I Will Always Return

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

There is no Place like Home

The spiders had ceased trying to seriously harm either of the Elves, even if they seemed to find a twisted delight in harrying them. And they found particular enjoyment in the harassment of Rothinzil, whose fear of them was easily noticeable the more they spewed webs at him or brushed his neck with a bristled limb. He shuddered every time, and no words Legolas could speak seemed to dissuade him from his opinion that the spiders were going to suck his body fluids out.

They had tried to garner the same satisfying reaction out of Legolas, but the Wood-Elf was far too single-minded with his intent to get home. They quickly grew tired of him.Legolas was growing vexed with the shudders and terrified but almost inaudible whimpers of his friend. He knew that Rothinzil had the strong heart of a lion, but spiders were the one thing that he had real trouble facing down. He was practically clinging against Legolas now, giving up on appearing invincible.

Drawing his bow, Legolas nocked his arrows quicker than sight and before the spiders knew what was happening he had deftly felled three particularly large ones. One died with a bloodcurdling screech as the arrow went through one of its numerous eyes, but the others perished silently. Their fat bodies snapped and crushed bushes as they crashed to the earth and the living spiders retreated, spewing vengeful hisses over their backs. Roth's gratitude knew no boundaries, but Legolas merely put a finger to his friend's lips to calm him and stop his babbling. "Orcs could have heard this. Now hush…my friend."

Roth's once desperate tone turned vengeful. "Oh, I can take care of them, my lord." A fire suddenly flared up a bright green color in his eyes.

Legolas nodded. "Good." He had a feeling that the pack of orcs they had seen signs of earlier was somewhere just ahead. He kept his bow in his hand and Roth unconsciously placed a hand on his sword hilt. Really, neither of them had any hopes of evading the orcs. Their glows were hard to miss and had been suppressed so long in misery that they refused to be hidden again.

Soon, the pair came to where the trees were about the only foliage, and the brush was smothered by the darkness. The trunks were thick and numerous and left very little space. It was the perfect place for an ambush and Legolas knew it. However, he had a strange, sickening feeling of peace and didn't stop moving.

"Legolas, you are mad!" Roth hissed as he matched his pace to his prince's.

He nearly banged into the other Elf as Legolas went stone still. "We don't have to worry about an attack," murmured heartbrokenly, not even looking at his friend. Roth came and stood at Legolas' side, and followed his friend's gaze curiously. What he saw made him want to retch and he tried to turn his face away, but found himself unable to.

"Are they…dead?" he questioned in a rasping voice. His gaze was still enraptured by their agonized faces.

Legolas swallowed hard before breaking his dazed stare at the bodies littering the ground. "I think so." Several immortal flames had been brutally extinguished here. But the Elves' hands were all bound with thick cord and it was obvious that they had been prisoners before their deaths. Legolas forced himself to check each one for a pulse or any sign of life, disappointed not to find a single heartbeat. There were signs of torment on a few…and on others, signs of a strong resistance. Taking his knife, he moved to cut their bonds and then stopped, thinking.

"Surely we aren't going to leave their bodies in this deplorable a state?" Roth asked as he stared in agonized shock at them. He couldn't believe how much their faces resembled how he had seen Legolas look only months before. It was frightening and he shuddered as he could almost imagine his friend and liege lying among them.

Legolas' answer came slowly. "Yes. We are. We are halfway home, and for any orcs it would be a sign we passed this way. If fate permits it, we shall return later for the dead." He sheathed his knife and picked his bow back up from where he had set it on the ground alongside his knees. He twisted his face away, unable to look at the lifeless, large, terrified eyes. He had not known these guards, but they were his people and a sense of failure smote him deeply.

Roth squeezed his shoulder and then helped Legolas to his feet. "It wasn't your fault." He forced Legolas to look into his eyes, bringing his face close to his friend's. "You suffer enough mellon nîn."

"No, not nearly as much as I deserve. If I had been here, would things have happened differently?" he questioned bitterly, starting forward and pulling away from the warrior.

Roth caught up with him in a few long strides. "Maybe, maybe not. It could have been their own folly." Rothinzil was grateful that he didn't recognize any of them as his warriors, but he was wondering if Celebalda was currently missing any of his men.

"Provoked by me," Legolas continued adamantly. He felt so torn. Aragorn had needed him, but his people had too. He didn't know which he would have regretted more. Both were terribly wrong.

Rothinzil shook his head. Legolas had to be made to understand. "It was your father's fault, Legolas. He could have used his strength to save his people but he didn't. You couldn't help his reaction."

For the first time, Legolas spun around, and his eyes glittered dangerously. Roth didn't retreat, even if he wanted to. "If you ever blame my father again, Rothinzil, I will beat you from these woods!" His threat became a snarl and Roth flinched as he knew that Legolas' misery was tearing his friend up. Legolas would never threaten him with that, for many reasons dating far back to their first meeting. Roth couldn't deny that he had been deeply wounded.

Seeing the pain in his friend's loyal eyes, Legolas' anger suddenly melted into genuine remorse. He couldn't believe what he had done and he would beg for forgiveness if he had to. "I am so sorry Rothinzil! Believe me! I wasn't thinking! I am…I am just so scared, mellon nîn."

