Hey, another chapter, quite close to the previous one. My muse is in full gear… ti should take me to the reunion before I set out on another project.

I won't lie to you, we are getting close, but not quite yet there! I hope you don't get bored, I've had very little reviews so far on the latest chapters and wonder how you receive all of this. I guess the intertwining with Stargate SG1 might be a little much, but it will be reused in the sequels (yes, there will be two sequels with Legolas, Frances, Aragorn and Gimli mainly) so it is needed here.

Thranduil was standing in front of the magnificent gates of Eryn Lasgalen. Such was the new name of his Kingdom, and how very fitting! After their difficult victory in Dol-Guldur, the Lady of the light had destroyed the fortress of his childhood with the remnant of Nenya's power. Surprisingly, the lord Celeborn was not decided to sail with his wife yet. His aid had been appreciated, the long-time rift between the Noldor and Sindar slowly receding as they agreed on new borders for Lothlorien and Greenwood. It was he, Lord Celeborn, who had suggested renaming the Great wood so that mortals would no longer call it Mirkwood. And Thrandhuil was glad for he felt, all around him, the trees chanting their joy as the soil regained its former glory, rid of the decay and sickness of the necromancer. How long he had waited for this, to see his beloved forest thrive under the light of the sun!

But for now, he did not let their songs of glory distract him from his thoughts. His posture stiff, his blue eyes as cold as ice, his silver hair gently swaying in the breeze, he awaited the arrival – long overdue arrival – of his only heir. Legolas would receive praise and heartfelt welcome in front of his people. In private though, he was up for a phenomenal dressing down! His departure after Elrond's council, without even bothering to ask for his King's permission, on a path to certain death, had not helped Thranduil to trust his counterpart in Imladris. Why had the Lord not sent his sons instead? As his captain, Legolas should have been there when his kingdom was attacked, instead of gallivanting about with a dwarf, no less! He should have been there by his side when his courageous Sylvan and Sindar folk alike marched upon Dol Guldur!

His absence, the risks he had taken, the folly of this quest would have been enough to render him furious. Yet, there was more to add to his ire. After spending so much time besides the new King of Gondor, his son had eventually decided to visit his people … his father, his King! And now that he had passed the borders of their realms, the scouts informed him that his son rode with a dwarf, a son of those he had imprisoned in his dungeons and made a fool of him no less! And what about those rumours? The rumours about the red witch? Had he been such a fool to be ensnared by a pretty human face?

Thranduil was boiling, his anger running to and fro under his skin. Yet, he smiled when, at last, his son appeared on the path. The cold, unnerving smile that promised a thousand deaths. And still, he refrained from frowning when Legolas helped the dwarf descend from his horse, a mount they apparently shared! How appalling! His people were frantic, shouting and congratulating his son after his role in the war of the ring. News travelled fast, and by now, every minstrel sang Legolas' praises in the great hall. His soon greeted them as well, but his smile was forced, hollow. A shiver ran through Thrandhuil's spine. He had sworn, after losing his father in the battle of Dargorlad, that never again he would set foot past the Emyn Muil. The sight of Mordor, its barrenness, its destruction, the horrors of the battlefield, of his kin lying in crimson pools of their blood was a memory he had never been able to erase from his mind. Was it the reason why Legolas' light seemed so dim?

Very soon, his son was bowing to him, one step below on the phenomenal staircase that led to their dwellings. Their people fell silent, and the dwarf fidgeted by his side. Thrandhuil could not care less about him, but he had to admit his courage. His gaze spared him a glance before tracing Legolas' features. His son's eyes were guarded, an expression he had scarcely seen on his handsome face. Colour drained from his face as worry replaced anger. His words of welcome he could not remember; they were so rehearsed that he would have been able to bestow them while sleeping. Then he greeted the dwarf, searching his soul for an explanation. Albeit Gimli, son of Glóin, did not falter under his gaze, he addressed him an apologetic look. Thranduil's unnerving gaze came back to his son's face, and when the formalities were completed, all but dragged him to his private chambers.

Then the door was closed, and in a swish of his regal robes, he turned around and stared into his son's eyes.

- "What happened, ion nín?"

The affectuous name was enough to shatter Legolas' resolve. His handsome face contorted in pure agony as he fell to his knees.

- "… Ada!"

