"You should have informed me!" That was pretty much all Thondrar managed to say at first.

He was still trying to process what was happening here right now. After all, everything had been as much in order as it could be at Cair Andros these days – until five minutes ago. The usual morning training to regain his old strength, a routine control of the borders, helping with construction a little to free his mind, in this case, at the paddock …

And when he'd come back, all elves had suddenly been armed and were about to leave the settlement while he was casually being told about an invasion in Emyn Arnen being planned. After the gathering of the White Company at their front door that Legolas had shrugged off with a few calming words when the others had asked, a completely unexpected twist.

"I just did." Legolas ran past him to give his people a few last instructions. "Since you are staying here anyway, there was no reason to talk to you about it."

"What do you think you're doing?" Thondrar abruptly came to stand in his way.

More than worried, he watched, from the corner of his eyes, as Tauriel girded her sword too; at least the other elves gifted in the art of healing were rational enough to stay out of this, probably rightfully suspecting already that after this madness, even meagerly trained abilities of this kind would be needed more than ever.

There were only two warrior elves who would stay, to protect these residents as well as Tauriel's daughter who was clinging to one of the she-elves, looking at her mother, again and again, confused about what was going on. Two people as a shield from every kind of maneuver that the Stewardaides could launch if they thought themselves safe.

"Are you that desperate to provoke a response by the King? The Steward didn't give you any reason for an attack!"

"Which is why he isn't the one who will be attacked. On the contrary. We'll finally clean up his fortress. It's about high time."

Legolas didn't look at his advisor even once. No matter how determined he tried to look, hurrying through the camp, the expression in his eyes was empty. It didn't matter what his rationality – in this case, the living incarnation of it – had to say to him; he isolated himself from it almost with violence. He finally wanted to finish what he had accepted a rift with his best friend for, what he had distanced himself from everyone so much for in the last few months, even from his wife.

"Forget it," he added as if to confirm Thondrar's thoughts. "Not even the Valar could stop me now."

"Then I'll go with you."

The sad certainty that there was nothing he could do to prevent what was coming redirected Thondrar's efforts back to his actual job immediately, which was to always protect his Lords and help them with their plans, even if he couldn't approve of it. That was simply the lot of a warrior, no matter how loudly everything in him was screaming that a very big mistake was being made here right now. His father had ordered him to keep the situation under control ... And this, right here, was a very clear demonstration of how very capable he was of doing so. He simply wasn't Glorfindel. He'd rarely understood it better that he would never reach that goal, not even remotely.

"No." Legolas lost at least the irritation that had been prevailing between them for a while now. "You never understood why I have to do this. I don't want you to have to give up your own peace of mind just to support me. I have trained the others so thoroughly for a reason. They will make sure that we come back without bloodshed but with the men threatening Emyn Arnen. What happens then will depend wholly on these prisoners. I will be very happy then to accept your council and your help again."

Legolas wiped his eyes tiredly, not for the first time this morning which Thondrar was almost certain he didn't even realize. "I appreciate you very much, you know that. I just don't need you right now."

"What you need is a long stay in the ice desert on Caradhras to finally get clear in your head." When you had seen more than just this Age, there were certain behaviors you only put up with very grudgingly. And in some regard, Legolas had really learned a lot from his father.

"Be rational! You don't even know how many guards are stationed on Emyn Arnen! You can't just go in there and hope that suspects will willingly follow you outside!"

"If they did it willingly, I wouldn't need my bow." Since Thondrar didn't budge an inch, Legolas just pushed past him.

The open aggression that his owner radiated had Arod startle back for the first time since they knew each other. The bright stallion pranced in place and could hardly be controlled once Legolas had mounted.

"You're not coming with me, Glorfindelion." Legolas' sharp voice had Thondrar stop when he was already about to hurry to his own horse. "Either you're still working for me, then you stay here and take care of the others. If not, why don't you just follow your father's example? Leave and never come back. That's the easiest way of staying out of this conflict. Can't do anything wrong with that, can you?"

Without another look back, Legolas led his people towards the group's first battle.

"It's not your fault." Tauriel stopped next to him for another brief moment, hesitatingly.

