Author's Note:

Thanks to all the reviews of SmileyXs Ice-cream Sprinkles, Teapot of transformation, Fiachrach, Ladies Limwen and Aranel, Wordspin, Someone, Dafnya, OlivierMira89, Ioly, Jesus' girl 4ever, Guest, DragonBinder, VanyaNoldo22, codename00guest, Guest (2), Bermuda Dragon, Shieldmaidenofrohan6.

Huge thanks to all the followers who waited for so long for an update.

Chapter 11

Thranduil did not like his dreams.

They were disturbing and vivid. Sometimes he dreamt he was in Doriath. He had broken memories of a small child who only saw the world in black and white. He remembered the tall trees, the scent of fresh earth after a warm rainfall. He remembered flicking dewdrops off the petals of flowers in the morning. He remembered his mother's voice humming a gentle tune as she rocked him to sleep. He remembered her strong and comforting heartbeat when he lay his head against her chest.

Then at the tender age of ten, he was forced to witness the variant shades of grey.

Those memories were the ones that he forced deep inside him and locked them away in a pit of his mind. But they broke loose from time to time, when he was unaware. Memories flickered in the eye of his mind. He saw blood sprouting like a fountain from a fallen sentinel. He saw a tall forbidding Elf with dark red hair and only one hand. A fire had broken loose, consuming the palace in its fury. He remembered pain; he had a scar to remind him forever of everything he lost that fateful night.

Thranduil knew he was dreaming, and he was trapped. Memories turned into confused, broken sequences of thoughts and fear. He saw his father beaten to the ground, himself in the midst of a ruined Jedi temple. He saw his dear mother, reaching a hand to him with a sad expression on her face. He tried to reach for her, but for some reason his hand did not touch hers. Then she wept, blood trickling down her cheeks instead of tears. He tried harder, feeling every single one of his muscles stretched to the breaking point. He was only able to brush against her hand but when he did, it was with a child's hand and not with a grown Elf's.

Thranduil stirred uneasily, seeking a way out of his inner turmoil.

"Hush."

Something cold pressed against his forehead. Thranduil felt the water trickle slowly into his hair at his temples. It soothed him somewhat. His mother's crying face disappeared. Instead, there was blissful silence and darkness. He was lifted off something soft and cradled against something hard, like a chest. He smelled a familiar scent of wood and pinecones. He turned towards it, dimly sensing safety from his nightmares.

"Open your eyes, Thranduil, if you are awake."

It was a familiar voice, reminding him of his childhood home. He wanted to, but the dreams left him exhausted. So, he slept.

He did not know how long he slept, but he did remember waking in between long enough to feel water dampen his chapped lips and a damp cloth press against his forehead. It was the same comforting presence beside him, the same masculine voice rumbling in his ear every time he stirred.

When Thranduil's eyes fluttered open, he first made note of the opulent design on the ceiling over a pure white background. He lay upon a soft bed under covers that were soothing to his skin. And he was naked. Then he sensed he was not alone. He turned his head to the side, the sound of his strands catching to his pillowcase loud in his ears.

Gil-Galad sat there on a low, squarish chair. Even while sitting, he looked tall, as if his stature could take up half of the room. He had square shoulders, a broad chest tapered down to narrow waist and long legs. On some, the look might seem awkward and gangly. On Gil-Galad, it looked graceful. But then, the Elf wore power like a cloak. His black hair was naturally oily and hung limply, bound only by his mithril crown. He wore a nice arrangement of dark green shirt with a light green pants. His legs were crossed and he turned a glass containing white liquid in his hands. The High King grinned widely when their eyes met.

"Welcome back," Gil-Galad said jovially. His eyes glittered with mirth. "I am glad. The last thing I wanted was to send a note to your father instead of a body. Because, of course, the Jedi Order burn their dead instead of burying them. And that would make my relations with Oropher far more unpleasant than it already is."

Gil-Galad's queer humour proved too much for him. Thranduil groaned and turned around, the covers riding low on his hips. He buried his face into the soft feather-stuffed pillow.

"I'd rather have stayed asleep." Thranduil said into the pillow. Gil-Galad laughed above him and thumped him twice on his shoulder. His injured shoulder. Thranduil moaned and shied away from his hand. He waved his right hand in the air, swatting Gil-Galad's wrist.

"I know a Jedi is not supposed to take sides but I agree with my father," Thranduil's voice was muffled, his face still buried in his pillow. "You take my father and his kingdom lightly."