And Thrandduil fell beside him, gathering his son in his embrace as his body was wracked with sobs. Dread seized the King's heart, panic his thoughts. It could not be! For it had taken less than a second for him to recognise that look, the same that had haunted his features for centuries. His son was fading from grief. He had left a bachelor, and returned broken-hearted. Thranduil held Legolas tightly, never letting go as the blood of his blood expressed the extend of his despair. And he, the ever collected King, shed his own tears, tears he had contained ever since his Feä-mate passed, his heart torn to shreds. 'Not him!' He prayed silently as Legolas' tears fell like a river. 'Oh Valar! Please not him!'

But it was already too late. The Valar had not heard him.

'And it's your face I'm looking for, on every street…'

Dire Straits

Frances turned the mp3 off, sending the blasted machine away. How fucked-up she was, incapable of listening to 'every street' without throwing a fit, or 'brothers in arms' without crying all the tears in the world! all of it was true, though. On every street, she searched for Legolas'face. Here, or there, anywhere, everywhere.

Every time she saw a child, she wondered what hers and Legolas would have looked like. Every time she saw a guy with long hair, she thought about him, every blond head sent her a reminder of his silky locks, every sunset and sunrise she sent him her thoughts, wishing he would be there, every damp evening stuck in front of the TV she longed to cuddle by his side, every new thing or old habit she wanted to share with him. Every all, everything. From small things to big ones, from insignificant events to life changing ones. All of them, every single second of her life.

Three years had passed, three very long years. Frances had moved to Nancy to attend a new engineering school that could get her a job in many companies around the world. Had she fled Lyon to forget? Yes, actually. After a year and a half in Cécile's apartment, Frances had needed the break. Her depression had put a strain on their relationship, and she didn't quite know where she stood regarding her cousin. She had lashed out too much, too often, and hurt her best friend ever. Guilt added some more weight upon her shoulders, and the young woman hoped that moving to another part of the country would do the trick. So she had packed her things, and moved a four hours' drive from her home in the north-east of France, attending a school that, on paper, seemed to contain enough interesting subjects to feed her geeky brain. The main focus was Geology. In reality, she found the school even worse than her former one, it lacked a sense of justice, a duty. It was just fun, copy your neighbour's sheets, get drunk to death and use low-grade humour. Frances hated it almost as much as she hated the people in it!

Needless to say, that she had not made many friends. Unbeknownst to her, her comrades called her the 'Ice Queen'. Was it her cold demeanour, or the way she stood, tall and proud, and kept silent? Was it because she never participated in their festivities, or because the only moment she let her control go was on the ice rink? Maybe they were right, maybe she did not feel anything anymore in her frozen heart. A few guys attempted to approach her; they were dismissed gently by her indifferent attitude, but without mercy. There was no place for anyone in her heart, for she could not forget Legolas. No matter how hard she tried, Frances could not let him go. And relentlessly, she searched for him on other planets. Every vacation she spent in Colorado Springs, off-world or buried into Dr Jackson's books. Every spare moment she reached for their bond, so distant that it was nothing more than a slight light in the rush of her life. But the blue rock still wasn't shining to take her back to him.

Her travels with SG1, for O'Neill had finally relented and accepted her presence, were enlightening culture-wise. Several times already, she had saved Daniel's life, and the colonel was glad that someone was watching his friend's back so thoroughly. Frances and the archeologist had become good friends over time, and the colonel was quite sure that she was the one to be thanked regarding the decreasing count of Daniel's numerous death. Yet, he had already been killed three times! Never before had she met one immortal man. But no matter how fascinating those trips where, Frances did not lose sight of her objective, no more than Daniel had until he had found his wife … dead.

So far, nor Frances, nor Mulder had found anything related to middle earth. No matter how infuriating it was, it held some sense: there had been no reference whatsoever in Elrond's library about a travelling circle. How likely was it that such an advanced device existed on Arda and the elves knew nothing about it? But Frances could not give up, the Stargate program was her only hope now. Since the Valar did not see fit to send her back to Legolas, she had to find a way. In the meantime, Frances meditated very often, trying to convey through their tiny remnant of link the hope that she could, one day, come back to him. She didn't know if he heard, or felt her. She just fervently hoped that he did.

Legolas sat, cross legged, on the damp moss near the lake. Its crystal-clear water shone like a gem, reflecting the cloudless sky above him. The breeze brought him the scent of the forest. Joy, relief, completude washed over him, send by the trees themselves to ease his heartache. The elf closed his eyes, and touched the bark of a willow tree than engulfed him in a hug. His luxurious leaves were basking in the sun without fear, thanking him for his sacrifice, chanting his praise for defeating Sauron and giving them another chance at life. And in truth, their reassurances gave him a little respite from his aching soul, some balm on the ghastly wound that had torn his heart to shreds.