The warrior seemed to understand, but Legolas could tell that his faith was shaken. "I understand Legolas," he murmured quietly, his eyes and thin smile speaking of his immediate forgiveness. "You are going through much."

Legolas just looked at him sadly, and then turned his back on his friend to continue on. He couldn't bear the heartbroken look. He couldn't believe that he had threatened Roth with his past that had scarred him deeply. The warrior had been raised by a family of humans, but around age eighty, when his foster parents died, the village had driven him out. He had all but starved and by the time Legolas had found him, he was little more than a shadow. Roth had found a home in Mirkwood, with Thranduil being like an adoptive father and Legolas his brother. He was not treated as royal, at his own wish. His reverence for Legolas was unmatched.

Legolas didn't realize that he had moved so far ahead until he heard Roth cry out for him to wait. Stopping, he allowed his friend time to catch up. He wanted to say that he was sorry, but he couldn't find words to express his remorse and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps it would be better if he didn't mention it again.

:0Ї0:

They had ventured some miles south of the palace, both disgusted at the amounts of cobwebs and spider stench that made the forest seem darker as some webs above blocked out the light. Roth wasn't paying much attention and was studying the intricate webs, when suddenly Legolas pressed up against a trunk, siding up to the tree. He grabbed his friend and forcefully shoved him against another. Roth twisted his head and stared at Legolas questioningly as the prince kept his arm across his chest to keep him in place. "Yrch."

Rothinzil became incredulous. "Are you sure? This close to the palace?"

Legolas nodded affirmatively. He had been dubious at first, but no longer. He could hear their voices and smell their singular stench. Hot anger bubbled in his chest as he thought of the warriors found dead and the torment they must have endured. Their faces contorted by pain and terror and their hands bound. "They are stalking ahead of us, but heading this way, I believe."

Loud garbled laughter gargled in the air and Legolas winced. They were closer than he had thought. Roth reached for the limb above his head and swung himself up into the tree, having a sinking suspicion that the orcs had them greatly outnumbered. He offered Legolas a hand, but the prince shook his head and remained on the ground, drawing an arrow from his quiver. "Legolas," Roth cautioned. "We are outnumbered! We are going to end up in the same position that those dead warriors were in and that won't be any help to anyone."

Legolas nocked the arrow and started to take aim. Passionate anger glistened in his eyes, almost glazing them. He drew the arrow back, preparing the shoot down the first orc that was coming close. Roth closed his eyes as he heard the projectile release and the orc give a strangled scream of death as he slammed backwards into its fellows. It had started. Clearing the tree, he landed lightly next to Legolas with his knees bending to absorb the impact. Pulling his own bow over his shoulder, he nocked another arrow and shot into the cluster of orcs, who seem surprised when another one of their own fell. The dying creature had no chance to scream, Roth's arrow was lodged up its feathers in his neck.

Both the Elves were immediately embroiled in a battle and gradually the orcs' numerous bodies weaved between them. Separated, they both tried to fight as best as they were able. Roth was pushed into a cluster of trees, where he was finding it increasingly difficult to wield his broadsword, which was his choice over knives. The technique dated back to his years spent with humans. Legolas was being pressed towards a small and darkened glade and his twin knives were whirling and stabbing repeatedly at the creatures. Already many orc bodies carpeted the forest floor, but there seemed to be no end of the creatures. Swiping an orc across the face with a knife, Legolas chanced a look at Roth.

He was holding his own very nicely, using his feet more and more as he was forced to kick the orcs back to keep from being overwhelmed and pinned against a tree. His broadsword flashed as he thrust it at the creatures while agilely evading their blows. Already the dead were growing around his feet and he kicked them out of his way in disgust. To be honest, Legolas was candidly impressed that his friend had not tripped and narrowly escaped death. Roth was not known as the most balanced of creatures.

More orcs continued to pour out of nowhere and as the battle wore on Legolas was surprised as he felt himself becoming exhausted. Every move he made took an extreme effort and sweat poured from his brow, drizzling into his eyes. He was not yet healed well enough to be engaging in this vigorous an activity. The only thing that kept him going was his burning hate towards the orcs and the thought that he had almost become one of them. He would not tolerate them this close to his home.

Inevitably, Rothinzil tripped. He was lucky because he fell backward over a body instead of playing directly in his opponents' hands, but at the same time in serious trouble. Legolas noticed, but he was too far away and too weakened to get there very quickly. Vehemently slashing his way through the orcs, he worked his way towards his friend, watching in horror as an orc standing above the downed Elf raised his scimitar point down and prepared to plunge it.

Roth closed his eyes, imagining that he would feel steel break through his chest and then die. There was no way that he could block that blow. There was no place to roll as he was blocked on either side by orc bodies. However, the strange peace that he had always heard came with death didn't come and he winced as he heard the sword slice through his cloak and embed itself in the dirt right behind his ear. He was pinned securely in place and the sword was buried deeply, so that he could see the hilt next to his face if he turned his head. The orc above him laughed cruelly and gave Roth a strong kick in the ribs.

Rothinzil winced a minute before kicking back and tripping the beast with his feet. The other orcs laughed at their companion but moved to secure Rothinzil's legs, learning from their mistakes. "Didn't think we'd let-cha get away so easily, did you Elf-rat?" said one, drawing his knife and licking the edge with his long, mottled tongue. He gave Roth a once over and smiled. "Ye'r a pretty one, maybe we should take you and blondie home with us, eh?"

