Chapter 8! You ready? This is a long one guys….

Disclaimer:  Nope, not mine.

Not One, But Two

Into the late hours of the night within the annals of Thranduil's library, Gandalf wore out the rugs beneath his feet with his rampant pacing.  His nervous hands scratched his chin and restless eyes glanced sporadically at opened books and scrolls, laid flat on the tables. A few pitiful torches offered a murky glow, though the wizard still had to strain his eyes to read through the veil of dust and darkness of night cloaking the books. It had been a couple of hours since he had left Legolas alone in the healer's room with his command to stay there and rest. Which means he should be halfway to Rivendell or Laketown by now, or perhaps out searching for more spiders…Gandalf smirked faintly at the certainty that the elf would not only not obey his order to rest, but would doubtless find some other way to get himself in trouble. Ah, but I would have him no other way...

But now was not the time to contemplate Legolas's recklessness, not when so many other mysteries and troubles perplexed the restless wizard.  It simply did not make sense that the Nazgûl or Sauron were taking Thranduil's elves, dead or alive. Of course, it would make perfect sense if they killed them, for such would be the nature of these evil beings, but to take them, or their souls? Why now? Why when the ring had passed over the Anduin?  He and Thranduil both thought perhaps Sauron was using his elves to create more orcs, but did Sauron or the Nazgûl even have the power to do this? Only once before had an evil power twisted the minds of elves to become such vile creatures… Could it really happen again?

Or perhaps the elves were victims of a necromancer and their souls were being enslaved. This did not sit well with Gandalf either though. Again, why would Sauron care about gaining a few more helpless souls when the ring was no where in his grasp?

Or was it?

Gandalf ceased his pacing as Aragorn's words raced through his head. All we know is that Dol Guldur is reoccupied by Nazgûl and Sauron has reoccupied Barad-dûr. Everything else is merely hypothesis. Including Saruman's testament that the ring has passed over the sea….

"And it cannot be denied Sauron is strengthening as we speak…" Gandalf muttered softly, reiterating Thranduil's words. "He may be seeking to intimidate an already fading race…Or maybe he is not aware of the ring's passing and believes it is somewhere in Mirkwood… or with someone in Mirkwood…" Gandalf's eyes grew dark and he became completely still.  The faint hissing and crackling of the smoldering torches were the only answer to Gandalf's meditations - and to the sudden surge of doubt that struck his heart with a million needles and turned his knees to rubber.

 "Or maybe Saruman was wrong," he whispered.

His eyes darted around the room frantically and he continued to mutter, "No, no, it cannot be…" But could it be? Was it possible that one of the Istari, the great wizards sent from the West to offer their inestimable wisdom to the foundering races of Middle Earth could unwittingly make such a grievous mistake? Or wittingly?

"No!" Gandalf shook the incongruous thought from his head. If a mistake was made, surely it was unwittingly – surely Saruman was unaware.

But as the books and scrolls scattered on the table reminded Gandalf, Sauron and the Nazgûl were not Mirkwood's only potential enemies. Perhaps we are on the wrong path completely… Perhaps the elves' disappearances have nothing to do with the Nazgûl…

Gandalf's eyes glazed over a few of the books. There were the Easterlings, the peoples that lived beyond the Sea of Rhûn, even the Avari and parts of the Úmanyar, the lost elves who either never heeded the call of the Valar or who were sundered from the other elves during the Great Journey to Aman, far in the eastern lands. The men of these areas at least have been tormenting Gondor for centuries…

Gandalf frowned. Men taking Thranduil's warriors? No, this could not be…But what of the lost elves? Was it possible they too fell into the service of Sauron?

"No, no, no… Alatar and Pallando are there to offer their wisdom and ensure they do not fall within the snare of the Enemy… They would not fail." Again, Gandalf found himself face to face with the possibility the other Istari have somehow failed in their missions and though he could not accept this so easily, doubt continued to swell in the depths of his heart.  

"It could not be the elves… and it could not be the Easterlings either. Then it must be the Nazgûl or a necromancer…" he tried to convince himself.

"Mithrandir!"

Gandalf's head snapped up at the sudden anxious call of his name. "Who beckons me?"

An elf servant rushed into the room, looking as if the palace was burning down and he had been racing to save Gandalf from it.

"Mithrandir, the King requests you in the council room! Now!"

Gandalf calmly raised an eyebrow his face drawing in concern. "Indeed! At this hour? Did he say why?"

"I think it has something to do with Merionè's return, though I do not know for sure… but he ordered me to bring you to him immediately," the guard answered breathlessly, glancing about him nervously as if Thranduil might pop out any minute and scold him for taking too long in retrieving the wizard.

Gandalf dropped his hand from his beard and swiftly grabbed his staff. "Then what are you standing there for you fool of an elf! Merionè ?! You should have told me that immediately! Now hurry! Take me to him!"

"Yes sir!" the guard stuttered as he dashed out of the room with Gandalf close on his heels.

In the glittering council room sat the dreary woodland king, his mournful silence weighing heavily on his two accompanying guards. Thranduil spoke not a word after discovering the contents of the bag except to give an order for Mithrandir to meet them in the council room.  His tired eyes refused to tear away from the spectral, deathly braid cradled in his palm until Käriler finally wrenched it gently from the king. The three sat somberly as if they were visiting the Halls of Mandos themselves.  Indeed, the air even sang the saddened song of death, despair, and suffering.

Merionè laid a hand on the King's arm. "King Thranduil, are you…"

Thranduil held up a hand to silence Merionè. "We will wait until Mithrandir joins us." The king's deep voice, though low, broke the leaden silence for a moment, but in that voice echoed centuries of pain. It was a voice that had lamented one too many battles and one too many deaths.

