Time is a strange thing. It is a wheel in constant motion. It never stops moving, yet it is always slowing or quickening; it often turns at the very opposite speed to which one wants and needs. Fate has it so that if haste is required, haste is not received. If a drawn out period of time is wanted, perhaps to enjoy something to its full extent, that same period of time will shorten considerably. It was during his stay with Seregeth that Legolas found this out.

He had been a prisoner for five weeks now, and every day that passed seemed to be an hour longer than the last. Night took longer to fall; and day only a matter of minutes to appear. The former was the time he most looked forward to. It meant that he could escape into the confines of his own small room, where he was able to sit and do any number of things without being scrutinised – cry, sleep, hope, pray, dream. The latter he had come to despise, for it was when the sun was in the sky that he was worked, punished, humiliated.

Legolas had always been a small child, but now he was so thin that his clothes hung off his body, and when he ran his hands over his stomach, he could feel his ribs. Seregeth did not starve him, but nor was he generous when it came to giving out food. At mealtimes the Elfling was allowed only minute portions, and if he was caught taking food during the day...dark bruises on his arms and back were a testament to the consequences.

As Amarth had said – it seemed a year ago – Seregeth no longer made his captive do chores. Occasionally he would force work upon the boy if he thought it particularly torturous, but it did not happen often. The last time had been the previous week – he had caught another rabbit in a trap, and it had been Legolas' job to make sure it was dead, and then skin and debone it. His hands had been shaking so much that he had sliced the tip of his finger, and was unable to continue.

The last few days had been spent in silence. Legolas would sit in the main room from sunrise to sundown, unable to talk to move too much without being hurt. Seregeth would sit at the table and carve wooden ornaments, pausing to get himself some food or wine, or else just to sneer at his prisoner, who he knew was too afraid to retaliate. There was no sense to the monotonous routine; nothing would be gained from it. But the man enjoyed it. He relished having the power that he was so addicted to.

Today was the same as the past two days. Legolas was sitting on the hard floor, staring unseeingly at nothing at all. He could hear rain falling outside, wind whistling against the walls of the cottage. The weather matched his mood – dark, miserable. He had been sat in the same cross-legged position for two hours, and his body felt stiff and painful. But for once, he found himself unable to care.

'I care about nothing,' he thought dully. 'This has become my life now. There isn't anything I can do to change it. I know that. I have accepted it. And I don't care anymore.'

Over at the table, Seregeth pushed back his chair and got to his feet. He glanced over at Legolas and said 'stay' in a low voice, before walking out of the cottage and into the rain. The Elfling did not even raise his eyes. He appeared not to have noticed the man's disappearance, for he did not take the chance to stretch his legs or arms and get some feeling back into them.

'What are my parents doing?' he wondered. 'Have they given up searching for me? Nana would cry for a long time. Maybe she will be so sad that she will have to go to Valinor. Ada would not cry. Or maybe he would. Maybe he only cries when he is alone, as I do. I-

"Legolas…"

The Prince raised his eyes, but kept his head bowed to the ground. "Yes?" he asked, in barely more than a whisper.

"I have something for you," Seregeth said, walking back into the cottage and kicking the door shut behind him. "Maybe this will cheer you up. I have noticed that you have been quite morose recently."

'Why do you care?' Legolas thought. He did not dare say it aloud.

The man took a few steps forwards so that he was standing before the boy, and brought his hands out from behind his back – in them he held one of the puppies. "Here."

Legolas stared up at the young dog wriggling to get free, but he made no move to reach up and take it. "For me?" he whispered.

"Of course. I did say on your second day here that if your behaviour pleased me, I would let you choose a puppy for yourself," Seregeth replied. "Surely you did not forget that?"

"No."

"Well, take it," the man said. He smiled briefly as Legolas reached up hesitantly to obey. "It was only right that you have this one. You and he have gotten on well since the day he was born, and…What is it?"

The little boy bit down on his lower lip, and shook his head slightly. "You said if my behaviour pleased you. But you haven't been pleased with me that often." He glanced at the bruises on his wrists and arms, the red stripes on his shoulders. "I have angered you a lot since I arrived here."

