Two days had passed since Criltha had escaped Seregeth, and she had spent the same number of nights in the old woman's home in the town. But true to her word of the previous morning, she was ready to leave everything behind: the cottage, the village, the people, and moreover, the memories that had built up over only a short amount of time – less than a week – but were painful nonetheless. She was ready to start a new life.

"If I had money, I would give it to you," the girl said to the older mortal, as she prepared to leave the house. "Your kindness really does mean a lot to me, and never will I forget it. My only regret is that I cannot pay you back."

"I enjoyed your company, my dear," the woman replied with a smile. "That was payment enough for a childless and friendless widow. I was glad to have you here, and that is the truth. I wish you luck in your life. A young girl like you will need it – no home, no money, no family."

"I cannot stay here," Criltha said gently. "I cannot."

"Aye, that I know." The elderly woman pushed a basket into the girl's hands, and gave another smile. "Some food for your journey, wherever your path goes. And a little extra at the bottom."

"What do you mean?" Criltha started to pull back the cloth covering the basket, but stopped at the expression on the other's face. "What have you done?"

"Don't you look in there until you are well away from here, otherwise you will refuse my gift. Now. You had best be getting on," the old mortal said, blinking as her eyes started to dampen. "I will miss you, child. I have taken great pleasure in having you stay here."

Criltha hooked the basket on one arm, and leaned forwards to embrace the woman with the other. "And I have taken great pleasure in being allowed to stay. Thank you. For everything."

The elderly woman smiled, but she said no more. The younger of the two was still for a moment before turning, and stepping decisively through the door and out into the street. Not once did she look back, though as she turned the corner, her heart ached slightly. But she was free, and that was all that mattered to her any more. She was free, and a new life was waiting. Maybe far away or maybe close at hand, but it was waiting nonetheless.

As she walked lightly upon the cobbled stones and felt a cool morning breeze on her face, Criltha started to hum. The tune was an invented one, and nonsensical, but the fact that she was able to sing it without being either struck or jeered at was enough to elicit a joyous peal of laughter from her. She could do anything, after years of being restricted and bound by the cruel strength of men.

To her, Seregeth was dead. He meant nothing to her any more, she could spit in disgust at him and then forget him forever. That was easy enough. But then Criltha's heart missed a beat as the bruised face of Legolas burst into her mind; and she closed her eyes as she remembered the victim who was being left behind – all because of her.

"Damn it," she muttered, sweeping a hand through her hair. "Forget the boy as you can the man. Or do you want to go back to imprisonment? Legolas does not exist. He is no more, just as Seregeth is no more."

This was all repetition, and Criltha knew that well. She had gone over all of this yesterday morning in her mind, and then she had come to a decision – leave the Elf, and move on. But now it seemed to be a problem once more. Why? No, she knew that also: guilt. It was eating away at her, and so it had been since the previous day, although before she had not known it. She-

"You! Girl!"

The young woman spun, and stared at the man advancing towards her down the street. She stared in horror, but relaxed a second later. It was not Seregeth. "How may I help you, sir?" she asked, ending the sentence with a deep exhale of relief.

"I know who you are," the man snarled. "I recognise you. I saw you in the market the other day."

"You must be mistaken," Criltha muttered, moving away slightly. "I do not know you."

"Maybe not. But I know you. You were in the market with my friend and that Elf-boy, and I saw you with my own two eyes," the other mortal said in a low voice. "My name is Taras, and Seregeth made me a promise – you."

"I really don't-

Criltha's panicked words were cut off as a large hand clamped itself over her mouth and nose; and she fought desperately for breath. The man was pulling her without abandon, dragging her up the cobbled street. Was no-one watching from a window? Was there not one person who could come to her rescue? No, she was alone, with little strength to defend herself against this new captor.

"You escaped," Taras snarled, pushing the girl into a darkened alley between two houses. "How did you do it? Few can elude Seregeth. He usually breaks them before they get any ideas. But there was nothing left of you to break, was there? You have been a whore for far too long, and that life has broken you already."

"Don't call me that," Criltha whispered.

"Call you what?" Taras sneered. "Come, do not be afraid of the truth. Say it."

"It is not the truth."

"It is, and you are denying it."

The girl's eyes flashed and glistened with tears, and her body shook as she spat out: "I am not a whore. I never have been, I never will be. All I am is a victim, and that is through no fault of mine. Why am I given names and insulted so? You are the one who is using and hurting me, so in my eyes, that makes you the whore!"

Taras flicked his hand through the air; and as it connected with the girl's cheek, it sent her sprawling to the dirtied floor of the alley. Her basket slipped off her arm, and she let out a small cry of despair as shiny fruit and white bread was ruined in the black filth. A small velvet bag had also rolled free of the confines of the cloth, and she reached out a shaking hand to grab it. The stronger human kicked her away, and snatched it up for himself.

"What do we have here?" Taras turned the bag upside down, and a few gold coins landed in his palm. He smiled nastily. "I know how you earned these pennies. You did what comes naturally to girls like you – you sold your body. You sold yourself."

"A friend gave them to me," Criltha whispered. "A friend…"

"You can have them back, but you must earn them," the man said silkily. He looked down at the helpless figure in silence, but then a cruel laugh left his lips. "You know what you must do."

"Let me go. Please…"

"And spoil my fun for the third time?" As he finished speaking, Taras swooped forwards and claimed Criltha's lips with his own, ravaging them with bruising strength. He could feel tears against his skin, and he leaned back slightly, smiling. "I think not, my dear. I think not."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Thalion's hands were painfully tight on the reins, his knuckles whitened with pressure; and even though the horse he had bought tossed its head in discomfort, he did not notice. They were close, so close to their destination. He knew it would only be an hour until he looked upon the cottage in which so many of his memories had been conceived; and that thought made him tremble with a fear he had not known since childhood.

Seregeth would be there. How would the elder man receive his only son? With shock? Fear? Anger? Contempt? It had, after all, been ten years. Would the cold blue eyes pierce his soul and hack at his heart as they had done so many times in the past; or would Thalion find once more the courage to stare back into them? Maybe being in the presence of his father, his torturer, would reduce him to nothing more than a frightened little boy, and humiliate him before the group of Elves.

