Soon after learning of the Elvenking's fate, Legolas and Thallion left the healing chambers and its flurry of activity. Thallion had simply glanced about the room, taking stock of its occupants and their state, before turning on his heel and marching out of the chambers with determined strides. Legolas had barely the chance to check if Alarcien was being cared for, rushing to catch up to the much longer legs of his brother.

The dark-haired elf had a destination in mind, and Legolas vowed that he would accompany the older warrior until he was ordered away. He was, after all, a prince of the realm. Thallion had been right earlier on the battlefield. It was tough to put the kingdom over his loved ones, for he had wanted nothing more than to rush to the back of the healing chambers and demand that Lanyarion tell him everything about his Ada's condition. Not knowing the true severity of the Elvenking's wounds was filling him with both fear and impatience.

Soon, they were accompanied by nothing but the sound of their boots on the worn stone floor of the palace. Once they had left the wards, Thallion slowed his pace until he and his brother could walk side-by-side.

"Do you think Ada will be okay?"

The younger's voice was hardly above a whisper, but he knew Thallion had heard him by the way he subtly tilted his head in Legolas' direction. Thallion's brows were set into a thoughtful line over dark gray eyes, masking the concern and fear he so clearly felt just beneath the surface.

"One cannot say for sure without knowing the severity of his wounds," he began, taking a deep breath but stopping the action as though it were painful. "However, I have never known a more resilient elf in my life. And further, Lanyarion is as single-minded a healer as they come, and I would not put it past him to grab Adar and drag him away from the Halls kicking and screaming if he must."

Thallion spoke the last few words with a warm smile tugging at his lips, placing a broad hand between Legolas' shoulder blades in support. Just that gentle pressure was enough to calm the anxiety that rose and fell in Legolas with each breath he took.

Along their way, he flagged a servant and gave her an order in low, quick tones, still not loosening the comforting grip. He held his hand there for several more twists and turns through the palace, only removing it when they reached his intended destination. They were returning to the great hall—for precisely what purpose, Legolas did not know.

A base camp of sorts had been set up in the hall, acting as both a meeting ground and a staging area for further action. The volume from earlier was replaced by a quiet that hung in the air, heavy as fog and twice as thick.

Clusters of elves spoke in low, somber tones as they tended each other's minor wounds and inquired about friends or family members who were not yet accounted for. Armor and weapons were laid down, some of them right beside their wielder as the elf rested on the floor—as though they'd chosen a spot and just dropped. Small, quiet reunions took place throughout the expansive space as elleths and ellons located those they had been searching for among their kin. Many of the warriors who were unwounded, or were simply too restless for respite, were regrouping into smaller parties to head back out, intent on reforming perimeters and doubling the force currently guarding weak, damaged areas.

Thallion had paused at the entrance, his dark eyes sweeping over the room in search of someone. While he looked, Legolas could almost see him cataloging warriors, taking a mental tally of who was present among the elves in the hall and in the healing wards, leaving a few still unaccounted for. He was so focused on his task that his face, while unusually pale, bore no hint of the emotion within.

In moments, Thallion spotted his target and compelled himself forward, Legolas following silently behind him. His brother's movements were sluggish, as though he were dragging himself through marshland instead of the open spaces of the great hall.

Hrávo met Thallion's gaze, not once pausing in his task while the two royals made their way over to his location. The other elf bore a bloody cut along one arm, already carefully bandaged and cared for, and was doling out assignments to warriors gathered around him.

Thallion stepped into Hrávo's line of sight, simply laying a hand on his shoulder and leaning in so that only Hrávo could hear him. The other's expression did not indicate their conversation, and Hrávo nodded along with Thallion until they had finished the discussion to their satisfaction.

Then, with a few short words, he'd delegated his tasks to one of his captains and stepped out of the cluster of warriors. Nodding at Thallion, they began a slow walk out of the hall. Legolas followed them, still uncertain as to his place among them. The only thing stopping the young prince from staying behind in the hall was the reassuring smile Hrávo bestowed upon him as they rounded the exit and left the large chamber.