 At last, Gandalf appeared in the council room, breathless, anxious, yet all the same, maintaining an air of sapience and calm. Upon seeing the despondent King, seated miserably in his bejeweled chair however, he straightened and apprehensively eyed the two other elves. His wise eyes then fell on the cloth bag and scroll resting innocently on the oak table in front of Thranduil.

"Thranduil? What has happened that you call on me when the moon is so high? What has come to pass in these past few hours that cannot wait until the sun has taken her place?"

Thranduil's eyes revealed little as his stare fell on the wizard, though his pale face attested to the severity of the situation before them. Without any further ado, Thranduil rose and presented the note to Gandalf.

"This was delivered to me by Merionè."

Gandalf warily gazed at Thranduil and took the note from him. Without another word, the wizard read its contents. Another long silence followed, during which Thranduil returned to his seat and closely observed Gandalf as if the slightest twitch could reveal the answer to his troubles.

After reading the letter, Gandalf quietly took a seat, his eyes never leaving the venomous words written so gracefully in Elvish hand.  Finally, the wizard placed the letter on the table in front of him and returned his gaze to Thranduil.

"It is as I thought then. Mirkwood's enemies are more than just the Nazgûl of Dol Guldur," he breathed, more to himself than to anyone else in the room.

"As you thought? Remind me, when exactly you thought this Mithrandir, and perhaps also why you did not wish to inform me of these omniscient musings of yours? For we certainly could have made use of this knowledge six months ago, before this happened!"

Like a covered pot of water coming to a boil, Thranduil could no longer contain the growing frustration and anger inside of him and his fury bubbled over, exploding against his self control. He jerked up from his seat and threw the bag at Gandalf so that its ghastly contents spilled before the wizard in a macabre pile of evidence of what happened to the lost warriors.

Käriler jumped from his seat and grabbed the enraged King. "Peace Thranduil! It is not the wizard's fault!"

Thranduil breathed heavily and a second later melted into his chair, placing his head in his hand as he did so.

"Aye, I know… Mithrandir, forgive me… I just…. I know not what to do! How many more enemies could Mirkwood stand?"

The elf-king paused and regained his calm. Then, raising his noble head from his hand, with a steely, powerful gleam restored in his eyes, he spoke again with a regal voice that belied the anguish lurking within his soul.

"Mithrandir, I beg you to be frank with me. What do you know? I am asking for your help now." Thranduil gestured to the braids now scattered on the table. "Those are my missing warriors Mithrandir. What do you make of this?"

Gandalf stared numbly at the grim sight before him, then at the note, and then back at Thranduil. He shifted his staff, cleared his throat and much to the others' confusion, looked up towards the sky, searching the high chandeliered ceilings for an answer. Sauron's forces are gathering. We cannot deny this truth any longer. If Mirkwood is a gauge, then all of Middle Earth, from Ered Luin to Gondor should now be quaking with anticipation.

Just when Thranduil did not think he could take any more waiting, Gandalf rose abruptly from his chair and turned his ageless gaze onto the king.

"Thranduil, I will do whatever is within my power to help, but tell me first what you make of this letter? Of these choices before you?"

"What do I make of it?? What do you think I make of it Mithrandir!? It is clearly a threat! And by the souls of Maegren and Feáner, by the love of my wife and daughter, by the lives of my sons, I will not yield to such words! Nay, Mithrandir, if you think I will cower before Sauron, if you think I will give in to his wishes, if you think I will flee then you are mistaken! Nay! This letter is mistaken! It has left out a fourth choice and that is to fight the Enemy, fight him and drive him from my wood and from these lands! THEY CANNOT GET AWAY WITH THIS."

Thranduil's temper now exploded violently in a full fledged conflagration. As he spoke, his clenched fist pounded the table and his voice rose to a terrible fury that would put fear in the hearts of any living being. He lifted a braid and hurled it across the table.

Yet Gandalf remained perfectly still. Even as Merionè and Käriler rose from their seats, the wizard indicated for them to sit down and allow the King to release the storm that built up inside of him. When finally Thranduil exhausted his anger, he leaned his hands against the table and dropped his head. It was then that Gandalf stood and walked to the King's side, laying a hand gently on his back as he spoke.

"I never for a second thought you would yield, Thranduil. I just wanted to make sure you remembered your strength."

Exhausted, Thranduil again fell into his seat and the wizard returned to his own.

Gandalf sighed. "It must be the lost elves beyond the Sea of Rhûn, Thranduil, for who else amongst the elves would be capable of such evil? They have fallen under Sauron's influence, yet how this could have happened I do not know since Alatar and Pallando were sent to the Rhûn to prevent such a fate from befalling them…"

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, "the blue wizards? Aye, I had forgotten about them – have you not heard from them since they traveled east?"

Gandalf shook his head. "Nay, I have not heard anything from those Istari sent East, save Saruman. Yet I cannot see how they would have failed …"

"Well clearly they have, unless this is their way of greeting their neighbors!" Thranduil seethed as he held up one of the braids.

Gandalf continued, ignoring the elf's interruption, "though I suppose they may not have reached all the sects that dwell beyond the Sea of Rhûn…."

Thranduil sighed and dropped the braid. "'Tis nothing but suppositions…"

Gandalf gazed sadly at the King. "I do not know what else I can offer you…"

Thranduil smirked as a strange, sarcastic glow brightened his eyes. "A ring would be helpful. Perhaps if we could retrieve the One, we could destroy it and be done with this already… defeat Sauron once and for all."

