Chapter 8

Floating in the cool, dappled water of a secluded pool fed by a small stream, golden hair drifting like pond weed around his head the wood elf sighed. It felt so good to be clean again. Languidly he sculled from one side to the other and back again, revelling in the peace and quiet.

He had discovered the sheltered spot whilst following a small roe deer in the hope that she would lead him to water and he had not been disappointed. Removing his weapons from his back in preparation for a swim he had noticed the black dribbles staining both sheaths and quiver and on withdrawal of his long knives was horrified to find them covered in dried blood and gore. To have neglected to clean his weapons after battle was unthinkable and shame had flared through him at the thought of it as he began the lengthy business of cleansing and restoring them to their former pristine condition. He had also taken the time to oil his bow, check his arrows and hone the various small knives he habitually carried strapped to his body, ensuring they were all ready for use. It was only when they once again met his exacting standards that he allowed himself to see to his own personal cleanliness.

Breathing in the cleansing scent of lush greenery mixed with the floral notes of the wild jasmine and roses that flourished along the bank he allowed his mind to wander briefly as if he were simply enjoying a relaxing day out with his friends. He could see them now as they played in the water, Elladan and Elrohir sneaking up on Estel to drag him beneath the surface, Estel calling out for him to help even out the odds against his unruly brothers. The three of them splashing and tumbling in the water, laughing and spluttering and shattering the peace whilst he pretended disinterest, plotting his own strategy to duck them all, then finding himself held under by all three working together. It was all so vivid in his mind he laughed and turned around in the water, ready to catch them as they came up behind him, only to gasp at the sudden pain in his chest when he beheld the calm quiet of the empty pool and remembered he was alone.

Feeling the tell tale sting of tears he berated himself for his folly. Of course he was alone. He had forfeit the right to friendship with his own rash actions and the brothers he had thought to be ever at his side had shown the truth of this by abandoning him to his fate. He sighed. Part of him had believed at least Estel would return, would somehow see past the pain and betrayal to be able to forgive, but it was not to be.

Fifteen long years without even a note. His heart clenched again at the thought of the human he had loved as a brother. How fickle men were, he thought. His father had been right. Mortals came and went within the blink of an eye, unheeding of anything but leaving their own mark, fulfilling their own needs. He should never have allowed this man to get near to his heart, never have considered him any more than just a passing whim, one who would pass from this world in such a short time.

His mind stopped, retracing his thoughts and his eyes darkened. He was an elf in exile. A kinslayer. Time was irrelevant. Love and friendship were irrelevant, undeserved. There was only death. Death for the dark creatures that dared to invade his beloved forest and death for himself when the Valar so wished.

A splash at the edge of the pool caught his attention and he looked over to where a small water vole had jumped in and begun swimming across the width of the pond determinedly. He realised the sky was beginning to darken and making for the bank himself he clambered out near the rock where he had lain his weapons, wet breeches clinging to his legs like clammy vines wrapping themselves tightly around the trunk of a tree. Shelter was a priority now before he lost the light. Eyes scanning the area intently he strapped on his weapons once more then turned and looked back at the pool one last time in a determined effort to leave his past behind. He visualised the three brothers floating in the water one last time then turned his back and walked away into the forest once more without a backward glance.

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~o~

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Aragorn opened the door slowly and peered into the room beyond. He felt uneasy, as if he were intruding where he was not invited. Entering quietly he glanced around, half expecting the rooms usual occupant to appear and sighed at his own flight of fancy. The rooms contents almost seemed to mock him as he stood there silently contemplating his absent friends whereabouts.

The room that was at once familiar and yet strange seemed so empty without the princes warm and vibrant presence, the usual clean, crisp air now filled with the scent of neglect. Bare and sparse, a warriors room, the only concession to homeliness a simple painting that hung over the bed depicting Thranduil holding an elfling Legolas tenderly in his arms against the backdrop of the great greenwood at night, a huge harvest moon rising above their heads lending them an unearthly glow captured beautifully by the artist. He smiled, remembering the first time he had set eyes upon it and the way Legolas had nonchalantly explained that it had hung there as long as he could remember and couldn't be bothered replacing it with anything else. Yet the soft and wistful expression on his face as he looked at the picture spoke more truth than the uncaring words he had uttered and Aragorn had divined much of the elfs relationship with his father from that moment. Moving over to the simple, wooden bed the young man sat and gazed around the room as if willing it to tell him where the prince had gone.

