NOTES: Ummm...Hi. *waves* ...Is this thing on? Anyway, I'm going to apologize way beforehand for the amount of Original Characters in this. The whole mythos around the Mirkwood is the most underdeveloped in all of Tolkien's works and yet it's the most fascinating to me. It's a huge kingdom so, of course, there has to be a cast of a thousand just in this one place. Don't worry. Most of the OCCs are just background for our three favs; Thranduil, Legolas, and Tauriel.

Some probably really bad "elvish" translations upfront:

* Lessig - "Little Leaf"

* Maite company - Feren's company, means maple

* Solchbar - "house of the root vegetable"

* Ai, gwinig - Hail, little one/baby.

Chapter One: Kinslayer

"You think it is just me, oh King?" the elf spat from his forced kneeled position. Two guards held the former counselor down at the shoulders, as Thranduil stared down at the prisoner.

The king's eyes narrowed, concealing his growing apprehension and anger as he circled former Lord Beinion. The once noble counselor had been in charge of agriculture, particularly in the countryside and Silvan villages of the Greenwood. Over the past few years, Thranduil had noticed a subtle change overcome the counselor but thought little on it. It had been a century since Lord Beinion's mother had sailed; perhaps the change was nothing more than that. Missing one's loved ones will change an elf.

Stopping directly in front of Beinion, Thranduil's pale blue eyes bored into him. The former counselor glared right back with his one blacked eye and split lip. The guards had been less than kind when apprehending him. Of course, no one would be kind to a newly created kinslayer.

"How many?" Thranduil asked with an air of indifference, as if he already knew the answer. To a degree, he did. An investigation into how the Easterlings were able to so easily conduct raids against the southernmost Silvan villages showed a level of corruption in Thranduil's court that nearly forced the King to drive out every Sindar noble he had. Still, to run a kingdom, trust was key. At least he knew he could trust Lady Siladhiel and Lord Alagos.

Beinion sneered but did not answer. His hatred for his monarch clear upon the former noble's face. After a moment or two, one of the guards kicked the prisoner in his leg. Beinion still managed to look down his nose when turning his sneer to the Silvan guard despite that the guard stood above and behind the kneeling prisoner. Before either could say anything, a bell that marked the noon hour rang distantly through the halls. For the most part, those present in the throne room ignored it.

However, an accursed grin slowly formed on Beinion's face as his head moved to look back at the King. Thranduil didn't bother to revoice his question. He only again narrowed his eyes upon the prisoner while taking a sip from the near ever-present goblet in his hand. "You are too late, oh mighty king. For that bell tolls their deaths!" Beinion exclaimed as he pushed off the guards hands, turned, and stood.

In one quick and elegant motion, he pulled the sword from the guard who had held down his right shoulder's hilt. The guard attempted to stop him on instinct alone, slicing his hands upon the blade as it slid away from his hip. Whirling around, Beinion held the sword at Thrandiul's throat for a fraction of a second before two swords were at his own and an arrow was in his hand. He screamed and fell to his knees again, clutching his wounded left hand with his right. The guard's stolen sword clang upon the marble floor.

Holding Narlugil's sharp blade against the ignoble prisoner's throat, the Elvenking smirked. He examined the arrow penetrating Beinion's hand. "Legolas? You need to work on your fletching," he stated in a leisurely manner.

"Yes, adar," a voice answered from one of the alcoves above. The prince was hidden in shadows, watching the scenes below unfold. It was true these weren't exactly the highest quality arrows he had made but no one could discount that they worked.

A slight twitch of Thranduil's hand had a thread of blood form on Beinion's neck. "Who have you killed now, kinslayer? Whose life do you claim to have taken?" Beinion stuck out his pointed chin, as if daring the elvenking further. His right hand still holding his broken and bleeding left. "It is you who side with kinslayers, oh mighty king," he taunted. Knowingly, as the king's eyes grew large at his words, Beinion continued amplifying his voice, "I know what you keep to the south. I know whom you keep. And he and his children and his children's children are now all dead!" With his wicked smile now somewhat replaced on his lips, despite the pain of his hand, he whispered to the stunned elvenking, "We will never let live those of the Kinslayer's loins."