Gandalf stared at Thranduil warily, a darkness glazing over the wizard's features. "It is not so easy as that Thranduil. Be warned! The One Ring is a curse, not a blessing! You would do well not to wish for it in your possession, for it will only bring pain and suffering to you and those you love, even if you did have the strength to destroy it!"

Thranduil's previous fury ebbed as he was taken aback by the wizard's sudden passionate warning. He raised an eyebrow curiously and asked slowly and threateningly, "Do you think me so weak?"

"Nay Thranduil, but the ring is powerful. It could seduce the greatest of elf lords. I believe you could resist, though I would that you not be tempted in the first place. Such a fate I would not wish on anyone…"

Thranduil gazed keenly at the wizard, seeming to contemplate his words when he then turned to Käriler. "Käriler, go retrieve Bratherond and Aragorn. They should know of these occurrences as well."

With this order, Thranduil returned to his seat and awaited the rest of the council.

* * *

As Aragorn and Legolas headed back to the palace, a nipping voice in the back of Aragorn's mind wondered about a slip of the tongue Legolas had made earlier. "a prince who is the youngest of six…. Four… children…"  Only a brief shadow passed over the elf's fair features before he corrected himself and Aragorn would have pressed him for a more detailed explanation had the timing not seem inappropriate. But then something clicked in Aragorn's mind. The story he told me in the library… about the brothers…

 

Aragorn turned to Legolas and was about to inquire about this when the blithe elf interrupted his unasked question with his own elven musings.

"Aragorn, what do you make of the stars? Do you perceive Elbereth there amongst them laughing gaily at us? I often wonder what she thinks when she watches us. I shall have to ask her myself one day, I suppose…"

"Is this what goes on beneath that pale hair of yours all day then?" Aragorn laughed, not having the heart to bring up Legolas's brothers at this time. He then followed Legolas's gaze, though he had little doubt what he saw was but an inkling of the splendid images beheld by his companion's elven eyes and so he returned his gaze to the path in front of them.

"You ought to watch where you are going mellonin. With your head turned up at the stars, you will miss the world before you and walk straight into a tree!" Aragorn warned, giving a sidelong glance the distracted elf.

"Nay Aragorn, I am an elf."

"Ha! Is that your answer to everything then? So your elven eyes can see both above you and ahead of you?"

"No, but my ears can hear the trees and they will warn me if I am in danger of walking into them," Legolas stated simply, though his attention returned to their path.

Aragorn made no comment other than a half-hearted snort, suspecting the elf probably spoke the truth.

When they reached the door, a frown fell on Legolas's face. "I hate reentering this cave. We belong in the trees, under the stars and the sun, feeling the grace of Manwë against our face, not underground like dwarves. This is unnatural to us," he lamented.

"These dark days will not last forever, Legolas," Aragorn replied as he pushed open the door.

The elf spoke softly. "Nay, there are always the Havens."

Upon entering, Legolas glanced inquisitively at the lone guard keeping watch by the great oak door.

"Filinor, what has happened to Käriler? Did he at last decide to follow me, because I did not see him – or has he chosen to stay hidden?"

Surprise flitted over Filinor's face at this question. "Nay, Prince Legolas, he has gone to your father…he told me to give a message to Aragorn…"

"My father! Ai! Is he taking lessons from Cièdron? I am not a caged pet! I may come and go as I please! Why should he tell Ada?" Legolas inquired scathingly, ignoring Filinor's mention of Aragorn's message.

"What was the message?" Aragorn demanded, gently pushing Legolas aside.

Filinor looked even more startled and even a little frightened as he looked back and forth between the irritated prince and the impatient ranger. His mind raced – who should he answer first? Would it be worse to perturb the future King of Gondor or the Prince of Mirkwood? Both sets of eyes glared at him as he hesitated. The poor elf looked as if he would rather be swallowed up by the dark caverns behind him than stand here, the object of two very intense, very irritated stares.

Legolas and Aragorn both let out an exasperated groan. "Filinor! What was the message?!"

Filinor's wide eyes stared incredulously at the two of them. Now they ask the same question… How flighty that prince's mind is! Relieved to now have only one question to answer, Filinor related Käriler's message to them.

"Merionè has returned– I am surprised you did not see him actually when you were out there… Käriler has requested that Aragorn join him and King Thranduil in the council room immediately…"

Again choosing to ignore the fact that only Aragorn was referred to in this message, Legolas grabbed the human's arm and broke into a sprint. "Merionè!? This is news indeed! Thank you Filinor!" The elf called over his shoulder as he and Aragorn disappeared into the dim tunnels.  Filinor let out a sigh of relief at having succeeded at not angering either one of them and delivering Käriler's urgent message, straight from the king himself. And the prince and ranger have returned unharmed, just as I predicted. I told Käriler he worries too much….

Racing through the twisting corridors as if a hungry warg was let loose in the palace, the elf and ranger nearly crashed into Cièdron walking passively out of the throne room.  Shock fell on all three faces, and confusion etched Cièdron's own fair face.

"Legolas! Out to get your revenge on Mithrandir already? Could you not wait until morning?"

"Cièdron, you fool! Merionè has returned! Come!" Legolas practically shouted as he pulled on his brother to follow.

Cièdron's eyes widened and he joined Aragorn and Legolas in their race to the council room. "Merionè?! How do you know? Did you see him? Perhaps he brings news of the shadow!"

"Legolas, if you don't mind me asking… Who is Merionè?" the ranger panted as they approached the door to the council room.

