Disclaimer:(sighs and twirls finger in a tired circle) Don't speak to me. My latest plan to get the characters from Tolkien's descendants failed miserably, again. Maybe I should ask someone other than my dog for help formulating the plans.

AN:(Edited 5 April, 2010) Holy crows! I was messing around the other day, and I decided to check out my stats, see what the deal is with them, and HOLY COW! Two thousandnine hundred and twenty seven hits for this story. It averaged out to be about 225 for each chappy besides the first. I was just blown away. Wow…

One last thing, but I won't make this too long because you will beat me over the head if you don't learn about the fire… this is a bit late for this, but I'd like to dedicate this chappy to lucidityfor being my reviewer # one hundred. (I thanked her once, but that's not the same as dedication.)

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The trees flew by at a startling pace, no more than a green-gold blur. Elladan called ahead to his brother, "I toldyou we shouldn't have let him 'borrow' Grendal's horse! No wonder we can't keep up!"

Elrohir choked out a remorseful laugh: indeed, they were having quite a time even keeping the prince in sight along the narrow winding path. At the best of times, they caught a glimpse of his long hair and green tunic before he disappeared back around the next corner.

As they came around a particularly sharp corner onto a relatively straight stretch, Elladan urged his mount forward with a vengeance. Grendal's horse may have been excellent at turns and keeping his speed, but the horse tended to slow a bit if it was straight. The fool animal seemed to like going at breakneck speed through mazes of rock where a single misstep at a high speed would mean a broken leg.

Elrohir, not to be outdone, spurred Hanre up to pull even with his brother. "Think we can catch him?"

"Yes," Elladan shouted back. Already he could see the designs on the hands of the wood-elf's knives. "It should be no trouble, unless—"

Grendal's stallion suddenly bolted forward as if a pack of wolves was behind him. His long dusky brown legs flashed in the sunlight, hooves striking the ground hard and confident. His mane and tail streamed behind him like black banners caught in a gust of wind. His rider pressed his lithe form closer to the stallion's neck, moving as though he was merely an extension of the horse's body.

"Unless he does that." Elladan finished lamely.

The Noldor twins sighed, knowing that they wouldn't catch their friend now. Hopefully, Legolas would stop the horse at the next stream.

Sure enough, they came upon a wide shallow river, and found their fleet-footed quarry resting easily on the other side. Grumbling under their breath, the twins urged their mounts across the river, dismounting on the other side.

Elrohir irritably kicked water at Legolas. "Thank you ever so much for waiting."

"You're welcome," Legolas said absentmindedly. He was stroking the horse's head slowly. "He's quite fast, don't you think?"

It was Elladan's turn to kick the water. "Yes, I think we noticed."

Legolas laughed suddenly. "I am sorry about that. I mean to ask, what is his name?"

Elrohir shrugged. "He does not have one. Grendal was killed several weeks ago, shortly after receiving it as a gift. We've just referred to it as his stallion because we want the next owner to name the beast. The owner should decide."

The two suddenly got a sly look. "You know," Elladan remarked, "he seems to like you."

"I don't think any elf would mind terribly if youdecide to keep him."

The wood-elf looked up in surprise, his expression swiftly changing to one of delight. "Are you sure?"

"Actually, I think you haveto take him. He normally goes wild if anyone tries to ride him. He likes you."

Legolas grinned. "I do believe you have tried to ride him and failed then?"

Elrohir rubbed his back. "Do not bring that up."

The prince laughed again, eyes shining, as he looked at Grendal's –his- stallion. "Hannon lle. I believe I shall name him Astrod."

"Dust-champion," Elladan laughed, "highly appropriate."

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That night, the three friends stretched out under the sky, watching the stars. A fire burned merrily in a tiny pit, the flames hungrily reaching toward the sky, each fork like a tongue, licking the night sky.

One of the elves twisted over, rolling to face the fire. The orange light danced across the pale face, reflecting in the dark eyes. First one, then the last, turned to face the blaze, silent and almost regally. If they had not been flat on their stomachs, they would have seemed like the elven kings of old, but being so close to the ground tends to take away one's royal impression.

Two sets of eyes glanced at each other, and then darted away, coming to rest on the last, then back. Legolas finally looked up across the fire, his eyes reaching theirs through the tongues of flame.

Hesitantly, almost nervously, he began to speak:

Two thousand years ago, when I was but twelve, there lived a maiden in Mirkwood who was called Lúthien. She was quite beautiful, with long auburn hair and flashing green eyes. She often wore a long over-robe of dark green cloth, embroidered with golden threads depicting dragons in flight.

She was a fierce creature, and many of my people were frightened of her. Strange things were said to happen whilst she was around. Perhaps their fear is one of the reasons she is so convinced that she shall rule Arda: because people are frightened of her, they will do her bidding.