Roth glared angrily. "Maybe you should get out of our home!"

The orc fingered the knife and scowled angrily. "Your home? This is our lord's home. You Elves are simply disobedient serfs! But I will teach you better!" He ran his knife slowly down the side of Roth's face, the jagged edge cutting him slightly. It continued to run down along his exposed neck and Roth tried to jerk away in disdain. However, he only succeeded in hitting the side of his head sharply against the metal sword hilt. White stars exploded in his vision for a few seconds.

The orc pressed his face near the warrior's, his breath exhaling on Roth's cheek. Dazed, the dark-haired Elf didn't move. "Go on," taunted the orc evilly. "Scream for help. The others did." Roth just twisted his face away and concentrated on the darkness of the treetops, unwilling to give them the satisfaction. His heart was hammering in his chest as he felt the orc's hands on his neck and others hold his arms against the ground.

Legolas was mere yards away now and his once powder-blue eyes were passionately black in anger. Roth was sprawled on the ground and the orcs were swarming around him. He growled in his throat as he saw one run his tongue up the side of Roth's face from the base of his neck and his friend struggle powerlessly at the offensive touch. Close enough now that he had a clear shot at the orc pinning Rothinzil's arms to the ground, Legolas whipped his bow from his back and released an arrow. The orc that was straddled over his defenceless friend crumpled down, burying the Elf-warrior. However, Legolas was surprised to hear Roth give a small cry of pain.

He wasn't given time to dwell on it, however, and was forced to keep a rapid succession of arrows slamming into his assailants. The orcs around Roth dropped from the projectiles, falling around and on the warrior. Killing some closer foes by stabbing with his arrows as if they were daggers, Legolas finally slew the last orc.

Legolas' chest was heaving from the exertion and his hair clung to his sweaty, pale face. The movement of his deep breaths caused his newly healed ribs to move abruptly, jolting pain throughout his system. Dropping his bow, he stumbled to where his friend had fallen, ultimately collapsing on his knees by Roth's face.

The warrior smiled up at him, but it was laced with pain and he closed his eyes shortly. Legolas started to look his friend over, searching for a wound when he saw that Rothinzil's hands were clawing at the dead orc that was crushing down on him –the one that had licked him. Legolas hurried to remove the body but as he struggled to drag it off of the warrior, Rothinzil released a strangled cry. His body jerked and he begged, slipping into Sindarin, "Saes, Legolas! Saes…"

Alarmed, Legolas immediately relented, but was careful to ease the beast's weight back down. Obviously, Roth was in pain and he couldn't see why. Suddenly, his eyes caught sight of a growing crimson stain coming from the other Elf's midsection. It appeared that when the orc had fallen its knife had remained stiff in its hand and it had cut into Roth's abdomen. The laceration wasn't deep but it was bleeding profusely and Roth's face rapidly turned ashen. "Legolas…hurts…not deep…"

Legolas bit his lip, trembling. He had come so close to home and he couldn't lose Rothinzil now…he just couldn't. It would kill him, it truly would. "I have to move the orc, Roth." He forced himself to remain calm, calling on every fibre of his being.

Roth ignored his comment. "You are white…Legolas, and s-shaking…are you well?" He tried to assess Legolas from his prone position, but the prince gently restrained him, resting his hand on his chest. He smiled tearfully at Roth's selflessness, which never ceased to amaze him.

"I am well. Don't you dare move again," Legolas demanded tenderly, brushing his finger tips along Roth's cheek. He was repulsed as he felt the slimy moisture of orc saliva and used his hand to wipe it away. Roth's lips twitched in a grateful smile.

"They were going to…t-to…torture…" Roth's voice slurred in pain and he stopped speaking as Legolas shook his head.

"I would never let them, Roth. You know that." Legolas tried to assure his friend as he scrutinized the orc body and the knife tearing at Roth's torso.

"That's why I wasn't truly scared, Legolas," he murmured quietly, his eyes closing wearily and his fingers, that had still clutched his sword, unwrapped from their grip. Blood-loss was sapping his strength and Legolas knew that he had to act quickly. He could feel Roth relaxing under his touch, either in trust or in weariness, he did not know.

Slowly, he began to heft the orc from the warrior, watching as Roth's face crumpled up in agony. The wounded Elf's chin trembled as the knife slid out of his skin, releasing a new torrent of blood. He gave a shuddering breath and gasped as his skin stretched with the lung expansion. His hands moved quickly to clutch at his wound and immediately became slick with blood.

Legolas pulled them away, and murmured, "Stop. I have to see it." His own hands were unsteady and trembled from the exertion of battle on his weakened body and hot anger burning through his core. He had brought this misery not only on himself, but on those he loved as well. Roth nodded but Legolas could tell he was struggling to keep his hands at his sides. They tore at the ground, as though trying to hang onto it.

Legolas gently opened up the folds of Roth's tunic and started to inspect the wound with his fingers. It had not punctured any organs and had barely gone completely through. Roth was lucky. Looking at his hands, Legolas felt sick at the feel of his friend's warm blood trickling down his fingers. "You are losing a lot of blood, mellon nîn."