"He has been patrolling southern Mirkwood for months… He is one of my father's top warriors."

As Legolas spoke he barged through the door with Aragorn and Cièdron close behind.

An awkward moment ensued as the three regained their breath and returned the peculiar glances directed their way by the elves and wizard already seated at the long, gilded table underneath the glimmering chandelier. Thranduil sat at the head, again looking irked by his sons' abrupt interruptions, and Käriler and Merionè sat on either side of him. With his perfect posture, Käriler appeared as proud and formal as always, though worry painted his eyes. Merionè simply looked exhausted, though the sudden sight of the princes and Aragorn brought a flicker of surprise and amusement to his worn eyes. Bratherond sat next to Käriler, his own face betraying even greater annoyance than Thranduil, but then again, this was nothing unusual for the perpetually uptight elf.

Gandalf alone appeared unruffled by the sudden disturbance of Aragorn and his two uninvited guests. In fact, the wizard acted as if he were expecting them. Thus, he leaned back calmly in his chair and gestured towards the three.

"You are just on time. Please, take a seat."

Thranduil was not so congenial. After glaring at Käriler who was supposed to only bring the ranger, he turned his attention to his sons.  "Legolas, Cièdron, by all that is good and normal in Middle Earth, if you two do not learn to knock…"

"Ada, what is that?!"

Aragorn and Cièdron simultaneously whipped their heads towards the object of Legolas's distressed cry. Cièdron released a small gasp and Aragorn rushed forward to the seat across from Gandalf where he reached over and tentatively picked up one of the braids. The room fell silent as Aragorn whispered.

"These are the brooches of your warriors… what devilry is this?"

Legolas's eyes widened and he darted to Aragorn's side. His frantic tongue slipped into elvish as he rapidly interrogated his father.

"Ada! These braids? What is this? What has happened?"

"Sit down, Legolas," Thranduil commanded in elvish. "You too Cièdron… Aragorn… All will be explained, but I insist you first take a seat."

The three reluctantly sat down though their eyes remained glued to the gruesome centerpiece.  When Legolas looked up, his father's piercing stare locked in his own gaze sending a shiver up his spine.  The young elf straightened and he gave a curt nod, which his father returned.  Though cold and formal, an unspoken truce passed between the two.

 "Merionè," Thranduil turned gracefully to the elf at his side. "Why don't you begin with your tale."

"Aye…" Merionè glanced about him nervously and proceeded to relate the strange adventures he and his warriors encountered.  Thranduil kept his eyes on Legolas, scrutinizing his reaction, but Legolas remained stoic throughout the tale, as did Aragorn. The king lazily moved his stare upon Cièdron whose self discipline also proved strong in the wake of all Merionè had to say. 

Aragorn's eyes rested on the spilt bag, unable to pull away. "And what did the scroll say?"

In a swift, elegant movement Thranduil handed Aragorn the scroll.  Aragorn read it through once, let out a heavy sigh, and passed it to Legolas, catching Gandalf's eye as he did so.

Legolas glowered as he read the note, but Thranduil raised his hand before the flash in the elf's eyes could materialize into another outburst. The prince pursed his lips and lifted his chin defiantly, but remained quiet. Cièdron reacted similarly and muttered "Velsier's and Reanur's patrols must have fallen as well…"

Merionè nodded solemnly and Cièdron passed the scroll to Bratherond, unable to control the tremble in his hand.

Bratherond, as Thranduil predicted, could not retain his fury. After a flow of elvish curses, and curiously, some dwarven ones as well, Bratherond pounded the table. His face the color of a cherry tomato, the incensed elf bolted from his seat and spat out furiously as he waved the note in a hysteric fit, looking a bit like a fish out of water flapping about on the shore.

"Thranduil! This is an outrage! The… the… THE NERVE!" a few more elvish curses flew forth, before Bratherond continued. "This is war Thranduil! WAR! We cannot allow such disgrace to fall upon the King of Mirkwood! This must be avenged! To speak to you like this… Truly, we cannot allow such insolence…such treachery, such impertinence…"

As Bratherond continued enunciating each offense rendered against the woodland King, Thranduil groaned and rubbed his pounding head. Gandalf sighed wearily and slouched in his seat, muttering something about foolish tantrums. Aragorn shook his head disdainfully and Legolas glanced awkwardly to the floor, fighting every impulse in his body to lash out at Bratherond.

Cièdron gaped at the raving elf like he had suddenly metamorphosed into Sauron himself.  Finally he spoke up, his voice saturated with disbelief. "Bratherond! By the Valar…Why are you even here? You have no solutions, yet you have somehow managed to confound the problem with your incessant ranting! Peace, for pity's sake, before I take that scroll and stuff your insipid mouth with it, if that is what it takes to cease this torturous cacophony to my ears!"

A collage of stunned faces instantly turned on Cièdron. Even Thranduil could not control his shock and he remained speechless as he gaped at his son.  Ai! That boy's temper! Even I am not so bad…usually….  True Cièdron had a temper, but most of the time, he kept that temper under some control when in the presence of elders, and he certainly would not under normal circumstances speak so disrespectfully to any of the high ranking guards. Gandalf opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when words failed him. Yet Cièdron's outburst did seem to serve its purpose when Bratherond looking as flabbergasted as ever, staggered quietly to his seat. With a faint smirk, Legolas caught Cièdron's eye and offered him a thankful nod.