Legolas often came here, on the banks of this childhood lake. Many happy memories lingered here, some of his mother and even those of his father, laughing, his blue eyes shining with joy as he contemplated his wife and son soaked in a water battle. For many a year, Legolas had resented his father's absence from his life when he needed him the most, his beloved mother's death taking both his parents away from him. The King was unable to surface from his grief to give his own son the much needed support he craved. But now that he understood, forgiveness came along a newfound respect for his father. Himself would not have been able to take care of an elfling, for his strength was failing him and his soul fading. But the King was denied fading, and had faced his responsibility to the kingdom of Greenwood. Legolas had ignored, until then, the extend of the weight on his father's shoulders. It shed a new light on his taciturn disposition, and the lack of light in his eyes. Thranduil was not allowed to fade, and never gave up. For his son, for his people, for the forest that was now regaining its former strength and glory.

Legolas closed his eyes, falling in a trance as the energy of the tree enveloped him. Somewhere at the back of his mind, the sound of rushing waves disturbed his communion with the willow tree, the sea longing forcing its way in. But the plant accepted it, integrating the rolling song of the waves to his own soothing lullaby, its energy flowing in and out like a tide around Legolas' feä. The sun continued its course, unperturbed by the life of those little beings below, lowering on the horizon. The soothing song of the tree increased in fervour, the rhythm more joyful, anticipation rising in the rushing lifeblood below its bark. Legolas' eyes opened, awakened by the sudden mirth in the clearing. There was only one being that could muster such a merry dance, one being whose inner Feä was strongly intertwined to the well-being of the forest, its most faithful guardian.

- "Ion nín. I have such fond memories of this place."

Legolas turned around, greeting his father with a smile.

- "So do I. This place always soothes my soul."

Thranduil held his hand to him, his face serious, his eyes so intense that few Ellyn could bear it.

- "Come, we must talk."

Father and son, hair shining in the setting sun, started walking along the lake's bank. Thranduil kept silent for a while, looking for the right words. But in truth, there were none that could ease his suffering, nor his son's.

- "I had hoped that the forest could cure your ailment, but I have come to accept that I was misled."

Legolas shook his head, his face desolate.

- "Nay father, it has helped though. But it did not cure you, and even though I do not have the same affinity with Greenwood."

Thranduil's breath hitched, and he stopped in his tracks, his jaw slack. How stupid of him, to think that he had been stealthy enough for his son not to realise his own heartache! Of course, Legolas knew how he suffered, how his mother's absence had broken him. Who was he kidding? To think that his shift in character went unnoticed, even when he kept Legolas' at arm's length? And even if he could claim that DolGuldur's sickness had poisoned his mind as much as it had poisoned his forest, the reason for his ruthlessness resided elsewhere. Someday, he would have to apologise to his son for not being a proper father. Someday… Maybe it was time, after all, to right some wrongs, but Legolas had other ideas.

- "Nothing can cure me I am afraid."

Thranduil's fingers shook as he took his son's hand.

- "There is but one thing that could help you, ion nín. And even I, reluctant to part from you, would rather see you go than fade beside me"

Legolas' eyes widened, searching his father's gaze.

- "You would have me sail," he said in disbelief.

- "Not for the world, not if I could help it. But those last three years have taught me that I can't. Son, nothing short of Aman's peace can keep you from fading now. I have tried everything that is within my power, and failed miserably. I have seen your efforts, seen you dance, and laugh, and partake in princely duties, rejoice with friends of old, reorganise the borders, and pushed yourself too hard. But that light in your eyes has faded, and only an idiot could ignore that your strength flees your body as well. Your laugh is hollow, so devoid of the joy that used to move my heart and fill me with pride. Do not mistake my meaning, Legolas. I am proud of you, of your achievements, of all you have done for our people and your dedication. But you cannot go on forever, ion nín. This is draining you, you are fading and there is nothing I can do to prevent it"

Face to face, both ellyn looked so alike that one could have mistaken them as twin brothers. Yet, the forest would not be fooled. The light in the prince was dim, a flame almost extinguished, while the King's had renewed when the shadow passed.

- "Ada…"

- "I would go with you, if you so wish it."