Beinion's head moved away from the king's sword before he threw his head to the left, forcing his neck into Narlugil's sharpened edge. The thread of blood quickly became a river. In one fluid motion, Thranduil dropped his sword, took his mantle, and put it to Beinion's neck in an effort to prevent the former counselor from bleeding out. Looking up at his guard whose hands were sliced and then to the one who still held his own sword to the now dying prisoner, the Elvenking thundered, "Get the healers! NOW!"

As both guards left at full speed from the room, Thranduil half cradled his once friend in his arms, caring not about the blood staining his garments. Pressing his mantle against the quickly dying ellon's neck, he muttered a few words of healing, hoping to stem the blood flow from the sliced artery.

Legolas quietly approached his father from behind. He believed it was no use. Lord Beinion used all his remaining energy to throw himself at the sword. The wound was too deep and the former counselor was already too weakened from the fight earlier in the day. To have traitors to the crown so close, sitting upon the council and within the palace walls; Legolas scarcely believed it until he saw it with his own eyes. They were to be in the Watchful Peace but no peace was upon the Greenwood.

"Go," Thranduil breathed towards his son, his head only slightly tilted in acknowledge that his child was near him.

"Adar?" Legolas questioned.

"Go. Find the village to the southeast. May the Valar be on our side and you will find survivors," the elvenking stated to his son.

Beinion's lips moved but nothing intelligible came out. Calmly and gently, Thranduil hushed him before going back to half humming the songs of healing. Legolas stood behind his father a moment longer, only turning to leave as the healers rushed into the throne room frantically. When Lady Siladhiel nearly skidded to a stop next to the king, cursing lightly about skirts, and took former Lord Beinion from him without much decorum, Thranduil stood.

He looked to his son's retreating form. Taking a breath to keep all stateliness, he found it helped little. "Take a group of healers that have some fighting skills with you," the elvenking nearly commanded to his son. However, Legolas could hear the waiver in his father's voice; Thranduil was worried.

"I will, ada," Legolas affirmed, nodding slightly with his back still to his father. Without turning, he reached back one hand. Thranduil responded by putting one hand over his heart and the other reaching to his son; a sign of affection from when his Lessig declared himself too grown up to hug his father. Nodding again, Legolas took off towards the stables.

Thranduil watched him go, ignoring the commotion near him and the blood upon him as well as the throne room floor. It wasn't out of malice toward the traitor as much as his heart could not take the sight of such impending death. For too long, too much elvish blood has been spilt around him.

"My lord?" Lady Siladhiel stated after a minute or two, attempting to get Thranduil's attention. Realizing what was going on, as she was one of the elves that had followed Oropher east, she stood. Her dress was now bloodied and torn, due to her run to get here; she carefully walked around her king to stand in front of him. "My king?" she asked gently.

This shook Thranduil from his thoughts and he gazed at Siladhiel, awaiting her report. From the corner of his good eye, he could see a group of healers carry Beinion out. It was unclear if he was alive or dead.

"He is alive, for now," Siladhiel informed the king gently. Thranduil breathed out, not realizing he had been holding his breath. Her look turned to one of incredulousness. With hands upon her hips, she asked "He dashed his neck upon your sword?"

Immediately, the elvenking's face turned fierce. "I am not a kinslayer!"

Siladhiel half threw up her hands, "Of course not!"

Pacing, Thranduil realized what she was actually asking. Lady Siladhiel was the chief healer and one of his counselors – one of the very few he still trusted. Before she could explain further her inquiry, he answered her while pacing, "I held Narlugil to his throat but I did not sever the artery. I merely wished to intimidate him." Upon Siladhiel's raised eyebrow, Thranduil half smirked and added "Further."

She nodded before prodding, "And he moved himself upon the blade?" Unfortunately, she could not keep the skepticism from her tone. No, she didn't believe him to have acted with thought and sliced Beinion, but she was also one of the few who knew full well Thranduil's depth perception was a bit subpar due to the dragon fire wounds.

Stopping his pacing, he turned to her and growled. Siladhiel sighed in response but had the courtesy this time to at least look down at her hands.