He followed the two older elves down two or three halls, noting how much slower Thallion was walking than before. The three reached a plain wooden door, arriving at the same time as the palace servant from only minutes before.

"The supplies you requested, hir nin."

She followed them into a simple chamber, which must have been one of dozens of studies throughout the palace, and placed a small bundle onto the oak desk situated in the corner of the room. The elleth pushed aside a few half-filled scrolls—their scribe must have abandoned the work when the horn blew—and bowed to dismiss herself.

She had brought medical supplies. Thallion was hurt, Legolas realized, as Hrávo hurried to dig through the supplies and organize them according to his needs. That was why he was moving slower, why he'd winced earlier in the courtyard and in the hall, and why he was so pale.

For Valar's sake!

"Help me with his leathers, Legolas."

Hrávo's soothing voice halted any further thoughts from spinning through Legolas' mind. He hurried forward while Hrávo forced Thallion to sit on the edge of the desk. In the low light of the chamber, Legolas could just barely make out the stain of blood which had soaked into the upper fourth of Thallion's dark leggings.

Lumornel and her colleagues would have their work cut out for them.

Legolas pulled at the straps to the leathers which looked so well worn on his brother, frowning at the split in the material just under his right arm. It wasn't visible unless Thallion moved just wrong, showing the blood-soaked tunic beneath. It hadn't been very hard to conceal unless one knew exactly where to look. His clothing was so dark that the crimson stain of blood blended in with the shade of fabric—but perhaps that was more by design. Thallion was always clad in dark clothing.

Hrávo worked with sure hands, mumbling something when Thallion hissed in pain. Legolas placed a hand on his brother's arm, unsure what to do but hoping his touch was comforting, and was relieved when Thallion smiled warmly at the action.

"It isn't bad, Penneth," Thallion said, weaving assurance into his tone and ducking his head just slightly to meet Legolas' eyes.

"Let Hrávo be the judge of that," Legolas said, regretting the bite in his words almost as soon as he'd spoken them. But somehow, Thallion understood the fear that rested just under the surface and simply smiled again. Hrávo chuckled, shaking his head and humming in agreement.

They got the leathers removed, setting them on the desk beside Thallion's hip, and saw the damage for the first time. There was a lot of blood, and Hrávo tutted with concern as he gently pulled the fabric away from his friend's torn flesh. There was so much blood, in fact, that neither could see how deep the slash was. But Hrávo simply got to work, cleaning and padding it with bandages like the two had some kind of unspoken agreement. For all Legolas knew, they did.

"You've lost a lot of blood," Legolas said, fighting the shake that threatened his voice.

"I have blood to spare."

His answer elicited an undignified snort from Hrávo, who merely shook his head in exasperation. It sounded like something Faervere would have said. Perhaps the late prince had inherited the snark from his brother.

Legolas helped Hrávo wind extra bandage around Thallion's waist, frowning when he tensed. But as soon as they were done, Thallion reached for his leathers and began slipping them back on with a look on his face that meant neither of them could argue. When his fingers shook around the ties, Legolas gently took them from his larger hands and tugged them together. He couldn't help but draw parallels from that moment and compare it to just before the battle, when their positions were reversed. Now, it was the younger brother helping the older brother look the part.

It felt… right.

It was such a natural position, helping someone he cared for deeply, that Legolas no longer felt self-conscious. He no longer had to wonder whether or not he was welcome among the pair—or anyone he considered "above" him. They were all warriors in the king's army, after all.

He listened to Thallion breathing, deep and even, and felt a calm focus wash over his body. If this was what it meant to be part of something bigger—rising above stress and strain to become a beacon for others to follow—then Legolas would do it for as long as he was able. Just like Thallion.

Thallion took one or two more breaths, then reached for Legolas' forearm and gave it one firm squeeze. He looked into his brother's dark eyes, seeing the determination and pride shining in them, and nodded. While he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to, he felt the shift in the air as Thallion nodded back and prepared to stand. His balance wasn't quite right, so Legolas stepped closer and offered his smaller body as a brace. Once he had both feet underneath him, Thallion smiled and flicked his gray gaze toward the study door.