"Well, now, I will keep my peace. This conversation can easily lead to blows." Gil-Galad said, amused. But Thranduil was perceptive. He caught the hint of cold steel in Gil-Galad's voice. It was an ugly subject, the kind that divided the entire world of Elves. Thranduil raised his head enough to look at him with one eye. Gil-Galad looked good in the sunlight, with his black hair turned golden around the edges from the light. It gave him an ethereal look. Thranduil smiled a little in answer.

"What are you doing here?" Thranduil asked, changing the subject. "I thought you didn't like loitering in the capital."

"I came for you, you nitwit." Gil-Galad scoffed. "The last thing I need at the moment is a Jedi corpse because of a small spat with the Orcs."

"I hardly call it a spat if they handle such potent poisons." Thranduil said. He grunted as he slowly moved to a sitting position. His head swayed a little before it steadied. A cool breeze hit his chest. Thranduil raised his covers higher. "I want my clothes."

"Fetch them yourself." Gil-Galad said laughingly. The king sat back in his chair and grinned. Thranduil glared at him and then began to slide to the edge. Gil-Galad's smile disappeared and he reached out with a long hand to stop Thranduil.

"Stay there," the Elf commanded. "I will not take a scolding from the healers because their patient moved needlessly." Gil-Galad paused. Gil-Galad rose and fiddled with the controls by the window until a protective barrier appeared. The wind stopped and Thranduil was grateful. Gil-Galad returned to his seat. "I doubt I will find your clothes. The healers are particular on what their patients may or may not wear."

"The healing wards are commonly known as the land for dictators." Thranduil said grimly. Gil-Galad suddenly laughed.

"I see you just quoted Erestor. He is quite fond of that saying and is so brave that he said it a few times in front of Elrond himself. I would never be so brave." Thranduil smiled at that. Gil-Galad may plead cowardice as much he wanted, but his charismatic manners often breathed life in his relationships with others. That was why his kingship suited him so well. He closed his eyes and sank into his pillows, suddenly feeling at peace. He was fully aware that he was unarmed and that his lightsaber probably sat in some lockbox in a healer's room, but it did not worry him. Here, surrounded by his kith and kin, he was untouched by evil.

The only thing he wanted was for his headache to disappear.

"Could you call the healers? My head hurts as if the Dwarves had taken hammer to it." Thranduil said without opening his eyes.

"Ah, that reminds me." Gi-Galad said. Thranduil heart Gil-Galad rise from his chair and opened his eyes to see the king reach for a full glass. "The healers told me to give you this when you awoke." Gil-Galad offered it to him, which Thranduil accepted with hesitation. He eyed the glass suspiciously. Gil-Galad was renowned for his tricks.

"What is in there?" Thranduil asked him, his eyes still on the glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gil-Galad smile.

"Nothing harmful," the king said in amusement. The glass trembled when the king laughed. "Why not try it?"

Gil-Galad was prone to tricks, in social company as well as in strategy, but he was a loyal friend. Thranduil accepted the glass and took the tiniest of sips. The water was cool in his mouth, but left a coating on his tongue. Thranduil grimaced.

"Sleeping draught," Thranduil announced, the words leaving him like an accusation. Gil-Galad raised his hands in defence.

"Do not blame me," the king said defensively. "For once, none of this needed my doing. They said you need uninterrupted sleep once the fever broke."

"I could just sleep on my own… without this." Thranduil pointed out. Gil-Galad raised a single dark eyebrow and it made Thranduil strangely feel foolish.

"Would you?" Gil-Galad dragged the words out, each syllable dripping with scepticism.

That was true, Thranduil thought to himself and smiled ruefully. The potion was a potent one; already his body was beginning to relax. He poured the rest down his throat. Gil-Galad quickly grabbed his glass when he was done and helped him back into the bed.

"How much did they put in there?" Thranduil demanded, the viciousness of his words ruined by the slurring.

"As much as they could without sending you to the Valar, I would imagine," Gil-Galad eased his head back against the pillows.

"I still... have things... to... discuss..." Thranduil managed to say. Gil-Galad patted his back gently.

"No use if you are unwell. Go to sleep."

"Could have... given me a milder one."

If Gil-Galad laughed at that, Thranduil was not sure. He fell into the dark abyss of uncertainty, bobbing in and out of memories as his body recuperated. He then surrendered himself finally. This time he slept deeply and without dreams. He awoke on his own accord and when he did, he was mercifully wearing trousers and he found Celeborn standing by the window of his room, his back to him. Thranduil looked around his room first before alerting Celeborn of his wakefulness.