Secretly grateful for Cièdron's eruption as well, Thranduil calmly continued with his council, "Well then… now that we are all aware of the note's contents… And as Bratherond so evocatively reminded us, we will not – we cannot – allow ourselves to be threatened like this…But we know little of our enemies except that they sympathize with Sauron. Mithrandir believes the authors of this scroll may be among the Avari and Úmanyar elves that the Blue Wizards were supposed to attend to…"

 "Aye, Thranduil, that is correct. And that is why I suggest that Aragorn redirect his scouting mission further to the East," Gandalf resumed, his aged voice powerful and confident. He rose from his seat and motioned for Aragorn to do the same.

"Aragorn, I trust you are prepared to go forth as soon as possible?"

"Aye, Gandalf, whenever you and King Thranduil will me to leave, I will be prepared…"

"And I will go with him." Legolas stood up boldly from his seat. A rush of murmurs between Merionè and Käriler, a hiss from Bratherond, and the shifting of chairs as Cièdron and Thranduil leaned forward in surprise answered Legolas's declaration. 

Besides Aragorn, Gandalf was again the only one who did not betray a hint of surprise. And Legolas thought I could not foretell his actions…

Despite a crooked smile bending the wizard's lips, he feigned a stern glare at the elf. "Legolas, I do believe it is up to Aragorn to choose his own companion, or so that is how I intended it…"

"Then I choose Legolas," Aragorn declared defiantly, his steely eyes locking on the wizard's own amused gaze.  Gandalf lifted his chin and eyebrows, and smiled knowingly.

"Very well then… and so it shall be Aragorn, Legolas and I…"

"What!?" Bratherond sputtered, again rising from his chair, but his own outcry was drowned out yet again by Cièdron who bolted from his seat.

"NO!" Cièdron looked wildly at Legolas followed by Gandalf and his father. His face turned the color of fallen snow, and he gripped the table as if his life depended on it.

"Legolas are you mad!? No! No, he cannot go! Ada, he cannot go!" Cièdron turned to his father beseeching him to step in and put a halt to what in his eyes was complete and utter madness. But Thranduil did not look at Cièdron. The King's unreadable eyes rested firmly on Legolas.

"Ada! Ada, you would allow this!?! You will allow him to go!?" Cièdron gaped at his father. "Ada?"

Thranduil held up a hand to silence Cièdron, his deep blue eyes never leaving Legolas, and he spoke with utmost regality. "I told Aragorn he may choose any one of my warriors. It should be no surprise he has chosen my best, though a part of me wishes he had chosen another. Yet that is out of my control, for I will not go back on my word. Legolas will go."

The King spoke with such finality even Cièdron could not protest, though not one of the other elves could believe their ears. But no one looked more shocked than Legolas.

He had expected a fight. Surely, his father would not allow him to go so easily! Indeed Legolas had an entire argument prepared as to why he should accompany Aragorn, but now he had no need for it.  Thranduil had pulled the rug underneath the elf's feet, proving once again no one could outdo him in audacity, supremacy and the art of surprise. This feat was performed with the skill and grace of a seasoned performer and Legolas, for once, was left speechless, feeling every bit the young novice he was in light of his father's display of power and honor.  A newfound respect swelled in the prince's eyes, but his father seemed not to notice as he turned his firm stare to Cièdron, who would not relent so easily.

"Then I will go with him!"

"Nay Cièdron, you will not!" Thranduil answered determinedly.

Now Bratherond roared. "I will go!!"                           

Thranduil glared at Bratherond, wondering why he had invited the cantankerous elf to this council in the first place. "Aragorn did not choose you Bratherond," the King hissed softly, fighting to retain a strain of diplomacy in his voice.

Bratherond's jaw dropped. "You would let an old wizard, a child and a human go alone on this scouting mission! Have you gone mad Thranduil!? Legolas knows nothing of the world outside Mirkwood, he is not prepared…" Legolas glared at the elf and looked ready to climb over the table to attack him when his father intervened.

"Bratherond I suggest you hold your tongue now before I stuff that scroll down your throat!" Thranduil snapped.

With a loud 'ahem,' Gandalf brought the quarrelsome elves' attention to himself. 

"Bratherond you will not go with Aragorn and Legolas because I want you to scout Dol Guldur. We may have discovered a new enemy, but that does not mean we can neglect the old or that our older hypotheses have been proven wrong."

Bratherond seethed, "Forgive me, Mithrandir, but I do not take orders from you…" Gandalf cocked an eyebrow at this and shifted his staff, his soft eyes rapidly hardening with irritation at the elf.  Though he looked ready to answer Bratherond, Thranduil was again quicker in his chastisement.

"But you will take orders from me, Bratherond, and I order you to heed the Istari's words as if they were mine – nay, as if they were superior to mine!" Thranduil's eyes burned dangerously as he spoke. Not wishing to push the King's patience any more, Bratherond reluctantly returned to his seat.

"Very well, I will go to Dol Guldur."

"And Merionè will go with you," Thranduil added, to which Merionè stiffened and nodded his head obediently, "Yes my lord."

"And you will choose a third…"

"I will be the third," Cièdron resolutely announced. This time it was Legolas's turn to protest.

"Nay! Cièdron, you cannot!"

Cièdron glared at his younger brother, "And why pray tell can't I, Legolas?"

"Because you are the heir apparent, Cièdron!" Thranduil bellowed, rising out of his seat.

"And you were also when you fought in the War of the Last Alliance!" Cièdron shot back before returning his attention to Legolas. "Do you think I will sit here Legolas, while you go off and put your life at risk? Do you think I can just wait idly until one day I find your braid delivered to our doorstep?!"

"And so you will risk your own life as well!? Must I send both my sons off to such perils!?" Thranduil asked despairingly.

"If something happens to Legolas while I am trapped here, you will lose both of us!!"