Elves.

His heart skipping beats, Thalion glanced across at Thranduil. He had not yet considered the King, although it was something that had been waiting deep inside of himself to be thought of. If his identity should be revealed, what would the reaction be? How would the Elven ruler react to the knowledge that it was the son of Legolas' captor who had been aiding Mirkwood? The man could receive so many things – imprisonment, death, even worse – pity.

'But this all depends on whether the child is there,' Thalion reminded himself. 'If he is, Thranduil will condemn me, regardless of the trust that has slowly been building between us. However, he need not know at all if the child is not there and I have been wrong in my assumption. I-

The mortal's eyes snapped shut, and he drew in a sharp gasp of breath as a face from his past flashed suddenly without warning into his mind. It belonged to his father. It was as though Seregeth was watching him, with those cruel lips twisted into a sneer as he laughed at him and mocked him, taunting his weakness.

"Thalion? Are you well?"

He did not even know who had addressed him. The young man leapt off the horse's back and stumbled blindly to the side of the road, where he fell to his knees in the dust. Induced by fear, vomit spilled from his lips, burning the back of his throat. He coughed and choked; and when it was over, he raised a shaking hand to his lips and held it there, afraid that there might be more to come.

The Elves had stopped riding; and after a moment of stunned silence, Thranduil dismounted and went cautiously towards the hunched figure at the side of the road. "Thalion?"

"Leave me," the mortal muttered under his breath. "Go away."

"I will not. What is wrong with you?" the King asked softly. "Are you ill?"

"Do you care?"

Thranduil glanced over his shoulder at Alondir, but the commander only shook his head in confusion. "It does not matter whether I care or not. But if you are unwell, we can give you medicine."

"You would love for me to be ill," Thalion sneered. "You would just love to see me suffering, is that not true? Of course it is. You always took such pleasure out of my pain."

"You are not yourself," Thranduil said quietly.

The man laughed coldly, bitterly – the sound was strange, coming from his lips. "What will you do to remedy that? Beat me until I cannot stand? Force me to watch you batter Surwen? Make me sleep in the stables with the dogs? Whatever you do will not be new to me, Father. You have done it all before."

Thranduil blinked in surprise, and shook his head slowly. "Thalion, why do you speak to me so? What game are you playing?"

"It was always you who played the games, not I!"

Alondir dismounted and caught the Elven-king's arm, stopping him from going any closer. "No, you should come back. Not all is well with Thalion. It would be safer to-

"Release me."

"What?"

"Alondir…"

"I… As you wish."

As the commander stepped away, Thranduil drew a deep breath and went forwards to stand beside the still hunched form of the mortal. "Thalion, listen to me. I do not know what ails you, but I do know that something is very wrong. I am not who you take me for. You are confused, I-

"Of course you are!" Thalion jumped to his feet and gave the Elf a violent push away. Behind the two, Alondir shook his head at the soldiers to still them, though his hand rested on his sword hilt. "You are the one who victimises and tortures his children because their mother died in childbirth. You are the one who causes our pain and tears. All of it is you, Seregeth!"

The words hit like arrows, and Thranduil's eyes widened in shock as realisation impacted. "Valar…" he breathed. "Your father? No. It cannot be, you…" He trailed off into stunned silence, and shook his head in disbelief.

Thalion watched the other coldly for a moment, but then the light in his eyes started to dim, and a vague expression of bewilderment appeared on his face. "What has happened?" he asked slowly. "Why have we stopped? And why do you all look at me as though I am a stranger?"

"Because you are," Thranduil answered frostily. "You have lied to us."

"What? Why do you speak to me so? I-

"Thalion, you are unwell. Sit at the side of the road for a few minutes to recover. Celorfyn, will you see to him? Make no mention of what transpired." Alondir's voice dropped as he addressed a dark haired soldier. "Thranduil, if you and I could have a word…"

"More than one," the blonde Elf said viciously. He glared at the mortal, before turning on his heel and nodding to the commander. "Over there."

"Valar, this is a revelation. Thalion is Seregeth's son. Although, I must admit that I was waiting for something such as this to happen," Alondir said, as he and the King walked away from the group.

"You did?"

"Aye. It was just a…a feeling I had, one which I could not quite place," the elder Elf replied slowly. "Thalion was always reluctant to speak of Seregeth, and when he did, he stumbled over his words. It made me wonder."

"Apparently, rightly so," Thranduil said coldly. "I was right all along – we should not have trusted him."

"Forgive me, but I do not think so," Alondir sighed. He shook his head, and looked into his friend's angry eyes. "Yes, Thalion has kept some truth from us. But what harm has that caused? I do not believe that he would betray us."

"Even though you suspected him?"

"That was before we knew his secret."

Thranduil exhaled, and pushed a hand through his blonde hair – it was a weary gesture. "Alondir, I have no time for this. I just want to get to Seregeth's home, and find out if my son is… Nothing of this will be said to Thalion until the journey is over. I care not for any of it – Legolas is my greatest concern, and will remain to be so, no matter what secrets are revealed. Just have the soldiers keep a close watch on that human, as a precaution."

"Of course, though I doubt we have much to fear from him," Alondir replied grimly. He paused, and glanced sideways at the younger Elf. "You must be feeling…I do not know what. But try to keep your temper with Thalion. We need the last hour of this journey to run smoothly and without incident. Although, as the Valar do not favour us at the moment, that may well be asking for too much."

"I know that as well as anyone, more than anyone," Thranduil said, his voice soft. "And believe me, I will do nothing yet. I just want to know if Legolas is with Seregeth. I want to know if he still lives, I want…I want my child, Alondir."

"I know you do, and we will tarry no longer," the commander answered. "Come, let us go."

The Elven-king nodded; and as they walked back towards the horses he did not even glance at Thalion, although he was well aware of the man's confused eyes fixed upon him. Deep down, far below the surface, he was confused also. Had the trust that had grown between himself and the mortal been nothing more than another piece added to the cruel game that was being played with his life? And if it was? What did it matter? The countless trials he was being forced to live through had succeeded in hardening his heart against some pains.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Silent tears rolled down Criltha's cheeks, leaving shiny lines in the dirt which had gathered upon her face, but she made no attempt to brush them away. She could not find strength enough even for that simple movement. She just stood at the stream, staring almost unseeingly at the outside walls of Seregeth's cottage. Yes, she had returned after Taras' attack on her.