"I have decided that I hate visiting you." Thranduil said. He meant to drawl, but his voice came out as a dry rasp. Celeborn turned around. The Lord was dressed in simple light blue shirt and dark blue trousers. His sleeves were rolled back to his elbows and his hands were buried in his pockets. Celeborn smirked.

"It is not my fault if you do not know how to dispose of few petty Orcs." Celeborn retorted casually. He reached for a small plastic cup resting on a nearby tray and grabbed few clean gauzes.

"By your definition, these Orcs are more than just petty," Thranduil answered. His voice fell into a whisper. Celeborn soaked a piece of gauze and lightly dabbed his lips.

"Easy," Celeborn cautioned, squeezing the gauze gently so that little water trickled into his mouth. "Some of my soldiers were nauseous after waking up and immediately drinking water. Let's see if this sits."

"It will," Thranduil insisted. The water was too soothing to stop now. "Give me more."

"Stubborn Elf," Celeborn snorted but he obeyed. He raised the cup to his lips and trickled down a few drops. Thranduil drank until his thirst was quenched. At last, Celeborn pulled away the nearly empty cup. "Better?" He asked.

"Yes." He answered. "And it sits."

Celeborn grinned but refused to budge.

"We'll wait." Celeborn answered stubbornly as he set the cup aside. Thranduil cleared his throat.

"How long?" He asked.

"Nearly six rotations." Celeborn answered.

"Blast." Thranduil swore. Celeborn laughed lowly.

"Gil-Galad told me you were muttering in your sleep before he gave you the draught." Celeborn remarked. Thranduil closed his eyes and tilted his head to a side.

"I suppose I was. My dreams were not peaceful."

"I suspect so." Celeborn agreed.

"Did he- did he mention what I was saying?" Thranduil asked.

"… no."

Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where is he? I expected to find him again."

"He," Celeborn hesitated, worry marring his forehead. "Gil-Galad only came for a few moments, on matters that needed his attention. He left soon after."

Thranduil groaned as he sat up, wincing when his hair came under his elbow.

"I suppose Celebrimbor is to blame." Thranduil said, yanking his hair from under his elbow with his free hand. Few people went along well with Celebrimbor. Gil-Galad was not one of them.

"They may both be old, but they have yet to learn to push past some tales." Celeborn agreed. "There is another thing." Celeborn said after a pause. Thranduil picked up a small square-like container and opened it carefully. He sniffed inside and took a careful taste with a spoon. Then he hummed his satisfaction; it was yoghurt with small bits of apple mixed into it. He took a few bites and fell back against the pillows. "But that is not the only reason why he left early."

"What is it?" Thranduil asked, relaxing with his eyes closed. There was a short pause.

"Your father's here."

Thranduil's eyes flew wide open and be turned his head towards Celeborn so fast that his neck cricked.

"What?" He demanded. Celeborn looked apologetic.

"I mentioned to him that you were here and injured from a skirmish-" Celeborn trailed off when Thranduil groaned and briefly covered his eyes in mortification.

"Curse kin and their meddlesome behaviour," Thranduil muttered, removing his hand and ignoring Celeborn's grin. "I can't imagine what father must think of me. Injured at a small fight. Bah!"

Celeborn laughed at Thranduil's disgruntled expression. Thranduil knew he looked like a boy who did not get his way, but it was hard to feel like a mature Elf in the knowledge of his father's presence… especially if one's father is Oropher.

"He is not going to leave without seeing you first, you know." Celeborn said, watching him closely. "He came to see if his son was alright." Thranduil snorted.

"He came to see if he was right, after all." Thranduil said, unable to leave the bitterness out of his voice. "Do not paint him for something he is not." Celeborn wisely said nothing. Thranduil commended him for it. His relationship with his father was a complicated emotional mess.

"So, what was it that Gil-Galad found so urgent?" Thranduil asked, breaking the tense silence.

"I am not sure if I should be telling you. The healers will have my head for involving you in politics so soon after you woke." Celeborn said. Thranduil put another spoonful of yogurt in his mouth and hummed in appreciation. These were the simple joys of home he often missed in Coruscant. Some things were simply not the same.

"You shouldn't have mentioned anything from the start if you didn't want me involved. Now that you did, look at me. I am restless. I want answers. I'll seek them out myself and then the healers will be really angry. You wouldn't want that on your conscience when you go to sleep tonight." Thranduil said with lowered eyes, with all the charm he could muster. He peeked at the Elf. Celeborn raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. Thranduil added with an innocent voice, "Besides, someone did say that I should be more involved in daily affairs." Celeborn was instantly charmed. The Elf threw back his head and laughed.