Roth blinked as he tried to focus on Legolas' face. Legolas immediately opened up his first tunic layer and tore the fabric into a large strip before wadding it up and stuffing it gently into the wound. He tore another and wrapped it tightly, almost restricting Roth's ability to breathe.

"When we get home you are going to the healers," Legolas informed as he started to try and gather Roth up into his arms. He couldn't' say that he was looking forward to the burden, but there was no way that Roth would be walking.

Rothinzil had never ceased to amaze Legolas and he pulled free of Legolas' grip, dragging himself a few feet away. He ploughed the forest floor up in his wake. Shaking his head, he dragged himself up to his knees. "I can walk Legolas." He insisted, not allowing Legolas to touch him. Grabbing the side of a tree, he used it as leverage to haul himself up to his feet, swaying slightly.

Legolas looked torn between a glare and a smile, resulting in a dead-panned tone. "You are a marvel."

Roth simply swallowed compulsively and nodded with a thin smile. His blood-loss had left him disoriented and the world seemed a bit hazy. When he tried to move his hand that was still clawing at the tree, he found a sticky substance on it. Pulling away, Roth awkwardly stumbled back a few feet, staring at the tree in trepidation. There were cobwebs on everything.

"No place like home," the prince muttered darkly, eyeing the trees. They glittered with spider tendrils.

"Indeed," Rothinzil agreed insipidly. He was still rubbing his hand vigorously on his leggings, trying to tear off the last of the sticky webbing. When Legolas started to walk cautiously forward, Roth steeled his jaw, forced down his pain, and followed.

:0Ї0:

It did not take them long to reach the palace, but what Legolas saw disquieted him. Everything was dark. Not a lamp was lit, but he sensed the presence of sentinels hidden the foliage of the trees and brush. A cold shiver made the hair rise on the back of his head and he chanced a glance over his shoulder at Roth. True to his word, the warrior had Legolas' back, even if his defence was looking a little flimsy as the other Elf could barely walk.

Deciding that he would never know the worst or best until he tried, Legolas started determinedly forward. He did not expect to be challenged and the threatening of a sentinel stilled his movements. "Move and be shot!" the warrior snarled savagely, sizing the two intruders up. A deliberate rustling in the leaves told Legolas that there were numerous others.

Roth stiffened and started to come forward to defend his liege, but Legolas stuck out his arm, forcing his friend to peace. Roth was in no condition to fight anymore and this was obviously a mistake. A small frown tugged at Legolas' mouth and he replied, "I am your prince, Legolas Greenleaf. With me is Rothinzil. You will let us pass," he ordered out of habit.

The sentinel's tone seemed to grow more savage and he spat, "So the treacherous prince returns. Rumour has it that you were dead." He could sense Rothinzil's presence and growled, "We didn't expect you to come back." By their dialects, Legolas could tell that these Elves were Silvan and it was no surprise to hear them voicing their complaints. Some never appreciated having Sindarin rulers and this had been the excuse that they had been looking for.

Legolas treaded carefully, not wanting to start a fight that could end in more bloodshed. He had seen enough blood to last him an eternity. "It was an accident. We are both alive, and I have returned to make things right." Legolas didn't expect their sympathy or their understanding, but it was the truth, whether they discarded it or not.

"In your wanderings have you learned to raise the dead Legolas?" When he didn't hear an answer in the allotment of time permitted, the guard supplied one. "Then there is very little that you can do here." Rothinzil stiffened and placed a consoling hand on Legolas' shoulder.

Legolas set his jaw and his lips turned into a fine line that turned down at the corners. "What is this you speak of?" he tried to use his tone with more authority.

"The orcs fear us no more. The magic that has hidden and protected our refuge is failing, princeling. Many have died in her defence." His voice shook with emotion and his stance wavered.

Legolas stepped forward to try and offer his condolences, but the sentinel would have none of it and back-pedalled, raising his bow in the dark. "Don't even start with me, Prince Legolas! I don't need your pity. Was this place not good enough for you? We all loved and adored you as our prince and you abandoned us for some...some ranger!" He stumbled through his words in the wrath.

"That ranger is my friend!" Legolas snapped, suddenly flaring up in defence. They could talk ill of him all that they wanted but they had better not mention Aragorn's name in the slurs. "I have returned! We can fix this!"

An Elf to the right of the prince spat at him angrily, but his voice reflected hurt. "Let the traitor and his pet pass, Morion!" Reluctantly, the other warrior relented and his forces fell back with him, but it voiced their disapproval in angry undertones.

Legolas walked past stiffly, carefully eyeing the surrounding dark. Roth followed behind a bit slower, a hand on his wound and his other hanging limply at his side. The anger and mistrust of the other warriors made the air seem oppressive.

Once they had passed over the small bridge and were inside the palace without further harassment, Roth called for Legolas to stop. Thinking his wounded friend was in need of help, Legolas stopped and whirled around, prepared to carry Roth to the Healing Ward. "I know the Elf that stopped us, Legolas. Morion used to be in my regiment, and I think that he still is. He has never acted thus before." The warrior paused, letting his words sink in before saying what was next on his mind. "If even he has turned this way, things may be a bit more dangerous than they appear. I just want you to be careful."

Legolas frowned, disquieted. "Roth," he directed, avoiding the subject. "You are going to the Healing Ward."