There was no need for her to question this. Criltha knew exactly why she had come back to the place she had escaped from only a few days before. Taras' abuse had been strangely symbolic. It had been a sign, clearly telling her that no matter where she went, no matter how far she tried to run, she would always be used for the very same thing, and kept in the life that she fought so hard to break free from. It told her that she would always be a prisoner.

"One person can only bear so much," she murmured dully. "And I can bear no more. I am tired of fighting. So tired."

Criltha stepped across the stream and trudged over the grass, not aware of the blades as they brushed against her feet and ankles. She could feel nothing – nothing but a constant ache inside of her that hung directly over her heart. Her eyes and soul were unseeing, blind to everything around, to life itself. Her spirit felt dead. In fact, she felt as though she was only a body, devoid of a soul. For she had no cares left, no emotions, no feelings. Nothing.

As she pushed open the door and stepped into the cottage, it took a moment for Criltha to take in what had happened. She stared at Seregeth in expressionless silence for a few seconds, but then the dimmed light in her eyes flared slightly as her mind registered what the eyes were seeing. Her captor was tied up. He was a prisoner. He looked…helpless.

"You came back," Seregeth said softly. He glanced at the girl's creased and dirty dress, and shrugged as well as the ropes around his body would allow. "Not before having a few adventures of your own, I see."

"Yes, I have returned. But I do not understand," Criltha replied. "Why are you bound? Did someone do this to you?"

"No, I had nothing to occupy myself with, and I thought this would be an interesting thing to do, so I tied myself up," Seregeth answered evenly. But then his lips turned into a sneer, and he shook his head in derision. "Of course someone else did this."

"Who?"

"Why did you come back?"

"Why?" Criltha repeated. "Because I am a desperate woman. Because there is nothing left for me, nothing worth fighting for. My life has lost meaning, and my future will never be different than my past, no matter how I strive to make it so."

"Indeed. I thought you were stronger than that," Seregeth said, almost in disappointment. "Evidently I was wrong."

"I used to be strong…" Criltha was still for a moment, but then, without taking her eyes from the man's, she lifted her dress slightly. Lines of blood had dried upon her thighs. "Then this happened. I met your friend in the town. He did this to me."

"Taras?" Seregeth laughed. "How amusing. So, he got what he wanted in the end. Good for him."

"How can you call what he did amusing?" Criltha whispered. "He hurt me."

"You enjoyed it. It is all you know."

"He forced himself upon me! He held me down in the mud so that I could not move, and he took me, and…and all you can do is laugh. I am not a whore! I am not an animal! I am not filth!" the girl screamed. She swung around, and swept her arms across the table top. Books and cutlery and all sorts fell to the ground, but she did not notice. "I am a living person, and I once had a heart and soul. But men…men such as your friend, as you, have stolen that from me. I…"

As Criltha fell silent, Seregeth's eyes followed her gaze. His expression flickered almost fearfully. "Do not touch it. Leave it there."

"A knife? A beautiful knife. Where did it come from?" The girl knelt, and lifted the slim blade with reverence. The sun through the window caught and reflected off it, and she smiled eerily. "Now, this is amusing. I have a deadly weapon, and you are tied up and without defence."

"Put it down," Seregeth said quietly.

"Why should I? I rather like this role reversal, this switch of power and control," Criltha murmured. "Being a captive suits you, although I expect you disagree somewhat."

"Imprisonment is more becoming to you."

"Your voice is cold and you sound brave – as brave as a man can be when faced with a knife – but I detect fear," Criltha sneered. "You are afraid. I find that amusing also. Very amusing indeed."

"Laugh away," Seregeth said carelessly.

"Where is Legolas?" the girl suddenly snapped.

"Legolas?"

"Tell me!"

The man winced as Glorfindel's blade was pressed against his throat; and he found himself staring into a pair of manic green eyes. "You wish to know where the boy is? I am happy to tell you. But I warn you now, it will not make easy listening. You would be wise to remove the knife, lest you do something hasty."

"What have you done?" Criltha whispered. She let her arm fall, and the weapon clattered to the floor. "Please, tell me what has happened. If you have hurt him, I swear I-

"Hurt him? No, no. Believe me, I have not hurt him. The Prince is dead. Tragically, he passed away this very morning," Seregeth sighed. "Very upsetting, I know."

"No. He cannot be…"

"Dead? I am afraid he is, I…" The man rolled his eyes as Criltha jumped to her feet and rushed into the room that she had once shared with Legolas. "Whatever are you doing now?"

Predictably, no answer came. Seregeth leaned his head back against the beam he was bound to, and absently flexed his fingers. The Elven rope moved only slightly; and although it rubbed against his skin, it felt not rough and coarse as cord so often does, but instead surprisingly silken. The material belies the strength, the mortal reflected grimly, looking up as Criltha reappeared.

"So…what did you find? Or rather, what did you not find?"

"You really did kill him," the girl breathed. "He was only a little boy, and you took his life. Why should I not take yours to avenge him? You deserve it – and more."

"Kill me. I have nothing else planned," Seregeth shrugged, glancing down at himself. "Before you do, though, would you not be interested to hear who did this to me? Perhaps we could come to an agreement. You could help me, and I-

"No, I do not want to know, because I do not care," Criltha cut in. She raised Glorfindel's knife and held the blade close to her once captor's throat. "It is only fair that you die. I hope that the moral side of you – if there is one – can see that and agree, because… But then, why? Why should it be you?"

Seregeth winced as the knife scraped his skin, and he turned his head to the side. "Cease the talk," he growled. "Stop playing, and just kill me if that is what you want to do. You are wasting time."

"You did not kill Legolas," Criltha said in a low voice. "I did. I did not come back for him as I promised; I did not bother to find someone who could help me free him. I failed him. I sealed his fate even before you took his life, so this…this is my fault. His blood is on my hands. Valar, I killed him!"