Together, the three elves left the room and returned to the hall as though nothing had happened. While before, Legolas was angry at Thallion for hiding his wounds, he now understood entirely when he watched warrior after warrior pull themselves up straighter at their arrival. Their people trusted the royal family to be strong in the face of adversity.

Hrávo departed from the princes with one pointed look, returning to the group he'd been conversing with prior to the interruption. Thallion glanced around the room, settling his eyes on one elf in particular and taking measured steps toward his target. Despite what Legolas knew was hiding beneath Thallion's leathers, there was no outward sign that anything was amiss.

Legolas drew upon his brother's confidence, smiling at his fellow warriors as he finally saw where Thallion was headed.

Calaeron stood at the head of the room, looking regal as ever despite the mussed state of his hair and the rips in his clothing. One entire sleeve had been rent from the body of his tunic, leaving nothing but wispy shreds of fabric behind. Legolas noted with great concern that a handful of Calaeron's golden hair appeared to have been torn from his head, leaving a bloody smear along his scalp. The absence of shining locks looked so out of place on him—like an unyielding stone marring the flow of a majestic river.

Legolas and Thallion reached their older brother at nearly the same time, standing side-by-side before him. When Calaeron turned to face them, Legolas saw half a dozen different emotions cross the eldest prince's face. If he wasn't mistaken, Calaeron already spotted every wound his younger brothers carried and had carefully filed them away.

"Are the outer walls secured?"

"Yes, hir nin," Thallion answered, standing straighter and raising one dark eyebrow—as though holding two separate conversations that only the eldest brothers were aware. "We've taken heavy casualties, but suffered only two fatalities in the courtyard."

What?

Legolas' mind reeled. Who had they lost? Why hadn't he noticed? He'd been with Thallion the entire time, but hadn't learned the same information.

"From the reports, the courtyard was the most heavily contested." Calaeron shifted his weight, allowing his light-blue eyes to dart between both his brothers. "They sent a smaller force after the King. We almost didn't learn of it in time; they were very strategic in their attack."

"How did you know?" Legolas spoke for the first time, swallowing around a dry throat and wishing he had water—if even just for something to busy his hands. "How did you know about Ada?"

Calaeron's face softened, taking in the battle-grimed figure of his little brother. Sometimes, all Calaeron saw when he looked at Legolas was a tiny elfling in the forest, crying for his mother after losing his path. But Legolas was no longer that lost elfling.

"We heard them bragging," he said, shaking his head in disgust. Legolas shuddered, remembering the pack of orcs that very nearly discovered him on his journey to Imladris. He'd taken shelter in a tree above their heads, listening to them bragging about killing elves. About nearly killing his own brother.

"Filthy maggots," one of the largest growled, kicking at the ground with an unwounded leg. "I ever get my hands on their pretty faces again…."

Worry snaked its way into Legolas' gut, for there was only one creature that orcs hated with such passion: elves.

"Didja see the big one? Wit' all those filthy braids?" A thinner orc, this one was missing part of its hand, smiled with a few blackened teeth. "Ugri nearly cleaved it in two before he was slain! I hope it dies in agony, screamin' its momma's name!"

"I think it was their leader," the first orc laughed, stilling the young prince's breath with the cold cruelty of its voice. "They will have to bring its cursed body home in pieces!"

"We were very nearly too late." Calaeron's voice brought Legolas back to the present. "They had already closed in on Adar and his guard. It has been many centuries since I've seen our father with a sword, but he is as impressive a sight as ever. The orcs stood little chance."

Legolas could hardly imagine the great Elvenking Thranduil as their people saw him: as stout and majestic as a great elk. As singularly spectacular as any being could be. He was still just Ada to Legolas, despite catching glimpses of the regal public side of him only sparingly over the years. He now wished he could have witnessed his father's grandeur first-hand.

"I see they still managed to get dangerously close to you."

Thallion was gesturing to Calaeron's hair and clothing, while their older brother aimed accusing eyes at Thallion's side—he couldn't know Thallion was hurt, but he somehow knew anyway.