She was sent to become a maid in my Adar's palace, by her own family, nonetheless! She was already desperately bitter when she arrived, and set about her new chores in a furious temper. Everyone stayed out of her path for the first few days, and her wrath seemed to subside.

We thought she would settle and become more peaceful. We were wrong.

I had already gotten on the wrong side of her spirits before her first hour in the palace was up. Even then, I had, as Ada would say, a rotten penchant for getting into trouble. I do not know why…

I had been instructed to escort her to her room and see that she was comfortable. I believe Ada thought that she would warm up to me quicker than anyone else. A singly bad thought path.

We were nearly there, or so I believed, when things went sour. My feet slipped out from under me as we went up a flight of stairs, and I tumbled backwards. She had been directly behind me, and so she was the first thing I fell into. We rolled all the way down the stairs, and ended with me atop her legs, tangled in her long skirts.

She shrieked in rage and pain, and I scrambled to my feet as well as I could, heedless of the cloth tearing about me. By the time I stood firmly, much of the lower half of her skirt was gone, the cloth draped around me like an ill-fitting robe. I remember apologizing desperately, instantly contrite and wishing that her face would go back to its normal pale color, instead of the furious blush that turned her cheeks bright pink.

"You little brat!" she cried, and I flinched. She seemed more outraged than the situation would allow, and I could instinctively tell that she wanted to strike me. I skipped back a step, then went tentatively forward and offered my hand, still whispering 'I'm sorry'. She slapped it away, her heavy ring leaving a welt across the back of my hand, and clambered to her feet, most ungracefully.

She went forward, and found her own room. I did not speak to anyone about the incident, sure that, in my childishly innocent way,that she was merely upset because her Ada had sent her away. If only I knew.

Almost a week later, the second accident happened. The consequences to this were much more disastrous.

It was nearing dinner, and I had just come inside from one of the courtyards. I had been speaking with the old banyan for nearly an hour, and I was rather dazed and not at all sure where I was going.

I had intended on going to my room to change, for I had gotten a rather high amount of sap on me, mostly on the back of my tunic, and Ada would have been furious if I had come to the table looking like that.

Also, the late-for-supper-look was absolutely nothing like the how-could-you-appear-like-that-glare. That is a glance to be avoided at all costs. Except perhaps, the one I had to pay…

I had gone to my room to change, perhaps into a dark blue tunic, I don't remember the exact color. I entered, not noticing or caring that it was rather dark. I remember walking straight to the closet and opening it. I reached into the darkness and felt around for the afore-mentioned tunic. But instead of the cool cloth I was used to, I felt something rather warm. A-and sticky.

Curious as always, I pulled the door open a little farther and stood back to view the inside. Instead of my clothes, there was something rather large. And instead of the normal avalanche of things pouring outwards, the thing that tumbled out was a body.

It collapsed forward, nearly hitting me as I stood frozen, too scared to move. It was my Ada's councilor, Renal Degre. His eyes stared, whoever had killed him, hadn't bothered to close them. I was scared; I had never seen a dead body before, or one where the eyes were not either sparkling or gently glazed in sleep. This gaze held nothing but naked fear, and it frightened me even more.

He was covered in horrific burns, his body more charred than not. Where the skin wasn't a sickening black-red, it was raw, with blisters stretching the skin, making it shine. The stench of charred flesh assaulted my nose with dwarven hammers and pickaxes, intent on leaving a lasting impression. I can still smell that awful reek; it rises, unbidden in dreams.

He was staring at me. His face held secrets, and terror. Even then, being as young as I was, I knew that he had seen his attacker, seen what was coming. What didn't occur to me at the time, was how exactly his assailant had managed to burn him alive.

My paralysis broke; I cried out and turned to run. I was out of the room in seconds, and I fully expected to run all the way to Ada and leap into his arms, no matter what he was doing at that instant, even if he was in the most important meeting he'd ever been in. I didn't care. I wanted my Ada.

I ran down the stairs, tripping in my haste and rolling all the way down. I cracked my arm rather hard against a corner and that was the first injury. It had snapped under the pressure.

I leaped up again, heedless to the pain, and ran on, dodging surprised elves doing their daily business. My face was streaked with tears and open fear, and I was clutching my arm, holding it so it wasn't crooked. They followed.

I reached the courtyard, and skidded to a halt, nearly hitting Lúthien in the process. She started, looking at my face, considering. Something flickered in her face, but it wasn't pity, nor was it concern. It was hatred and fear.

Something clicked in my mind, and though I was still scared out of my mind, I knew.

"You—" I gasped. I was having trouble speaking, but I managed to get it out, well enough to be heard and understood by all the elves around us. "Twas you! You ki—killed Renald!"