"I know what you are doing." Celeborn said, shoulders trembling with silent mirth. "But I will tell you." Thranduil grinned and turned his attention to main meal. It was a piece of chicken, baked in spices and drenched in a butter sauce. In ancient times, the meal was believed to bring strength to the sick and wounded. Thranduil took a bite and hummed in appreciation. "I requested him to deal with the Avari. They have been stubborn lately. They won't except any help and they won't improve their defences. I am impressed by Gil-Galad's patience. The Avari are capable to drive anyone to madness. They never listen to me, or to any Elf I send in my stead, except for Gil-Galad."

Thranduil tried to practice Jedi diplomacy by keeping his expression neutral but it was just a facade. Inwardly, Thranduil agreed. The Avari only trusted the Wild. They steered clear of stone walls and kept to themselves in small clusters in numerous forests throughout the Arda system. They cared little for politics, and even less for their own defences.

"What did they do this time?" He asked. Celeborn threw up his hands in frustration.

"The Avari believe that the Republic will betray us and that we must align ourselves to them. They said they read our future in the stars."

"Did you tell them the stars are balls of vicious gases in space?" Thranduil asked, annoyed.

"You know, Gil-Galad did bundle their chief into his ship and took him into space just to prove a point." Celeborn said, with a smile. Celeborn took the edge of Thranduil's blanket in his hand, folding the edge in a random pattern. Thranduil watched his long fingers work. "One thing is for certain; we cannot stop trying to convince them. For all their faults, they are our kind and no one else will be willing to help them as much as us." Celeborn glanced at the time, on a clock mounting above Thranduil's head.

"Come on." Celeborn said, finally rising. "I have meeting with my ministers and you have a father to please. I'll call the healers and see if they can find someone to help you get ready. Once you are, you'll find Oropher in the solar."

A nurse entered the room after Celeborn left. His wound was bandaged with a waterproof finish. Thranduil took the brisk shower, turning the controls until the water became as cold as he could bear. When he stepped outside, he found the medicines, the machines and the extra bandages were all gone. The linens on the bed were changed and his Jedi robes were neatly spread on top of the bed, along with an open box bearing his lightsaber. After he dressed, he found an Elf waiting outside to escort him to his father.

The solar was a room Celeborn made for his wife Galadriel. It was the sunniest part of the castle, kept warm by the rays of the sun throughout the year. It was an eight-sided room with windows covering seven of them. Even the domed ceiling was made of glass. Galadriel had it decorated in warm colours. One could sit in the solar and map the route of the sun from the moment it rose till the moment it set. Back when Thranduil was not a Jedi, he used to sit in the solar with Galadriel. Sometimes they discussed on every topic they could think of. Other times, they sat in silence, lulled by the movement of the sun.

His father sat with his back to the magnificent view of the morning sun.

Oropher was the definition of immaculate style. His pure silver hair was slicked back without the need of bands or clips to hold it in place. He was tall and slender, lacking the broad shoulders that Thranduil had. But underneath the tailored outfit of grey and silver, Thranduil knew Oropher was lean and strong. Oropher had no love for robes; instead he wore grey trousers and shirt with embroidered leaves on the neckline. A dull silver scarf was wrapped carefully around his neck. Oropher wore two rings, both on his index fingers. One was his marriage band, and the other was his coronation ring.

"Father," Thranduil greeted him, quietly pleased his voice was even. Oropher merely looked at him, picking apart every detail. Thranduil willed his body to stay still.

"You look well," Oropher said finally. "I am pleased." His voice was deep and calm, the kind of voice filled with self-assurance. Oropher spoke little and to the point, which made his words carry even more weight. Oropher uncrossed his legs and lifted himself off his chair with grace. He came to Thranduil with open arms and pulled him into an embrace. Thranduil hesitated for a brief few moments before he placed his hands on Oropher's back. He leaned into the embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of wood and pinecones.

Home.

They stayed there for a long time, each pouring in emotions into the embrace that words could not convey. Finally, it was Oropher who pulled back.

"From Celeborn's message, I thought I would find you at death's door." Oropher said, guiding Thranduil to a nearby chair with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Celeborn exaggerated." Thranduil said, sinking into his chair, moving the white cushion to the side to make room. Oropher sat opposite to him.

"Yes, no doubt to set us for a meeting. The last time we met face to face was when your Temple was beginning construction." Oropher said. That was over a year ago. Thranduil winced. His father maintained a neutral expression.

