Chapter 5

Slowly, sky blue eyes began to clear and focus as reality staked its claim on the young prince once more. A relieved smile flickered across his fathers lips before the regal features again became smoothed into their usual cool, detached mask just as Legolas comprehended his presence and he struggled to raise himself into a sitting position.

"Nay, Legolas."

Thranduil stood and placed a firm hand upon the princes right shoulder in an effort to bid him cease and lay back down, then flinched, unprepared for the flash of fire darted his way from his sons unusually darkened gaze. Fatherly concern was forgotten as his emotions were speedily shut away once more in the long maintained manner used to protect his heart from hurt.

"Let me be."

Sharply hissing the words and shrugging off his fathers hand the archer briefly closed his eyes before taking a deep breath then murmuring a soft apology. Upon their reopening his eyes shone once more with their usual clarity and he lay still under the kings regard as if awaiting judgement.

"How did this come to pass?" The words were spoken softly yet Legolas could tell from his fathers steely gaze that the storm of his temper was barely being held in check.

"Yrk!" The prince spat the word out with distaste hoping it would be enough to appease his sire but knowing it would not.

"I see," came the measured reply. "Your patrol ran foul of a band of orcs?"

Thranduils eyes never left his sons face and he registered the faint flush that tinted pale cheeks, the slight pause before the answer came. If he had not already spoken to Doronor he would still have known the lie for what it was.

"Aye, we were taken unawares."

The moment the falsehood left his mouth Legolas knew that he had made a mistake. His fathers eyes became icy pools, his face cold and unforgiving as he stared down at the bed, displeasure seeping from every pore.

"Do not lie to me!" Thranduils rage washed over the prince like a tidal wave. "How dare you lie to me!" He had no need to raise his voice, the words, cold and clearly pronounced as they were, were far more menacing than a shout "Do you take me for a fool?"

"Nay, I " squirming under his fathers gaze the archers mind raced, trying to decide what to say for the best. "Never, I, I meant to say."

"What?" Thranduil leaned down to bring his face close enough for the patently uncomfortable younger elf to feel the warmth of irate breath on his cheeks. "Think carefully before you next speak." He paused. his eyes boring into Legolas with a cold light. "I will have the truth."

"I was scouting. I crossed paths with some orcs. We battled. Unfortunately I was injured. There is nothing, more, to tell." The archer relayed the words in an emotionless monotone his heart chilled by the kings stare.

On waking he had for a moment thought he spied tender regard in his fathers face but the expression was so fleeting he decided it must have been caused by his own imagination and longing. This was no loving father gazing at him with concern, purely an icy king, regarding a subject who had once again failed to redeem himself. Legolas felt his heart contract as if pierced by a sharp needle of ice and could not help the small gasp that escaped his lips.

"You are in pain?"

Thranduil wanted nothing more than to hold his child tight yet dare not risk hurting him further so schooled himself to remain cool. The regal aloofness he had worn for so long now fitted him like a second skin and in truth, he did not know how to live without it any longer.

Thrust into a kingship he did not want after his father was slain more years ago than he cared to remember. Left to re group and rally all that was left of his people and bring them home to lick their wounds and recover in peace only to find that the fight was not over, only suspended. Forced into perpetual battle as his kingdom slowly succumbed to the darkness that should have been defeated all those centuries ago with only the strength of his own will to fall back upon and no trinkets of power to assist him he had become a most formidable being. Yet sometimes, as now, he wished he knew how to let go of the Great Elvenking and become Thranduil, the friend and father he knew his son craved but would never allow his pride to admit to needing.

"'Tis nothing, I am fine."

Legolas retreated further under his own calm facade. Years of watching his father had taught him well, how to cover all outward signs of emotion, any trace of weakness. He knew the second would not be tolerated and equated the second with the first. Looking up to the formidable figure leaning over him he wished with his whole heart he could do something to earn his fathers approval, if not love, yet knew he was tainted beyond repair. How could he expect anything more than contempt from this beautiful, strong, perfect being, after the grievous crime he had committed.

