Warning: Mature themes ahead.

The village in which the market had taken place only a few days back, was empty. It was late, and many of it's inhabitants were already abed. A few men had slipped away from their homes as was often done in the small community, though, to have a last mug of ale before the local inn closed for the night. This was Seregeth's first port of call, and likely to be his only one.

He leaned against the dusty bar, and nodded at the old man standing behind it. "Evening. Taras been in tonight?"

"What a daft question. Course he has," the bartender replied. "He's in his usual corner with a mug of ale and a bowl of soup. Same as he was last night. And I'll tell you something else for nothing too: he's one of my best customers, so don't you go dragging him away."

"Perish the thought."

"Here, don't go galloping off yet," the old man said, as the younger turned away from the bar. "You come into my inn, bringing the cold with you, I might add, and you don't even buy a mug of my finest?"

"I am here on business," Seregeth replied. "But take this."

He threw some coins onto the bar; and without another word, walked away to a corner at the far side of the inn. He looked down at the man occupying the table for a moment, before taking a seat opposite him. A bowl of steaming soup sat before the other, and Seregeth reached across to dip a finger into it. Upon tasting the watery liquid, he made a face.

"Why do you eat here?" he asked. "The food grows worse every day."

"My standards are lower than yours, I suppose," the other man said.

Seregeth nodded, and moved his chair closer to the table so that his words would remain only for his friend. "Do you remember what I said to you the other day in the market? About the girl?"

"Ah, of course. You promised her to me, should you choose to get rid of her," Taras replied with a grin.

"Yes, well. A problem has arisen in that she managed to…she…" Seregeth ground his teeth together, the noise audible across the table, and drank some of the other's ale. "She is gone."

"Escaped? From you? I thought you no longer allowed that to happen," Taras said in surprise. "Not since your children-

"Thank you. There is no need to bring them into this conversation," Seregeth said sharply. "But, you speak the truth. She managed to escape. What's more, after only a few days. And that means you cannot have her."

"Have you looked for her?"

"Of course. As well as I could in the darkness," Seregeth replied. "But her loss now is trivial. Despite her years living the life of a whore, she was the worst I have ever had. You would not have been impressed. However…"

Taras arched an eyebrow as his friend leaned closer over the table. "However?"

"You remember the boy?"

"Legolas, of course."

"I have discovered who he is."

"Who? Surprise me."

"What do you make of the name 'Thranduil'? He is the King of Mirkwood."

Taras was silent as he searched in his mind for all that he had ever heard of Elves and their doings. The revelation was not slow in coming. His green eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head as if trying to dispel such an impossible notion. He looked up at Seregeth and stared at him, still shaking his head slowly. The other man nodded once, a smile on his lips.

"Yes. That is where you knew the name from," he said softly. "Legolas is Thranduil's child."

"The son of a King," Taras murmured. "Do you know what this means? You have captive not just any Elf, but a Prince!"

"Do not announce it to the whole inn," Seregeth hissed. "This is something that I would have kept secret. But I am digressing. What I came to say to you is this: the girl you cannot have. Would you settle for the boy? Would you let him take her place?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Back in the cottage, Legolas had cleaned his wounds as best he could, and cut the bed sheets into strips so that they might serve as bandages. After finding another tunic among his meagre belongings to replace his bloody and ripped one, he had lain down gingerly upon his mattress, with both his book and his young dog held close to his injured chest. There were no tears in his eyes, but still he could not see. For he was in the past, watching happier times.

Begin Flashback

"No. I don't want to. I can't."

"Legolas, if you would only try…"

"You don't understand, Ada. I cannot do it. The weapons master tried to teach me; Alondir tried to teach me; Nana's brothers tried to teach me; and I couldn't do it," Legolas said desperately. "I don't care if I make myself look silly before them. But I don't want to look silly before you."

"But you are being rather silly at the moment, would you not say?" Thranduil exhaled as his Elfling turned away. "Legolas, you tell me so often that you want to be a warrior. Do you really think that I could have you in my army if you are unable to fire an arrow?"

"But I always miss the target," the child sighed.

"You will to start off with, but with practice you will improve," Thranduil answered. "Let me help you."

Legolas looked down at the small bow and arrow in his hands, and chewed on his lower lip. "And if I miss, you will not laugh at me?"

