The sun was peeking out almost apologetically from behind fluffy white clouds, as though ashamed to show her face after the great storm of the night before. Her dusty rays shone down upon the places of Arda that were not marred by any evil; and the dew on the grass and leaves on the trees shimmered underneath her touch. As Seregeth stepped out of his cottage, he reflected that it was always the morning after the storm which was most beautiful.

He breathed in the sweet scent of the air cleansed by the sky's tears the previous night, and smiled as it gently assaulted his senses. But then he caught sight of Legolas, and his eyes narrowed – not in anger, but in concern and confusion. As he made his way over to the chained captive, his heart sped, and pounded almost painfully against his chest.

The boy lay unconscious in the wet grass, his small body curled in a position that had clearly not done anything to protect him against the elements. His face was deathly white, yet the skin underneath his eyes was ringed black. Had tears done that? Exhaustion? Or was he ill? Surely not. His lips were dry, and the lower one was badly cut. Evidently he had bitten hard on it during the night, maybe out of fear, or just to control his own cries.

Seregeth muttered a curse underneath his breath, and stalked back into the cottage. When he returned a minute later, he was holding a large blanket which looked as though it had seen better days. He threw it onto the tree stump and knelt down next to Legolas. The boy did not look well at all. But as he unlocked the iron collar and pulled it off the slender neck, he told himself firmly that Elves did not get ill.

Legolas stirred slightly, and his head lolled to one side. His lips parted, and the hoarse words which came from them were barely audible. "Nana…Ada…"

"Open your eyes," Seregeth commanded sharply. "Look at me, child."

"Ada? No…not Ada," the Prince whispered.

The mortal raised his eyes in frustration, and pulled his prisoner up into a sitting position. He took the blanket which lay nearby, and wrapped it around the small body. "Can you stand? I want to get you inside," he said.

No reply came. The only thing keeping Legolas from sinking back to the ground was the strong hand on his shoulder, so with a deep sigh of annoyance, Seregeth lifted the boy into his arms. He nearly dropped him in surprise. Five weeks back, he had been light. But now he was practically…nothing! The man shook himself, and went back into the cottage. He did not look at Criltha, but she was on her feet immediately, following him into the room that she shared with Legolas.

"Is he well?" she asked softly.

"Does he look well to you?" Seregeth shot back. "He is not ill, but he is tired – tired to the point of exhaustion, I think."

Criltha shook her head as her captor laid the boy down onto a mattress. "No, he is ill. Look at him, how can you think otherwise? He is as white as snow, there are shadows under his eyes, he is shaking as though with cold but there is sweat on his body. That looks ill to me."

"Elves do not get ill," Seregeth said sharply.

"But-

"Hold your tongue! I know that it is not possible for Elves…to…"

During the exchange of words Legolas had, with great difficulty, rolled himself onto his side. He rested his head against the cool pillow for a moment, before vomiting violently onto the floor. Coughing, and with tears in his eyes, he shut out the voices of the two mortals. Seregeth was shocked, but Criltha, although she looked sympathetic, had a hint of triumph about her expression.

"I do not know much about Elves, but I learned a few things of them when a traveller passed through my village," she explained. "In his stories, he said that precious little will make sick an adult Elf, but with their children it is a different matter. Their bodies are not developed enough to fight off many illnesses. They feel cold, they are affected by it."

"Why did you not speak of this last night?" Seregeth snarled.

"You would not have listened to me even if I did. But the bottom line is this: if you put both a human child and an Elven child in conditions such as last night, the Elf will be just as ill as the mortal," Criltha replied. "The proof is before you."

Seregeth shut his eyes, and exhaled deeply. "Damn. If I had known about this then, I would not have put him outside."

"You do not care for his wellbeing," the girl said derisively.

"No. But he is the only Elf I have ever had, and am ever likely to. I do not want him dead. Dead, he is of no use to me," Seregeth replied. He stood, and walked to the door. "Take care of the boy. I am going to find some medicine."

Criltha glared after him for a moment, but then she looked back down at Legolas, and her expression softened somewhat. "This should not have happened," she sighed. "I am sorry that I did not do more to try and stop him. But he would not listen to anything that I said."