Cièdron's words came with such force even Bratherond remained still and stared idly at his hands. Gandalf and Aragorn both sat down uneasily while Merionè  and Käriler watched in a deferential silence. Only the King and his sons remained standing.

Cièdron's words struck Thranduil like a bucketful of cold water and the King froze. His thoughts instantly focused on Maegren and Feáner.  Maegren had died of heartbreak when his brother died and Thranduil's daughter could not stand the sight of Middle Earth after witnessing her brother's death and not having done anything to stop it. Could Cièdron face the same fate? Thranduil's heart clenched. No he will not, because we will not lose Legolas.  Yet Thranduil knew he could not only not hold Legolas back, he had no right to hold Cièdron back either. They both must follow their own hearts. The only thing I could do to help prevent their hearts from breaking is to give them the space they need to breathe freely and do as their souls bid them.

"Very well Cièdron," Thranduil finally resigned. "But know this.  Do not seek out this danger out of a desire to compete with your brother nor out of a desire to escape your pain for neither will bode well for you when you come face to face with the evil you pursue."

Cièdron nodded obligingly, though the king still could not help doubting his son's motivation. Thranduil paused and his stare rested on everyone present, lingering particularly on his sons.

"Whether we will it or not, I fear war is descending upon us though whether it will be five years from now, fifty years, or five hundred years, I cannot say. Whether or not he has the ring, Sauron's forces are growing – his followers, be they orcs, humans, or even perhaps lost elves, are gathering. Not a day has passed ever, when my heart believed the evil of Mordor has been overcome. But do not be too eager to commence the last battle against the Enemy!" Thranduil glared pointedly at Bratherond as he said this.

"You do not know the evil and despair you are about to face in the years to come! I know. I have experienced the horror of Mordor! I was at the War of the Last Alliance. I watched as two thirds of our elves were slaughtered by Sauron's forces and as my own father died in battle. Though we cannot shirk from the oncoming battle, it is not yet time and I am not sending you off as soldiers, but as scouts – do not let your thirst for vengeance cause you to forget that. We must learn more about our enemy before we could participate in a full-fledged war against him. I have faith in you for you have proven your worth as warriors and I trust fully in your loyalty. I would not allow these treks otherwise."

Thranduil turned to Gandalf. "Mithrandir, you will accompany Aragorn and Legolas?"

"For at least a part of the way, yes, Thranduil, though I cannot guarantee I will be with them for the entire mission – I know not for certain where my future courses lie."

Thranduil frowned and nodded uneasily. "Of course not, Mithrandir…" he then addressed Aragorn and Legolas. "I suggest the two of you study the maps and books on the Rhûn and then find some rest."

"You too," Thranduil said turning to Bratherond, Merionè and Cièdron. "I would that none of you begin these excursions blind."

"Käriler, prepare the packs and horses for all of our travelers. I want them to pack lightly, but be well equipped with food, water, and medicines…and take these with you. Put them somewhere safe," Thranduil ordered gesturing towards the bag and scroll before placing both hands on the table and lowering his head. "You may all go now..."

One by one, everyone filed out of the room. Before he left, Gandalf placed a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "You are wise to let your sons go. They will not disappoint you."

Thranduil stared dully at the table, never looking up at the wizard. "I know that Mithrandir," he murmured softly.

With a low sigh, Gandalf walked towards the door where Aragorn awaited him.

As Legolas and Cièdron began their exit, the King called them wearily. "Legolas, Cièdron… meet me in my personal quarters in an hour."

The brothers nodded solemnly, though Thranduil did not see since his head was still lowered. "Yes, Ada, we will be there." Cièdron answered. Legolas still did not seem to be over the shock of his father complying with his decision to go with Aragorn.

When the room was emptied, Thranduil sat quietly in his seat, staring blankly at the glittering jewels, crowns, and statuettes inhabiting the room around him.  A peaceful moment passed before Bratherond hesitantly reentered the room and addressed the King, who never moved his eyes from the intricate murals on the wall directly ahead of him.

"King Thranduil…" the warrior spoke with some trepidation. When Thranduil did not answer, the elf continued. "King Thranduil… I just want you to know… Cièdron will return home."

At this the King turned his gaze to Bratherond, "And what makes you so certain, Bratherond?" Though his voice was low, it projected powerfully against the sudden silence in the formerly crowded room.

Bratherond straightened and with a little more confidence, walked further into the room. "Because I would not have it otherwise. You have my word, King Thranduil, I will not return without him.  I swear it upon my life. As long as I still stand, so will Cièdron."

Thranduil dropped his hands in front of him and studied his top warrior who stood tall and proud, his face stony and his eyes determined. Yes, that is why I invited him. No other warrior can match his loyalty and devotion. I forgot Bratherond's better qualities.

"Thank you, Bratherond," the King answered sincerely, not hiding the immense gratitude in his heart.

"And I am certain, if you would send another guard, they will do the same for Legolas. There is none among us who would not give his own life to ensure the safety of your youngest Thranduil."

Thranduil dropped his gaze and paused briefly before he lifted it again. "Legolas's responsibilities are not the same as Cièdron's. Another fate awaits him, one where guards will be of no use to him." As he spoke, the words did not feel as if they were his and his voice seemed alien to him. Thranduil did not know how he had ended up saying this, yet never had he been so sure of his words.

"I do not know how I know this, Bratherond. I just do."

Bratherond nodded slowly. "Aye, such mysteries often envelop the bonds between fathers and sons. Though I still cannot say I agree with your judgment, my King."

