The next day, as Legolas made his way from his lessons – which had been most enjoyable now that he and Ameldir were friends once more – his path led him past his father's study. For the last few days he had taken no notice of it, fully aware that the King was not in there. But today, it was impossible not to let his attention be drawn to it. The door was ajar, and from inside the room, he could hear voices raised in what sounded like an argument.

'Maybe Ada has come back,' the Prince thought hopefully.

Tucking his books under one arm, he crept forwards as silent as a summer's breeze through the woods, and peered around the door. As quickly as his hopes had risen, they fell again, for he looked not on the King, but on some advisors – Vehiron at their center – who were heatedly debating whether or not a set of twenty brand new bows could be made in only a week. How dull.

Rolling his eyes, Legolas turned to leave and let the adults continue with their arguments – which he thought to be very childish – when a sneering comment from Vehiron reached his ears. With a sharp intake of breath he spun back on his heel, and pushing the door open so that it slammed against the wall, he stormed into the room, his normally sparkling eyes flashing with a sudden anger.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"My Prince, what might you be doing here?" Vehiron asked.

"What did you say?" Legolas repeated forcefully. "No, don't tell me. You said that 'yesterday's intrusion by the bratty Prince was a waste of your valuable time'. Why was it? From what I could see, no-one was listening to you."

Vehiron narrowed his eyes, and threw his papers down onto the desk. "That is no way to speak to your elders. Have you not been taught manners?"

"What about you?" Legolas asked incredulously. "That is no way to speak to the son of your King."

"Ah yes, the King…"

"Be quiet," one of the younger advisors said sharply. "This is not the time or the place."

"No? And, why not? Surely it is right for the little Prince to know the truth?" Vehiron challenged.

From the corner of his eye Legolas saw the young advisor slip from the room, but he paid little attention to it. "I may be younger than you," he said coldly, "but the fact that I'm just an Elfling won't matter when I tell my uncle and my ada about this."

"And where is your ada?" Vehiron asked softly.

Feredir, a dark haired Elf who was not at all friendly with the outspoken advisor, spoke up angrily. "What are you doing? This is no way to treat a child, especially the Prince. I suggest that you leave before you say something that you will later regret."

"What is regrettable about the truth?" Vehiron countered.

"Prince Legolas, would you like me to take you to your uncle?" Feredir asked gently, holding out a hand.

"Thank you, but I…" The Elfling shook his head, gazing at the advisors in confusion. "What truth? I don't understand."

"So he does want to know," Vehiron laughed. He looked down, and smiled. "The people of Mirkwood grow uneasy without your father to rule over them. They say: what is the use of a King when he does nothing for his subjects? And that is so very true. Thranduil is now proving what was thought years ago, when Oropher was lost: he will never be the Elf that his father was, he will never be the King."

"Don't say that!" Legolas snapped. "Ada is the greatest King that Mirkwood has ever had, and will ever have."

Vehiron shook his head, leaning down to murmur in the Elfling's ear: "The greatest King? If that is so, why then, does he use Queen Ithilwen's death as an excuse to shirk his duties? Why does he pretend to grieve, whilst our workload is doubled without him?"

"You could be arrested for those words!" Feredir spat. "And not one of them is true. You are still bitter, all these years later, because you were Oropher's chief councillor, but when Thranduil became King, he chose another to replace you. Take back what you have said!"

Stunned, Legolas put his hands onto the desk to steady himself. It wasn't true, he did not need Feredir to confirm that; but as he had listened to Vehiron, tears of anger had gathered in his eyes. But he blinked them back determinedly. They would not fall, not whilst he still stood before the one who had so insulted his father. As he drew in a deep breath to try and calm himself, his gaze fell on the papers that had been thrown onto the desk. On each piece there were four columns, and in each column, there were long lines of large numbers running all the way from the top of the page to the bottom. He may not have understood their meaning, but the Prince could see that they were important.

Suddenly, as quick as a flash, his hand shot out and he grabbed a bottle of ink that lay just within reach. Pulling it towards the edge of the desk, he whipped off the top; and with a triumphant smile, turned it upside down over the papers. As thick black ink spilled all over them, rendering them nearly unreadable, Vehiron let out a cry of rage, his eyes blazing furiously.