The girl's screams echoed in the cottage, and Seregeth drew in a sharp breath as warm liquid spattered over him. Where was the pain, though? He could feel nothing. But then the realisation hit – it was not his blood. It was Criltha's. As the terrible declaration had left her lips, she had jerked the Elven knife away, and sliced it across her own wrist. The movement sent her sinking to the floor, but no cry came from her.

"Woman, are you mad?" Seregeth spat.

"I have never been saner," Criltha breathed, raising her left arm, and gazing at the rivulets of running blood. "I am of sound mind. Do not doubt that, for you could not be more wrong."

"Of course I doubt it! You are spilling your life away on the floor of my cottage!" Seregeth closed his eyes and shook his head angrily, his face screwed up in disgust. "I made a mistake in having you brought here, one of the greatest I have ever made."

"Yes, because it resulted in the death of that child. But I am amending that mistake now," Criltha said quietly. "I am amending it with my blood."

"An admirable feat indeed," Seregeth sneered. "But you are winning nothing. This will not save Legolas. This will not affect me. All you will achieve is your own death, and that is… I fail to understand why you want this."

"Do you need to? I am tired of life – it is a chore, and nothing but pain and misery are conceived from it, though you know nothing of that. Compared to mine, your life has been one of luxury," Criltha murmured, "and perhaps you have taken it for granted. I hope you can realise that one day."

"If I do, you will not be around to know. I…" Seregeth looked up, and his eyes narrowed in confusion. "What is that? Do you hear it?"

"Hmm?"

"The hooves of horses. I would swear that I heard many hooves upon the ground, but I could be wrong," Seregeth shrugged. "I suppose that being tied to a pole in one's own home can do funny things to the mind. But no matter. Let us continue with our conversation. There is little else for us to do in your final minutes."

Criltha rested her head against the wall, and absently ran a finger through the falling blood on her wrist. "I am dying. There is nothing that can save me. And if there was, I would refuse it. But do you not see the irony here? It amuses me somewhat. My life was always filled with pain, but my death is so…so peaceful. I feel as though I am floating…far away…in the clouds."

"Then we have something in common. Both of us are experiencing unknown feelings," Seregeth said softly. "You have your euphoria and happiness, and I have this sense of vulnerability, helplessness and… Horses again. Can you not hear them?"

"No, no horses. In fact, I hear very little. Everything is fading, I…" Criltha blinked slowly, a lazy smile on her face. "I see even less. There is a mist before my eyes, a strange mist that I have never before seen. This must mean that I am-

"Being taken by death," Seregeth said in a low voice. He raised his eyes, and watched the weakened girl in silence for a moment. Then a nasty smile turned his lips upwards, and he continued: "There is something that you must know. I have not been entirely truthful with you."

"What do you…?"

"Legolas. He lives."

Light flared momentarily in Criltha's eyes, but it was swift to fade dully. "Not dead?" she breathed. "Valar, but how…? No. You are lying to me, you have to be. Please, tell me that you are."

"I was lying, but now I speak the truth," Seregeth replied. "I thought it only fair that you know your life has been taken for nothing. What a waste. And now you cannot save yourself. My, my. You have lost everything."

"No." Criltha looked up, and made the slightest movement with her head. "I have only gained – I have gained peace, and that is more than you will ever have."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"This is it." Alondir looked at the group gathered around him, letting his eyes linger upon Thalion and Thranduil. The former was pale and ill-looking, whilst the latter was silently impassive. "All of you can see that we are so close to our final destination. Whatever we find in there will be the end of this story. It could be a happy ending. It could equally be an evil one."

"We are prepared for either," a soldier said quietly.

"I hope so. Now, we are going into that cottage for one reason only: news of Prince Legolas. Remember that. Nothing else can matter," Alondir continued, glancing again at Thalion. "If any of you fear that other feelings will cloud your resolve, say so now, and remain outside. Less will not be thought of you." There was only silence. "Very well. Thalion, here I will need your help."

"What?"

"Your help," Thranduil reiterated sharply. "He needs it."

The commander looked sideways at his friend, before turning towards the man. "Of us all, you alone know the layout of the cottage, and who is likely to be in there. What can you tell us?"

"I…I don't…" Thalion exhaled, and pushed a hand wearily through his dark hair. "Seregeth will more than likely be the only one you have to fight. He used to have a friend – Taras – who would visit, but whether he still does, I do not know."

"But you do know much," Thranduil said, his voice unreadable.

Thalion looked at the Elf in vague confusion, wondering at the renewed hostility. "Yes. But surely that is not something to be considered a problem? I am only trying to be of as much help as I possibly can."

"Of course. Continue."

"It will be an easy attack. The cottage has only three rooms, and Seregeth will not be hard to restrain," Thalion finished. "It can be done in only a few minutes."

"Thank you," Alondir said. "Very well. Celorfyn and Hérion, you will stand guard outside to be safe. Maeron, Tirithon and Anais, you will secure the man. I will search the rooms with the rest of you. Thranduil, you need not come in. We will all understand if you would prefer to wait outside. Thalion…the same applies to you."

"Why do you say that?"

"It matters not why I do," Alondir replied. "But should you fear entering the cottage, feel free to remain here."

"Why would he want to do that?" Thranduil asked, shooting Thalion a cold smile. "If he has anything to fear in there, surely he would tell us rather than keep it secret? After all, that would be a breach of our trust in him, and-

"Daro!"

The Elven soldiers all looked up quickly, stunned that even the commander would be presumptuous enough to issue such an order – especially before them – regardless of whether he was a close friend of the King or not. Thranduil was silent, unsure if he should be amused or angry, though in the moments of indecision, his eyes flashed warningly at Alondir.

"When I was a child, you were as a father to me," he said quietly. "You were my mentor and friend, and since the day that Oropher died, you and I have been brothers. You can remember all of that, but do not ever forget that I am your King, and nothing gives you the right to speak so to me. When we return to Mirkwood, I will consider your position. Prepare yourself for some changes, Commander."

Alondir's eyes widened slightly, but he quieted his shock enough to incline his head respectfully. "I will not dispute any decisions you make, Hír-nin."

Thranduil hesitated. Hír-nin. The seasoned warrior never called him that. But then he shook himself, and turned a cold gaze on Thalion. "You do not keep secrets from your allies. As a captain, you should know that. So before we go into the cottage, is there anything else you would care to share with us?"