"You have. And that is because at times you can behave very badly," Seregeth said softly, pushing the puppy into Legolas' hands. "But at other times you redeem yourself. Many of the children that I kept before you were much worse, and so they received harsher punishments, and were not given treats such as this. You should take comfort in that."

The Elfling did not. He held the puppy close to his chest, and nodded once. "Thank you."

Seregeth opened his mouth to reply, but he was silenced by a sudden sharp knocking on the door. He froze, but his eyes flicked towards the rainy window as he tried to catch a glimpse of the visitor. Legolas immediately sat up a little straighter, his body tense as the realisation dawned that maybe, just maybe, somebody had come to rescue him, and take him home to his parents. That was something his captor, however, was not about to risk.

"Get into your room," he snarled.

Legolas jumped to his feet, quick to obey. His first instinct as he ran into his own small room was to cry out at the sharp pain in his body, but he bit down on his lip, telling himself to keep quiet. He had to, if he wanted to hear what was happening outside. As soon as he was alone, he put his puppy down on the mattress, and went back to push his ear against the door. He could hear Seregeth's voice, but there were two others – a man and a woman. From the snatches of conversation he caught, his captor was surprised, and the other two apologetic and angry, respectively.

"What are you doing here?"

"…thought I'd save you the trouble."

"Get your hands off!"

"You told me it would be next week."

"I have tired of her."

Silence fell. Legolas pressed his ear closer to the door, struggling to hear any sounds from outside. The voices had stopped, but what was that? Footsteps. Coming in his direction. He threw himself backwards so that he was sitting on the mattress, a picture of innocence. He did it not a moment too soon, for a second later Seregeth had slammed his way into the room.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he growled.

"No," Legolas answered quickly. "I wasn't, I-

"Good. Make sure it stays that way."

Seregeth left once more, banging the door shut behind him. The Elfling exhaled deeply and stared hard at the wall, as if that would suddenly become clear and allow him to see what his captor was doing with the visitors. But then a wet sensation on his hand made him look up sharply. He laughed. It was the puppy, wagging its short tail hopefully as its dark eyes begged for attention.

"Hello," Legolas said with a smile. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to ignore you so."

The small dog's tail wagged a little bit faster as his new owner picked him up and cuddled him close. His black and white coat was slightly damp from the rain that was falling outside, and the warmth of the cottage was a pleasant change for him – it was a far cry from the chilly stable that he had shared with his parents and siblings.

"I have to give you a name," Legolas murmured. He pulled his book out from under the pillow, and started flicking through it with his spare hand, stopping for a few seconds when he came across an illustrated page to look at the picture of the man described, and his name.

"Hmm…Beren. He fell in love with Lúthien. No, you don't look like a Beren. Turin…Elros…Tuor…" The Prince sighed, and flipped over a few pages. He found himself looking into a pair of cruel black eyes, and he winced as he read a few words about this man. "Ulfang the Black. Easterling…turned against the Sons of Fëanor. He sounds – and looks – horrible. I will not name you after him."

The puppy made a soft whimpering sound, and his tail flapped a few times as though in agreement. Legolas sighed deeply. These sorts of things were not meant for one person alone. The naming of a new animal was something that took place with people that he knew and loved, people who he could discuss different names and meanings with – his mother or father, his tutor, Alondir, a friend. Friend. The child tilted his head to the side, and looked down at the dog. Friend…he liked it.

"I know that it is a childish sort of name," he murmured aloud. "Bu I don't think that matters. After all, I only have one friend, and that is you. Friend… Mellon. Yes, I like that. That will be your name. Do you like it?"

Whether the small dog was impressed or not with the chosen name, Legolas did not find out. The door opened once more and Seregeth reappeared – a little more quietly this time – and gestured with a flick of his hand for his prisoner to come out. The boy was on his feet immediately, curious to know what had happened. He followed the man, his puppy still clutched close to his chest.

Standing by the table was a girl who appeared to be in the late years of mortal adolescence. She wore an overlarge grey tunic which hung down past her knees, and yet she was neither tall nor short – around a head shorter than Seregeth, Legolas estimated. The rain had made her shoulder-length sandy hair limp and straggly, and it hung without life at the sides of her face, nearly, but not quite, hiding her eyes. They were narrow, green, and set in an oval face that was streaked with dirt. Her head she held high, and her jaw was set in determination. Legolas' Elven eyesight, however, could see without difficulty that her shoulders were shaking. He felt a rush of pity for her, and offered a smile. She merely glared at him.