"I am so hot," Legolas whimpered, pulling shakily at the large blanket wrapped around his small frame. "Take it off me. Please."

"You have a fever, and you must sweat it off," Criltha said apologetically. "The blanket must stay on, little one."

"I…I hurt."

"I do not doubt that. But once the fever has broken, you will feel a bit better. It should not take long, but I am no healer so I cannot say for sure," the girl replied. She paused, and smiled briefly. "Just be thankful that you are an Elf. Humans must live with this throughout their lives. And at least you will heal swiftly."

"I want Ada," Legolas whispered. "And Nana."

Criltha sighed deeply, unable to reply to words that she did not understand. But then the Elfling turned onto his side, pulling the small pillow with him. As it moved, the corner of a book that he often looked at was revealed, and the girl was struck with a sudden idea. She picked it up, and flicked randomly through it. She could read to him. That was always a comfort for children.

But as she reached the very first page of the book, her heart pounded, and her eyes widened in shock. Whatever she had expected to see, it had not been the name 'Prince Thranduil Oropherion' scrawled at the top of the page. She stared at it for a full minute, too full of wonder and surprise to ask the Elfling about it. Questions still whirled in her mind, though. How had he come by the book of a Prince?

The door opened, and Seregeth entered. He was holding a cup of some medicine, and he set it down on the floor beside Legolas' mattress. Criltha snapped the book shut quickly – too quickly – and tried to stuff it back under the pillow. But the man was also quick. He grabbed her wrist in a tight grip and snatched the book from her, suspicion etched into every line of his face.

"What were you looking at?" he asked sharply, flicking to the first page. But even as he spoke, his eyes found what had so shocked Criltha. They widened as he read aloud: "Prince Thranduil Oropherion? But who is he? And why does the Elf have his book?"

Legolas lay in silence, facing away from the mortals. His small body shook uncontrollably, and yet the heat was so unbearable that he wanted to rip off the stifling blanket and run outside into the cold stream. But he was weak, so weak, and he was struggling to stay conscious. It would not be much longer before he fell back into darkness, where he would feel no pain or discomfort. There he would be safe.

As a black veil started to fall down over his eyes, the Elfling was dimly aware of what Seregeth and Criltha spoke of: a name…a name that he knew. He tried to fight against the oncoming darkness so that he could tell them just who that name belonged to. But no, that was wrong, he reminded himself. They mustn't know, especially the man. Especially him, because…he… The light vanished. Legolas succumbed to deep sleep.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Back in Mirkwood, fifteen of the realm's soldiers were waiting in the courtyard, along with Thranduil, Alondir and Thalion. Horses stamped impatiently upon the ground, Elves muttered under their breath, and even the trees added their annoyance at the wait. But waiting was, for the moment, necessary. A contingent of warriors had been sent out in the early hours, whilst the moon was still high, to clear the path that would be taken of Orcs, and to search the surrounding areas for anything that could be a potential threat. The travellers could not be hindered.

"It will not be long now," Alondir said quietly. "A message will arrive soon."

"I have waited five weeks already. I suppose that five minutes will not make any difference," Thranduil replied. He paused, and was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged lightly. "Or it could make all the difference."

"Maybe, but you should not think in such a way," Alondir said.

Thalion was seated in between the two immortals on a grey Elven steed, and he looked up to shake his head. "I think not. The man who I believe to have Legolas does not tire of his children." Thranduil stiffened at that. "Or rather, the children he keeps."

"He should not be allowed near them," the King ground out.

"No. But he does get near them. As I was saying…the man keeps human children for months at a time, maybe even more," Thalion continued cautiously. "An Elf he would want to possess for as long as possible. He would consider it a rare prize, and would not part easily with it."

Thranduil looked up, and regarded the mortal carefully. "You did not tell me how you know this man. All you said was that you 'know of him'. How?"

"I…I lived thirty minutes from his home," Thalion replied uncomfortably. "It is known by some that he keeps children."

"And nothing has ever been done?" To the surprise of all around, it was not Thranduil who spoke, but Alondir. Rarely was his voice full of disgust and derision, but now it was. "I know of not one Elf who would leave a child to be imprisoned and victimised. Is it different among humans? Do they consider it natural?"