Roth blanched (if it were possible that he could get any paler) and he defiantly stepped a pace away from his friend. "With all due respect, I am not."

Legolas felt anger bubble in his chest. "Rothinzil, let me make this abundantly clear. You've already lost a lot of blood; your bleeding couldn't possibly have fully stopped. You need your wound cleansed and you need stitches. You need rest." He didn't want to say that he wasn't feeling very confident and needed at least one person to listen to him. "You are going to the Healing Ward, if I have to drag you there!"

Roth realized that Legolas would make him do exactly that and he backed away further, clutching his wound. "You would tear me from your side after all that we have been through together? How dare you?"

"Roth, I don't want you to die, do you hear me?" Legolas shook with emotion, tears starting to run down his proud cheeks. "Enough have already! I can't seem to get anyone to follow my orders around here! Everything has changed. I want to able to count on you!"

Stricken, Rothinzil swallowed. "Legolas, I am sorry."

The apology hung in the air between them for a moment. The silence seemed to echo and Legolas sighed. "I will walk with you to the Healing Ward and then I must see my father."

Rothinzil sighed heavily. He couldn't disobey Legolas when everybody else was. He wanted to be supportive, but Thranduil was not himself. For that matter no one was. The oppressive air of evil had started to settle on the palace grounds and it seemed to be sparing no one. If something happened, Legolas was going to need someone to be at his back…someone he could trust. Thranduil had always been a good father, but things had changed and he didn't think Legolas could ever be prepared for what he was bound to see. "Yes, my lord."

The submissive tone of Roth's voice made Legolas sick, but he only nodded. "All right, let us go." In the back of his mind, he was wondering what he would find when he reached the ward. The healers were apt to be angry considering all the injured they must have had to accommodate for these past few years.

Legolas was beginning to remember all the old paths of his home, but in a few instances he had to rely on Roth's more recent memory. The warrior would dejectedly lead them in the correct direction, his heart in his boots. They made their way slowly to the Healing Ward and when they reached the door, they found that it was dark and forsaken looking. Roth looked at Legolas dispassionately. "So you are going to leave me here?"

Legolas went over to where there was an old lamp and lit the wick. He smiled. Some things never changed. That lamp had been there for at least a few centuries. The glow made the room seem less hostile and Legolas forced Rothinzil towards a bed. "Yes, you are safer here. I will find a healer." Roth sat on the bed's edge, still holding his hand against his abdomen. He couldn't bring himself to argue and the quiet sorrow of Legolas' voice made him feel out of place.

Legolas left shortly and came back with a shocked healer in tow. The Elf-maiden was stumbling behind him, barely able believe what she saw. They were both supposed to be dead. Looking at the blood covering Rothinzil's midsection, she stopped short. Turning to Legolas she gaped before asking, "What happened to him, my lord?"

Legolas took a moment to answer, thinking of the possible effects of his next words. "Orc attack."

She paled and he quickly reassured her. "No one else was hurt. The orcs are all dead. Treat him as you would me. You know he is like my brother." Legolas cast a small smile at Roth, who demonstratively stared at the floor.

Looking back the healer, Legolas nodded. "Just take good care of him." He waited for her assurance and then turned his back on the ward before walking out.

Once in the dark corridors, he paled, realizing he couldn't quiet remember how to navigate his way to his room or his father's. Vaguely, he started to follow his instincts and made his way towards his quarters. From there he would gather his wits and make his way to his father's. The elder Elf had to be sleeping this early.

Legolas winced as he suddenly hit his shin against something sharp and wooden. Recoiling, he only succeeded in stumbling backwards over another object, barely managing to catch himself. Deciding not to move anymore, lest he actually fall, Legolas held still. Cautiously, he reached his hands out, feeling for the objects. What he felt was the rough grain of wooden sliding under his fingers tips and the cubical shape of a box. Crates.

Curious, Legolas wondered why they were littering the corridor leading to his chambers. It was too dark for him to see any labels that might be on them, so he shrugged them off and continued, careful not to trip over another one. His shin was still throbbing.

Successfully finding his chambers, Legolas memory seemed to return and he navigated them back to his room, where his bed and most precious possessions were. He was surprised to see a soft glow coming from his room and halted, wondering if someone might be in it. Could his father possibly be in there? Biting his lip, Legolas steeled himself and entered the room. He was surprised to discover that it was completely vacant of other life. But he was even more surprised by what was in there and he was beginning to understand why he had stumbled over crates.

In the glow of a pyramid candle vigil set up by his bed he saw a teddy bear, died indigo and with button eyes. It was faded and shabby from overuse and he smiled. Mellon, the bear he had possessed since his birth. But there was more. His first bow was lying ceremoniously on the top of his dresser and there were other toys from his childhood laid about the room, obviously arranged with great care. Going over to his drawers, the prince cautiously opened them, only to discover clothes from his younger days. They were much too small for him now and he grimaced, remembering the days when he had been more innocent.

Feeling heavy exhaustion, Legolas sat on the edge of his bed, trying to keep his eyelids open. He had taken to sleeping with them closed and now they felt leaden. Unable to help himself, Legolas slumped back onto his bed and closed his eyes, oblivious to the dust that billowed up around him.