"This is the girl that I told you of a few weeks back," Seregeth explained softly. "Her name is Criltha."

"I can speak for myself," Criltha growled. Her voice was low and gravelly, as if years of shouting had tired it.

"She reminds me somewhat of you," the man continued to Legolas. "When you first arrived here, your spirit was fiery and your temper hot. We soon changed that, though, did we not? I am sure we can do the very same with her. What do you think? Do you agree?"

Legolas didn't know what to say. He shrugged helplessly, and replied: "I…I don't know."

"Of course we can. Now, would you like to show her to your room?" Seregeth's hard expression made clear that he was ordering, not requesting. "She will be sharing it with you for the length of time she is here."

"I can find my own way," Criltha snapped.

As the girl pushed past him, Legolas turned to his captor and said quickly: "I'm sorry, I-

"No matter," Seregeth cut in. "Go to her. It will do you good to get to know her, seeing as how you will be sharing a room for a while. Go on."

The Elfling went back to his room, and closed the door quietly behind him. He put his puppy on the floor, and bit down on his lower lip as his eyes found Criltha. "I…um, I don't want to sound rude, but I…you're on my bed."

"Does it have your name written on it anywhere?" the girl challenged, without turning to face him.

"No. But I have been sleeping there for five weeks now," Legolas answered apologetically. "And my book is on it. Just there."

Criltha reached out a hand, and carelessly hit the book away. "It is not here any longer."

"Don't do that!"

"It sounds to me as if Seregeth has not rid you of your temper at all. Never mind. And anyway, child, who are you to tell me what to do and what not to do?" Criltha asked bitterly. "You should respect your elders."

"As should you," Legolas replied, his voice cool.

"What?"

The Elfling shook his head, vaguely irritated by the mortal's apparent ignorance. "Never mind. Please, all I want is for you to move from my bed. There is another one just over there by the wall. It is no different to mine."

"Then, why do you want this one so desperately?"

"Because it is mine, and I-

Criltha got up suddenly, and whirled around to face the boy. Her green eyes flashed furiously at him. "Stop your complaining, spoilt little brat. I will move. But just you make sure that your horrible dog doesn't come near me. If it does, I will kick it hard."

Legolas sat down quietly on his own mattress, and pulled Mellon protectively into his lap, gently stroking the soft fur. The dog was appropriately named, it seemed. If the young Prince had hoped there was a chance of him befriending this new prisoner of Seregeth's, he was very much mistaken.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

In Mirkwood, things had taken a turn for the worse. Three weeks after Legolas' disappearance, a large number of Orcs had entered the forest, and Commander Alondir had been left with no choice but to call off the search for the Prince, so that all of his soldiers would be free to fight. He had expected Thranduil to dispute this, but no such thing had happened. The King went with his army to battle, and many said that even in the Last Alliance they had not seen him fight with such chilling ferocity. He had escaped the battle without a single scratch – the loss of his only child was a powerful weapon – and Thalion, who had also fought the Orcs, was still having trouble believing that the Elven ruler really had once wanted to be a healer.

The relationship between the man and Elf had also changed – although, not for the better. It was clear to all that Thranduil still held Thalion responsible for Legolas' disappearance; and even though he had been asked by both Alondir and Laerwen to try and conceal his dislike, he found himself unable to. As each day passed, more and more accusing and sarcastic comments directed towards the mortal would leave his lips; and the feelings of animosity and blame would only intensify. He had tried to be civil to Thalion. But then an image of his son would fly into his mind, and his efforts would end immediately.

Thalion was finding it just as difficult to be civil. He sympathised with all that had happened during the Elven-king's childhood, but that sympathy did not make the cold glares and taunts any easier to bear. He was innocent. He knew he was innocent of every accusation that was thrown at him. Though, he did not defend himself. He was not going to waste his time doing so, when he would only be scorned.

When he was alone, life did not improve any. For a strange reason that he could not fathom, his dreams were only of his past, and they were becoming more and more regular. The pattern was always the same. Upon falling asleep, images of his father, his sister, himself, would flash into his mind, and he would be forced to watch another chapter of the story of his life that he was trying so desperately to forget.