Thranduil sighed. "I know Bratherond. I'm not sure I do either."

Bratherond was about to say more, but then quickly changed his mind. With one last concerned glance at the King, he turned and left the room.

* * *

As they left the council room, Aragorn turned to address Legolas, but before he could say a word, Gandalf gently touched his arm.

"Nay, Aragorn, leave them be for now," he whispered as Legolas and Cièdron together left the room, both displaying a mixture of deep thought, surprise, and worry on their faces, making them look more alike than ever. The two barely seemed to notice as Gandalf pulled Aragorn towards the library.

"What do you think Ada will say to us?" Legolas asked Cièdron.

"I don't know Legolas, but let us go now to his room to wait for him." Legolas agreed to this and without speaking the two made their way up to Thranduil's quarters.

When they entered Thranduil's room, memories flooded back to them, just as they had bombarded Thranduil.  A sad smile crossed Legolas's face when he remembered how he and Cièdron would pretend that Thranduil's great bed was a ship, and they were captains of equal standing, since if either one of them dared to declare himself to be the superior a great fight would erupt and both would be in deep trouble with their parents.  Their older brothers were too old to enjoy such frivolous pleasures, and were often out hunting or scouting, though their sister would at times join them when she decided she was not above such childish games.

Elladan and Elrohir would also play along when they visited with Lord Elrond. These were always the most fun, since they would create two teams – depending on how each was feeling towards his sibling, the teams would either be the twins against Legolas and Cièdron or the twins would split up and Elrohir would join with Legolas while Elladan joined with Cièdron.

The same memories engulfed Cièdron as well and he paused in front of the bed, leaning his hand against one of its tall, slender posts.

"Remember when you and Elrohir thought it would be a bright idea to create a real storm with bucketfuls of water from the outside fountain?" he recalled with a laugh.

"Nay, Cièdron! That was not me -that was yours and Elladan's ingenious idea! I would never do something so foolish!" Legolas protested.

Cièdron's eyes widened. "It was not me!" he paused and thought for a moment. "Actually, perhaps it was both Elladan and Elrohir who played the parts of the angry Valar raising a storm and we were the captains."

Legolas snorted. "Aye, that sounds right. Yet it was us that got in trouble. Nana was furious… Her beautiful bed spreads…"

Cièdron laughed, "Aye, but we got back at them when we replaced Lord Elrond's archives with recipes for cakes and ales from the cook's quarters and hid the annals in Elladan's and Elrohir's rooms."

Legolas smirked. "As I remember, they got in quite a bit of trouble with the cook as well…"

Cièdron chuckled and seated himself in one of Thranduil's velvet chairs. Legolas followed and sat in a neighboring one, the same one Merionè had sat in earlier that night.  The two fell silent for a couple of moments, lost in their own memories of troublemaking and their departed kin.

"Nana was furious with us also then… She knew it was us who took Lord Elrond's archives. I don't know how she did…" Legolas trailed off.  The memory of his mother always haunted him – though he knew it was absurd and unfair, he sometimes could not help but think she had abandoned them by leaving Middle Earth.  

"Eilesiá told her. She had been waiting for that moment to get back at us since we broke that doll of hers…" Cièdron answered quietly.

"Since you broke that doll…" Legolas corrected. His voice was so soft it would barely be heard by non-elven ears. Cièdron did not answer, too lost was he in his own thoughts.

Suddenly, Cièdron turned towards Legolas, his eyes wide with a new fear and sadness. "Legolas, promise me you will not do anything rash… while you are scouting, I mean. Promise me you will not try to play the part of the hero and sacrifice yourself. Be careful, brother. Promise me you will be careful."

Legolas returned his gaze, his own eyes filling with worry and fear. "Only if you will promise me the same Cièdron. I do not know what foolish motivations you have for volunteering yourself to go to Dol Guldur…"

"The same as yours, Legolas," Cièdron finished curtly.

Legolas turned away and gazed at the soft rugs covering the wooden floor. His gloomy eyes narrowed as they fell on a bright, golden object lying in the rug. The elf bent down to pick it up and a dark mist fell over his face.

Cièdron gazed sadly at the forlorn braid in Legolas's palm. Legolas closed his hand around it and returned to his seat, returning his despondent gaze to the rug as he did so.

"I promise, Legolas," Cièdron whispered. "I will not do anything rash."

"And I do also, Cièdron."

A light breeze blew in from the still-open terrace and the sun began to peak out from the horizon, tinting the dark sky with hints of pink as gradually the forest awoke. If either elf chose to look outside, they would see a dichotomy of dark skulking shadows and pockets of light and their sharp ears would hear the distant orc horns mixed with the chirping and coos of doves and larks.  But they remained seated, quietly and patiently awaiting their father.

At last, Thranduil entered the room. He paused, taking in the sight of his sons seated peacefully next to each other with the pale light of the rising sun reflecting off their golden hair.  Legolas had his legs curled up beneath him and Cièdron appeared to slouch slightly in the cushiony, plush chair. Two pairs of opalescent eyes gazed up at him expectantly and both straightened their backs and their legs, leaning forward slightly in the seats. Even now that they are grown, those chairs seem too big for them, the King thought, nostalgically remembering when those legs could not even reach the floor beneath them when they sat in those seats.   