"What have you done, child?" he growled.

"Here, have them back!" Legolas spat, throwing the papers to the advisor. His green robes were immediately covered in ink, and the Prince laughed. "It serves you right. No-one is horrible about Ada. Apologise for what you said."

"You have some nerve," Vehiron snapped.

Legolas shrugged, and picked up another ink bottle – this one containing blue liquid. "Apologise, or I will throw this one at you as well. Ink stains are hard to wash out, aren't they?"

"Might I suggest that you put that down? Perhaps it would be best if…" Feredir trailed into silence as his young Prince shot him a glare worthy of one of Thranduil's best. "No, never mind, then."

"Apologise, Vehiron!" Legolas shouted. "Take back what you said!"

The advisor was silent for a moment; but then, his mind made up that he would rather cut off his own hand than obey a child - be the child in question Prince or no – he turned to leave. But as he went to the door, two things happened, and both shocked him equally. Firstly, Legolas threw the ink at his back, and the sticky liquid made its way uncomfortably inside his robes; secondly, Círhael entered the room, with the younger advisor just behind.

What, for the love of the Valar, is happening here?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. "I want an explanation. Now!"

"The Prince lost his temper," Vehiron replied quietly.

As his anger faded away, the tears returned to Legolas' eyes. "I did, uncle, but it was his fault, he-

"I do not want to hear a word from you yet," Círhael snapped. "Vehiron, I suggest that you go home and clean yourself up. Feredir, I am sure you are needed elsewhere."

"This ink will not be easy to remove," Vehiron scoffed. "These are good robes, and expensive. Now look at them! And what of my work? I spent two hours on these numbers, and I cannot do them again."

"I will take care of everything," Círhael answered. "Now please, all three of you, leave."

Vehiron glared at Legolas for a moment, before turning on his heel and sweeping from the room with as much dignity as possible – considering that he was covered in blue and black ink, he actually managed rather well. The younger advisor and Feredir followed quietly, but as the latter passed Círhael, he murmured: "The Prince was provoked."

"I do not think," Círhael said in a low voice, kicking the door shut, "that I have ever been more disappointed or angry with you."

"It wasn't my fault," Legolas whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Not your fault? How dare you say that when I saw you doing it? I will not hear denial or excuses from you!" Círhael exploded. "You are in enough trouble as it is already, so do not make more for yourself."

The Prince sniffed, and with the hand that wasn't holding a bottle, pulled it across his eyes, at the same time leaving an ink stain on his cheek. "But you didn't hear what Vehiron said. He called me 'bratty', and that made me mad because I'm not. And then he-

"I said no excuses!" Círhael snapped.

"Listen to me!" Legolas screamed. Raising his hand, he threw the ink bottle to the ground, and it shattered into pieces.

As the little Prince, consumed once more with anger, began to push papers and books from the desk, Círhael took three steps forwards and grabbed his wrist. Pulling the child back around to face him, he gripped the slender shoulders tightly and shook hard, ignoring the tears that spilled. In his eyes, he was merely dealing with a bad tempered Elfling.

"Let go of me!" Legolas shouted, curling his hands into fists, and beating against his uncle's chest. "Let go of me, let go of me! Why won't you listen to me?"

"Stop this," Círhael said sharply, pulling away slightly so that he was out of reach of the child's fists. But as the kicking started, his eyes flashed furiously. Making a noise of anger, the Elf-lord raised his hand, and brought it against his nephew's cheek. The slap was not hard, nor intended to hurt, but it stung enough to shock the Prince into silence.

Stunned, Legolas went still in Círhael's grasp, but the realisation of what had happened hit only a second later. Trembling, he sank to his knees. The tears continued to flow from his eyes, but now they were silent. The only sound in the room was the heavy breathing of the two Elves, as they both waited for the other to make some attempt to speak. From the flickering emotions in his eyes, Círhael, it seemed, was as shocked as his nephew at what he had just done.