"What do you mean?" the man asked softly.

"Never mind."

As Thranduil looked away, Alondir gave a brief signal with his hand for the group to start moving towards the small building. Thalion's eyes snapped wildly upon him, silently pleading for the answers that he so desperately wanted; the answers that would help him to understand what had changed in only an hour. Something had happened, it must have. But what? Had he said incriminating words without realising? Had the Elves guessed – moreover, had Thranduil guessed – the truth about him? That he was Seregeth's… But no answers were coming from the commander, silent or otherwise.

'But why does it matter?' Thalion thought bitterly. 'We will be in the cottage in a matter of seconds, and face to face with the man who made my life so miserable. If he says anything – and he is bound to – the Elves will know as it is.'

The young mortal pushed a hand through his hair again and let out a deep breath, his eyes closed as he tried in vain to calm the nervous fluttering of his heart. They were at the door – he noted absently that it had received a new coat of paint – and weapons were being drawn noiselessly, bows strung and knives raised. His own hand was damp with sweat, slipping as he grasped his sword.

'Push the fear away,' he told himself silently. 'Do not let it take over.'

Still breathing deeply, Thalion glanced across at Thranduil. Only one of the Elf's twin knives were out, for his other hand was held against his chest; and as the sun caught him, silver flashed through his fingers, revealing itself to be the chain of a pendant. The man wondered for a moment, but then told himself that it was not his business why the necklace seemed important. Maybe it was for good luck – the Valar knew they needed it.

At a signal from Alondir, a soldier grasped the door handle – more than one heart skipped, bodies tensed in anticipation – and pushed hard. Even as the portal swung open, the small group leaped through it into the cottage, prepared for confrontation. But none came. The Elves stopped, stunned, and only stared in silence at the bound man before them. He stared back, equally surprised. Much later on, some would look back and smile, but there was no room for humour yet.

"Look at the girl," Alondir murmured. "Andaer, check her."

A brown haired soldier knelt at the mortal woman's side, and glanced wordlessly at the open wound on her left wrist. His eyes flickered in recognition of the fatal injury, but still he pressed two fingers to the white throat, feeling for a life which he knew would not be found. Bowing his head briefly in mourning, he passed a hand over the glassy green eyes, closing them for one last time. Then he rose, and turned to his commander.

"Dead, sir."

"How long?"

"Not very. She is still warm."

Alondir looked at the tied man, and his sword wavered slightly in doubt. "What happened here?" he asked sharply. "Why did the girl's life end thusly? And what explanation is there for your predicament?"

A pair of cold eyes flicked over the group of Elves and came to rest briefly on Thranduil, before looking back to Alondir. "You offend me, my good Elf. Is this the way you treat victims of attack? Can you not see that I have been assaulted in my own home and tied up like an animal? And yet you stand there and question me as though I am a common criminal. Release me, and I-

"No."

The small company parted, and Thalion stepped forwards so that he was in full view. Strangely, he felt calm. Now that he was facing his bane, the fear had vanished and he was able to hold his head high. His lips turned upwards in a slight smile as the bound man drew in a sharp breath of shock. But he uttered no words, waiting for the other to speak.

"You!" Seregeth spat eventually.

"Yes, I have returned," Thalion said quietly. "Coming back here was hard for me. This cottage holds so many memories, but I had to fight them. I had to fight you – again and again and again."

"And you won, I take it," Seregeth replied, his voice cold.

"Sometimes." The young man sheathed his sword, and folded his arms over his chest. "Surwen was right – all those years ago, I should have killed you when given the chance. That would have stopped you from spreading your malice – but I do not know that it would have freed me from your clutches."

"Poor little Thalion, always the victim," Seregeth said contemptuously. "Did you ever stop to think that you brought it on yourself? Your birth killed your mother, and I was left to bring up a pair of screaming babes. What else could I have done? Always you blame me, but it is unjust blame. Did that thought ever cross your mind?"

"No, because it is not truth," Thalion answered evenly.

Away from the men, Thranduil shook his head in anger. "I have had enough of this," he hissed to Alondir. "I am going to find my son. That is why we are here."

"I would ask that you wait, and let us look for him," the commander murmured. "If he is not here, opening doors onto empty rooms will hurt you. I say this not out of concern for my King but out of love for my friend. Please."

Thranduil nodded, and attempted a small smile. "Just find him. Find Legolas and bring him to me."

As the soldiers started to spread themselves out over the cottage, Seregeth flicked his eyes away from Thalion, and trained them instead on the one immortal who remained behind. He took in the golden hair, the silvery blue eyes that pierced like spears, the sharply defined cheekbones which sat high upon the beautiful Elven face – and his lips turned upwards in a nasty smile. He had not heard Alondir's words, yet he knew full well who stood before him.

"Why do you smile?" The Elf's voice was quiet, but it dripped with unconcealed contempt. "I see nothing to laugh at."

"Perhaps not, but I was merely thinking," Seregeth replied. "I look into your face and I see another's. The resemblance between you both is really very startling."

"Then my suspicions were right," Thalion murmured, "though they were late in coming."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the elder of the two mortals, and he fought to keep his voice steady as he said: "You have my son, then. Valar help me, you will regret the day you were born. You have done more damage to the ones I love than you can imagine, and for that I am going to make you pay."

"Indeed? That is rather unfair," Seregeth sneered. "You are going to deny my son that pleasure?"

Thalion's eyes snapped towards Thranduil, panic flickering over his face. "I-

"It matters not," the Elf cut in quietly. "It is through no fault of your own that he is your father. Forget my earlier words. The child cannot choose the parent, and I do not blame you for any of this – for him."

"Legolas spoke often of you," Seregeth said suddenly. "All I heard was Ada this and Ada that. He loved you very much, and I think it was thoughts of you that kept him strong. You were precious to him. I suppose the feelings are, of course, mutual."

"Of course, I…" Thranduil fell silent, and looked carefully at the man. "Why do you speak of my son as though his part in this story is over? You make it sound as though he is…gone."

Seregeth smirked cruelly, and a dark bubble of laughter left his lips. "My deepest condolences, Your Highness. I am sorry, so sorry for your loss."