"Don't, Surwen," Thalion whispered to his sister. "Don't cry, please don't. It will only anger him further."

"Do you think that I care? There is nothing he can do to hurt me any more," the girl choked. "He has done everything there is to do. He should be proud of himself. He probably already is."

"But at least try and keep him calm. Father-

"Father? Father?" Surwen laughed, it sounded almost manic. "You insist on calling him that after all these years of torture! He is not our father, Thal. Not any more. And he never will be again."

"But he is our father," Thalion snapped back.

"Oh yes? How many fathers do this to their children?" Surwen snarled, dragging up her sleeve to reveal angry bruises. "How many fathers beat their children into unconsciousness? How many fathers force their children to sleep outside in the rain? Tell me, Thalion! Because I do not know of any expect ours. He is the only one…the only father to do that to his own children…to us."

Thalion wrapped an arm around his sister's shoulders as she began to sob noisily. "It is unfair, I know it is."

"Why do we live this way?" Surwen breathed. "Why do we stand for it?"

"Because we are prisoners," Thalion answered hollowly.

"But if we could escape…"

"We have tried that before. We always fail. He always catches us."

Surwen caught her brother's arm, and held onto it tightly. "Then we stop him from doing that. We stop him from watching us."

"But how…"

"You know how to use a knife," Surwen said quietly.

Thalion drew in a sharp breath, and gazed at his sister in shock. "You mean…" He trailed off as she closed her eyes and tears fell from under her lashes. He rested his head back against the wall, and exhaled deeply. "I will get us out of here, Surwen."

When he had finally freed himself from the dream and untangled himself from the damp sheets that covered his sweaty body, Thalion left his rooms and set off down the dimly lit corridor. He had taken to doing this – going for night time walks to clear his head and calm himself. Normally the solitude worked wonders for him, but tonight, he was not alone.

'Oh no,' he thought bitterly. 'Not now, not now.'

Thranduil had just come around the corner at the end of the corridor. His hair was loose upon his shoulders, and it looked as though he had thrown on some clothes at random in a matter of seconds. His leggings were creased; he was walking barefoot; and his loose tunic was only tied to halfway up his chest, revealing toned muscles that only the finest warriors could possibly have after years of swinging a sword. Upon seeing Thalion he stiffened, but did not stop walking. Instead, he continued until he was no more than a foot from the mortal.

"What a pleasure, seeing you here," he said quietly. "What might you be doing at such a late hour?"

"I could ask you the very same question."

"Am I not allowed to wander around my own halls?"

"You may do whatever you please in your palace. But whilst I am staying here, I also may do whatever I please – within reason," Thalion said, his voice sharp. "I do not have to disclose to you my reasons for taking a midnight stroll."

"Of course not. And to be perfectly honest, I do not care what you are doing. Feel free to continue," Thranduil replied.

Thalion held out an arm to stop the Elf from moving past him. "When I walk at night, it is usually because I have been haunted by dreams. What dreams haunted your sleep, I wonder."

"For your information, I was not asleep," Thranduil said coldly. "My wife thought I was, and she left our rooms."

"And you are following her," Thalion nodded in understanding. "Do I sense a lack of trust between you both?"

"I am following her to ensure that she is well," the Elf snarled. He glared at the man for a moment, and then shook his head slightly. The anger had left his face, and was replaced by an expression of concern. "Thalion, you look tired."

The mortal arched a cynical eyebrow as he folded his arms across his chest. "I do?"

"Yes. Is something keeping you up at night? A guilty conscience, perhaps?" Thranduil suddenly spat. "Because guilt does that, does it not? It eats away at you all the time, never ceasing. You cannot eat, you cannot sleep, you cannot even breathe without that conscience enforcing guilt upon you."

"Do you speak from personal experience?" Thalion challenged.

Thranduil drew himself up, and was silent as he regarded the man through steely eyes. It looked for a moment as though he was going to strike the other; but then he shook his head, and laughed softly. "If I do, do you really believe I would tell you of it? Of course not. Now, if there is nothing else, I would like to continue with what I-

"Meet me on the training field in fifteen minutes."

"I…what?"

"You heard."

