Legolas pulled his cloak tighter around his body, keeping his eyes lowered as he wandered up another seemingly endless path overgrown with all sorts of dark foliage. He had been in the forest for nearly an hour now, and he was beginning to wish – though he would not admit it – that he had stayed in the confines of the palace. At least there he would be safe from the dangers that he could face in the great forest.

"And at least I would be able to see properly," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

The darkness pressed in on him from all sides, and although at times he was able to escape into an area where the moon shone through a gap in the trees, for the most part he was stifled by the oppressive blackness. It was a good thing that he had grown out of his fear of the dark a few months ago, otherwise he would stand very little chance on his own out here.

But one question was ever present in his mind, no matter how far away he tried to push it. Exactly what chance did he have? He wanted to get as far away from Mirkwood as possible, but first of all he faced the obstacle of escaping from the forest. How would he be able to do that? It could take days, maybe a week. Even his Elvish vision was slighted by darkness, his fear conceived thoughts that were not rational, and he was quite sure that the food he had taken from the kitchens would be swift to run out.

With a deep sigh, the little Prince sat on the leafy floor, resting his back against an old oak tree. In his hands, he played absent-mindedly with the small pack that he had brought along for the journey; and he debated what to do. He was hungry. After all, he had not eaten since yesterday's evening meal. All he had on him was a loaf of bread and two apples. It wasn't very much.

"Silly. You should've brought more," Legolas chided himself aloud. But then he sighed, and shook his head. "I can't go back, though. I have to keep on going. I think that…yes, maybe if I don't eat anything until I feel very hungry, it might last me. Maybe. I hope so."

And not only was he hungry, but he was tired too, so tired. He wondered if perhaps it would be too dangerous to sleep, for although he had never lain eyes on the dangers of his home, he knew of them only too well. And waking up to find a dirty great spider hanging over him was not the most pleasant of thoughts. However, he was a wood-elf. Surely the trees would protect him?

The Elfling got to his feet, and touched a hand to the trunk of the oak. "Excuse me, but I was wondering if-

He got no further. The tree flailed its branches, and one of them swung down to smack him sharply across the face. The force of the blow sent him sprawling onto the leafy forest floor, and as he landed awkwardly, he looked up with tears of pain in his eyes. A trickle of blood ran down his left cheek, warm against his cold skin.

"I don't want to hurt you, please don't be afraid," he said desperately. "I only-

From the cluster of closely packed leaves, a dark and winged…something flew out with a piercing shriek. Later on, Legolas wondered whether it was a bat or some sort of bird, but as its wings swept across the top of his head, the thought did not even enter his mind. With a cry of terror, he leapt to his feet and ran through the trees, away from the flying creature and the angry oak.

His pack he left behind, but at that moment he did not care. All he wanted was to get away, to find safety somewhere…anywhere. And as he ran, a feeling entered his heart, a feeling that he did not want: he missed Thranduil. He missed his uncle and the familiar faces of advisors and servants, but more than anything, he wanted to see his father.

"Don't think about it," he whispered. "Ada doesn't miss you. If he did he would come looking for you. Just try and forget about him, just…"

But he could not. Telling himself to forget was easy, but actually doing it was impossible. How could he forget the strong arms that had once enveloped him in warm embraces; the steely eyes that softened if they met his own; the gentle hands that had so tenderly smoothed his hair; and-

"Ada!" Legolas cried. Tears blurred his vision, and as he ran, he tripped over a tree root sticking up from the ground. He fell, but he did not get up again. Instead, he curled in on himself, and overcome with grief, he sobbed. He sobbed for the father that he had lost, the father that he would never again see. And there he lay, until darkness took him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The infant Prince of Mirkwood buried his face deep into his pillows and closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the suffocating feeling that the darkness of his room brought about. Tonight was very special – apparently – for it was the first night that he would spend sleeping by himself and without even a lamp for comfort.

Everyone had been so proud when he had finally announced that he was ready to sleep like a grown Elf, and they all had faith that he would be able to do it. Now he was unsure, though. The dark was…well, dark, and all he wanted was a lamp. But lighting it would involve looking up into the blackness, and that he was reluctant to do.

"Want light," he whispered. "Want to be safe."

"Legolas?"

The Prince opened his eyes, but kept his face buried in the pillows. "Is that you, Ada?"

Thranduil smiled as he pushed himself away from the doorframe, and went forwards to his son's bed. "Of course it is. Why do you hide your face, tithen-las? Is all well?"

"No," Legolas muttered. "Dark."

"But the dark will not hurt you. And besides, I thought you said that you were old enough to sleep alone and without a light," Thranduil replied. "What changed?"

"My mind."

The Elven-king sat on the bed, and pulled the Elfling out from under the coverlet and into his own arms. Holding his child tightly, he smiled against the golden hair, and said softly: "Then, that is well. Do you feel safer now?"