"Not at all, but…" Thalion swallowed, and looked down at the ground. "I do not-

"Wait!"

Again there came a surprise. Queen Laerwen ran into the courtyard. Upon leaving shadow and entering the bright glare of the sun, she stopped and pressed a hand against her head. Sharp Elven eyes saw her sway, and although several soldiers made to dismount and assist her, Thranduil was at her side almost immediately. As he caught her arm to hold her steady, his heart thudded against his chest. It hurt to see what his beautiful wife was becoming.

'You look…ill, Laerwen,' he thought. 'I have not seen you in the sunlight for a long time. You have shut yourself inside, and look what it has done to you. You cannot stand without support, so used to darkness have you become.'

"My head pains me," Laerwen murmured, closing her eyes against the sun. Thin lashes lay against sickly cheeks, and they fluttered ever so slightly as she spoke. "It hurts…"

"That does not surprise me," Thranduil replied quietly. "I did not know that you have been abusing your body so. You cannot have been eating – you look so thin. Your hair does not have the shine that it used to. Your eyes are dull, and…I did not see this before."

"The sun shows us for what we really are," Laerwen whispered.

Thranduil was still for a moment, but then he led his wife away from the waiting group – they all looked shocked to see the Queen in such a condition. "What has happened to you?" he asked softly. "What has happened to the woman I married?"

"She is fading."

"No."

"Her heart has been shattered into a thousand fragments. Tears are the only friends that she now has, for she is alone. She is dying. Every day, a little more of her dies, and it will only be so long before her body is all that remains." Laerwen's voice was slow, almost dreamy. It sounded as though sleep could take her where she stood. "Thranduil, she is broken. Your wife is dying."

The Elven-king looked away, and shook his head slowly. "It cannot be. You told me last night that I am strong. So are you. Five weeks have passed, and yet you still are here."

"But not for much longer." Laerwen raised a hand, and turned her husband's face so that she met his eyes. "In seven days, a ship will be in the Grey Havens. In seven days, I leave Middle-Earth."

"No, you cannot," Thranduil whispered. "How will you know if I have found Legolas? Seeing him would save you, I know it would. Give me time. Give me time to get to the mortal's home, rescue our son, and bring him back here."

Laerwen opened her mouth as if to dispute this, but then she closed it and nodded once. "Seven days. Then I will leave Mirkwood. I can give you no more."

"So be it, if you cannot hold on for Legolas," Thranduil said quietly.

"I love you. And if this is the last time that I look upon you on these shores, I would have our parting be a happy one, not marred by anger or bitterness. I want your blessing," Laerwen murmured. "I want to leave with the knowledge that our love is still alight. Is it now? Will it be seven days hence?"

Thranduil was silent. Deep down inside of himself, he had expected this to happen. He had known that Laerwen could not live through such a devastating loss. But she had tried. She deserved to have his blessing; she deserved to know that their love was as strong as the day of their bonding. It did not matter that his own heart was hurting. It was only fair that he-

"My Lord!"

Breaking eye contact with Laerwen, Thranduil turned to see a member of the home guard racing into the courtyard on horseback. His heart sped in anticipation. If a positive report was delivered, their journey would start immediately. But if the report was negative, they could well be delayed considerably. It could go either way, and he was almost afraid to hear what the messenger had to say.

"My Lord, your path is clear. All Orcs sighted have been disposed of, and there are members of both the home guard and border patrol positioned through the trees to ensure safe passage," the soldier reeled off breathlessly.

"We leave in one minute," Thranduil snapped. Turning back to Laerwen, he caught her hand, and pulled it up over his heart. "You speak the truth - this could be the last time that we meet on these shores. I love you. I have not stopped loving you, even over these past weeks when our tempers have been frayed and we have argued as children do. Know that I love you, Laer. Do not forget it."

"I never will," the Queen answered softly. "I am sorry. It should not be this way. We should have more time…"

"No. I cannot lose you to death because that is final, but in Valinor we may meet again." Thranduil paused, and lowered his eyes slightly. "If Legolas is not found, perhaps sooner than you think."