The Elven-king had. As he swept past the man, he nodded once. "Fifteen minutes, then."

"I look forward to it," Thalion sneered.

Thranduil said nothing, but continued walking down the corridor. His heart sped in anticipation. He looked forward to it also. He knew what was going to happen. One did not arrange to meet an enemy on the training field at gone midnight unless some sort of confrontation was going to take place. He dropped his hand to his waist, instinctively feeling for a blade. No, he had left his weapons back in his and Laerwen's private rooms. Laerwen…he still had to find her. And he had a good idea of where she might be.

A few minutes later, Thranduil was pushing open the door to his only son's room. He leaned against the wall, watching silently as his wife, who was kneeling on the floor, gathered scattered toys and books in her arms. She was whispering incoherent words to herself; and every so often she would raise a trembling hand to her face, and make a flicking gesture with it – brushing away her tears.

"What are you doing?" Thranduil asked eventually, taking a few steps into the room.

"Tidying."

"I can see that. I meant, why are you doing it?"

Laerwen put a stuffed animal back on the bed, and shook her head slightly. "Legolas is coming home. He would be upset if his room was untidy. It would not be a pleasant thing for him to return to."

"Legolas is not coming home," Thranduil said slowly.

"He is. I saw him."

"You saw… No, you did not. You could not have."

"He came to me." Laerwen's voice had fallen to a whisper. "He came to me and told me that he is coming home."

Thranduil exhaled as he went forwards to kneel at his wife's side. "He did not come to you, meleth-nin. I was awake. I did not see him. You had a dream, nothing more."

"Why do you say that?" the Queen asked quietly.

"Because it is the truth. I do not want you to start giving yourself false hope, and I do not want to see you hurt any more than you already have been," Thranduil answered. "Please. It is late – past midnight. Come back to bed, and we can talk about this in the morning."

"No. I want to tidy my son's room," Laerwen said coldly.

"Why? Our son is not here to see it," the King snapped.

The Queen stood up with an armful of toys, and carried them to a wooden chest at the foot of Legolas' bed. She did not glance at her husband. "If you are not going to help me, you should leave. I can do this much more quickly on my own."

"I am trying to help you," Thranduil said through gritted teeth. "But you will not accept my help."

Laerwen suddenly turned to the other Elf, and held up a small tunic. "Does this look clean to you? Or should I have it washed?"

The Elven-king passed a hand almost wearily over his eyes, and shook his head slowly. "I do not know. I do not care. Wash it, do not wash it – does it make any difference? Legolas is not coming home. We are no closer to finding him than we were four weeks ago."

"So, do something about it," Laerwen said in a low voice. "Do something, anything."

"I have sent one patrol out to-

"One patrol? One patrol!" The Elven-queen laughed humourlessly, and her violet coloured eyes flashed. "You may as well call them back, because what good are they? Do you really believe that one patrol is going to find our son?"

"I cannot spare any more, not now that Orcs have started to attack again. And the spiders also are growing restless. You know this," Thranduil answered. "I can only do so much in our search for Legolas. And as each day passes, I seem able to do less and less."

"You are not trying anymore," Laerwen said quietly. "It is as though you do not even care."

Thranduil whirled around, and stared at his wife in anger and shock. "How can you say that? How can you think it? There is nothing I want more than to have Legolas back here with us. Believe me, I would give anything just to know that he is safe, and I-

"There is a grass stain," Laerwen said, inspecting her son's tunic. "It will have to be washed, I think."

The Elven-king was silent for a moment, but then he walked to the door, and laughed – it was without humour. "Very well, you wash it, Laerwen. You carry on tidying a room for a child that we may never see again. Do whatever you want, because this is something that I care not for."

Without another word, Thranduil left the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Laerwen stared for a few seconds, but then she gave a light shrug of her shoulders, and dropped Legolas' tunic onto the bed. She started to hum to herself. It was a song that she had always sung to her child – not that it would really mean anything until he was back and able to share it with her. But that made no difference to her, as she continued to tidy.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Legolas stared out through the window from where he lay on his mattress. It was a dark and cloudy night. For the first time since arriving at Seregeth's cottage, he was unable to see the reassuring twinkle of stars. He wondered if perhaps that was some sort of a sign. Stars had, for the last month, been a symbol of hope for him. Could their disappearance mean that hope was fading?

