because of the amount of college work that I've got. This isn't a permanent thing – once the summer holidays start, I'll be updating every couple of days. But during this exam period – which is bound to be very stressful, like last year – updates will be once a week.

Misto

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