"Never would I laugh at you, ion-nin," the Elven-king said seriously. "Now. Do you want my help? Good. Alright, first of all you must find a target. Any one."

"Um…I don't know," Legolas murmured. He looked around the training field, and his gaze settled at a small bush at the edge of it. "How about that? I could try and shoot a leaf."

"Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Legolas thought for a moment, before pointing to a yellow-brown leaf. "That one."

"Alright. Be sure to remember it, otherwise you will not know where to shoot," Thranduil instructed. "Raise your bow so that your left arm is straight, not bent at all. A little straighter. Good. And place your feet slightly apart."

"Like this?"

Thranduil nodded, and knelt on the ground behind his son. "Yes. Your whole body must be straight, as straight as the arrow you will fire. So pull yourself up. Pretend that there is a string attached to your head, and it is drawing you upwards. No, you do not want to be tall. Just straight."

"Is this enough?"

"Yes." Thranduil placed a hand on the boy's shoulder to keep him from moving any more. "Your body must be straight, but not tense. Try and relax. Now, I want you to draw the string so that your hand is level with your chin. Your arm must be straight enough that the string is taut. Is this hurting you?"

"A little," Legolas admitted.

"It will do first of all, because you are not used to standing so. Alright, now you are going to fire the arrow, but not until I say so. First of all, look down the shaft to make sure that your target is in line with the tip of the arrow," Thranduil said quietly. "Is it?"

Legolas nodded imperceptibly. "Yes."

"Keep it in sight. Pull the string a little tighter, and hold it steady. Draw in a deep breath, and hold it." Thranduil moved forwards so that he was right at his son's side. He was silent for a few seconds, but then he whispered into the Elfling's ear: "Now. Fire."

Legolas did. As soon as the arrow was released he closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to see another failed shooting. He said nothing. Neither did his father. Did the silence mean that he had missed, then? Probably. It would not surprise him. And where had the arrow landed? It was more than likely lost, and he would have to spend hours searching for it, and that would only add to his humiliation.

"Are you going to open your eyes?"

The Prince was still for a moment, considering this, but then he did. His eyes flicked towards the bush hopefully, and he did a double take at what he saw. The leaf was lying on the floor, pierced by an arrow. Not just any one either – his arrow. He spun around to face his father, and said simply: "Did I do that?"

"You did that," Thranduil replied softly. "You should be proud of yourself, ion-nin. I am. I am so proud of you."

Legolas flushed, and lowered his gaze to the ground. "I did it," he murmured. "I actually managed to fire an arrow. Ada, you made me do it. I wouldn't have been able to if you had not helped me. Thank you."

Thranduil smiled as he was embraced by the little boy; and ran a hand gently through the golden hair. "No, you did it yourself. It was all you."

"I only wish that Nana had seen it," Legolas said against his father's shoulder.

"She did not miss it."

The child whirled around, a smile breaking upon his face as his mother left the shadow of the trees. "Nana!" he cried. "You were watching?"

"Of course, I would not miss this for anything," Laerwen replied. She went to her husband and wrapped an arm around his waist, though it was her son that her eyes were fixed on. "And I am in agreement with your father. You should be proud, tithen-las, for we are."

"And one day, you will make Mirkwood's army proud," Thranduil said. "For the time being, though, what do you say to going back to the palace and finding some food? After all, eating is important for warriors."

Legolas grinned and ran into his father's arms, fully supportive of the idea. Thranduil held the child with one arm; the other he wrapped around his wife's shoulders, pulling her close to his own body. The young family walked back across the training field together, all blissfully unaware that within a matter of months, their lives would be turned upside down in ways that none of them could predict.

End Flashback

The memory was killed by the opening of the door. Legolas looked up, half afraid that Criltha would be with Seregeth, that their escape had failed. But no. With the captor was a tall man of around forty years. His eyes were green, flickering with a strange and almost hungry light. The Elfling got to his feet and looked from one mortal to the other, his heart racing.

"Your Royal Highness," Seregeth sneered. "May I present to you Taras?"

"He is even more beautiful now that I see him close up," the other man murmured.

"What is happening?" Legolas asked quietly.

"It is because of you that Criltha escaped. You must be punished for that, and of course for hiding your true identity for so long," Seregeth answered coldly. "It is only fitting that you take the girl's place, and serve my friend as she would have done. Do you not agree?"