He had left Thranduils study with his brothers in a state of shock. The kings initial anger at their prolonged absences had given way to such anguished worry for the wellbeing of his son that Aragorn had never expected to see from the elder and it had almost overwhelmed him. He had finally realised that for all Thranduils regal hauteur and often icy mein towards Legolas he loved him dearly, so dearly that if it were not for the strength he drew upon from the greenwood, the king may yet have begun to fade from grief.

He had listened, with the twins, as Thranduil had talked. Holding nothing back. He had described how Legolas had at first seemed happy to be back at home, how he had seemingly enjoyed spending time with his father, assisting with matters of state that he used to profess mind numbingly boring, preferring usually to be out in the forest, a simple elven warrior, without the constricting trappings of royalty.

It hadn't lasted long however before he began to chafe at the duties and the rows had begun. Thranduil had wanted to keep him close to home, as far away from danger as possible. The risk of losing his only son made so real by past events that he couldn't bear to let him out of his sight. This he now realised would not have been a problem if he had explained his feelings to his son, but instead of adopting the stance of the caring father he had resorted, as usual to that of the King and had ordered his son to stay, causing even more friction and arguments until he had finally allowed him out on short patrols but this did not seem to improve matters, in fact it made them worse.

Thranduil had then succumbed to the call of the rich ruby fluid in the decanter his hand had been absently hovering over since seating himself at the desk, filling a crystal goblet to the brim and gulping down its contents twice in quick succession before sighing deeply and continuing. he then recounted the tale of their last meeting, the injured state in which Legolas had returned from patrol, his own anxious vigil through the night, the angry words and accusations born of worry and their stubborn pride, the hollow ache on discovery of his sons disappearance. A tremor ran through his body and the brothers stared at each other in consternation as his eyes fluttered closed as if he dreaded to look at them and see the condemnation he knew would be writ large on their faces. This was most unlike the usually brash and confident Thranduil they knew. This dejected, mournful elf was a stranger and one they were unsure how to help.

"Aran Thranduil." Elladan it was who managed to speak first. "Legolas is strong, capable, an excellent warrior, one of your best. He will be fine, I am sure."

"Have you seen this?" The kings eyes flew open wide as hope flared within him and he leaned forward eagerly.

"Nay, nay." The older twin had not meant to raise the kings hopes this way. "I have not the gift of my Grand dam, I only meant to say..."

"You offer platitudes and dreams, instead of deeds." Thranduil interrupted sharply. "Just like your father in past times." He swallowed another goblet of wine, and Aragorn watched a small droplet roll down the pale chin to drip onto the regal robes in fascination then wondered at the history behind the kings words.

"I only,"

"He only says what is true, hir nin, my lord, in an effort to allay your fears." Elrohir cut in, feeling the tension rising within his brother and wishing to maintain the peace, this was no time for allowing past grudges to reassert themselves. "As I'm certain my father would if he were here.+"

At the mention of the lord of Imladris Thranduil stiffened slightly then sighed out once more as he caught the open, earnest face of the young twin who smiled gently opposite him.

"Aye," the king held Elrohirs gaze. "I'm sure he would, pen neth, young one." He turned his head to the elder twin, "Forgive me, I meant no insult to you or yours. I know you only try to help."

Elladans smile was slightly brittle but he nodded his head in acceptance of the apology.

"So, what would you have us do, hir nin?" Aragorn asked gently already certain of the answer he would recieve.

"Bring him back," There was the glitter of unshed tears in Thranduils eyes as his voice hitched. "Bring him back safely to me."

The noise of the door catch rattling brought the young man back to the present and he looked up as his eldest brother crossed the princes room to stand before him.