Actually, they were all familiar with Thondrar's quietness and reclusiveness; usually, he wasn't someone, anyone was trying to comfort, not even when he was as crestfallen as he was right now.

But in this case, they shared the same fate. Tauriel would think about her child with just as much worry the whole time as Thondrar would be waiting for everyone's return. "They all want this. Maybe this confrontation is exactly what we need so that we can finally look to the future again."

"There won't be a future for us here if the Prince courts escalation."

Thondrar let himself sink back against a tree trunk and tried in vain to find a solution for this new crisis while watching his old friend from Imladris leave – there was none. Legolas had very cleverly made sure that he couldn't leave the camp if he didn't want to spent the next few days fearing for the others. It was also too late to warn anyone.

Who would hear such a warning anyway? His father had vanished after taking Tarisilya to Eryn Lasgalen; he had once more left him without even a short letter. A behavior feeling a little too painfully familiar.

But this time, Thondrar couldn't even resent him for not being able to watch this anymore. Each in their own way, they had failed at preventing this catastrophe.

As Legolas' settlement was located in the shallower part of the woods, this shorter way was the one the elves chose. The Anduin only came back within sight when they had left the densely vegetated plain behind. Therefore, the group was unprepared when they spotted a ship there instead of calmly flowing water.

It was one of the big, open, and very resiliently built boats fitting many beings at once, made by Men and Elves and stationed at the foot of Rauros, who took travelers on the Anduin away from the waterfall and down the river since the end of the war. These ships were usually only running at certain times. If you were living at Cair Andros, you knew these procedures in detail after a few weeks. There hadn't been any cruise scheduled today. Therefore, it wasn't hard to guess that there were special passengers being on their way.

First, Legolas anticipated a troop of helpers that Aragorn had maybe spontaneously ordered to Osgiliath – surely Gondor's current most important reconstruction site – and didn't think the whole thing to have any relevance.

As soon as the travelers aboard seemed to catch sight of the elves though, the ship landed. A spotted horse looking just a little too familiar trotted over the gangway plank onshore with sharp speed.

Legolas stopped Arod abruptly. No, not an illusion as he'd hoped for a moment – quite possible, given how much his eyes were hurting right now as too much stress always caused them to.

"Is that your father? And here I was just thinking the day couldn't get any worse," Tauriel let out.

"Not a word," Legolas snapped at her quite unkindly. This stupid fight between the two of them was something he had already refused to get deeply involved with back then. Tauriel could count herself as very lucky for not having been thrown into the dungeon for her rebellion against the King at that time. Right now, Legolas had neither time nor nerves to mediate between them once more.

But yes, it was his father approaching them there, wearing the simple camouflage of their people and armor on top of it. Given these elves even still were Legolas' people. Such an entrance could easily give you doubts.

He had only a few seconds to straighten out his tumbling feelings. That his father hadn't ever spoken about any of this here in his letters, had been very comfortable so far. Political controversies always only used to end with fights between them anyway. All the more was he annoyed about this unannounced appearance at the possibly most inconvenient time.

"It seems, someone wants to talk to you in person very badly," Camhanar noted once he had recovered from his shock. "Didn't you say, the King will stay out of this?"

"And he will." Legolas' hands clenched so tightly around Arod's mane that the stallion bristled in protest.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and count to ten in Sindarin and Westron before he instructed Camhanar to ride ahead together with the others. "I won't be long."

The elves hadn't got far yet when Thranduil ordered them to come back, which the elves of Eryn Lasgalen reacted to immediately. The others were at least stopping, much to Legolas' chagrin. While these elves hadn't been marchwardens for a long time, there were certain tones in the voice of a ruler known as very hotheaded that you reacted to even when you were serving another now.

When the soldiers hastily bowed to the King, the others followed suit as well, even Tauriel, with bared teeth though. Thranduil was too much a person to be respected on Middle-earth, a symbol for millennia of experience of elves and their warfare. Not many still lived where who could personally tell stories about the War of the Last Alliance.