Closing his eyes and realizing that Siladhiel was not the enemy, he spoke again. "I thought he meant to move away from the blade," he whispered. "Instead, he forced himself upon it," he informed the healer, his crystal blue eyes looking down at her sadly.

Siladhiel looked up sharply and quickly turned thoughtful, nodding. "This follows the babbled accounts of your guards," she informed him before another question graced her lips. "And how did Revion cut both his hands?"

To that, a ghost of a smirk graced Thranduil's mouth.

Captain Feren of the Maite company was saddling a horse when Legolas arrived at the stables. The captain gave the prince a courteous bow for only a brief moment before he went back to tightening the straps on the old paint. "I have readied your horse as well as my own, my lord," Feren stated to the younger but higher-ranking elf. Turning to the prince, he handed him the reins.

Reins in hand, Legolas smiled slightly as he tilted his golden head. "You knew I was coming?"

"Indeed," Feren huffed as he climbed upon his own horse, a chestnut with a black mane. Holding the reins with a loose wrist, he stared down as the prince. "It was impossible not to with Revion and Arbellason forcing all attention to themselves."

With a half chuckle, Legolas mounted his horse as well. Feren's only clue about the Prince's next action was a sideways look and a gleam in his eyes. The old paint darted out of the stables in a blink of an eye. The horse may not have been the most beautiful, but it was the quickest of the steeds currently in the Greenwood. Sighing, Captain Feren flicked the reins and his chestnut mare quickly followed. More of his company was outside, all slightly confused as to whether they should immediately follow the prince or await the captain's command. However, the confusion ended when Feren flew past them just as the prince had.

The mounted guards flew through the Greenwood, following their prince and their captain. This was no silent assault but a small galloping hoard of elves taking all possible speed to one of the southernmost villages. It was quickly apparent what the prince was following; a series of traces, all badly concealed, heading towards the southeast. They were following someone.

Legolas didn't want to push his horse but he heard what Beinion stated. It wasn't just the former lord who planned this treachery. What had started as a simple investigation as to how the Easterlings were able to take the inhabitants of the Greenwood by surprise had turned into a multilayered intrigue with various nobles willing to sacrifice their honor for…what? Kinslayer was the word Beinion used. Kinslayer. Were there any still left? Those that sided with the sons of Fëanor were believed to have perished before the second age. Even the sons did not make it out of the first age except…except…

Refusing to believe that his father would dare harbor Maglor or any who could be held responsible for the killing of quite a few of his ancestors, Legolas rode on. With the necessary breaks for the horses, it would not be until the dawn of the next day that they would see the village Legolas was sure the traitors were heading too. His mind warred with itself at one such break.

Legolas thought upon running himself towards the village. He would not be as quick at the horse but that was of little consequence in his mind. He needed to get there, to warn the villagers of their impending doom, and try to prevent it. Alas! The traces he could see were a day old already – those that came this way were already at the village and there was nothing he could do to prevent the massacre.

Luckily, it looked like it was only two individuals who were ahead of them. Given all that Legolas and his father had learned in the past week, a part of Legolas was surprised it wasn't more. Still, though two traitors were ahead, that did not mean there were not many more behind in his father's halls.

It was the quiet the next morning that chilled Legolas' very fëa. The Maite company only stopped for a few hours overnight before making all possible haste to the village of Solchbar. They arrived when the soft glowing rays of the first fruit danced their way down through the surrounding orchard's branches. The morning mist had yet to dissipate and still only barely concealed the horror the company came upon.

Bodies. Bodies lay everywhere. Even on top of a thatched hut's roof. If it weren't for the grotesqueness of it, Legolas would have laughed at the sheer absurdity. However, it was not the bodies that disturbed him, it was the lack of sound. No birds, no insects, nothing other than the company of elves dared to make a noise. Even the wind seemed to hold this place as sacred and not move through the branches as it's normal wont.

As the prince slowly moved forward, he saw Feren off to the side with an eyebrow raised. It wasn't directed to him but at one of his guards; the ellon was off to the side, hunched over, one hand upon an apple tree, vomiting on the roots. Another guard came over to help him. Their captain said nothing. He was looking a bit pale himself.