"I was busy." Thranduil said feebly. Oropher dipped his head once; his only action to accept Thranduil's attempt of an excuse. Oropher did not provide Thranduil with an excuse at all. Silence fell between them. At first, it felt natural. Then, as time wore on, it became uncomfortable. Yet, Thranduil could not think of a single thing to say. Oropher's face gave nothing away.

"Is the Temple to your liking?" Oropher asked eventually.

"Very much so," Thranduil answered, grateful.

"And is being a Jedi agreeable to you?" Oropher asked. This time he met Thranduil's eyes. Oropher's eyes were bright grey, a striking colour even among the Elves.

"Yes," Thranduil answered after a pause.

"Good. I am pleased." Oropher said. Are you really? Thranduil wanted to ask. Thranduil heard the door open. A young dark-haired Elf dressed in the colours of Ost-in-Edhil entered the room.

"King Oropher, your ship is ready and waiting." The Elf announced. Oropher, having his back to the door, tilted his head. His shirt shifted, exposing a part of his collarbone. Oropher thanked him.

"You are leaving? So soon?" Thranduil asked. Oropher rose from his chair. Thranduil copied him.

"Duty calls. I left the council in a hurry. They cannot fend for themselves for long. Walk with me."

Oropher placed a hand on Thranduil's shoulder and pulled him close. Actions conveyed more than words. Thranduil walked beside Oropher, now growing comfortable to the silence between them.

He turned around and looked up. His sharp eyes picked Celeborn standing at a window. Their eyes met before Celeborn turned away. Everyone who knew Thranduil and Oropher knew about their strained relationship. No one knew why. When Oropher was asked, the King of Mirkwood said nothing and refused to meet the questioner for a month. When Thranduil asked, he pretended he didn't hear.

Thranduil retreated to the room he was given, he first sat down to meditate. Then, unwilling to speak to both Yoda and Windu, Thranduil left them messages instead, detailing his injury and his progress on the mission as well as when he expected to return.

When the sun was past its highest peak, Thranduil went to the healers once more. One of them, a comely but stern-looking Elf inspected his wound and the area around it.

"It'll heal in time," he said finally as the crease on his brow disappeared. The Elf fixed Thranduil in his place with an iron-clad stare. "But only if you do not exert yourself."

Thranduil stumbled on promises that the healer pretended to accept and cleared Thranduil for travel, adding his recent injury to his file and creating a new one to be sent directly to the doctors in the Jedi Temple. Thranduil walked out of the medbay, straightening a crease on his robe.

"So, have you been cleared for travel?" Celeborn asked. Thranduil looked up and found his relative leaning against the window outside the medbay.

"I have," Thranduil said. He smiled and tilted his head towards the open entrance leading to the medical bay. "They can make fine interrogators, should you ever need them."

Celeborn laughed merrily. "Did you get a scolding as well?"

"Now, but I am feeling small. I should go back to the Temple, where I can find my identity as well as my dignity." Celeborn nodded.

"When are you leaving?"

"Immediately after I meet with Celebrimbor," Thranduil watched as Celeborn frowned, looking troubled. "You know I cannot stay. I only came here for the mission."

"I know," Celeborn said softly. Then he sighed and straightened. "I am going to meet the Avari and will not be back for a week, at the very least. I am afraid this will be our goodbye." Thranduil nodded and clasped Celeborn's offered forearm.

"Take care, Celeborn," Thranduil reminded him. "I sometimes fear you work too hard." Celeborn gave him a fond smile. With a hand wrapped around the back of Thranduil's neck, he pulled him close until the two Elves touched forehead. Thranduil resisted the urge to pull back, resisted the sound of his Jedi training in his ear. Instead, he breathed in. Celeborn's brow was hard against his own. The touch was calming, soothing and after a very long time, he no longer felt as if he was adrift. Celeborn pulled back and this time Thranduil matched his smile.

"You take care of yourself, Thranduil. And know that your family loves you very much." Thranduil nodded mutely. Celeborn squeezed his forearm once and left. Thranduil stood in the middle of the corridor, thinking fondly of Celeborn. The Elven Realms nearly always brought Thranduil a source of comfort, the kind he usually found lacking when he roamed the Jedi Temple in Coruscant. The thought immediately brought Mace Windu to his mind, which dampened Thranduil's spirits. Thranduil shook his head, muttered under his breath about duty and turned to the direction of the forges.