Criltha lay on her own mattress, with her back turned to the Elfling. She had hardly looked at him since their encounter earlier than afternoon, and had spoken even less. She was not asleep. Maybe she was pretending to be, but Legolas knew that she was as wide awake as he. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared at the girl's back, willing her to turn around.

"Excuse me," he began quietly. "I know that you're not asleep."

"That does not give you reason to disturb me," Criltha hissed back.

"I know. I just…you have said hardly anything since this afternoon, and I think that is strange. When I got here, I felt so lonely. I wanted a friend, someone to talk to," Legolas answered. "I know it is a shock – being taken from your home and forced into an awful new life. But I think that having a friend might make it easier."

"I have never had friends. I do not need any now," Criltha said softly.

"How about someone to talk to, someone who will listen to what you want to say?" Legolas pressed. "I can be that someone. I know I'm only a child, but surely that has to be better than nothing."

The girl sat up, and shook her head as though amused. "Go to sleep. I do not need you. This is not a new life for me, Legolas. It is another day of the same old story. The only change is that I am in a different place with different people. Believe me when I say that I am used to this."

"But what-

"Were you never taught that it is rude to press for answers?" Criltha smiled as she lay down once more, facing away from the Elfling. "Go to sleep."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"You are late."

Thranduil regarded the man in silence for a few seconds, but then he shrugged lightly. "Forgive me. I hope that I did not keep you waiting for too long, because that would, of course, be-

"I do not want to hear your sarcastic comments," Thalion cut in sharply. "I did not arrange to meet you so that we could exchange words."

"Evidently not," Thranduil replied, glancing at the sword held tightly in the mortal's hand.

Thalion swung the weapon, and a smile appeared on his face. "But surely you did not expect anything other than this."

"Of course not. From the moment that I first laid eyes on you, I knew that there would be some form of confrontation between us," the Elf answered. "And to be honest, I am surprised that it took this long to transpire. I thought this would have happened weeks ago."

"As did I, so let us delay no further. Come, draw your weapon." Thalion paused, and shot the King a sideways glance. "Unless you want some sort of protection. A few guards, maybe? Just to watch your back?"

"I think not," Thranduil said derisively. "This is a battle between only you and I."

Confrontation had been inevitable. They were warriors – warriors with personalities, ideas and morals that could be no more different even if the two fought to make them so. It had only been a matter of time before this took place; and although neither Thranduil nor Thalion would admit it out loud, they both wondered that perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps finally going against each other in such a way would help build a form of respect.

"The victor is the first to draw blood?" Thalion asked quietly.

Thranduil shrugged as he pulled his own sword out. It was smaller than the man's, and slimmer, but no less deadly. "Your terms," he answered carelessly.

Green eyes met silver, and the two stared at each other for a good few seconds before springing into action, like cats going for a kill. Thalion was the first to move. He lunged forwards with his sword outstretched, but Thranduil caught the blade on his own hilt, and pushed it aside. He did it effortlessly, a cool smile on his lips which suggested that for him, this was nothing more than play.

Thalion gripped his sword with both hands and swung it in wide arcs before him as he pressed forwards. It whistled in the air, glinting in the light from the moon above them. Thranduil jumped backwards, parrying. Still, his movements were calm, almost lazy. But then he saw an opening, and as Thalion brought his sword around in another sweep, the Elf threw himself down and forwards, raising his own blade to push the other past his head. He hooked a foot behind the man's heel, and pulled hard.

"Curse you," Thalion growled, as he crashed backwards onto the ground.

"You too," Thranduil replied evenly. "Do you need any help getting up, or-

Without any warning the mortal leapt back onto his feet, and swung a crushing backhand towards his opponent. The King caught the blow and thrust it aside once more, hiding a smile as Thalion hissed in annoyance. The two backed away from each other and started to circle. Neither of them dropped their gazes. It was not just a battle of blades.

Thranduil levelled his weapon before him and held it still for a moment, before cutting it downwards into another thrust. Thalion back-pedalled, counter-attacked, started to parry. Both man and Elf were determined to win this fight, no matter how insignificant it appeared to be. The former's face was covered with a thin sheet of sweat, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead. The latter had tied his hair back off his face, but a few blonde strands had escaped to hang in front of his eyes – it was the only sign that he had taken part in combat.