For a moment father and son gazed at each other in silence, neither knowing how to reach out to the other, both caught up in emotional traps of their own device. Too long had they kept their feelings in check for them to reach out, one to the other, and lower their defences. So their distance had grown ever further, their personalities abraded each other more and more until they had come to an uneasy truce which left them both with a feeling they could not quite place, as if a vital piece of themselves were missing but could not fathom what or why it was. They were alike in so many ways yet could not see it and these past fifteen years seemed to have taken those similarities and re shaped them into a gulf even more impossible to cross.

"In that case I expect you to bring a full written report when you attend me in my study after the evening meal."

Drawing himself back up to his full height Thranduil once more shed his emotions and reverted to the regal persona of the elvenking.

"It shall be done, Aran nin."

Answering formality with formality, Legolas gave a deferential nod and ignored another stab of ice in his chest at what he perceived to be further proof of his fathers disillusionment. He could only watch as Thranduil swept regally from the room without a backward glance.

"I am sorry Ada." The whisper was barely loud enough for his own ears to pick up as Legolas lay back down with a sigh.

He knew what he needed to do. He should never have come back here, should have kept true to his sentence. No matter what his father or Doronor said he knew what he was and could see it in everyones eyes. Kinslayer. Even his once upon a time friends had eschewed his company, though it hurt that they did, he could understand why. He had brought his shame to their lands, caused them to be insulted and mistreated within their own home. Was it any wonder he had heard naught from them since they last left him here fifteen years ago. There was only one way he could see that might earn him at least partial redemption.

Decision made he gingerly rolled onto his side, swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position. Scanning the room he noticed a pile of clean clothing had been left on a chair beside the bed as if the healers had known he would be leaving today. A smile quirked at the corners of his lips. Of course they had, past history would have told them that they would be unable to keep him abed for much longer.

It took a while but eventually he was dressed and on his feet. Once he had begun moving it had become easier to ignore the aches and pains that lingered around the edges of his being. A more thorough examination of the small room had shown it to be bereft of any weapons and he hoped that this meant they had been taken to his own rooms for safe storage whilst he was incapacitated. With one final glance around he left, leaving behind the scent of herbs and medication that seemed to seep from the very fabric of any healing room and headed to his own quarters. He would most definitely be needing his weapons where he was going.

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~o~

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"Tell me once again why we are out here instead of in the safety and comfort of our own home?" Elladan glanced over at his twin whilst wiping his sword clean on the ragged clothing covering the orc laying at his feet.

"Because Estels restless streak came to the fore once more and he thought it a good idea to go visiting." Erohir grunted with effort as he heaved another dead orc onto the heap already gathered into the pyre.

"And because Ada thought it wise to allow the residents of Imladris a little peace and quiet." Aragorn chuckled, remembering the most recent piece of mischief they had got into involving Glorfindels armour and a pair of the captains nieces.

"I can't think what you mean!" The older twin attempted to look affronted but failed miserably and all three dissolved into laughter as they remembered the fun and games they had had over the winter.

"I think that's the last one." Aragorn looked up as he deposited another of the foul creatures none too gently upon the considerable heap. "They seem to be growing in number again."

"Aye, and confidence," his youngest brother replied. "I have never known them so willing to face 'The Ravens' before," he frowned. "They have long been cowed by our presence but these creatures seemed most willing to fight us."

Crossing over to where the young man was now kneeling with his tinderbox Elrohir looked down at the small flame Aragorn had coaxed into life, watching absently as it was fed small tidbits of wood like a young animal being coaxed out into the open with edible treats.

"What were they doing here do you suppose?" he mused, almost to himself.

"What those foul creatures always do, muindor." Elladan joined them as the flame finally caught and began to lick around the edge of a misshapen leg. "Cause as much death and wanton destruction as they possibly can."

"Yet they appeared to be moving with purpose." Aragorn stood and surveyed his handiwork. "Almost as if being driven."

"But by who, or what?" the oldest twin rejoined. "And to where?"

"I can not tell the who or what of it," Elrohir replied quietly, "but the direction they were taking would lead them straight to Dol Guldur."

They stood still as each contemplated the meaning of the younger twins words and the pyre burned, the only sound the crackling and spitting of the bodies under the heat of the flames.