This time in the forges, Thranduil entrusted the guardroom of the forge with the outer robe of his Jedi attire. He winced when he jarred his tender shoulder as he took it off, and gave it to the young guard with a smile. It proved to be a good decision; the forges, while well-ventilated, were still warm. He asked a group of apprentices where Celebrimbor was, and one of them was kind enough to guide him to the esteemed smith.

The forges were constructed in the form of wings. There was the main corridor used for transport of supplies and people. Then there were five wings on either side. With the construction only half complete, only four of the ten wings were fully operational. According to the apprentice escorting him, three more were meant to open by the end of the current moon cycle. The rest will open by the middle of the year, the apprentice explained with pride.

Celebrimbor worked in the end of the third wing. Clad only in black trouser and heavy boots, Celebrimbor seemed bigger and more intimidated. Sweat ran down his body from the constant heat of the fire. His hammer lay on his worktable while he inspected a spearhead using a curious wristband on his left arm. Celebrimbor suddenly turned, as if sensing new eyes on him. He grinned as soon as he saw Thranduil.

"Up from your little nap?" Celebrimbor asked jovially. He set down the spearhead. Celebrimbor's forged was elevated, assessable by stairs. Thranduil stopped at the bottom of the stairs while Celebrimbor leaned over the fence. "Embarrassing isn't it, to be bested by a band of petty Orcs."

"I didn't know they had new weapons," Thranduil defended himself. "Or how deadly they are."

"You were inexperienced," Celebrimbor allowed with a dip of his head.

"Inexperienced?" Thranduil sputtered, mildly annoyed. Celebrimbor nodded sagely. The smith was so solemn that Thranduil was sure he was mocking him.

"It cannot be helped. Any rookie would have been just as reckless." Celebrimbor said soothingly.

"Rookie?" Thranduil repeated. Then he laughed. "I am not going to stand here and defend myself. What is that on your wrist?" Celebrimbor raised is eyebrows, noting the obvious attempt to change the subject. He raised his muscled arm, inspect the wristband.

"One of my inventions," Celebrimbor explained when Thranduil's eyes went to it. "It works like a toolkit. I can input the data of my progress and it makes predictions of the outcome, among other things. It saves my trip to the tech room." Celebrimbor unclipped his wristband and dropped it on the table. Thranduil raised his eyes to the smith.

"You are not going to show me?" He asked. Celebrimbor grinned, his teeth stained red in the light of the fire.

"I wouldn't dare. The last thing I want is the Jedi stealing my secrets." Celebrimbor grinned, eyes twinkling in mischief. "Granted, the Jedi aren't capable of stealing anything. I witnessed one in battle not long ago and I was not impressed." Realising that he was being mocked, Thranduil laughed.

"That was uncalled for," Thranduil said. "And now I fear I am only going to be a bigger target because I came to ask for your help. Did you analyse the crystal?" From the glint in Celebrimbor's eyes, it was clear the smith was in the mood to tease Thranduil further but mercifully, he decided against it.

"I did," Celebrimbor answered. "While you were napping, I managed to analyse the crystal and even write down my findings for you. No doubt you would want to present them to the Council." Thranduil nodded at that. "You have brought me an interesting puzzle, Thranduil."

"How so?"

"Let me show you. This discussion warrants a little privacy." Celebrimbor reached for the rag on his table and it was then Thranduil realised it was not a rag. It was the most faded, loose and burned shirt Thranduil had ever seen in the possession of an Elf. Celebrimbor pulled a towel from a nearby shelf and wiped the sweat off his face and arms.

"That shirt deserves to be thrown away, Celebrimbor," Thranduil said, staring at the shirt. Celebrimbor looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"If you comment on my shirt, I will make fun of your fighting prowess." Thranduil chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. Celebrimbor led Thranduil to a room beside the blazing fire. It was a small, square room with a low ceiling and dim blue lights. There were two cots against the wall, a few lockers and two work tables arranged in the centre of the room. An Elf sat by one of the tables, wearing delicate gloves as he inspected a necklace under a light. Celebrimbor spoke to him briefly, shifting to the ancient language of Quenya. The Elf answered and quickly wrapped up his work and left them with privacy.

"I have analysed the crystal," Celebrimbor said once he closed the door. Celebrimbor led Thranduil to a work table and reached beneath it to pull out the containment box. "And I must tell you that it is unlike anything I have ever seen."

"How so?" Thranduil asked. Celebrimbor opened the containment box on the table and carefully took out the shards one by one with a long, thin pair of tweezers. He laid them neatly in a line on the table surface.

"First, you need a lesson in history." Celebrimbor began, setting the empty box aside. Thranduil smiled wryly.