"You cannot make me…" Legolas stared in horror, unable to find the right words. "No, I…I can't…"

"Taras, this toy the child dislikes greatly," Seregeth said, cutting through his prisoner's protests. "Use it on him, should you need it."

The other man took the whip and ran the tails through his fingers, a smile pulling his lips upwards. "Leave us now, my friend. There is work to be done."

As he and the stranger were left alone, Legolas backed away slowly, his eyes wide with fear. Even his young mind could comprehend what was going to happen. He knew what Criltha's purpose here had been, after all. And now, the same fate was going to befall him. He was innocent. But how long would that last? How long until his soul was ripped out, his heart broken?

"Do not cry," Taras said softly.

Legolas raised a hand to his cheek. It was wet. He had not realised. "Spare me," he whispered. "To do this would be murder. I would fade. You do not want to be guilty of inflicting such a pain upon me. Please, look within yourself and find the strength to spare me. For it will take more strength to let me go free than to…to…"

"Are you afraid?" Taras asked silkily.

"I am." Legolas drew in a sharp breath as his back came into contact with the wall. There was nowhere else to run. "I am frightened, more than I have ever been before. No amount of bravery or strength could prepare me for what you want to do."

"You must not weep," Taras murmured. He dropped the whip onto the floor, and walked forwards to the Elfling. As he rested a hand against the pale cheek, he smiled gently. "You see? I am not going to hurt you. I could never hurt a beautiful creature such as yourself."

Legolas sank onto the floor, and pulled his knees close to his chest. Sobbing, he rocked back and forth. "Lies, lies, all lies," he choked out. "More than anything you want to hurt me, and I have no defence against you. It's going to happen, isn't it? You're going to…force yourself upon me, and…"

As the words became incoherent, drowned out by grief, Taras moved forwards slightly and stroked the golden hair as if he was petting a dog. Legolas' tears only fell faster, his gasps of breath sharper. And then suddenly, pain struck his chest like a lightning bolt from the heavens. It was not external, but internal. It was his heart. Finally, after so many long weeks of being punished and tortured, this cruel act was the fatal one.

The young Elf tangled his hands in his own hair, pulling hard at it. Flaxen strands fell out and got caught up in his fingers, but he did not even notice. The other pain was so intense. Hands that were not his own started to rub against his throat, and the temptation to scream at the touch was overwhelming. This should not be happening. He was only a child, but age and innocence had ceased to matter.

"I never thought," Legolas choked through his tears, "that I would find someone worse than Seregeth. But I have: you."

One of Taras' hands snaked up, and he caught the wet face with his rough fingers. "That is true, my little angel. I am much worse than anything you have seen in your darkest dreams. Do not think that it is my friend to whom you belong, for it is now I-

A roar of pain suddenly rent the air. Legolas had sunk his teeth into the man's hand, and was biting down on it for all he was worth. The skin broke, but he did not stop there. Even the fingers pulling violently at his hair were not enough to drag him away. He bit harder. He was not going to be beaten.

"Seregeth!" Taras screamed.

Legolas closed his eyes tightly as blood fell into his mouth; and he fought the urge to vomit. It was coppery and bitter as blood should be, but the Elfling could taste the evil in it. He had to spit the foul tasting liquid out, otherwise it would run back into his throat, and that he knew would be impossible to withstand. It would render him unable to continue fighting. He raised his head, and tried to beat at the mortal with his shaking hands.

"You brat!" Taras snarled.

He grabbed the boy with both hands – the injured one dripping blood – and threw him violently across the room. Legolas hit the opposite wall with force, and crumpled in a heap on the hard wooden floor. His vision was flickering like a candle in the wind. Everything was darkening, darkening…and then it was gone. The tortured child's last view before darkness took him was of a mortal man, striding away through the door.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The group of Elves that had left Mirkwood rode no longer. They had stopped to rest for a half hour, not only for themselves, but so that their horses could be refreshed. They lit no fires in the small clearing, choosing instead to huddle together in small groups. Thranduil and Alondir were sat underneath an old willow tree, speaking in low voices away from the others.

"I do not understand," the commander said quietly.

"What?"

"Laerwen told you that she is fading, that in seven days she will leave Mirkwood for the Havens; and you have left her to come on this journey," Alondir replied. "I do not understand how you could make that decision. I am not judging you."

"Then, what are you doing?" Thranduil asked softly.