It was a small sound from one of the huts above him that drew the prince's and another guard's attention. They both quickly climbed the rope ladders to the rather large series of telain above them.

Once in the home, Legolas' eyes narrowed. Everything was strewn about due to a great struggle. Bookcases filled with scrolls were tossed to the floor, a table lay tilted to the side due to a broken leg, and there were curtains as well as other cloths half hanging on the walls or completely on the floor. He listened again for a noise, only to hear the other guard in an adjoining room and someone else enter the flet. Bow drawn; Legolas turned only to immediately lower it. Captain Feren stood in the doorway to the large telain, relaxed but with a sword in hand. The captain cocked his head at the prince.

Turning back around with a grimace, Legolas went around one of the standing bookcases – given the books and rather ornate cloths, whosever home this was, they had to have been high ranking in the village. Perhaps the village head? Near the base of one of the walls, half beneath a window, lay a body. Legolas immediately went to check only to find the ellon gone to the hall of Mandos.

Looking towards a twisting stairway, he saw another body. This one, he knew. It was Guilin, one of the lesser nobles who did have ties to Lord Beinion. His sword was still in his hand but it appears the other ellon managed to deal a death blow to Guilin before Guilin could finish him off. Just as Legolas was making his way towards Guilin's hröa, the guard called out, "Sir!"

Both Feren and Legolas quickly made their way through the labyrinth of fallen items to a smaller flet, only a couple of steps up and off the main one. The moment Legolas saw the room, his stomach dropped. It was a nursery, or, rather, the remnants of one. Face down in the middle of the floor, reaching towards a bassinette, was a Sindar elleth, still in her night clothing and nursing robe. Feren's normally composed or annoyed face immediately turned to one of panic as he too surveyed the scene. It was the captain who immediately rushed to the bassinette only to find nothing.

The guard was even less composed than the captain and the prince. "My lord? I can't find the baby. They wouldn't…" the young elleth guard stuttered. Nothing was more precious to the elves than children.

Legolas placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as he made his way into the room. "We will look and have hope," he said in solace. She sniffled although no tears had yet to fall and nodded.

"Yes, m'lord," she responded, attempting to regain control of herself. When Legolas' hand left her, she immediately turned to pick up any and all items, searching for any place a child might be hidden. Legolas, meanwhile, looked upon the room with perspicacious eyes. Something here was off.

As the guard and captain tore through the room, Legolas left the nursery. The babe was not in there. The mother who lay dead upon the floor was testament to that. She had spent her last dying breath to obfuscate where the child was hidden. By running to the nursery and reaching for the bassinette, the attackers would, of course, follow. So where was…

A sound. A small sound. Not the sound of the bedding and even furniture being tossed in the nursery but a something from a telian above. Yes! That would be why Guilin was upon the stairway. That would be why the other ellon died protecting it. The mother ran to the nursery from the upper telian! The baby must be there.

Hope surged through Legolas as he ran. Jumping over the fallen objects and bodies, he rushed to where he believed he heard the sound. The upper telian was a series of bedrooms and baths with a small rooftop garden. The garden was directly above where Legolas had stood when he heard the noise.

As he walked through the now broken double doors from the hallway to the garden, he heard the noise much more clearly this time. It came from a small garden bench. Upon it were a few gardening tools, a pair of old dirtied gardening gloves, and the basket – presumably- to carry them all in. This immediately peeked Legolas' interest. Why were the tools outside of the basket and why was the basket moving?

The tiniest of grunts followed by the basket moving only a hair. A bit of sackcloth moved out from the basket rim as Legolas moved closer. Behind him, he heard Feren join him in the garden. "My lord?" the captain asked.

Legolas responded with just a backwards, slightly raised hand to still any further conversation. Feren bit back the words he wished to impart upon the prince. Not all of them were strictly… necessary.

With caution, the prince drew closer to the basket. He could see the dirty old bag that most likely was normally used to collect the vegetables or even weeds from the garden. The problem was that it was moving inside the basket. Another small grunt erupted as a very chubby but tiny arm popped out.