"Yes, because you are here," Legolas murmured, allowing himself to relax in his father's strong hold. "You keep me safe, Ada."

"I always will, ion-nin. I always will."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The present day Legolas moved slowly away from slumber, back into the waking world. But his eyes remained shut, they had to. He could still feel his father's arms wrapped tightly around his body, and he did not want to, he could not let that go. But what a vivid dream it must have been for him to still be able to feel…what was that?

He could hear voices, voices like he had never heard before; cruel and harsh they were, jeering at him and laughing horribly. Squeezing his eyes closed even more tightly, he turned his face away from the sounds, and as he did so, he realised with a jolt of horror that it was not strong and warm arms that held him, but large and dirty hands with sharp claws digging into his skin.

"No," he whispered. "No, what…what's happening…?"

"He's awake then?" a deep voice growled nearby.

"Course he is. Bring him over here."

As he was lifted bodily from the ground, Legolas' heart thudded painfully against his chest. He had to look, he had to find out who...no, what had him. But there was no real need to open his eyes. Deep down inside, he knew. He knew exactly what had happened: he had been caught by the same foul creatures who had taken his mother away…Orcs.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The news of the young Prince's disappearance had spread like wildfire, and there was not even one Elf who did not immediately volunteer themselves to search. The numerous halls and corridors of the palace were being explored by servants, healers, minstrels, advisors – even Vehiron helped; and although he proclaimed in a loud voice that Legolas could not have gotten far, the worry on his face was poorly hidden.

The opinion had been voiced by some that perhaps it would be best to extend the search outside only if they were unsuccessful inside the palace. They claimed it would be without point to send Elves into the forest if the Prince was merely hiding in some dark room; but Thranduil and Círhael had dismissed that idea at one. And so it was that they had taken as many soldiers as could be spared out into the forest to search for their son and nephew.

The elder of the two looked around at all of the Elves spread out through the trees, and released a deep breath. "We will find him," he said softly, as though to himself. "He cannot have gone far."

"If that is so, why have we not yet found any sign of him?" Thranduil countered. He paused, and shook his head sadly. "I am sorry, that was not the right thing to say. I just…I am afraid."

"We all are. It still has not really sunk in that he is out here on his own, and…" As Círhael trailed into momentary silence, his blue eyes suddenly flashed angrily. "Damn it! How could he leave? What did he think it would achieve? I do not understand."

Thranduil winced as his brother-in-law kicked at a pile of leaves. "Nor do I. For the moment though, we just have to concentrate on finding him. We can ask the questions later."

"What have we done to deserve this?" Círhael spat, rounding on the younger Elf as his anger and fear rose. "First of all we lose Ithilwen, and now Legolas is out in this forest with no-one to protect and comfort him. What if he comes across Orcs? Or spiders? He will have no chance of-

"Don't you dare," Thranduil said in a low voice. "Don't you dare say it. Just you try, and I will have you escorted back to the palace. Oh, you can look at me like that as much as you wish, but it will not change the fact that I am the King, and I have power over whether you stay or go."

Círhael tilted his had to one side, and narrowed his eyes in surprise. "Did you just…did you pull rank on me?"

"I did," Thranduil replied coolly.

Passing a hand over his eyes, the Elf-lord looked down at the ground. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "I did not mean to lose myself like that, especially before you. Valar knows you have enough to worry about."

"It matters not," Thranduil said with a faint smile, as he rested a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "Tempers are running high all around, and that does not come as a surprise. The sooner we get on and find Legolas, the better."

"You are right," Círhael sighed. "Let us continue to-

"Over here!"

Both Elves spun around to face the direction that the cry had come from, their hearts suddenly hammering painfully. They stood still, staring at the tableau before their eyes as they tried to fathom why they had been called. Elladan and Elrohir were kneeling at the bottom of an oak tree, with Elrond and a few others standing silently behind them, watching. Had Legolas been found? No, surely not. Then what could…

"What is it?" Círhael murmured.

Thranduil shook his head silently, and was still only for a moment longer before drawing in a deep breath to calm his fear. He went forwards to where the small group was gathered, and still without a word, knelt next to the twins. Elrohir stood and sadly turned away, but Elladan remained on the ground to slowly pass the Elven-king what he and his brother had found.

"It was lying abandoned just here," he said softly. "There were no footprints around it, which does not come as a surprise. But the leaves were disturbed as though…someone had run."

"That is Legolas' pack," Thranduil murmured. "Why would he leave it here yet continue onwards himself? It makes no sense."

"As I said, the leaves have been disturbed," Elladan replied. "If he thought that he was in danger, I do not believe that he would have stopped to think about taking his pack. He would have just wanted to run."