Legolas swallowed, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. His father, King of Greenwood, was ready to abandon his kingdom, his life's duty to follow him to Valinor. Had there ever been a stronger token of love from a father to a son in all of Arda's history? Legolas felt like an elfling anew, looking up to his father and watching this incredible, invincible ellon towering above him.

- "How did you survive, Ada? How did you not fade when naneth passed?"

Thrandhuil's eyes became liquid, and he lifted his hand to touch Legolas' cheek.

- "I had you. You saved me, and the Greenwood without even noticing."

Legolas sighed, and dropped his gaze to gather his thoughts. No matter how strong his desire to keep his father close, he could not deprive him of his well-earned respite, and the kingdom from his King.

- "Ada. I will not part you from the forest. All your life, you took care of the Greenwood. If I do not succeed you, at least I won't part you from it"

Thranduil sighed, and let his deep gaze wander around the woods surrounding the lake. The trees rustled under the touch of his Feä, thanking him for his dedication and love.

- "It is a difficult decision for me, the toughest I have made as a King and a father. I now realise that I raised you as a Prince, but you were never meant to succeed me here. Your part was to be a great warrior in the war of the ring, and free Arda from the evil of the great shadow. You have played your part well, ion nín. It is now time to rest"

Legolas nodded, a light of uncertainty surfacing in his deep blue eyes.

- "I fear I have taken an oath, to Aragorn, to stay in middle earth until he passed."

To this, the King almost growled.

- "He is but a mortal!"

- "Ada…"

Legolas' warning sobered him. Surely now was not the time to fight over Legolas' friendships.

- "Talk to him. If King Elessar is your friend, he will see the truth in your plea."

Legolas nodded, lost in thoughts. Never before had he broken an oath, but he doubted he could survive a century in middle earth without fading. Every time Frances tried to convey some reassurance through their bond, Legolas felt her despair growing. Deep down, it was nor joy nor hope she was sending. A soft smile graced his lips; even a world away from him, Frances was as stubborn as ever. Her human nature simply refused to back down, three years was a long time for such a young soul. He needed to let go, for her sake as well as for his, he needed to help her find solace, and acceptance.

- "I will sail Ada, I will answer the call of the sea."

Frances swung, ducked, and landed a harsh blow that elicited a cry from her opponent.

- "Ow!" cried William. "You cheated again!"

The young lady grimaced, and held her hand out to lift her friend up. William, a school comrade, had suggested she could join his Aikido club to vent off some of her 'energy'. A subtle way for him – the guy was smart – to not utter the word 'frustration'. Aikido classes, with its philosophy and meditating approach, helped her concentrate. But when they used the bokken, the wooden sword, she could not prevent but revert back to her training. Her Rivendell swordmaster had done a great job, as she kept using moves that did not follow Aikido's rules. She would have loved a good sparring session, but Glorfindel's sword she missed the most. The way the handle moulded in her hand, how its balance perfectly suited her, how the blade swished when she slashed ! True, Teal'c training with the staff had improved her coordination by much. But it didn't replace a sparring session with Aragorn, nor Legolas, nor the twins, nor the beloved sword that had saved her life countless times.

For the moment though, this Aikido class was all she could find, so she had to make do. Sheathing the bokken at her side, she saluted William again, and tried to concentrate.

- "You turn to attack"

Later that night, Frances indulged in a long shower. As she stepped out, she took a moment to watch her reflection in the mirror. Her body was tonic, but plumper than it used to be. Chocolate addiction had coated her with a little padding on her hips and breasts, and addition that she could live with. Frowning, she noted that her hair had lost some of its reddish colour, she would have to make the henna again. Quite a stupid habit, to renew the vegetal colouring every now and then, but she didn't want her hair to lose its signature red. What if she travelled again, and Legolas did not recognise her ? Would he love her still if her hair was more brownish ?

Frances scoffed, what a stupid notion ! First of all, her natural colour was a deep brown with reddish strands here and there, it was not so different with henna, just brighter, deeper. And secondly, it as not like the blue rock would shine again. After three long years of waiting, her hoped had dimmed to almost nothing. Frances turned to the traitorous necklace with a sneer, wondering why in hell she was still wearing the jewel every day, only to gasp and let her towel fall to the floor.

The blue rock was shining again, its light calling her !

The fact is that there is not Stargate on Arda because the existence of this world is purely and truly a creation of Eru and the Valar through their singing. It was not part of the standard universe, and it is the reason why its people are magically linked to Arda. Frances must accept it, she had been misled in her hopes.