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~o~

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High in the canopy at the edge of the great forest an elf stood, motionless, the green and brown he wore allowing him to blend so seamlessly with the tree in which he sheltered, that none would spy him there. The tree also aided the deception by using its leaves to mask as much of the elfs person as it could. Staring out from his perch, brilliant blue eyes scanning the ground below for movement, the elf grimaced briefly as the branch he was standing on suddenly dipped sharply with a gust of wind, then rose again, causing a sharp jab of pain along the newly healed scar down his left upper leg as he twisted slightly to stay in place. Finally, satisfied that there was nothing below he made his way back down to ground level, thanking the tree as he went, then moved quickly off deeper into the forest he called home, his bow and quiver bobbing on his back.

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~o~

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Finally far enough away from the fire for the stench of burning hair and flesh to have been left behind the trio of travellers halted to take stock. They had none of them escaped from the recent melee without injury, albeit fairly minor. The worse being a gash about a hands span in length down Elrohirs left thigh from a mortally wounded orc who would not accept the fact that he was dead.

"No sign of poison thank the valar." Elladans relief showed as he finished cleaning his twins wound then stitched and bound it with a clean, white, strip of linen. "That should heal well."

"Hannon Le, muindor, "

Elrohir smiled although a hint of pain crinkled at the edges of his eyes. The wound, though not too long, had been deep enough to expose the bone in part and his brothers thorough ministrations, although necessary, had not been gentle.

Placing a handful of herbs into the pan of water simmering gently over their small fire Aragorn checked through the meagre stocks remaining and made a mental note of what would be needed to replenish their supplies. It would be another day before they reached the edge of the great forest unless they met with any further delays but they would not be out of danger then. No, he mused to himself as he repacked the various small packages he had pulled out of his bag, in fact, if anything the danger would increase. Satisfied that everything was once again safely stowed he decided that the herbs had steeped for long enough and carefully lifted the pan from the fire, setting it down upon a small, flat rock to cool down.

"I hope that is not what I think it is Estel." The slight edge to the normally light, clear tones was only noticeable to one listening out for it.

"And what may that be, gwador?" The young man emitted a guileless smile at his siblings statement.

"You know very well what I mean," Elrohir retorted with a raised eyebrow, "and don't assume that innocent air with me."

"If you mean that this brew will relieve your pain and reduce the possibility of infection then yes, it is what you think," Aragorn assumed an affronted air as he picked up the pot and swirled its contents around carefully before pouring it into a leather cup. "I can not consider what else you could possibly suppose I would do to you." Tilting his head and raising his eyebrows in challenge as he struggled to keep the blossoming mirth he felt rising in check, he handed the cup to the elf.

Sniffing the proffered concoction carefully Elrohir stared into his humans brothers eyes, noting the twinkle of mischief lurking within their grey depths. He paused to mentally consider the scents his keen nose could discern and, forming a conclusion based upon years of experiencing his fathers herb lore in action eventually tilted the vessel to his lips, draining it dry in one, long, swallow before returning it to Aragorn with a flourish.

"So you do trust me after all." The young man smiled in satisfaction as he quickly placed the cup back upon the stone and stepped towards his brother.

"Nay," the elf replied with a grin, "but I do trust my own nose and the scent of my fathers medical teas, this one is as you say and contains none of..." His voice tailed off and Aragorn reached to catch the suddenly limp body before it hit the ground. "You.." Accusatory brown eyes glazed over and the young man gently eased his burden down to lay it on the bedroll quickly unfurled by the elder twin.

"I would not be in your shoes when he awakes, gwador," Elladan softly laid a blanket over the sleeping form. " How did you mask the scent?"

"Of the sleeping herb?" Aragorn smiled knowingly. "Just a little trick I learned in the north. Mayhap I will keep it to myself in case I need to use it again." He picked up pot and cup, rinsed them well with clean water then rummaged in his pack, bringing a slender bottle of amber liquid and a second cup that he held out to Elladan. "Miruvoir?"

Chuckling they sat and sipped the restorative whilst watching over their sleeping companion and sharing stories of the numerous times they had been on the receiving end of Elronds various medicinal infusions in the past.

TBC

A/N

Thought I'd post this one a little early seeing as I have internet access and things are still moving quite slowly in the story.

Thanks to those of you who have followed and added the story to your favourites already and to each and every one of you for reading.

Special thanks also to 5-STAR, BlackMinx17 and WhyIsThatClever for reviewing.

Please... let me know what you think!