"No…"

"I can only begin to imagine how you must be feeling," the man continued sadly. "The death of any child is tragic indeed, but to know it is your own… The pain must be unbearable-

"You lie!" Thranduil hissed, dropping to the floor and grabbing the front of Seregeth's shirt.

"My dear Elf, you should not do that – give yourself false hope," the mortal sighed. "Sadly it was one of your son's faults for a time. He hoped that I would free him, that he would escape, that you would come for him. After a while, he just stopped hoping."

Thranduil rose fluidly and went towards the door on the right hand side of the room, ignoring the cold laughter of Seregeth, and focusing only on the thought that soon he would be reunited with his son, no matter what the man said. He raised a hand to turn the handle, but the portal opened almost immediately. As he found himself looking into Alondir's ashen face, his own paled fearfully, and he shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "Where is he? Why are you keeping him from me?"

"Legolas is not here," the commander said in a low voice. "But he was. There are child's clothes in the room beyond, and this is… Valar, this is the tunic he was wearing upon leaving Mirkwood."

Thranduil took the small item of clothing, and stared almost unseeingly at it. It was not recognisable as Legolas'. The material was torn in places, and in others were the thin lines where a whip appeared to have cut through. The light green dye had faded, and stains covered it – red stains. The Elven-king drew in a sharp breath, and shook his head in disbelief. Blood…his son's blood.

"I am so sorry," Alondir murmured. "There was nothing but clothes in there. And a small dog, but I do not… Maeron has gone to look in the stables and behind the cottage, but I think that…I think we are too late."

"No." Thranduil's fist tightened around the tunic, and he turned sharply to face Seregeth, who was watching in interest. "What have you done to my son?" he spat. "Tell me where he is, or I will torture you myself until I hear what I want to know."

"And if I tell you the truth but it is not to your liking, will you use that as reason to torture me still?" the man asked. "Your boy had a temper, and I wondered often who he inherited it from. If that would be you, I want you to keep calm and quiet. I will remain silent if I do not receive that."

"Even now you do not have the grace to show some regret," Thalion suddenly snapped. "Tied up as you are, you still need to be the one with all the power. But this time you will not be heeded. You will talk, no matter what."

"I thought I beat the insolence out of you a long time ago," Seregeth said in surprise. "Clearly you did not learn your lessons, I—

"My son," Thranduil snarled. "Where is he?"

The man looked up at the Elf, and gave a slight smile. "I am unsure where to begin. Let me first of all introduce you to Criltha over there. I bought her to be my whore, but sadly, she escaped, aided by your child. He caused a diversion which, naturally, angered me, so I beat him. You should have seen it. He was lying in a pool of his own blood and tears when I was finished with him."

A few of the soldiers hissed in anger, but Thranduil merely said: "Go on."

"After this punishment was over, I realised that Legolas was becoming out of hand – I will admit that at times I found it difficult to keep him under control – and that it was time to let him go," Seregeth continued. "After all, what do I want with an unruly child?"

"Did you sell him?" Alondir snapped. "Pass him on to another?"

"The latter more so than the former," the man answered calmly. "There is an axe outside for cutting firewood. Perhaps you saw it? Well, I am sure you do not need me to explain what use I put it to."

Thranduil's head jerked up in horror, and he stared at Seregeth through terrified eyes. "No, that is a lie. You did not kill my child. You did not."

"He does not speak the truth," Thalion agreed quietly. "He would always stoop low, but never this low. He would not be strong enough to end a life."

"Things change," Seregeth spat. "People change. You and I have not laid eyes upon each other for ten years, so don't you start pretending that you know me. You should not presume to know anything, as I warned Legolas only a month ago – Valar, it seems as though much more time has passed. How strange."

"Prove this to us," Alondir said coldly.

"The boy is nowhere to be seen, what more proof could you ask for? I suppose you would like a body to confirm my words, but unfortunately, I cannot give you one," Seregeth continued, watching maliciously as Thranduil struggled to keep his emotions in check. "I carried Legolas outside to bury him; and the next thing I knew, a rock was being smashed over my head. Criltha had returned. When I awoke, I was tied here."

"Valar," Alondir breathed, as painful realisation hit. "The girl buried him?"

"Yes, and she will take her secret to the grave," Seregeth replied. He paused, and smiled at the Elves. "Ah, forgive me. That was a rather poor choice of words."

The soldier named Andaer suddenly turned and left the cottage, swiping almost violently at glistening eyes. The sounds of his helpless vomiting were heard by all, yet no-one blamed him. Thalion could only stare at his father in horror, apparently fighting the urge to empty his stomach also. The Elves were silent, some unconsciously leaning against the walls or even each other for support, all lost in a grief that had increased tenfold in a matter of seconds. Their Prince was dead…

"And the girl said nothing to you of Legolas' whereabouts before she took her own life?" Alondir pressed, his voice softened by pain.

"No, no. But then, even if she had I would not betray her last words," Seregeth answered cruelly. "Why should I want to? Watching you all suffer is a far better sport, and-

The man was silenced by a blow to his face; and as his head slammed back against the beam, he felt blood inside his mouth. He looked up into a pair of silver pools, and blinked slightly in surprise – the hatred and pain and grief was great, too great for him to understand how such raging emotions must feel. The intensity made him shiver. He waited in silence for another blow. None came. The Elf who looked so much like Legolas merely knelt beside him and stared into his face, searching it with eyes demanding answers. Eventually he spoke, his voice quiet.

"I do not believe you."

"Only you can make that choice," Seregeth replied, just as softly. "But it is not a wise one. I killed your son, and you can doubt that as much as you want. It will change nothing, though."

Thranduil nodded slowly, before turning sharply and snatching up the blade that Criltha had used to end her life. He slashed through the ropes binding the mortal, not even noticing, in his grief, the Elven feel of them as they brushed against his fingers. Seregeth immediately tried to jump to his feet, to force some sort of escape, but the immortal threw him back against the beam, holding him still with only one hand.

"Maybe my doubt is not enough, but the knife must be," Thranduil murmured, so that his words remained private. "Rest assured that I will use it, if you do not change your story now and tell me the truth. My son. What have you done?"