This small demonstration was all it took to make it clear to Legolas what role his father thought to be able to play here today. The resolution to try at least and talk to him calmly went up in smoke.

"I did not ask you to come here," he snapped at him without any word of greeting.

"I don't need an invitation if I want to take care of matters in one of my settlements," his father replied surprisingly calm for his usual temper. With visible displeasure, he eyed the elves' weapons, the warrior braids that everyone but Legolas was wearing. "And I can't remember to have ordered an attack."

"That's enough." Just a year ago, Legolas had thought that their relationship had finally improved. All the kindness, the feigned understanding, the joy at the wedding … All of that had apparently been just another of the King's many faces of which he was saving the most creative ones for his son on principle. Today, Legolas had no time to guess who it was that he was facing right now. He had matters to take care of himself, his matters.

"It was me who gathered these people in Gondor."

"As the Crown Prince of your realm," Thranduil took the punch out of every further objection. "If you wanted full authority, you should have taken care of your ascension centuries ago. The settlement of Cair Andros is under the supervision of Eryn Lasgalen until I transfer full responsibility to you."

"So that's how it is."

Legolas could feel Tauriel staring at him from the side in surprise as she had surely expected his voice to break at this kind of paternalism, this humiliating rebuke in front of a whole group.

In fact, it had been long since had last Legolas sounded so sober. The rage dissolved with another absent rub over his eyes. Not even the usual resignation remained, of not being able to stand his ground against the authority of the King. Only emptiness that didn't actually have to be of a negative nature but was only waiting to be refilled. It was fascinating if you had already left a whole Age behind and only now, suddenly, understood that you had never managed to leave your family home behind, not even at your own wedding, at the final beginning of a new life.

For a while, Legolas had made the mistake of relying on his father finally accepting him as a warrior and a leader, as an independent being. It was cruel, realizing that you weren't anything but a sometimes very unruly tool for your own family.

And relieving, because it finally showed him a way out of this state of constantly trying in vain to please his father. "Then I do hereby officially give up my heritage." Legolas raised his voice a little when shocked murmurs arose. "All titles and authority related to our kinship are meaningless with immediate effect. I'm giving to you these people that have followed me to North Ithilien and vacate my post as their leader." He showed a quick bow and gestured his people exaggeratedly to proceed to the King.

"That said, you will excuse me, Your Majesty. I'm on the hunt." Without even a word of good-bye to the elves whose support he could now no longer count on, he rode off.

"But your Highness, you can't do …" When Camhanar found his voice back, it was too late; Legolas had already got Arod going.

For a moment, they all looked at each other in complete bewilderment; then Tauriel spurred her mare to a quick trot, following her leader.

"You will excuse us as well, Your Majesty. I think we will all gladly leave this settlement that we have built in the sweat of our brows not once but twice if enslavement comes with it. And here I was thinking, I'd made myself plenty clear about that back then – we are not your property."

The others followed her without looking back, and Camhanar couldn't blame them. Neither party had taken any nonsense in this argument, but Thranduil had been the one trying to deny the elves to choose freely, something that had already not got him any love in Imladris and Lórien in the past, and certainly not from Camhanar's wife.

"Is your child waiting for you at home, Camhanar?" Thranduil still hardly raised his voice. If it hadn't been for the battle armor, made of the finest silver, and the many jewels in his hair, the elves would have to wonder if they were facing the real King. As not many beings outside his realm had ever actually seen him, that would have been perfectly possible ... If you ignored the big similarity to his son, strictly in appearance as it might be right now.

Even such a casual question could make an elf turn around when he was approaching something with a bad feeling already. "Tell him I'll be right there," he shouted at the others. At least this first group should let Legolas know in the meantime that the elves were still standing by him.

Then, with a deep breath, he turned to the King that he'd just sworn off every loyalty. "I'm sure you mean well, Your Majesty, but this decision hasn't been made overnight. We have lost four of the first people who wanted to build a peaceful new life here. If we retreat now, there will always be someone who thinks we're harmless gardeners, always someone who's after the King or the Steward and abuses this land's residents as tokens. You haven't seen this boy fall into the Dead Marshes."