:0Ї0:

Out of habit, Thranduil woke early as he did every morning. However, this morning, something just didn't seem the same. Swinging his legs over the bed, he stood and grabbed his robe from a hook on the wall and slipped it on. It was a chilly morning. The Elf-lord had been more susceptible to chill since he had fallen into an accepting despair. Pushing his feet into his slippers, he started across the room. There was a candle nearby and he grabbed it, not noticing the hot wax that fell onto his hand.

Exiting his chambers, he started down the corridors that wound their way towards Legolas' chambers. The door was open. Puzzled, Thranduil lingered outside the doorway for another moment before entering. He saw the light was still glowing from his son's bedroom and smiled hollowly, preparing to gaze upon the little toys that Legolas had once adored. He had even replaced the blankets of Legolas' bed with his childhood ones. It made the pain of Legolas' death easier to bear somehow, remembering him as the innocent child instead of the rebellious youth that had abandoned him. The candles burning in there burned slow, in mourning for the lost prince.

Stepping past the threshold, he entered the room and was suddenly forced to keep a hand on the doorframe to keep from falling to his knees. It was all a dream, some wonderful, wonderful dream! But he knew the minute he reached towards his son, Legolas would disappear, as he had so many other times. All the same, he could not resist and he put one trembling foot in front of the other as he entered the room.

Reaching Legolas' bedside, he watched his son's chest rise and fall rhythmically in deep, relieved slumber. Legolas' face, though peaceful, looked gaunt and aged. The mattress barely bent under his weight, and that was when Thranduil realized that Legolas was close to becoming a wraith. He had lost much weight and his clothes fit loosely around his body. He was older, so much older now and yet he had only gained four years. In spite of his expectations that Legolas would disappear, Thranduil reached out his hands to touch his son's face.

However, his hands traced the contours of Legolas' high cheek bones and felt his son's warm exhales wafting against this skin. His son was breathing on him. Phantoms did not breathe. He was about to cry his son's name when the Elf suddenly jolted away, instinctually sensing the presence of someone looming over him. He squirmed backwards for a minute and his hand clasped his father's wrist as though to ward him off. Hurt, Thranduil retreated back a few steps, pulling his wrist free. "Legolas, ion nîn," he whispered brokenheartedly.

He watched as Legolas eyes brimmed with tears and the younger Elf pushed himself into a sitting position. A shoulder-wracking sob shook his thin frame. "Ada," he murmured, tears streaming unchecked down his pale face. He threw himself against his father, burying his face into the Elder Elf's nightshirt. All that he had ever wanted to cry about bubbled up in his chest…those dark moments in Harad where he was locked in darkness…the cave where he had been tortured mercilessly…it all came back together in a jumbled collection of pain. He knew how close he had come to losing his life and it frightened him. He had been brave then but he was terrified now and he clung to the elder Elf.

Thranduil pulled his son close, realizing that this was real and his child was home, clinging to him. He could feel Legolas' rasping sobs and the moisture of the younger Elf's tears soaking through his nightshirt. "What, oh what did they do to you, ion nîn?"

Legolas started to pull away but his father rubbed his hands up and down his son's back soothingly, relaxing him. "Shhhh…you don't have to tell me…you are safe here."

Safe? Legolas asked himself disbelievingly. He wasn't so sure. Things just didn't seem right here and he felt like a great evil was weighing on the place, slowly putting it into suffocating bonds. Until that evil was routed out and exiled, he knew that no one was safe.

Pressing closer into his father, the younger Elf confessed, "They tortured me Ada, with …tools and devices…ones that I had never seen before…and Roth…Roth is hurt in the Healing Wing…"

Legolas felt his father's hands on the back of his head, stroking his hair and he tried to push away, longing to see his father's face. "Rest, my son, we will see to Roth and make sure that he turns out all right. I promise." Placing his chin on Legolas' head he murmured as though in a trance, "Oh my son, you cannot ever know how much I missed you. I thought that you were gone…do your wounds still hurt you?"

Legolas shook his head and answered softly, "No. They are fine." But he knew this was a lie. There were wounds made by no weapon and no abuse but he simply knew that they would have to remain somewhere deep inside, because if he let them go free, then he knew that he would break his father's heart. He couldn't bear that, it would defeat his purpose. He had come home to heal his father's heart not to damage it beyond repair.

The elder Elf pulled him even closer and Legolas felt slightly panicked as his airway was nearly blocked but he didn't try to pull away. Thranduil kissed him softly on the crown of his head and then ran his fingers through Legolas' long hair, only to realize that it was much shorter. "You cut your hair?" he questioned in a murmur.

Legolas laughed bitterly into his father's tunic. "No, Ada that was what they did."

Thranduil froze at the mention of those who had so tormented his son, but then decided that there was nothing he could do but let Legolas know that he loved him –loved him dearly, and that nothing could change that. "You never should have had to have endured any of that, Legolas."

"It was my fault, I left," Legolas' muffled voice protested from where it was buried in his father's tunic, which was now dampened by tears. His father didn't know how many times that he had wished that he was here, here and no where else, enveloped by his father's love. He wished he could tell him, but he himself had lost count.

"No, no, it wasn't. I let you go," Thranduil answered solemnly. As a parent he should have prohibited his son from leaving. "I thought things would heal if you were given time. You took so long."