"It was their leader," Calaeron explained. "Our father finished it, before taking wounds himself. Though I suspect he will be well enough to re-take command in a few days."

Legolas felt suddenly very weak, as drained as he had when his adrenaline crashed in the courtyard. If Calaeron was so unfazed by the Elvenking's wounds, then they couldn't be very serious. Calaeron would never take something like that so lightly.

"Penneth."

He couldn't be sure which brother said it, though the tone was so soothing that tears sprung to his eyes and burned against the dryness trapped there.

"Our young prince and his squad performed quite admirably in the courtyard today," Thallion said, seeming to ignore the tears that were rolling down Legolas' grimy cheeks. He slid one long arm around Legolas' shoulders and tugged him against his unwounded side, squeezing comfortingly. "They are a credit to their king."

Legolas swallowed the knot in his throat, forcing down the remaining tears and glancing up into the face of his oldest brother—his regent, until their father could return to duty. The pure respect shining in Calaeron's light-blue eyes cut straight through to Legolas' chest, filling him with warmth and energy until he felt like he could keep going for several more days.

"I heard tale of a novice squad coming to the rescue of some of our senior warriors, but I could not dare hope it was you," Calaeron said, shaking his head and hardly disguising a smile.

"I did only what I felt was right, hir nin," Legolas answered, returning the smile with a small one of his own. He still felt somewhat guilty for the fear he had caused his brother, but he could not admit fault when the results of his actions were standing—quite obviously alive—right next to him. "I owe all credit to my squad, for they fought bravely in the face of danger."

"Indeed," Thallion said, giving Legolas one more firm squeeze against his side.

"Your kingdom requires further of you, my prince." Calaeron changed the expression on his face into one of professionalism. They were to get back to work, though Legolas would cherish the brief comforts of being just brothers for a few minutes. "Assemble your squad, if they are able, and take over at the repaired wall in the courtyard. Relieve the elves assigned there until your squad is relieved—then you are ordered to the healing chambers for rest."

"Yes, sir," Legolas said, giving both Calaeron and Thallion respectful bows as he parted from their company. However reluctant he was to leave his brothers, he was eager to check on his squad, and to provide his fellow warriors with whatever relief he could.

He left them as they were, weaving his way back through the crowd in the hall and missing the looks of impressed respect on the faces of more than one elf gathered there. Word was quickly spreading about the efforts of the four-elf squad of novice warriors and their bravery. That the youngest prince had been among them wasn't commonly known, though that fact was being shared like wildfire.


"He has grown so," Calaeron remarked, shifting his stance and reaching to rub at the bloody patch of flesh on his head before Thallion grabbed his hand absentmindedly and stilled the action. "Legolas is becoming a fine warrior."

"And a fine leader," Thallion agreed, wrapping one arm around his waist out of habit to support his wounded side. He could feel more blood soaking into the bandage Hrávo placed there, and he knew it would need changing again soon.

Calaeron's observant eyes didn't miss the action, and he frowned at the pale form of his younger brother. Bruises pulsated on his own chest, and his scalp burned and throbbed, but he felt the same sense of duty that was driving Thallion. Neither of the elder princes would rest until the kingdom was secure, but it wasn't easy to keep going when they were both so battered.

"How bad?"

Calaeron didn't have to specify his words for Thallion to understand their meaning, and the younger's grey eyes locked onto his light blue with barely disguised exhaustion.

"Bad enough," he answered honestly, but offered a serene smile to Calaeron all the same. It would not do to dwell on their collective wounds, for neither would stop moving unless their bodies compelled them so. "I will live."

Calaeron rolled his eyes.

"Have Hrávo check you over again, then I need you by the armory to assess the damage and determine what kind of reinforcements are needed. Do what you can, for as long as you can. But not at the expense of your health, do you understand?"

Thallion shared a serious look with his brother, reassuring him with his eyes alone that he would listen to his body and rest when he needed to. They parted with a brief grasp of forearms, wishing the other luck before they separated.