Laerwen exhaled shakily, and nodded. "Legolas. If you find him and it is too late for me…tell him I tried. I tried to hold on, but I had to save myself. And this - give it to him."

"I will," Thranduil replied, as he took the silver chain and slipped it over his own head. Underneath his tunic, the cool crystals rested against his chest – he knew that as long as he wore it, it would serve as a constant reminder of his wife.

"They are waiting for you," Laerwen said quietly.

The Elven-king did not glance at his soldiers, but he nodded anyway. "Then that means I must go. I will try to save you by finding our son. I will try my hardest, I swear. But if I fail, I…"

"Go."

Thranduil was still for a moment, but then he turned away without ceremony. Still he held Laerwen's hand. But he had to let go, he had to let her go. As he walked back to his horse, he felt her fingers fall from his own; and he closed his eyes to try and shut out the pain that was becoming so engraved into his life now that it was no stranger. He was losing her. What chance there was of saving her, he did not know. He did not even want to think about it.

"I am glad to see that you and she have managed to forget the troubles of the past few days," Alondir said softly, as his friend mounted. "I know that it has been far from easy."

"We had to forget them, because otherwise she would leave with the knowledge that our final parting was bitter," Thranduil replied. "I could not do that to her."

"Leave? What do you…? No. Surely not…"

"Seven days is all that is left to her," the Elven ruler said in a low voice. "Seven days, and then it is over."

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

The twin sons of Lord Elrond of Imladris had not quite reached adulthood – although they were often heard protesting that, to be fair, they were not far off – and it was because of this that their journeys alone were short and without adventure, whilst their longer expeditions were overseen by an older and more experienced Elf, one who their father both respected and trusted. On this occasion, they were accompanied by their mentor; and much to their excitement, he had led them further away from home than they had ever before been.

"I have never witnessed a storm as great as last night's," Elladan commented, as he filled some water skins at the river which ran close to their campsite. "The rain was so loud that I could hardly hear myself think."

"Or maybe it was just that constant humming in your head," Elrohir shrugged. He grinned, and moved away as his brother flicked water at him. "My thanks. Despite hanging them over the fire last night, my clothes have only just dried. It would be greatly appreciated if you refrained from dampening them once more."

"I imagine it would, but you have just given me more reason to do so," Elladan smiled, sitting down beside his twin. He looked up at the sky and shook his head slowly, as if conjuring a memory. "The thunder. It was like music, like a beautiful drum reverberating through the valley. And the lightning was a contrast to that – it reminded me somewhat of the tongues of snakes."

"Poetic indeed," Elrohir snorted.

"When we return home, I might paint a picture of the storm," Elladan replied. "Maybe I can fit you into it somewhere. Where were you last night? Oh yes. Huddled in the furthest corner of the cave, crying. And then I will hang the painting for all to see."

"I was not crying," Elrohir said, incredulity creeping into his voice. "I just…slightly dislike storms."

Elladan laughed, and shot his brother a disbelieving look. "Slightly? Do you know what 'understatement' means?"

"Do you know what 'fill those water skins and bring them straight back to the cave' means?"

The dark haired Elf looked up, raising a hand at the same time to his eyes, shading them from the sun's glare. He grinned apologetically. "I know what it means, I just-

"You were too busy teasing your brother?" Glorfindel asked. With a smile, he seated himself in between the twins, and shrugged lightly. "No matter, no harm done."

"There is. His words have wounded me," Elrohir said, feigning hurt.

The seneschal rolled his eyes as he pulled an old map out from the pocket of his tunic. "I am confident that you will live. Now. Do either of you know where in all of Arda we might be?"

"What?"

"You do not know?"

"You have lost us?"

"Your faith in me is quite astounding. Of course we are not lost. I know exactly where we are, and I could probably find our position on this map with my eyes closed," Glorfindel replied. "But, can you?"

"On a piece of parchment as old as our father?" Elladan asked. "No, I should think not."

"Try. Elrond will never allow you to come alone on a journey such as this even when you have reached adulthood if you cannot correctly read a map," the seneschal said. "It is a skill worth learning, believe me."

"Let me look. 'Dan is an idiot, he will never find us," Elrohir said. Taking the map, he grinned at his brother. "Sorry."