Legolas smiled with relief. "You have no idea. I tried to come home for so long…we both did…"

"Shhh…" The older Elf soothed. It had been so much easier when Legolas was younger, when he had been able to carry the little Elfling on his shoulders and chase away nightmares.

Legolas felt his father pulling him in closer and then started to draw a breath. Cotton and silk pressed against his mouth as he attempted an inhale and no air came in! He tired to pull away but his father was to strong and continued to hug him close –far too close. "It will all be well, ion nîn, I promise," Thranduil said, not understanding why his son was pulling away from him.

Legolas had never thought that there was such a thing as being loved to death but even as his lungs begged for air he knew that there was…and he was sure that was how he would die. The battle had stolen his remaining strength and he was unable to wrench himself free. "I love you too, Ada," he whispered, with the remainder of the air in his lungs.

:0Ї0:

Hours later, the brothers were bordering on the Golden Wood, having travelled without rest. Aragorn pulled his horse to a halt, eyeing the forest apprehensively. What he feared most waited beneath the large canopy of Mallorn boughs and he didn't feel ready to face it. As a matter of fact, he doubted that he would ever be ready. His heart felt heavy with anxiety for his friends and he wished that he knew their fates.

So lost in thought was he, that Aragorn didn't even notice when his brothers backed up their horses and stopped, flanking either side of him. Elrohir stared at his brother for a long time, while Elladan's eyes penetrated the foliage of the forest, picking out sentinel Elves perched in the branches. The sunlight of the afternoon bathed the wood in light and caused its golden leaves to shimmer. It was living up to its name.

"Estel?" Elrohir asked softly, staring into Aragorn's troubled silver eyes.

Aragorn said nothing. He wasn't listening. His mind was wrapped up in his anxiety over what he would find and what sort of welcome he would receive. Elrohir wasn't satisfied with Aragorn's unresponsive behaviour but it was understandable right now and he reluctantly allowed his brother more question-free time. Elladan had no intentions of talking to Aragorn. He thought it would be best if the man came to him, and besides: he was scared too.

The Elven sentinels posted high up in the trees permitted them deeper into the forest than expected, and Aragorn was almost thinking that they would make it to Lórien unimpeded. Elladan and Elrohir knew that was too much to hope for, especially since they and Haldir didn't entirely get along. It wasn't that they hated each other…they just…hated each other. There was no other way to describe it.

Just as the brothers were thinking this a soft, smooth voice commanded, "Hands in the air, or take an arrow!" Aragorn practically jumped out of his skin, but the twins were unimpressed. Elrohir raised a cocky brow and eyed the trees where the voice had come from, his hands remaining at his sides.

"Haldir, you cannot be serious!" He called, almost laughing.

A silvery-haired Elf jumped down from the tree, but he wasn't smirking and when he saw who it was on the ground, he waved his archers off. Surprised, Elrohir couldn't help but display an expression of open shock. Aragorn remained looking impassive. "I am sorry, follow us if you will," he said kindly, not in his tougher voice. There was no gloating in his eyes or tone. He was serious.

Elrohir eyed him darkly. "We don't need your pity!" Elladan gave his twin a sharp look, but Elrohir ignored it.

Haldir glowered at him, irritated. "That is well, because you don't have it." He had never been able to stand the twins, although Arwen was reasonable. The Elf was undecided about Aragorn, but he was beginning to see tendencies that led him to believe that the human was taking strongly after his adoptive brothers. "Come, the Lady is waiting." He beckoned them and the surrounding Elven sentinels retreated, melting back into the foliage.

"The Lady knew we were coming?" Aragorn questioned, his voice sounding lethargic and distant from the forest they walked through. Elrohir was sure that he was thinking of Arwen.

Elladan quickly shushed his brother, not wanting to seem disrespectful. "Yes, of course, brother, the Lady has her mirror."

Aragorn shuddered, as though cold. Why would he be in her mirror? Of what importance was he to her? Elrohir noticed and he put and hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing it sympathetically.

The brothers started to follow Haldir towards the Nath, grateful that he didn't decide to selectively reinforce the blindfolding law.

Elessar…

Aragorn winced on his horse and his hand sought his brow as though his head pulsed with a headache. She was in his mind, the White Lady! He closed his eyes and Haldir looked back knowingly but remained silent. Elladan and Elrohir seemed not to notice. Since they had entered the fair woods things seemed to have slowed down and a strange lethargy was overcoming their senses.

I know what you have been through and have seen you from afar…

Aragorn felt his cheeks flush with the humiliation of the weakness he had displayed. He wondered fleetingly if his father, or even Arwen had seen him in what he supposed was her mirror. Had she seen the trouble he had gotten Legolas into?

Do not be afraid, Elf-Stone. It remains a secret, though sooner or later all must be told. Rivendell is failing…

Aragorn remained motionless on his horse, unaware of his surroundings or of anything. Her voice was filling up the void in his mind and overflowing into all his thoughts, over whelming his senses.