When Legolas entered the healing chambers for the second time, he was relieved by the more subdued motions within the room. Elves were no longer rushing to and fro, caught up in the desperate chaos that came from the aftermath of such a battle. Instead, they moved with a controlled grace that declared much of the urgency had passed.

Spotting Alarcien resting on a bed toward the east side of the chamber, noting that both Fandir and Mitsion were with her, Legolas let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. She looked far better than she had the last time he'd seen her, and her color had improved by a few shades.

"Hey, Ala," he greeted, sitting on the bed beside her hip and taking one of her hands. Mitsion looked half-asleep in a chair next to her, and Fandir was standing rather protectively between the two of them. It was such a stark contrast to what Legolas was used to that he would have thought the older elf was someone entirely different. "Are you well?"

She smiled at him, squeezing his hand with renewed strength.

"I'm fine, Legolas."

Her voice was much stronger, to his relief, so he was inclined to believe her. He found himself looking up at Fandir's face for confirmation, pleased when the other boy nodded at him in agreement. Legolas took a moment to breathe, reveling in the calmness of his friend before he felt the burden of duty slide back around his shoulders.

Something must have shown on Legolas' face, for Fandir placed one hand on Mitsion's shoulder to rouse him from his drowsy state. When he had their attention, he informed the two ellons of their assigned task. He gave Alarcien an apologetic look, wishing she could join them but glad she would have the chance to rest. She said nothing, but nodded in a way that clearly told them to get going, already!

Some things would never change.

The three young warriors left the healing chambers feeling renewed, thankful to be given the opportunity to assist their kingdom further. When they reached the courtyard, which only hours earlier had been a battleground, they were surprised by the progress with which their fellows had made.

One might never know such a large skirmish had happened there, for the debris had been sorted through and much of it was cleared away. What stones could be reused had been moved, and the kingdom's finest engineers and stone-smiths were already hard at work planning for repairs. Legolas estimated the wall would be replaced in a matter of weeks—if that.

The handful of elves they were relieving looked pleased to hand over their responsibilities in favor of rest. None looked at the three novices as though they were anything but equals, and it was a baffling realization for them to understand that they finally were.

Some things would change forever.

Legolas climbed atop the wall, the same section they had jumped from when Thallion's force was being overwhelmed, and noted that Fandir was the first one to follow him. The older elf stood beside him, just behind his right shoulder, and Legolas felt comforted by his presence instead of stressed as before.

"I feel I have much to apologize for, Legolas," Fandir said after several minutes of silence. Beside them, Mitsion stared openly at the oldest of the three, not disguising his surprise in the least. Legolas, however, felt as though the words were the start of something new. "The least of which are my behaviors towards your command, which were reprehensible at best."

Legolas chose to say nothing, but to simply keep his expression open and allow Fandir the chance to speak his piece. He remembered Limbon's words, about providing others with respect—the watchman was right, after all.

Something heavy passed over Fandir's expression, settling into his dark sapphire eyes. There was sorrow there, deep and thick, and an agony that Legolas felt sudden kinship with.

"My brother was called Cullass," Fandir said, fingering the sword at his side with the same reverence Legolas once regarded Faervere's dagger—which had been lost to orcs on his journey to Imladris. "This was his sword. It was returned to my parents after his death; they say he died defending his prince—your brother."

Ai, Legolas thought, finally understanding. Cullass was one of the Lost Twelve, killed by orcs the same day as Queen Lanthir and Prince Faervere. All of Fandir's animosity, disrespect, and overall negative demeanor toward Legolas finally made sense. After losing his mother and brother, Legolas often found himself wishing there was someone he could blame for it all. Someone other than orcs, who would never be held to account for their actions.

In his pain, Fandir did the only sensible thing anyone experiencing such a loss would do: he blamed. And Legolas couldn't find any reason to be angry at him for it. In fact, he felt closer to Fandir in that moment than he ever expected.

"Tell me about him?" Legolas asked, meeting Fandir's gaze. He placed all of his understanding, and his forgiveness, into his eyes and hoped the other would see it. If the relieved smile on Fandir's face said anything, then Legolas knew his efforts were rewarded.

They could start anew, and Legolas would be glad to call Fandir Mellon.