"You are right." Gazing down at his son's small pack, Thranduil exhaled slowly, and nodded once. "The search will continue. Spread out, and look for signs of potential danger that could have caused Legolas' flight. Report anything that you find, no matter how trivial you think it."

As the soldiers dispersed, Círhael stepped forwards and rested a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "At least we know that we are on the right path," he said softly. "Finding this is not necessarily a bad thing."

"Hmm. Look, you go on and I will catch up with you," Thranduil said quietly. "I want to…"

"I understand."

When he was alone, the Elven-king changed positions so that he was sitting with his back resting against the oak tree. He pulled the small travelling pack close to his chest, and gently ran his fingers over it. Every time he touched a small tear or a protruding stitch, his mind was taken back to the time of its occurrence – happier times, when there had been nothing but joy and love in the Royal Family.

"This was done by the mouse that you hid in your room," he murmured, touching a now barely visible hole. "And this…this you did when trying to see how sharp your practice arrows really were. This stain came from you tipping over your uncle's wine. And this one…"

Thranduil leaned forwards, and stared hard at the bright dot of red before his eyes. That was new, he was sure of it. It looked horribly like blood, he was sure of that also. Biting down on his lip, he lowered a hand to touch the small stain, but then he stopped, and held himself still. If it was his child's blood, he did not wish to feel it. But no, he had to. He had to know…

As his fingers gingerly brushed against the dot of red, his eyes suddenly snapped shut, and he drew in a sharp hiss of breath as his body jerked involuntarily. He could see something…no, someone…Legolas. The child was asleep, or so it seemed, for he lay peacefully on a bed back in the palace. But there was a flowering of crimson on his tunic, and his pale face was bruised and dirty. He could not be asleep, how could he? He must have been in pain…so much blood coated him.

And as Thranduil watched the scene play out in his mind, another Elf came into view: himself. He was leaning over Legolas' still body, his own frame shaking with a grief that could not be hidden. His face was wet with tears, and as he passed a shaking hand over his eyes, one of the silvery drops fell to land on his son's wound. The Prince did not move. But suddenly a voice, from the heavens it seemed, cried out: Would you die for him?

"Yes…"

As he breathed the word, Thranduil pulled his hand away from the pack, and stared at it in shock. What had happened to him? It was a vision, of sorts, a premonition that he had seen in his mind, but what did it mean? What could it possibly…? He had to know. Reaching out once more, he let his fingers rest on the red stain, but this time nothing happened. His mind remained blank.

"Valar, what happened?" he whispered. "What did-?

As something trailed across his shoulder, the Elf snapped his head around quickly. But only a limp branch hanging from the oak was to be seen. Apparently the tree wanted to converse with him. He sighed, and although he was far from in a talkative mood, turned slightly so that he would not seem unsociable or hostile. Trees could be dangerous if offended.

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I was caught up in thoughts."

"There are many Elves out here tonight," the oak observed. "I did not recognise all of them. But you…I know you. You are the young King. You used to play in my branches as a little child. But you do not remember me."

"My mind is…hazy tonight, my friend," Thranduil replied quietly.

"There is no joy in your voice," the oak noted. "Are you unhappy? I also am very much without cheer tonight."

"Indeed."

"I was awoken from slumber earlier this evening by a little Elf-child…"

In his shock, Thranduil dropped his son's travelling pack, and jumped quickly to his feet. "An Elf-child?"

"A very pleasant child, I realised afterwards…"

"Which way did he go?"

"Unfortunately, one of my branches hit him. That was rather upsetting…"

"Please, where did he go?"

"And so he ran…"

The Elven-king clenched his fists tightly; and keeping his voice as level as he could, said: "That child is mine, he is my son. I am looking for him, and any help that you can give would help me."

"You will find him not to the left, as your Elf-friends have gone, but to the right," the tree answered slowly. "Haste is necessary. I hear from the birds that he is not safe."

"Hannon le, mellon-nin," Thranduil said quickly.

As he turned away he was dimly aware of the oak acknowledging his thanks, but he paid little attention to it. He had a decision to make. To his left were his soldiers and friends, and if there was a battle to be fought, they would help him win it. But to the right was his son, alone and in danger. Legolas needed him…

Would you die for him?

"Yes," Thranduil replied out loud. "I would."

He pulled out his twin knives; and without a backward glance, started to make his way through the dense foliage to the right, away from Círhael and Elrond, and instead, to his son.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

This was quite a short chapter in comparison to some of the others, but the next one is very long. Ok, I need your help. I'm going away on holiday for two weeks on the 18th of this month, and I'll be back on the 4th of August. Now, this is a very short story – there are only 13 chapters to it. So, do you want me to update the last two chapters before I go on holiday, or do you want me to wait until I get home? I'll do whatever you all want me to; it doesn't make any difference to me at all.

Misto

x-x

PS: Thank you, everyone, for your reviews. They all mean so much to me!