Erasing the space between himself and the basket, Legolas tore open the old sack. The elleth guard joined her captain and prince and gasped as Legolas pulled a babe no more than a year and a month old out from the large basket. He held the elfling with both arms, out away from himself with a curious bit of a smile. The babe squinted and blinked back at him with a newborn's blue eyes. A stock of brilliant reddish orange hair atop the baby's head had the tiniest blue ribbon with a small glass bead wrapped around it, forcing the red mop straight up towards the sky. The rather ridiculous styling only further accentuated the large, Silvan looking ears. "Ai, gwinig," Legolas smiled. The babe only blinked more rapidly before trying with chubby arms to reach the prince.

It was the guard -Nanessa, if Legolas recalled correctly- who moved closer. The captain was a bit too stunned at the moment to correct the prince on how to hold such a young elfling. With a sheet she had grabbed from the floor – it, at least, didn't have any noticeable blood on it- she approached the prince. "My lord?" the guard prompted. Legolas turned, the babe still at full arm's length, smiling.

Nanessa held the sheet between her arms as a cradle for the little one. Her face no longer held that panicked look but she did look almost put out as she spoke, "That is not the correct way to hold a baby, your highness." He chuckled slightly before handing the young survivor over to the elleth.

As she moved to cradle the elfling, the babe reached for Legolas again with a laugh. Legolas grinned back at the tiny creature. Once the babe was safe in Nanessa's arms with a sheet half acting as a blanket, Legolas gently took the elfling's chubby hand between two of his fingers. He received a gummy smile in return.

"My lord," Feren mouthed as he moved closer to inspect the one survivor. Legolas moved towards the captain as the guard cooed over the small wrangling mass of arms and legs.

"We have a survivor," Legolas smiled softly.

Feren's eyes darted from Legolas to the small bundle in his guard's arms. Nanessa angled the elfling for her captain to get a better look. In response, the elfling stared at this newcomer with a very concerned look upon the babe's face. The captain crept a bit closer only to wrinkle his nose. "It smells," he stated with an unamused face.

The introduction of Captain Feren and his unsmiling face seemed to scare the elfling. The baby responded with a cry. Tears quickly coming down the tiny creature's face with a howl. Immediately, the guard bounced and rocked the baby, shooting her captain a glare when he continued with "And cries."

Legolas smirked. The baby had been left in a dirty old vegetable sack in a basket for the night with no one else around. Smelling bad was only a natural consequence of soiling the cloth. Standing next to the captain, the prince turned to him, "Crying, at least, is alive."

It was nearly an hour later when another of the guards entered the large telian. Captain Feren and Legolas had secured the home and now worked to arrange the bodies in a dignified manner near the entrance. It would allow them to gather the dead more easily later when they prepared the burials. The guard looked between the two of them when both stood, having placed the mother of the babe carefully to the side. "Report!" Captain Feren ordered.

The guard said nothing but only shook his head. "We found…" he gulped before straightening again. "..no survivors." Legolas turned his head. There were 376 villagers here in the center with a few more on the outskirts of the orchard. Or, at least, that was according to the books. They could not all be dead! Two ellyn, assuming that's all there were of attackers, took out the population of a village?

Feren raised his chin and nodded slightly, his face a stoic mask. "Have you collected the bodies?"

"We are, sir," the guard replied. "Thirty nine, so far."

"Any signs that the villagers may have fled? Do you recognize anyone among the bodies?" Legolas quickly interjected. He was trying to get better at just letting the command structure handle things and not interrupt unless necessary. However, his need for information, his curiosity got the better of him. The flicker of the guard's eyes to Feren and the prince knew he had done wrong again. To Feren, he gave a slight apologetic bow.

"Forgive me."

Feren nodded. He accepted the apology mostly due to his own interests; the captain too wished to know if his guards recognized any of the dead.

"We believe a few may have gotten away to the northeast and w…" the guard started when a startled noise caught all three ellyn's attention. The sound of a huge bowl crashing followed by water being spilt along with the half pulled cry of the elleth upstairs made the ellyn turn and start to run to the sound.

"It's alright!" Nanessa cried out quickly followed by a baby's gleeful laugh. The guard who had come to report sucked in a breath in surprise. Legolas turned to him and offered a slight smile. Yes, there was at least one survivor so far.