"Never mind, it is the truth." Elladan smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. As he looked away, a deep sigh escaped his lips, and he lowered his eyes to the floor. He was unaware of Glorfindel's keen gaze trained on him.

"Do you want to tell me?" the elder Elf asked softly.

"What?"

"I know, penneth. I can see that something is troubling you," Glorfindel replied. He turned his charge's face so that their eyes met, and smiled gently. "I have been both your mentor and friend for many years. You have always been able to talk to me. Has that changed?"

"No, but I…it does not matter. What I want to say is nothing," Elladan answered quietly.

"Very well. I-

"In the storm last night, I stood outside so that I could see it better. You were in the cave with Elrohir, and you were telling me to come inside. I did not." The dark haired immortal looked down at the ground, and shook his head slowly. "I could not. I heard…something."

"What did you hear?" Glorfindel pressed softly.

"Screams. Screams and cries that were carried on the wind straight to my ears," Elladan whispered. "The noise of the storm made them faint, yet still I could hear them."

"The screams of a woman?"

"I think not. I think they belonged to a child, and…" The young Elf raised his eyes to meet the seneschal's, and they begged for answers. "The screams were horrible. So full of fear and pain. Are we near to any towns? Could it have come from them?"

"There are two towns close by," Glorfindel said slowly. "One is perhaps twenty minutes from where we now are. The other is a little further – fifty minutes, I believe."

Elladan nodded. "That sounds right. But, do you think that I am working myself up for nothing? Am I overreacting? Or did I just imagine the screams?"

"I cannot give you answers, although it is of course possible that the noises existed only in your mind," Glorfindel replied. "We are in no rush. We will stay here for one more night so that you can listen for them again, if that would help to ease your mind at all."

"Thank you," Elladan said quietly. He looked across at his brother, who had moved some way away to study the map. "I would usually tell Elrohir of this, but I do not wish to spoil the trip for him. He would only worry."

"I will remain silent. I do not think that-

"Here! I have found it!"

The seneschal looked up, and smiled as the other twin came running towards them. "Come on then, impress me."

"Prepare to be impressed," Elrohir grinned. He looked down at the map, and made a vague gesture with his hands. "Now. I knew already that we are not close to Imladris or Lórien, because I would recognise those areas. And because we travelled through some of the Grey Mountains, I can deduce that we came East. So, from looking at this map, I would say that we are somewhere around…here."

Glorfindel nodded as Elrohir pointed at a small cluster of trees between Mirkwood and the Ered Mithrin. "Yes, well done. We are four days from the realm of the wood-elves. What do you think?"

"I… Do you want to go there? I am sure that Mirkwood is a charming place, but…" Elrohir trailed off, and gestured again with his hands. "I do not…"

"He is afraid of the King," Elladan said quietly.

"Yes. He came to Imladris a few years back for talks with Adar. He was late for a meeting, and I passed him in the corridor. I got in his way," Elrohir explained. "He snapped at me, and… Well, it was most unfriendly. To be fair, the whole thing was his fault. He should learn how to keep track of the time."

Glorfindel laughed, and shook his head. "Thranduil has a temper like none I have known. But he is quite harmless and has a good heart, despite what some may say of him. He is a friend of mine."

"Nice, but I still do not like the idea of venturing into Mirkwood," Elrohir said mutinously.

"He has a young son, I believe."

"I do not like children."

"Is there anything that you do not fear?"

"Funny," Elrohir snorted.

He got to his feet and walked in the general direction of the cave that they were using as a campsite, but not before reaching into the river to flick some water at the other two Elves. Elladan laughed along with Glorfindel, but there was little humour to it; and as soon as his brother was gone, he fell silent once more. He could feel a pair of emerald eyes on him, but he did not meet them.

"I understand that what you heard last night must have shaken you, but you should try and forget it for the moment," Glorfindel said softly. "I am sure that the mystery will be cleared up soon enough."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

I am aware that this is quite a short chapter in comparison to some of the previous ones, but although I considered adding chapter 13 onto the end of this, I decided against it because I've only written up to about chapter 19, and I don't want to be in the position where I'm updating faster than I can write.

Thanks for reviewing, everyone! See you next week!

Misto

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