"I am terrible when it comes to history lessons," Thranduil told him. Celebrimbor chuckled.

"Well, you need to listen now. Do you know about the Drúedain?" Celebrimbor asked. Thranduil furrowed his brow, searching his memory.

"Drúedain were a people, right? They were extinct after the war."

"Not extinct, no. Some of them still live, in the corners of Gondor and Rohan. They are hated for their unlovely appearance and feared because of their mysterious ways." Celebrimbor retrieved a datapad from a nearby locker and handed it to Thranduil. "You can read this later. The Drúedain are known to practise magic. Now, we do not know much about their magic but what we do know is fortunately related to your mission. The Drúedain would often leave their homes to forage for food. To keep their homes safe, they place watch-stones outside their doors."

"I think I know this." Thranduil frowned, leaning over the table. The metal was cool under his fingers. "The Drúedain used to carry stones and place them outside their huts. They would choose one, carve it with the rough image of drûg, pour their magic in it so that if their homes are ever attacked in their absence- "

"The watch-stone will awaken in the form of a drûg to fight them." Celebrimbor completed with Thranduil. "Yes. Good. But just like everything else in this universe, magic has rules. If you create something using this magic, you as its creator will need to bear the benefits as well as the harm from your creation."

"So, if you harm the watch-stone, it will hurt the drûg?"

"Yes, the damage will be physical."

"So, if for example, the watch-stone is burned, the creator will bear the marks as well?"

"Yes, and no. Yes, the creator will bear the marks but he will not bear all the marks. Remember, the primary objective of creating something using magic is to aid the creator in some way. If the creator has to bear all the harm, then it defeats the purpose of the creation."

"How does this help my investigation?"

Celebrimbor smiled. It was clear that the smith was enjoying it.

"It helps because this is the same principle we are trying to use here in the smith. Now, we do not know how it works, exactly because we are still in the early phase- "

"Wait, wait." Thranduil pulled back, frowning at the smith. "What do you mean? What are you trying to do?" Celebrimbor's smile faded.

"It is not commonly known," Celebrimbor said with great reluctance. "The Gwaith-i-Mírdain is collaborating with Annatar to forge rings using the same principle as the Drúedain's watch-stones. These rings will help govern and protect the Elven Realms." Thranduil could not believe what he was hearing. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Protect?" Thranduil whispered. "Protect from what, Celebrimbor? What kind of war are you waiting for?"

"You know what happened years ago. The ancient wars bled us dry and threw our entire world into chaos. I will not let that happen again."

"Celebrimbor, is this a way for you to make up for your family's sins? You were pardoned and no one holds it against you- "

"I did not do anything to stop my family then but I will not sit idly now." Their conversation dropped into hushed whispers and exasperated expressions. "There is peace so far, and with these rings, peace will last forever."

"Celebrimbor," Thranduil started wearily. "Does Celeborn know of this?"

"He is financing it." Celebrimbor answered. Suddenly, Thranduil wished he could shake his kin. "He knows how much this project means to me." Celebrimbor went still as soon as he said it and Thranduil caught it almost immediately.

"The guild is not involved, is it?" Thranduil said quietly. "It's just you. And Annatar. I don't think the guild even knows what you are up to."

"I am their leader and so I am under no obligation to inform them," Celebrimbor answered coolly. Thranduil's temper was beginning to fray. He opened his mouth but the Force awoke inside. It tugged on him, beckoning him to hold his silence. He was not sure why, but he felt it was best to keep his opinions to himself. Over time, he would find another way to speak to Celebrimbor. Thranduil breathed in, trusting the Force.

"I realise it is not my place to say anything about your affairs," Thranduil said, returning his voice to normal. "I am not a smith. I am sorry, my friend. I was only concerned." When Celebrimbor dipped his head in a wordless act of acceptance, Thranduil asked, "Shall we continue?"

"As I was saying," Celebrimbor started slowly. "This is the same kind of principle we- Annatar and I- are trying to use while making the rings. There are some minor details you need to take care of. For example, too little and the ring will be useless. Too much, and it will explode."

"If it explodes, does it harm the creator?" Thranduil asked.

"If the explosion was not part of the design, then no."

"But the explosion was not part of the design. It happened when my partner was probing the crystal to learn its secret." Thranduil said. Celebrimbor nodded enthusiastically; their previous conversation now forgotten.