"No. I lost Men in them when these swamps were still a battlefield. If I'd sought revenge for every one of them, there wouldn't be much left of Middle-earth."

Noticing that his words were touching Camhanar in a way that they couldn't reach Legolas anymore, Thranduil took his shoulder in a firm grasp. "What I'm saying seems to lose its effect in this poisoned area, so I have to settle for the role of the watcher. I didn't come here because the wellbeing of Men is so dear to my heart. Men have always survived; not even Sauron could win against them. I'm here because I don't want to hold my son in my arms when he dies, too. For us Sindar, it is not that easy to say when we'll meet again if someone departs for the Halls."

"I will not turn against my leader." Camhanar broke away in determination. "If you think the residents of Imladris so fickle, you should better leave right away."

Thranduil tiredly shook his head. "I'm not asking for betrayal but for your carefulness. For your child and for your wife who can hardly handle the weight of the sword on her belt anymore and whose hand is shaking on the reins like a she-elf's at her wedding. Most of all though, I'm asking you for your words that this group will listen to if the ones of their leaders might possibly be silenced. Tell me, Camhanar, how often have the arrows of the Prince missed their target in the last few months?"

As nonsensical as the question sounded at first, the answer flashed in Camhanar's mind like a torch suddenly lit. There were things that Legolas didn't even talk about with his closest confidants, not even with his own wife … apparently for good reason. And least of all he would be doing it right now when he even refused to cooperate with his father.

Camhanar could probably have talked the others out of this. There were enough among them who had gone on this ride only very reluctantly. But he had seen too much of the Stewardaides for that, had seen them threatening his family's life too often. If there was a chance to end all this, a little blood and centuries of doubt about doing the right thing or not was worth that.

But that didn't mean, he was closing his eyes to the problems that their leader was maybe just getting them all in with his refusal to admit his own weaknesses. "I will be watching him."

"That's all I'm asking." Under Camhanar's surprised look, Thranduil tugged a few jewels from his hair and took off several rings, except for the one of his family. At a fleeting glance, one could easily think him to be a simple warrior now.

"Your Majesty?"

"Seeing as my son is betraying everything that we have built in the last few millennia, maybe it needs a simple elf from our country, too, to ensure his safety." An almost invisible smile, marked by bitter sarcasm. "Did you really think I'd leave him alone?"

"I'm glad you're here." At least that, Camhanar could say with a clear conscience. Maybe the mere presence of such a high figure, and a neutral one, too, would already help to arrive at a peaceful agreement.

Complete silence in the White Tower's throne room was a memory of the old days that Verilas could have gladly done without. In such moments, one would rather think of that huge building – that almost seemed to try and crush you with all these pointed arches and the statues lining the walls on some days – as something located at the Silent Street, not amidst the thriving life of the Citadel. When the King was busy with his usual daily routine, the hall was never so deserted that one could hear the roaring echo of every single step. That would have been more fitting for Denethor, in these last days when you'd better not approached him if you'd treasured your job and your life.

The moment the King had vanished, it was as if not a day had gone by since then. In some regard, Faramir was more like his father than you would think.

It wasn't the first time for Verilas to curse the hall's exaggerated size as he swiftly approached the stairs leading up to the throne, with his eyes searching the many columns and hidden niches. With Denethor, you'd at least always known where to find him. The old man had hardly left his spot in the end anymore, staring at the ground bowed down, his face grey, and reacting only rarely to anything.

Maybe that was why Faramir refused to sit down on that chair strictly; that, Verilas could even understand. Still, it was a rather disadvantageous habit when you needed him urgently.

When he just wanted to raise his voice to call Faramir, he heard words spoken a few feet away from him that the silence and the echo carried over to him clearer than it would have been the case outside.

"It's time to face the truth, Steward. The men have looked everywhere. The royals have not left any life signs. We have to inform the people." It was one of those men among Faramir's soldiers recently being by his side nonstop who Verilas wasn't being too fond of for that reason alone because he had the impression, Faramir himself didn't even get a chance to speak anymore.