Her face contorted in rage, and I flinched, although this time, I had enough sense to back away, well out of reach of her quick hands. But I had not counted on her suddenly shrieking in a voice and language that sounded like ice shards, sharp and cold.

I felt myself rising from the ground, though no real hands touched me, rising until I was nearly six feet above the heads of everyone present. I struggled madly, but it was no use. Not even the sturdiest dwarf or man could have broken away from those invisible hands.

Below me, I recognized my Ada darting through the crowd. Someone must have gone to tell him of my rather strange condition. He was shouting angrily, more furious than I had ever heard him, yelling at her to set me free. Guards had approached, drawing their bows and arrows as they came, but she stopped them by claiming that she would kill me where I hung, if they tried to harm her, if they even nocked their arrows.

Ada pushed through to the front of the crowd, glaring at her. "Let him go." I flinched at the rough rage I heard in his voice, controlled, but there all the same. But at the same time, I felt a little better, because I knew my Ada would get me out of that mess and make it all better.

I was too young to fully appreciate the situation.

The invisible hands that held me shifted until I was dangling by one arm, the good one, the other freed. I wriggled all the more, yanking my weight against that iron grip, but I succeeded in only making my wrist and shoulder hurt.

My fear was beginning to abate somewhat, and now I felt anger swelling up inside me. I called out to her, telling, no commanding her to set me free. I was doing nothing but imitating my Ada in tone, but I could feel the flash of amusement sweep through the crowd. Apparently, as I was told later, I looked rather like a miniature-Ada hanging by a wrist.

She glared, and I could feel one of those hands clenching around my throat, and it became hard to breathe. Ada started towards her, furious, but she stopped him with two words: "He'll die."

Suddenly, I could feel a sudden heat growing rather fast in the general area around me. Judging by the confusion of the crowd, they felt it as well, though not nearly as well as I did. The heat continued to grow, until the air in front of me glowed red-hot. Another word from Lúthien, and a fire burst into life in midair, feeding on nothing, but there all the same.

I stared in disbelief, feeling my fear come back in a rush. It moved. Like a sentient being it moved, and it got closer. I longed to throw my arm up in front of my face, though I knew to do so was to invite searing pain from the broken bone. But I couldn't.

It was like being back in my room, dazed and paralyzed, only this time, instead of being held by fear, I was held by force. I couldn't have moved if it had meant life or death. All I could do was watch the flames grow nearer, licking out toward my flammable clothing. I could see images in the fire. A fiery elf was screaming, screaming but making no noise.

I could see the image turning black, and realized that this was Renald. I watched him die. I watched him struggle to put out the fire, but his arms wouldn't do his bidding. I watched him as his eyes glazed over, the fearful expression ever etched onto his face.

Another image, this one a black mare. She died as well. Another elf. Another. A cat and a dog, stopping their fierce fighting to struggle as their lives were snuffed out. It went on and on, I do not know how long. And the fire drew nearer.

By the time the images stopped, I was fully immersed in the fire, but it did not burn, it flowed around me, entwining around my limbs like snakes, but it did not bite. They circled once, twice, then closed like hungry dogs on a piece of meat. The heat came back, closing in on me suddenly and painfully.

I screamed only once, and then was silent.

I woke days later, to find Ada sleeping in a chair at the side of my bed. I stayed awake long enough to see him wake and spot an expression of joy flash across his face before I slept again.

I was told, upon my next awakening, that Lúthien had been knocked unconscious while she reveled in my scream. The flames had stopped immediately after she fell to the ground, and the binding hands had given out a second later.

She had been executed (or so I was told) the day before I had awakened the first time.

I had not been expected to survive this long, I had not even been expected to wake. I was brutally burned all over, and my hair and were singed, though not nearly as bad as they should have been. My arm had been set, but I had cracked the other wrist as I landed on the ground after the hands let me go.

I recovered, though it took much time and effort on the part of the healers. My Ada never left my side, unless I ordered him to go and sleep some. I was enjoying the newfound talent of mine to imitate him, and I suspect he was a little unnerved by it.

By the time the last of the burns had faded away, the nightmares had gone too. Or so I told them. I had had quite enough of being cooped up in bed, and I did not want to drink any nasty sleep potion. Although I did insist on being given a different room, and I was ever-wary of opening a closet after that.

But I never really forgot about the fire. And when I went to visit you two, I found myself wishing that it had never happened. I must say, I became rather jealous as the night wore on. I needed to get out, to try and banish the last thoughts I had of the fire and its images.

So I went to watch the storm. You remember. I felt completely safe. I loved the weather in all it's fury, because I knew that it meant that life goes on, and you must once in a while endure a storm to truly live. Your companionship, your unquestioning support helped a great deal. I managed to forget. And life goes on…

Legolas trailed off. Without a word, unwilling to spoil the magic of the moment, the twins rose and came to sit by their friend.