"Exactly. But now I will present you with the interesting bit of the puzzle." Celebrimbor nudged the pieces together. The shards glittered, casting rainbows on the wall beside them. "You told me that you sensed the dark side of the Force before the gem broke. Now that is interesting because when I was studying the shards, I sensed the same power we are trying to harness into the making of our rings."

"I have never heard of the Force existing alongside our power." Thranduil said with the frown. He knew that from personal experience.

"That's because it's never been done." Celebrimbor answered. "And yet, somehow, someone managed to place two powers in one place as long as they were able until your colleague began her study of the crystal."

"So does the, uh, Drúedain effect still apply?" Thranduil asked. Celebrimbor chuckled.

"Drúedain effect, I like that. I am not sure if it does in the same definition as I told you earlier but I can tell you that it was certainly not painless for our mysterious creator. This must have had serious consequences."

"Do you think whoever made the crystal knew about all of this?" Thranduil asked. Celebrimbor straightened, tapping the long tweezers against his chin in thought.

"I imagine not, but I expect he or she received a nasty surprise when it happened. Also, whoever was behind this is not afraid to experiment. Only someone brazen would try to meld two different powers into one."

"Why, is that dangerous?" He asked. Celebrimbor looked at Thranduil, incredulous.

"Surely, you are joking." Celebrimbor said. Thranduil shrugged and shook his head. "Thranduil, you cannot put two different powers together. It creates the opposites effect. Like pushing and pulling at the same time but instead of having an equilibrium, the powers simply refuse to coexist. I cannot predict the outcome but it will be catastrophic."

"I think you may have answered my questions and brought up more questions, my friend," Thranduil said thoughtfully. "But thank you, your input is valuable."

"I only aim to help. What will you do now?" Celebrimbor asked. He returned the gem shards to its box by picking them one by one with long tweezers.

"I will return to the Council now and present them with my findings. We will see where we must go from there. It worries me that the mastermind behind Galadriel's attempted assassination is someone from our own system, one strong enough in the Force to attempt such a thing." The question was, who could it be? The Elves and the Dwarves were gifted by this mysterious power the Men simply labelled as magic, though in varying degrees. Thranduil doubted the Drúedain were involved; they lacked the skill and the intelligence for something as complicated as this.

"I hope you find out who did this. Galadriel is very popular. The usual emotions around the whole affair was anger and worry for our senator." He passed the closed containment box to Thranduil. For a brief moment, Thranduil wondered if he should give the shards to Celebrimbor. Then he rejected the idea. Thranduil had no wish for Annatar to get hold of the shards. He did not trust him.

"I hope so too." Thranduil followed Celebrimbor back to the forge where Celebrimbor was working earlier. He pulled off his ragged shirt again, tossing it to the side. "Would you like me to carry a message for Lady Galadriel?" Celeborn smiled mirthlessly.

"No need. She knows all that I wished to say." Celebrimbor nodded tersely and bowed his head, clearly wanting to escape the conversation.

"Celebrimbor," he called. The smith looked up. Sweat clung to his body, a circlet of silver and a tight braid holding his black hair in place. Thranduil hesitated.

"You cannot be blamed for what your heart wants, Celebrimbor." Thranduil said. Celebrimbor's lips pursed.

"See that you find out who did this," Celebrimbor said instead. "This system needs her senator." With that, the smith returned to his work.

Author's Note:

In the fours years since Chapter 10, I frankly never realised that real life would come for me the way it did. But I am back now and I am glad to see all my people again!

Currently, story updates will be twice a month, meaning every other Thursday. So, the next update will be on the 28th.

As always, do leave a review. It helps keep motivation!

Help List:

Drúedain: They are mentioned throughout Tolkien's Legendarium. They are known to have an unlovely appearance, according to the Elves and are often prosecuted for it.

The Watch-stones: This is canon, mentioend in the Untold Tales by Tolkien. The principle in this was used by Tolkien to explain Sauron's link to the One Ring.

Avari: Known of the Refusers or the Unwilling, mentioned in detail in both the Lord of the Rings as well as the Silmarillion. They refused to travel to Aman and taught the Eldar the basics of civilisation when they came back to Arda. When the Eldar, surpassed their skills, the Avari remained isolated in the mountains and forests and stayed away from the rest of the people.

Replies to Guests:

Someone: Thank you!

Ioly: Thank you for your review!

Guest: Thank you! This story was actually an experiment to see how well the two worlds of Lord of the Rings and Star Wars come together. I do intend to keep updating for as long as I could because I am trying not to ruin the quality of this story.

Guest (2): I am sorry. D: It's not the end! I did forget that I stopped updating after a cliffhanger. *sweat drop*