"Wondering why you are here, why you are not spending what time is left to you and your wife with her," Alondir said. "We could easily have done this without you."

"Choosing between your beloved and your child is one of the hardest choices to make, but the child will always win. I had to choose Legolas, for I could not bear to wait any longer than necessary to know," Thranduil answered. "Besides, Laerwen and I have said our final goodbyes. There will be no more."

"But-

"It is cold tonight."

Thranduil cast Alondir a strange glance, though he realised a second later that Thalion had sat down with them. "Oh. Yes, I suppose to mortals it more than likely is. I would suggest you light a fire, but there is little point. We will soon be moving off again."

"It matters not." Thalion drew in on his pipe, and held the smoke in his mouth for a moment. When he released it, many of the Elves looked away distastefully. "I will warm up when we start riding again."

The King looked with interest at the mortal's smoke rings, and shook his head slowly. "I have never understood that. Smoking, I mean. It does not appeal to me."

"Well, no. But you are an Elf," Thalion said with a smile. "Besides, you probably have never tried it."

"I have."

Alondir looked up sharply, and stared at his friend. "You have not."

"I have."

"When?"

"In the Second Age," Thranduil shrugged. "My brother brought some pipeweed into Greenwood after he went travelling, because he was curious about it. I was only a child, and I… Well, I believed him when he told me that it tasted of…strawberries."

"Strawberries?" Thalion snorted.

Thranduil smiled ever so slightly as a few Elves laughed quietly. "I liked strawberries. I do not any more."

"I never knew that you tried such a human custom," Alondir said, still surprised. "Did your father ever find out?"

"Of course not. Vehiron swore me to secrecy, but even had he not, I most certainly would not have…told…" Thranduil's voice faded into silence, and he raised a hand slowly to his chest. "Valar…"

"My Lord?" one of the soldiers asked softly. "My Lord, are you well?"

The King did not answer, nor did he even seem to realise that he had been addressed. Breathing heavily, he stumbled to his feet and backed away from the company, his eyes wide and uncharacteristically afraid. His left hand was curled tightly in the material of his tunic, directly above his heart. Only dimly could he hear his name being called – was that Alondir? Thalion? Either way, he gave no reply.

"Valar, no," he breathed. "Do not do this. Not when we are so close."

Alondir rose also, and faced the group of stunned Elves. "Prepare to leave. I fear that… No. Just prepare to leave, now."

The commander wheeled around and took Thranduil by the arm, pushing him gently but firmly through the trees and out of the clearing. Thalion hesitated for a moment, debating; but then he turned also, following the two immortals. He did not know what was happening, but he did know that something was wrong – very wrong.

Outside of the clearing, Thranduil was leaning against the trunk of a tree, one hand tightly grasping Alondir's shoulder. The other had not left his heart. As he listened to the two Elves speak, Thalion felt an empty sensation in the pit of his stomach, and his own heart sank painfully.

"It has happened," Thranduil whispered "What I feared most of all has happened."

Alondir searched the terrified azure eyes with his own dark ones, and shook his head slowly. "What, mellon-nin? What has happened? Tell me."

"I feared it with every fibre of my being, but I did not imagine that my fear would manifest into reality," the blonde Elf breathed. "But it has. Valar, it has. I can feel it. But not him."

"You make no sense. Tell me, so that I can help you." When he received no answer, Alondir caught his friend by the shoulders, and shook him slightly. "Thranduil! Tell me."

"It has gone. My connection with Legolas has gone. It was growing fainter as each day passed, yet even this morning I could still feel him. But now…" The Elven-king closed his eyes, and looked away from the commander. "Now all I feel is emptiness."

"No, it cannot be," Alondir whispered. "Search for the connection. Look deep within yourself, feel for it."

"It has gone!" Thranduil passed a hand over his eyes, and stared desperately, helplessly, at the dark sky. "Valar, why? Why have they done this? They have taken my only child from me."

"You do not know that," Alondir said sharply. "Do not say it!"

"I know it," Thranduil replied in a low voice. "And I know what it means. If Legolas is not dead, he is fading. He is emotionally close to it. I have lost him."

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

When Legolas awoke from unconsciousness later that night, his first sight was of another person in the room. At first glance he thought that it was Taras, come back to fulfil the hateful act which he had started earlier on. But no, it was Seregeth. The mortal's presence in the room was in no way comforting, but the child felt that it was safer than the other man's.