"She just kicked the wash basin," Nanessa continued.

"She?" Feren immediately followed. Nanessa made a barely audible hum in affirmative from the upper telian.

"Um, uh…would someone bring another dress for her? The one I brought out is soaked," Nanessa asked nervously. She did not wish to order her commanding officer or worse, her prince!, around but she couldn't exactly leave the baby right now either. As she was one of the few guards that grew up with siblings and far fewer that had had a child herself, it was only natural she take care of the little one.

Legolas chuckled and moved to the nursery to get something for the copper topped baby elleth to wear. Feren informed Nanessa that a replacement garment would be up in a moment.

As the prince moved towards the stairwell, a small blue dress with silk embroidery and wooden beads in hand, he heard more of the guard's report. "…came from the southeast. The villagers gathered in the hall. It appears they died from smoke…"

Legolas clutched the small dress tightly, wrinkling it. Yes, that would be an easy way for two individuals to murder an entire village – elven village halls were more of a large feast hall with a kitchen and a community root cellar. They were made of stone so that fire was not a concern. However, stone also meant you could not break through the walls should the way be barred.

He took the steps to the upper telian and followed the noise of a very amused baby with a slightly exasperated guard. "…stay still! Really, little one, all this wiggling will only make more things break," he heard Nanessa say.

Legolas moved to lean against the doorframe of the small bath. The wash basin looked cleaved in two on the floor but its stand was still upright apart from a small branch, broken at the top, that would have normally held the basin in place. Water and dirty rags covered the floor. On an improvised tabletop, Nanessa held the wiggly but smiling babe that only had a thin long shift on.

"I believe this will work for the young elleth," the prince interjected, holding out the slightly mussed dress. Nanessa bowed her head to her prince before taking the small blue bundle of cloth. She held it up for a split second, inspecting the dress, leaving the baby girl without constricting hands to hold her in place. This was all it took for the girl to force her body to a roll and nearly topple to the floor with the broken wash basin. Thankfully, the guard and the prince's reflexes were quick. Nanessa reached out and put a hand to the child's stomach while Legolas moved around the guard and used his body as a wall between the edge of the table and babe.

Once he was sure the child could move no more, he stepped back. "I take it the gwinig is perfectly fine?" he prompted. One of the many reasons to wash the child here was to make sure the babe had no injuries. They had doubted it give that she seemed quite content and charming.

"She is, my lord," Nanessa started as she moved to put the dress on the babe. The tiny girl was having none of it. She was perfectly content in her shift. "However, we will need to find a goat soon."

Legolas cocked his head and furrowed his brow at that. In his moment of confusion, he looked quite a bit like his father. "A goat?" he asked. Why would they possibly need a goat in all this chaos?

Nanessa gave the babe a look she had given her own child a couple hundred years ago when her own son would attempt to prevent his parents from dressing him. With that, the baby stilled enough for her to dress her.

Amused at the prince's question, she smiled slightly. "The little one will need to eat, and soon, my lord. She is not yet old enough for anything from the table," Nanessa explained. Once the dress was fully on the now not exactly amused baby, the guard turned to Legolas. Her eyes were still slightly downcast due to royal being near. The baby was softly gurgling in her arms. Somehow, one sock was already half off. "Goat's milk will be best for her until we can get back home."

"Of course," Legolas breathed. The baby's mother was dead. There was no one to nurse the elfling so the babe had not eaten since at least last night. Standing up straighter, he quickly turned, intending to go and find a goat somewhere in this murder scene. Looking back over his shoulder at the ellith – Nanessa was cooing at the baby again- he wondered who would care for the little one once they did manage to bring her home.

Notes:

Probably should mention that elves count their years from the moment of conception. So to the elves, the coppertop gwinig is a year and a month but to some human cultures (not all! not even now!) she's only a month old. Also, elflings develop their minds very quickly and, according to Tolkien, can run when they are a human year old/elvish two year old. However, it takes anywhere from 50 to 100 years for an elf to fully grow up. Tauriel ...err...I mean the very cute gwinig will be a little thing for a while yet. ;-)