There was silence in the cottage, and it was as though only that one man and Elf existed as they stared at each other. Alondir, Thalion, the soldiers – all of them seemed to be part of a different world, mere spectators to the tableau. Thranduil held the cruel eyes with his own for what felt a lifetime, before slamming the mortal's wrist up against the beam. He stabbed the dagger straight through Seregeth's hand, pinning it to the wood.

"I warned you," he hissed, paying no heed to the scream that left the other's lips. "Tell me where my son is, and tell me now. I can and I will do this for as long as it takes. Where is Legolas?"

"Curse you," the man howled. Tears leaked unbidden from his eyes as waves of pain washed over and through him, and the frustration that he could not hide them from the Elf only made more fall.

"I will ask once more, and this time I want an answer from you," Thranduil said, his voice low. "Do you think this is bad? Does it hurt you? Believe me when I say that I can do much worse. You can spare yourself some of the hurt and humiliation if you tell me the truth."

Seregeth looked up, and shook his head with a humourless laugh. "I speak no lies, and you are a fool to think otherwise. Your son is dead, and that is the end of-

Another scream rent the air as Thranduil pinned the man's other hand to the beam, this time with one of his own twin knives. His eyes were like chips of ice as he listened impassively to Seregeth's oaths and curses, but then suddenly he was being pulled to his feet, and spun around to face Alondir. He searched the commander's face, trying to identify the multitude of emotions set out before him, but failing. The elder Elf gripped his shoulders tightly, holding him still as he tried to get back to the mortal.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"What am I doing?" Alondir repeated. "Thranduil, no. What are you doing?"

The Elven ruler shook his head, not understanding the question. "He has my son, your Prince somewhere, and you try to stop me from getting the truth out of him? We are so close to finding Legolas, we…we are close. I know we are."

"No, you know that we have failed," Alondir whispered.

Thalion pulled his shocked gaze away from his father, and looked towards the two immortals. "The commander is right. Look inside of yourself, and you will find that you have known what the truth really is all along. We are not close. We are too late."

"I killed your son," Seregeth clarified quietly. "Legolas is dead."

"I…I don't…" Thranduil turned back to face the man, and his eyes fell upon the bloody hilts protruding from the red palms. He tried to ignore them, tried not to imagine the pain they must be conceiving; but the mortal was slipping in and out of consciousness – surely he must be speaking truthfully? Nonetheless, the Elf reiterated: "I do not believe you."

"I hope, for your own sake, that you start to soon," Seregeth murmured. "If you do not, the grief will tear your soul apart."

Thranduil shook his head slowly. "It is already torn."

He held the man's green gaze in silence, before turning sharply and walking from the cottage. He could feel Alondir and the soldiers watching him, could sense Thalion's eyes upon his back – and yet it all seemed far away, in a place that was parallel to the one he was in. Maybe in that place, his son was still alive. He passed Andaer without seeing him, and found himself wishing that he were there in that other world. But then the thought was banished by a chiding one that told him not to be childish. It seemed inappropriate.

As he went around the side of the cottage to be alone, raindrops started to fall lightly, mingling with the tears he had not realised were already dampening his cheeks. Legolas was dead. That was all he knew, that was all he could see in his mind – images of his little boy, terrified and crying on the floor, and then bleeding as the axe had… Thranduil drew in a sharp breath and leaned against the wooden wall as the ground swayed dangerous beneath his feet.

He was lost. Up until now he had felt – anger, pain, grief, fear. But now he didn't know what to feel. Only a few minutes back, he had wanted to cause Seregeth as much hurt as possible, yet now that desire had vanished. To where? He didn't know. He didn't know anything. Except for that ever present thought: Legolas was dead. Dead. Dead.

"No," Thranduil whispered. He tangled his hands in his own hair, pulling hard and taking a small amount of pleasure from the pain. "This isn't happening. It cannot be. I prepared myself for it, but not enough. Legolas, ion-nin…"

"Thranduil."

The Elf did not turn, not trusting himself to move. "Alondir, say nothing. Because if you do that will make it real, and I cannot face reality. I want to hold on to falsehoods for a minute more. Is that so wrong? Just one minute more. And then I will accept the truth, I… I understand. I understand what Laerwen meant by cleaning his room. The pretence held the pain at bay."

Alondir reached out with a shaking hand and rested it on his friend's shoulder, pulling the younger Elf back so that they stood closer together. "Believe what you want to, but not for any longer than a minute. Do not, because the denial will be the end of you. It will kill you."

Thranduil looked up at the grey sky, blinking as rain water fell into his eyes. "I feel lost, I feel as though I am a child once more," he murmured. "What am I supposed to say? To do? To feel, even? I need someone to tell me, to direct me on the right path, but there is no-one. I am alone."

"I will never leave," Alondir said quietly.

"I have heard that before – my brother said it once, my father said it. Laerwen said we would always be together, but…" Thranduil drew in a deep breath, and pulled the sleeve of his tunic across his eyes. "I should not dwell on the past. The present and future is what I must focus on, but how can I pick up the pieces? How can I move on, when I know that my only child is gone – that Legolas is dead?"

Alondir blinked back his own tears as his eyes caught the pain induced trembling of the other's body. "I know not. But now is not the time for healing. It is a time for grief. The rest will follow after. Maybe in months, maybe in years. But it will come, I… Why do you shake your head?"

"Because children do not die," Thranduil snapped, turning sharply to face his friend. "Humans die. Our warriors die. The sick and injured die. But children…no. They live."

"The world is not that kind," Alondir said softly. "You know that."

The blonde Elf closed his eyes, and nodded slowly. "I do, I just… Legolas is innocent, he has never done anything to hurt another; and for that he receives imprisonment and torture? How can there be judgement in that? He is only a small child."

"Thranduil…" The commander bit down on his lower lip, his heart beating painfully against his chest as he realised what mistake had been made. "Not 'is'. Was."

"What?"

"Legolas was innocent, he never did anything to hurt another," Alondir replied in a low voice. "He was a child. You speak of him as though he is still here, but you have to understand that he is gone. Your son is dead."

Thranduil held his friend's gaze, silver tears slipping silently from his eyes, the wet drops making his lashes glisten. I know, his mind screamed. I know that Legolas is dead. But even had he wanted to say so, the strength would not be found in him. He could see Alondir trying to form words of comfort, but he suddenly found that he did not want to hear them. He wanted solitude, to be alone with his grief.