The elf king revealed naught of the tugging emotions that overwhelmed him at that simple, beautiful sight of his children – the last of his children- fully grown, and all the same, so very young to him. Whatever anger and frustration he felt with them over the past two days, passed away with a rush of pride and a simultaneous urge to fall to his knees at their feet, begging them to stay, to return to the days when they would pretend to be apprentices to Círdan the shipwright. Or to just stay as they are – in the comfort and safety of the King's luxurious chairs under the warm sunlight, within this room where the ghosts of his wife and his other children still dwelled, if only in memories. They were too beautiful to let go of. This room, this morning, this sight, his sons…If the chance arose to halt time itself, Thranduil would grab it in a heartbeat for he truly believed he could happily live forever with nothing more than this moment.

But Thranduil did not live for thousands of years with the reputation as a resilient, powerful, formidable elf king for nothing.  Even in the presence of his own sons, he masterly hid his vulnerabilities and despite the ripping of his heart at having to break this perfect image before him, he firmly approached Legolas and Cièdron with unwavering eyes and sat before them on the edge of his bed.

"And so my sons, the fiery blood of Oropher has finally flared in your hearts," Thranduil began, noticing with some amusement the slight surprise in his sons' faces at his words. Were they expecting a tirade from me, the last day I have them here to myself in this palace?

Thranduil's firm veneer melted ever so slightly and a mist glazed over his eyes. "I do not know how to prepare you for the journeys you are about to embark upon, not only these immediate missions, but the forthcoming battles that are now inevitable. You will meet evil you did not know existed and you will confront terrible suffering as well, though Valar willing, it will not be your own. But it would be foolish of me to think it were impossible or even unlikely that both of you will taste pain and so I will not pass on such false securities to you."

Thranduil took both his sons' hands into his own. "Remember what I told you Legolas. Do not ever forsake your hopeful spirit. That goes for you too Cièdron.  You are both fine warriors and quick of mind, but when interminable darkness settles in, only the hope within your souls will save you. Remember those you love, remember your home, your kin, remember Greenwood… When times are darkest, it will be these memories that pull you through and give you the strength to fight." A faint smile lifted Thranduil's lips. "You look at me as if you are in shock that I allowed you to go. Yet I did not allow anything, your courses are of your own choosing. It matters not what I say, for I know that neither of you could be held back when your hearts truly desire to fight… it makes me proud to know how strong your hearts are…." Thranduil trailed off and released his sons' hands. He then stood up and walked towards his dresser where he opened the top drawer and pulled out two objects wrapped delicately in pearly silk cloths.

When he returned he handed one to each of them. With some hesitation, Legolas and Cièdron unwrapped the silk to reveal two elegantly carved elven daggers, their sharp blades gleaming against the ivory handles.

Both the elves' jaws dropped. "Ada this is beautiful…" Cièdron breathed in wonder holding his knife up to the light.

"They were your brothers'," Thranduil stated simply, never removing his eyes from the daggers.

Legolas's and Cièdron's heads snapped up. "Maegren's and Feáner's?' Legolas whispered disbelievingly.

Thranduil shook his head. "One is Feáner's," Thranduil explained, gesturing to Legolas's knife, "the other is Orophmin's… He left it before he left for the Havens. We did not keep Maegren's blade since Feáner died at its tip." 

Legolas gazed in astonishment at his father. "Thank you, Ada…" Cièdron put his dagger down and whispered "Thank you," as well. They then stood and sheathed their weapons.

Thranduil nodded and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "You will both be leaving at daybreak tomorrow. Take this day to do what you need to prepare, be it rest or the studying of maps and books with the others who will be joining you. I will meet with all of you again later today to finalize our plans."

Legolas and Cièdron nodded and turned to exit the room. As Legolas reached the door, he turned and looked regretfully at the King. "Ada… I'm sorry…"

"I know, Legolas. I beg you to go rest now and allow your wound to complete its healing." Thranduil interrupted with a small smile.

Legolas hesitated briefly and then followed Cièdron. It had been a long day and a long night, and though the elf normally had infinite energy, he suddenly felt a desire to rest in his bed, if only for a short while and so he obeyed Thranduil's request.

When Thranduil was alone, he returned to the terrace and gazed over the railing to the woods beneath him and the sky above that had given him such a fleeting hope just a few hours ago.  He then walked back into his bedroom and shut and locked the balcony's doors. A long day awaited him and he would have no time for such idyllic musings this morning.

TBC

I can't get over how wonderful you reviewers are! When I review, even when I absolutely love the story, I'm usually never able to say much more than a few sentences. One of any of your reviews is worth 10.

Cyndre: Oh my god, thank you! That was… holy cow, wow- my heart just stopped when I read your review- that was too much. Thank you!

Alexa: Hmmm… how did Gandalf know it was Legolas? That's a good question…. ;) There is nothing corny about laughing and crying… or maybe it could be, but that's ok because to me that is an unbelievable compliment! I'm so glad you're enjoying it!

Dot: You know, I originally only brought in Cièdron because I needed someone for Legolas to fight with in Chapter 3… But I've grown so attached to him since – I'm glad other people are feeling sorry for him as well!

RainyDayz: You are wonderful! You are always one of my first reviewers and I look forward to it always. A head did cross my mind, but then I thought that may be just a tad too gruesome and well… very gory-scary-movie-ish...

And thank you so much to everyone else – 'a fan', elvensong, LOTRFaith… Thanks!

***

Legolas:   Aragorn, you've got to get yourself together… don't you see?

Aragorn:  I know, I got stuck in a moment…

Legolas:   Aye! And you can't get out of it! Now, by the Valar, don't say it

Aragorn:  Later will be better…

Legolas:   Now you're stuck in a moment!

Aragorn: Ai, Elbereth…And I can't get out of it!

I had considered putting this into the last chapter, but didn't think anyone would really appreciate the genius of it.  Disclaimer: U2's not mine. ;)