"How long have you been there?" he asked quietly, sitting up slowly and rubbing his head. "And how long was I unconscious for?"

"Not long," Seregeth shrugged. "Thirty minutes, maybe."

"Where is he?"

The man smiled as Legolas' eyes flicked nervously around the room. "Who? My friend?"

"Yes." The Elfling's voice was barely audible. "Him."

"Taras has returned to his home. Your violence rather put him off for the moment, although I daresay he will be back when you are not so temperamental," Seregeth replied. "That was some bite you gave him."

"And, why are you here now?" Legolas asked, his voice trembling even as he strove to control it. "Are you going to finish what he started?"

The mortal looked at his captive in silence for a moment, but then he shook his head once. "No. I do not use children for…that. I never have, nor will I ever."

"Then, you are a better man than your friend. Not much. But a bit," Legolas said quietly.

"There is something that I would speak of with you, because I think it fair that you have some advance warning," Seregeth began. "There are certain children who I do not keep after I have had them for a while– older ones, stronger ones, those who fight me and rebel. I take it you can see the reasoning behind that? You are yet young, and physically, you are not strong. But you have started to rebel recently, and I cannot have that."

"What are you saying?" Legolas asked softly.

"If your behaviour continues as it has, I will have no choice but to let you go," Seregeth replied, with a touch of regret in his voice. "I do not want to, but it will happen. Either I will sell you on for a high price, or commit something much more serious."

'He would kill me,' Legolas thought. Out loud, he said: "What happened to the other children? Did you sell them?"

"Some of them," Seregeth answered meaningfully. "It is up to you to decide your fate. Cease to rebel and you will remain here. Continue, and…I will get rid of you."

As his captor left the room, the Elfling pulled his knees up to his aching chest and hugged them close. His heart was hurting, his soul was shattered – he was broken, with nothing at all left to snap in half or crack down the middle. But despite all of this pain, no tears fell from his eyes. He did not even want to feel the strangely comforting drops of silver on his cheeks, those which had always reminded him that he was still alive, that he was still a part of Arda.

"I know why," Legolas murmured. "It is because I am dying, because I want to die. Death would be better than this. I am not afraid of it, and when it comes for me, I shall not fight it."

It was the truth. He knew that his only chance of escape was an everlasting one, one in which he would go to sleep and never again wake on Arda. Seregeth would be unable to abuse him. Taras would not touch him. And that was a small glimmer of comfort in the darkness of his grief. He would be free after what seemed to be a lifetime of torment and degradation.

As he let out a deep exhale of breath, Legolas' eyes fell upon his father's book; and his heart gave a painful twinge, as if reminding him what he would be leaving behind. But how could he leave behind something that he no longer had? After all, his parents were no longer a part of his physical life. They existed only in the hollows of his memory, and sometimes remembering them caused more pain than pleasure.

"They would understand. They would want me to go where I would be happy," the Elfling said slowly. "And leaving here does not mean that I love them any less. My love for them could never diminish, never. I just… I wish that I could see them again. One last time.

"I wonder if they would be proud of me if they could see me now. I hope so. All I ever wanted was to make them proud. And I wonder… With me gone, Ada will need another heir." Legolas was silent as he thought about a new child to take his place, but then he shook his head slowly. "No. I would not resent another Elfling. They deserve to be happy."

Outside the cottage, a solitary owl hooted. The sound was dismal, full of misery and grief. With a deep sigh, the boy eased himself up off the floor and walked towards the window, every small step enough to send excruciating bolts of agony through his injured body. But no recognition of the pain dawned on his face. He remained impassive, calm, yet still so tragic – a victim of ruthless abuse.

Legolas rested his arms on the windowsill, and stared up into the inky sky. The moon shone down at him like a large friendly face, but it elicited no smile from him. A single star was visible, and it was this that the child focused his eyes upon. It reminded him of himself – alone in a world full of dark, with only small rays of comfort to conceive light. But there was light nonetheless, and… Legolas closed his eyes.

A cloud had drifted over the star. The light was gone.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

I'm so sorry for not updating sooner. I really did try to get it ready to post in the Christmas weekend, but there just wasn't time – I was working on Christmas Eve in the day, and then obviously it was Christmas Day after that, and then on Boxing Day I had family around.

I hope you all had a good Christmas, and I'll see you soon!

Misto

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