"Look around you," he said eventually. "Who must clear this? Me. Who will have to pay for new robes for Vehiron? Me. And who has to spend two hours tonight doing this ruined work? Me. Thank you, Legolas. I hope that you are satisfied."

"I'm sorry for what you have to do," the Prince said quietly. "But I'm not sorry for what I did to Vehiron. He deserved it."

Círhael pulled the Elfling to his feet, and pushed him towards the door. "Get out of my sight, child. I do not wish to see you even at the dining table tonight – I have had enough of you."

Legolas drew in a sharp breath and let it out again, brushing helplessly at his eyes. "Don't send me away, I haven't done anything wrong. You didn't hear what he-

"Go!"

With a noise of distress, the Elfling turned and fled, tears blurring his vision as he ran. In the study, Círhael was silent, taking a moment to calm himself. He was angry at Legolas, but as he gazed around the room, and took in the papers and books and maps either fallen to the floor or in untidy piles on the desk, his eyes narrowed. If he looked beneath the surface of all that had just taken place, he could see that the fault was not his nephew's…it was Thranduil's.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Lord Elrond looked over the rim of his wine goblet, and smiled as he watched Thranduil forcing down the soup that had been brought up by a servant. The portion had been small, but it mattered not – it was more than was normally eaten. The King had not been impressed, but after a few reproving words from his friend, he had fallen silent and conceded. Though, even now that he had finished, he was still glaring disdainfully at the empty bowl.

"Was that so hard?" Elrond asked.

"I have tasted better," Thranduil replied dismissively.

"I doubt that. As soon as you recover, you will be able to appreciate the taste of food once more," the Imladris Lord said. "I am sure the cook will be most disappointed to hear that you disliked her-

The door swung open, cutting him off half way through his sentence. Círhael burst into the room, his normally peaceful eyes blazing furiously; and his face reminiscent of a stormy day in Mordor as he strode over to the sofa that the other two Elves were seated on. In his hands he held Vehiron's stained papers, and with a noise of anger, threw them at his brother-in-law. Thranduil caught them, and looked up in surprise.

"What-

"Do you really not know what you are doing?" Círhael spat. "To yourself, to me, to your people, to your son…"

"What do you mean?" Thranduil questioned, as he rose and stood before the elder Elf. "Is anything wrong?"

"Wrong? Yes, most definitely. I came up here expecting to find you taking this time to grieve and adjust yourself to losing your wife," Círhael snapped. "Instead, I see that you are using your loss as a chance to live a life free of work and duty, whilst everyone else is left to pick up the pieces."

"How dare you?" Thranduil challenged. "Do you really think that I am using Ithilwen's death for that?"

"Before today, no. But now…I do not know," Círhael replied. "But whatever you are doing and for whatever reasons, the consequences fall on those who do not deserve them. You are playing with my life, making me do your work for you, and that makes me angrier than you can imagine. And then there is Legolas…"

"What of him?" Thranduil asked quickly.

"You are destroying his life!"

As the shouted words left his lips, the Elf-lord, without a moment's hesitation, struck his brother-in-law across the face. Elrond was on his feet immediately, and jumping behind Thranduil, grabbed the back of his tunic to keep him steady. He could feel the trembling of his friend's body underneath his hands, and shaking his head angrily, he glared at Círhael, his eyes flashing.

Thranduil raised the back of his hand to his lips, and when he drew it away, there was a line of blood staining it. "I am destroying my son's life?" he asked softly.

The elder Elf nodded once, his eyes cold. "Yes. And that I cannot forgive."

"I…what do you…"

"I think that an explanation is in order," Elrond said sharply.

"You speak the truth, I should have explained first. I apologise for that," Círhael replied. He paused, and glanced at his brother-in-law. "However, that apology does not cover my act of violence towards you."

Thranduil nodded, and touched the edge of his sleeve to his lower lip. "Maybe I deserved it. But please, tell me of Legolas. I have to know that he is well."