"Where are you going?" the commander asked, as the King stepped past him. "In your state, you should not…"

Thranduil let the words wash over him like waves, shutting everything out. Nothing else mattered, except that… An explosion of pain erupted over his heart, similar to the one he had experienced the other night. It almost stopped him in his tracks – almost. He narrowed his eyes against it defiantly and pressed on through the rain. But the ground was spinning before him, whirling and dancing in cruel circles that would not cease. Lights flashed in his vision, and he passed a trembling hand over his eyes, pressing them closed.

"Hír-nin!" It was Andaer – where had he come from? "Hír-nin, your skin is as white as snow. You do not look fit to-

"Get out of my way," Thranduil muttered. "I am fine. Fine…"

"But Hír…" The soldier's eyes widened fearfully, and he spun around. "Commander!"

Alondir was already there, he had moved even before the cry had reached his ears. Struck by a grief that was fatal to Elves, Thranduil's eyes had closed against the world of pain, and he allowed himself to let go, and be dragged downwards. The commanding officer caught the Elven-king before he hit the ground, and lowered him gently towards the damp grass. He sat also, not trusting himself to stand, and pulled the limp body of his friend close against his chest.

"What does this mean?" Andaer breathed.

"I don't…I do not know," Alondir murmured. "But I think that we have come to the end. The King is fading. He cannot be healed in Mirkwood. We have not the power to save him."

"Will he sail with the Queen?" the soldier asked softly. "There is time enough to reach-

"No." Alondir looked down at Thranduil's pale face, and absently brushed some golden hair away. It was a tender gesture, a testament to the depth of their friendship. "No, I fear that it is too late for Laerwen. But if we lose both of them, Mirkwood will fall. That cannot happen. How far are we from Imladris?"

"A week, sir. Give or take a day."

The commander looked up, and nodded in determination. "Very well. Andaer, you are my second until this is over. Choose six from the group and stay behind to bury the girl. She does not deserve to lie in there with that scum. When you have finished the task, go after Queen Laerwen. I want you to delay her departure."

"Sir?"

"You heard. Saving both Thranduil and his wife will be near to impossible, but all we can do is try. We have to try," Alondir said quietly.

"But how can I keep her from leaving without causing further pain?" Andaer asked. "It cannot be done."

"Do what it takes. Just buy us some time," the commander ground out.

"It is not my place to say it, sir, but I feel that I must. You are following in the King's footsteps. He tried to give himself false hope, and now you do the same," Andaer murmured. "The Queen will go to Valinor. It would be cruel to stop her."

Alondir looked down at his unconscious friend, and shook his head angrily. "Obey your orders, soldier. Now, with the rest of the group, I will take the King to Imladris. Lord Elrond will heal him."

"What of the man, sir?"

"Which one?"

"I think that perhaps he means the both of us."

Andaer looked around at Thalion, and made a slight movement with his hands. "Perhaps I do. I ask because this is not what we expected, so we did not plan for it. I do not know what we should now do. Only one of us here is close in the King's confidence, and that is the commander."

"In all of our conversations during this ordeal," Alondir replied, "not once did we reach this point. Thranduil never said that he wanted to take Seregeth prisoner, that he wanted to kill him or have him killed. But you are right, Andaer. I do know the King better than many."

"And, what would he want?" Thalion asked softly.

The Elf looked down at his friend again. "If he wanted to kill Seregeth, he would have done it back there, despite his current state of confused grief. That is not to say, though, that he would begrudge the deed to another."

"No. I may have had my childhood taken by that man, but Thranduil had his child taken," Thalion said in a low voice. "That is more than I could ever… No. He deserves revenge more than I do."

"Andaer, start choosing your men," Alondir ordered quietly. As the younger Elf walked away, the commander looked up and held the mortal's eyes with his own. "I am riding to the haven of Imladris, where Lord Elrond Half-elven dwells. He is the only one who wields power enough to heal the King. You need not come with us, but you need not return to Mirkwood either. You have done all you can for us, and you are now free to leave."

"If you will provide me with a map to this haven, maybe I will follow after you in a while," Thalion said slowly. "I need time to think about this. Keep Seregeth in there until I know how to…until I decide…"

"Of course," Alondir replied, cutting through the man's struggles. "I understand. He will remain captive, and his fate will lie with you. Choose wisely, Thalion. Choose not only for yourself, but for Thranduil and Laerwen, for Legolas, for that girl in there, for everyone who has been hurt. Avenge them."

"You know he will not live," Thalion said, his voice soft. "Even I do not yet know that."

"Sometimes others can see deeper into ourselves than we can," Alondir answered. "Leave this place now, and return only when we have gone. Then carry out your judgement. I will not forget you, and I think that you will be long in the King's mind also. May the Valar be with you, wherever your life leads."

Thalion held the commander's gaze with his own, before silently saying the farewell that could not leave his lips. Then his eyes drifted towards Thranduil; and as he looked upon the pale face, he touched his heart briefly, a small gesture of respect for one whom he felt deserved so much more. And then he was gone, mounting his horse and vanishing through the trees, leaving the Elves behind, leaving – not for the first time – his past behind.

Alondir watched the man's retreating back until he was gone from view, and realisation came then that if he never saw Thalion again, he would care little. He cared even less for Seregeth's fate. It all seemed immaterial now, and away from the world he was living in, in which only grief existed. Legolas was gone, for Laerwen there was a barely visible hope, and Thranduil was following his son. The lives of the three Elves who meant so much to Mirkwood's commanding officer, were over. It was at that moment that tears were conceived; and Alondir rested his head against his closest friend's shoulder, letting the silver drops fall without abandon, and mingle with the tears from the sky.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Wow, this was quite a long chapter, wasn't it? I hope you all enjoyed it, though there was no Legolas, and no twins or Glorfindel, but they will be back next time. All of your reviews are really appreciated, as always, and I will try to reply to as many of them as I possibly can. The next chapter will be up next Sunday – look at that, I managed to get back to posting on Sundays.

Misto

x-x

PS: Legolas-gurl88, my mum told me that your e-mail is down, so don't worry, I know you're not ignoring me!