Apparently, this instinctive aversion had been accurate. Offended, he stepped up to the broad spiral column in the shadow of which the two men were standing. "It's not even been a week! We will find them, we just need time. There's no reason to have the people panic already."

"Sure." Faramir didn't sound as if he'd been listening to either of them properly. He took small, absent sips from his cup; his eyes were fixed on a big painting of Ecthelion on the wall. "Double the search units. The area is big." That was all. Faramir was obviously not ready to make the decision of how much the people should be told at this point.

Verilas had to hold back hard not to shake his head. Apparently, he had been right, after all, being pessimistic betimes.

This man was a wreck. He was almost holding on to his wine. While in the time of Aragorn's long journey to the west back then, he had filled in for the King responsibly, this time, the situation completely overwhelmed him.

But since passivity was still better than uproar in the city, Verilas rather explained what he had actually come for. "Please come outside with me, Steward. A messenger has seen something that concerns Emyn Arnen."

Faramir almost dropped his cup. "Why didn't you say so right away?"

Surprisingly fast for his former lethargy, he ran outside, so that Verilas could hardly keep up.

He stopped at quite a bit of distance to the tapered end of the courtyard, though the view was better at the front – another thing you could comprehend when you'd witnessed the former Steward take his own life in his madness. Faramir thanked Verilas for stopping as well with a short nod and followed his gesture to the sidewall over which they could see a group of riders far below the city who were clearly on their way to South Ithilien.

"A worker of Osgiliath says, it's the elves of the settlement at Cair Andros. They seem to be in a hurry."

Now the short period of stagnation seemed to be over for good. The Steward turned to the soldier from earlier immediately. "Gather the others and have my horse saddled."

The palpable aggression suddenly in the air had Verilas wonder if he should approve of that. "Steward? Is there a problem?"

"Not for long, I hope."

Faramir waited until the man had run off and then stepped closer to Verilas, lowering his voice. "Would you agree that the Steward's most important job is to protect the land?"

Verilas crossed his arms, trying his best not to lower his head when he felt eyes staring into him that right now, definitely reminded too much of Denethor. This kind of coldness had already made him shiver in the war seeing it in the old Steward. He shouldn't be feeling it in a conversation of all times that held between so few people could only bring trouble. There were reasons why he was writing everything down by now that he was talking about with Aragorn. Too many things spoken in private at this court had afterward only caused bad vibes in the past.

"I'm just an advisor, I don't think …"

"And right now, you're my advisor seeing as there's no trace of His Majesty," Faramir interrupted him roughly. "A group of armed Firstborn warriors is on its way to my home, so don't waste my time."

Verilas lowered his arms again and eyed Faramir's haggard appearance once more. Could it really only be due to a little too much wine and advisors talking too much that a formerly just shy, passive man was changing so much, seriously negatively, in such a short time?

"I don't recognize you anymore. Don't you hear what the people in the streets are saying about you? You're stabbing the King in the back, now of all times when there are enough enemies of his reign already. If the elves are paying you a visit, they'll have reasons to do so. Maybe this is about that one spring again that they only just saved us from. And given how badly the Stewardaides are being out for them, it's wise of them not to leave their camp unarmed. Soldiers of Minas Tirith can go with you if you want …"

"This is a matter of Ithilien," Faramir refused immediately. The open reproaches had hit him visibly; he turned away hastily and went back to the house.

"If I wanted to harm the King, I wouldn't have sent every soldier available to search the area. I have even sent a message to my Rangers as you should know. Every single one of them would be here already if I hadn't stationed them in Rohan a few months ago at the desire of the King, to track down the last hostile orcs and Uruk-hai of the White Hand there. I'm not his enemy. Maybe I'm just the only one here who, after the first post-war enthusiasm, criticizes decisions of His Majesty every now and then. If that's enough to have my mental state questioned, it will be best if I'm only executing my office in Emyn Arnen from now on."

A few minutes ago, such a plan would secretly have seemed to Verilas to be a very tempting alternative to the crushing mood in the Citadel. Instead, it now seemed, he had only made everything worse. Suddenly, he really wished to have Denethor back on the black chair in the throne room, even if it was just so he would not have to carry any kind of responsibility anymore.