"Since you began shutting yourself away, his behaviour has become awful," Círhael sighed. "I would never have thought him capable of it, but I have been proved wrong. However…although it is he who commits the crimes, you are the one at fault, not him. Your absence is changing him. But how can he be blamed when his father refuses to see him?"

"How is he changing?" Thranduil asked quietly.

"He has become stubborn, bad-tempered, violent," Círhael answered. "The list is long. And I have no choice but to punish him, because otherwise I will be condoning what he does. You have to come back. I need you. Your son needs you."

The Elven-king looked away, and nodded slowly. "I know. But it is hard."

"Why is it hard?" Círhael asked. "I know that you are still grieving. But you have to move on."

"How can I move on just like that?" Thranduil demanded, snapping his fingers to punctuate the word. "You may have already forgotten Ithilwen, but I have not."

Círhael stepped forwards and grabbed the front of his brother-in-law's tunic, pulling him close. "Don't you dare try and pretend that your love for her was greater than mine. She was my sister long before she became your wife!"

"Stop this, both of you," Elrond said sternly. He pulled the two Mirkwood Elves away from each other, and held them still. "Quarrelling like children will get you nowhere. So I suggest that Círhael, you control your temper, and Thranduil…you do the same. You are both as bad as each other."

"I meant what I said," Círhael continued, as though he had not heard the words. "You have to move on, because if you cannot do it now, you never will."

"Tell me how, then," Thranduil ground out. "How did you do it?"

"Ithilwen is dead. She is dead, and nothing can change that," the Elf-lord said softly. "But you…you remain here with the rest of your life to live, with a kingdom to rule, with people who need you, and with a beautiful son to love and care for. Your wife may have departed, but you have not. Stop carrying the weight of the dead. Move on with your life. It is what she would want."

"You make it sound easy, and maybe it was for you," Thranduil snapped. "But the knowledge of what I did is still fresh in my mind, and always will be. I have tried to move on, believe me I have. But I cannot."

"You speak always of what you did, and guilt," Círhael said slowly. "But I fail to understand what you mean by that. Why guilt? It was Orcs who stole her life."

The Elven-king looked up, and shook his head once. "Orcs? No. It was me, Círhael. I killed her."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

MCross: Yeah, it's very good that Círhael is there, but he's starting to feel the pressure, as was shown in this chapter. Oh no, hospital? How so!

Pippin the hobbit-elf: Good to hear from you again, mellon-nin!

Kelsey Estel: Season finales never seem to help, do they? Well, season one of Lost hasn't even started in Britain yet, and I really want to see it!

Lilan: Yes, he is definitely very considerate, which I think is very good; but unfortunately, he can get mad at times – as we saw in this chapter with Vehiron. Oops. Possibly not the best move he could've made!

Haldir's Heart and Soul: Yeah, I think only Elrond would've been able to manage it.

Rutu: Unfortunately he lost his temper in this chapter, and earned Círhael's anger without even planning it. Poor little guy!

Lombadia Greenleaf: Yep, I've seen KOH! Very good, and Orlando's acting has improved greatly. I've seen a few pictures from the new Willy Wonka film, and um…I'm not sure. I don't think it'll be as good as the original, even with Johnny Depp in it!

Utsuri: Hehe, bad things always happen in my stories! Ok, that could be bad thing…

Elven Kitten: I'm going to start counting how many times I make people cry!

Legolas-gurl88: I had an encounter with a spider earlier. Not nice. I'll tell you about it when I e-mail you later!

SivanShemesh: Lucky you, being in Rome!

Irish Anor: Cyber hugs are good, I'm sure Legolas would appreciate one!

Brazgirl: Don't worry, it will soon enough!

JediGollum: Yeah, maybe not such a good idea, though.

Kel: Unfortunately, it was. But it wasn't planned this time, so that kind of makes a difference. Right?

Sorry that this took a bit longer to update. I received some bad news the other day, and am still adjusting myself to it. On top of that, I've had exams, but I've finished them now. Oh, by the way…in my media exam, for the adventure part of the exam, guess what film they showed us to write about? FOTR! I was so happy when I read the question!

Anyway, see you all soon,

Misto

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