Thranduil pushed forwards with his attack, steely eyes fixed onto his opponent's green ones. Despite the man's hard parries, he was driving him back, he was slowly overcoming him. An owl hooted nearby, and the sudden noise cut into the King's concentration. He faltered. Thalion seized the opportunity and leapt forwards. His blade whipped through the air, and he slashed it across the Elf's upper arm.

Silence fell, broken only by the breathing of the two fighters. Thranduil could feel blood streaming down his arm, but he ignored it. The painful stinging of his newly acquired wound he pushed away. It could wait. He was still for a moment, but then he threw his sword onto the ground at Thalion's feet. The mortal's face was impassive, without even a hint of triumph written on it.

"You win," Thranduil said softly.

"I do."

As he had done four weeks ago, Thalion held out his hand. The Elf flicked his eyes downwards, and looked at it in silence. Seconds passed. It did not seem as though he would make any attempt to take it. The man also seemed to realise this. With a hiss of annoyance he pulled his hand back, but Thranduil suddenly reached out, and caught the other's wrist.

"It is not an Elven custom," he said slowly. "Shaking hands, I mean. It is a very…human thing to do."

"Please, do not lower yourself on my account," Thalion replied bitterly. "I would not want you to-

"If you would let me finish," Thranduil cut in. He paused, and levelled the man with his sharp gaze. "Shaking hands is a very human thing to do. However…maybe I can lower myself just this once."

A look of surprise flickered on Thalion's face as the Elf lowered his hand, and shook his own once. "I…"

"You fight well," Thranduil said quietly.

"As do you."

The Elven-king inclined his head briefly, and pulled his hand away. He did not do it sharply, as perhaps he would have done so before, but instead it was a soft movement. He held the man's eyes with his own for a few more seconds, before bending down to retrieve his fallen sword. It was wet with dew from the grass, and he wiped it on his tunic as he turned away.

"Wait."

"You have a habit of doing that," Thranduil said, stopping. He did not turn.

"What good this will do me, I do not know. But I just want to say again that I am not guilty of what you think I am," Thalion replied in a low voice. "I do not know where Amarth has taken Legolas. I did not know that he was going to take him at all. I am innocent."

Thranduil glanced over his shoulder, and nodded once. "I know."

"You…you know? But when did…how…?"

"I have known for many days – weeks, actually – that you are not guilty." The King paused, and shook his head slowly. "That is not quite true. I only knew deep down inside of myself; and the need to blame someone for Legolas' disappearance was so strong that I was not willing to drag that knowledge to the surface. I had to keep it buried otherwise I would stop believing that you were guilty. Maybe you do not understand that."

Thalion stared at the Elf through eyes widened with shock. "You could not have just told me this? Before tonight, I thought that you were one of the most arrogant and spiteful people I have ever come across. You treated me like dirt. You made me feel like dirt."

"And, what do you think of me now?" Thranduil asked, hiding a smile.

"Let me leave it a day or so before answering, so that I might be able to get to know you – the real you – a little bit better," Thalion answered. "Then we shall see."

"Of course. Forgive me, but I must go. If Laerwen has come to her senses she will be wondering where I am." The serene expression on the Elf's face flickered bitterly. A second passed, and then it was gone. He nodded towards his bleeding arm, and smiled briefly. "My wife aside, I should clean this up. It is not as deep as it appears, but still… Goodnight, Thalion."

The man shook his head in wonder, and stared as Thranduil walked away across the training field. He had not expected this. He had expected a degree of respect to come from the confrontation, but most definitely not this. Still, he had never really understood humans. The chances of him ever understanding Elves was slim indeed.

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Sorry this is so late. I've had so much on – assignments from college; I've fallen out majorly with someone who I thought was a friend; I had to take my rabbit, Piper, to the vets; I've had my driving lessons to work on; plus, I got some really good news last night that I've been waiting for –I'll let you all know what it is next chapter, because I don't want to jinx it by telling too many people before it actually happens!

Anyway, I'll see you all in the next week or so. Responses to reviews are, as always, on my bio page.

Misto

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