Glorfindel and Erestor are strong but they are not strong enough. Vilya must be wielded…and the wielder does not stir. Nay, he is not dead, but a sleep-like depression has taken a deep hold. I tell you this so that you may be prepared for what you shall see, and what you shall hear…

Completely stunned over by her words and by the torrent of emotion that followed, Aragorn almost fell off his horse. This time both brothers took notice and Haldir halted not far ahead. A look of slight impatience was on his face, and he waited. Elladan grabbed Aragorn by the arm, steadying him and righting him on the animal. Elrohir just stared warningly at Haldir, daring him to comment. Haldir may have been many things, including aggravating and sometimes blatantly stubborn-stupid, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut this time. Elladan and Elrohir would string him up by the nearest tree if he did not, and his sentinels would be of no help to him, that he knew. And, it was possible that somewhere deep inside, he held some sympathy for the human.

Elladan and Elrohir knew exactly what was inflicting their brother, but being Elves made it difficult to truly understand the effect on him. Galadriel was their grandmother and so they were used to her telepathy and whisperings. She was like an adoptive Grandmother to Aragorn too, but he had not met her more than once in his life. "The Lady is talking to you, isn't she Estel?" Elrohir asked in a gentle voice, eyeing the trees and not his brothers.

"She is," the ranger admitted softly, shaking his head as though to dispel her voice from his thoughts. What she had said about Elrond and about Rivendell…about his friends…it was frightening.

"What does she say?" Elladan ventured, looking across Estel and at Elrohir, trying to gauge his twin's reaction.

Aragorn opened his mouth to tell them, but then gaped like a fish out of water before snapping his jaws shut. He shook his head stubbornly. "If she wanted you to know, then she would have told you."

Not wanting to offend the Lady, the two Elves didn't prod their brother any further, but if they had not been in the Golden Wood, they would have probably wormed it out of him somehow. Aragorn knew it. He was thankful that so far they had not taken offence at his secrecy. He didn't want to keep anything from them. They were his brothers, he came to them with everything, but this was different. This was not his choice.

Haldir, who was prone to being pushy and always one to keep moving, waited until they were finished conversing. It was almost as though he knew something that they didn't, and despite his harsh words, he did feel sorry for them. He wanted to help. Either that or he was scared for them. And if none of that was correct, he must have been having an abnormally good day to have such excessive patience.

The journey through the Golden Wood couldn't have gone slow enough for Aragorn, who was terrified to face the consequences of his absence. Galadriel's words had done nothing to ease his heart, which was hammering in his chest so that he was sure all the sensitive Elves could hear it. And he felt like she was watching him, and taking notice of every flicker of his eyes and every tired sigh. He could find no pleasure in his surroundings, which even surpassed those of Rivendell in the spring season. The silver on the trees and the gold on the leaves seemed distastefully plain to his eyes and he wondered if it was because he was unworthy of their beauty.

When they reached the path to Lórien, Aragorn didn't even look up from the floor as he walked between his brothers. Galadriel didn't overlook the formalities, but they were shortened considerably, as she recognized the sorrow of her grandchildren. Their hearts were heavy and it was obvious that they needed rest and a visit with their long divided family. Maybe they would be able to wring a laugh out of Arwen. Her musical giggles had not been heard for far too long and they were sorely missed –even Haldir and his brothers were complaining.

Pulling Aragorn aside, she allowed her hand to caress his face. "Elessar, take heart. Things soon shall mend." She looked down and her long golden lashes flickered for a moment before she raised her head, smiling radiantly and yet drooping with sorrow. "I have had new clothes prepared for you, Elf-Stone. You surely do not mean to see the Lady Arwen dressed in such weather-stained attire?" Her voice held no critical tone of admonishment, only slight amusement while containing full seriousness.

Aragorn observed himself for a moment, suddenly becoming very self-conscious. "That wouldn't be the best thing, would it, My Lady?"

She smiled knowingly, watching as Aragorn frowned. "You miss Lord Elrond. He is your father, yes?"

Aragorn slipped out of formalities as he was becoming overcome with grief. He bowed his head to hide his tears but his voice squeezed off. "Yes. I would see him first above all things."

Galadriel removed her hand from his face and place it gently on his shoulder, as his mother might have done. She massaged it consolingly. "Then change before you see him. Allow your brothers the opportunity to prepare him for the meeting. He has missed all three of you greatly." Aragorn winced inwardly, fighting not to let his emotions stain his composure. He used to be the one to soften their father up, and the twins would constantly be sending him in first whenever they had managed to get themselves in some hot water. "You are growing up, Elessar." Her voice held a firm coldness to it. "You are no Elf. And you seek to take his greatest treasure. By your gain he can only suffer, yet he loves you enough that he will no hinder you. The choice is Arwen's alone and it is your choice alone whether you become who you were born to be or fall into darkness with the last of your failing race."

Aragorn's head snapped up in alarm at how easily she had laid bare his heart and soul. "That time has not come yet."

"The date is fast approaching, and with you shall go many friends. You shall never walk entirely alone." Aragorn said no more, but inside he felt a horrible guilt take a voracious bite out of his heart and swallow. Legolas had already followed him and nearly been killed, as had his brothers and dear Rothinzil. If he was to claim his destiny, it could lead to Mordor…to the Hell of Middle Earth. He couldn't allow Legolas or anyone else he loved to follow him so far.

"You won't be able to stop them, Elessar. Their love for you will override rationales," Galadriel prophesied ominously.

TBC...Oh, ouch, gee, maybe that was not the most reader-friendly place to end it...(thinks) Nah, we'll end it here. :D

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