"I thought I may find you here," Elladan smiled gently. "We are all packed and ready to leave."

"I just wanted..." Aragorns voice tailed off forlornly. He did not really know why he had come here, what he had been looking for when he had entered the room in the first place. Comfort? Reassurance? A message from Legolas, a sign to say he had been here and would return? Whatever it was he had not found it in this empty place.

"Iston, I know" his brother placed a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed, understanding the turmoil in the mans mind without needing words. Aragorn raised his eyes and smiled in thanks.

"Come," the elf continued briskly in an effort to shake away the mans melancholic mood. "'Roh is waiting in the courtyard, he will be getting impatient." He winked. "And you know it is never good to keep our brother waiting."

"Aye," Aragorn replied with a small, rueful chuckle then stood and walked slowly to the door. "That is true."

Following Elladan from the room the young man paused briefly in the doorway and looked back at the picture over the bed.

"I will bring him back safely," he breathed quietly in a heartfelt promise both to the painting and to himself then turned and walked down the hallway after his brother.

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~o~

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Silent as a shadow the young elf stood high in the branches of an oak tree and watched the spiders beneath as they spun their webs. The deeper into the forest he went, the more of the creatures he had encountered and although he could only count three here presently, from long experience he knew that more could be lurking out of sight, ready to leap into action at the first signs of attack. His eyes scanned the trees carefully, looking for the slightest signs of the creatures presence and was finally rewarded by a faint movement below and to his left where a dark shadow changed shape almost imperceptively. There was at least one other waiting to strike. He stood for a few moments more, planning his strategy and revelling in the mounting excitement welling within until he felt almost ready to burst, then without a sound leapt down to straddle the back of the creature directly beneath him.

The spider was dead almost as soon as the elf landed, his blade buried deeply in the small gap between thorax and abdomen, its life force spent in a fountain of ichor painting elf, tree and leaves deepest black. A laugh bubbled up from the warriors chest and burst out loud as he sprang from the falling carcass, grabbed the branch above his head, swung himself over it and somersaulted onto the head of another spider, narrowly avoiding its sharp fangs. Riding the bucking creature as if it were a branch waving in a storm he armed his bow with three arrows and shot down into the base of its skull, leaping away with acrobatic agility as it too began to fall to join its friend in a tangle of limbs and webbing upon the ground far beneath them. Ducking swiftly to avoid the sticky strands of webbing thrown towards him by the third spider he armed himself with his knives once more as the creature leapt forward and thrust out a thick, hairy leg to knock him from his perch. With one mighty downwards thrust the limb was severed and the wounded spider let out a high pitched scream in counterpoint to the joyous laughter still ringing out from the woodland warrior as he twisted, jumped and spun, his sharp blades flashing faster than the eye could see, severing each remaining leg one by one.

As the unsupported body crashed downwards the elf followed its progress with gleaming eyes, then dropped down to the forest floor to stand watching in fascination as the creature writhed in agony. His laughter stopped as he moved closer, eyes fixed as if savouring each and every contortion. Running his tongue over lips suddenly dry he felt his heart racing within his chest as he got close enough to reach out and run the blade of his knife down the bulbous abdomen drawing two parallel shallow lines of ichor from the beast which was hissing and spitting, its fighting spirit still strong.

A sudden noise behind him brought awareness back along with the memory of the remaining predator and he turned to find himself staring into its wide open maw, venomous pearls decorating the tips of its huge fangs. Dancing sideways he barely managed to avoid the snap as its jaw closed around the space his head would have been and cursing wildly he flipped backwards onto the writhing, legless body, sprung upwards, caught the branch above his head and swung himself up and temporarily out of the way. The spider followed, speedier than its bulk would allow but the elf was far more agile. Twin knives flashed once, twice and the creature joined its fellows upon the forest floor.

In the silence that followed the wood elf remained in the tree looking down upon the last dying twitches of the creatures below and revelling in the sense of satisfaction as he watched their lives ebb away, with eyes darkened almost to black, this was what he was created for. Sudden understanding swept through him. He was a warrior, a proven killer, he should not try to deny what he was, rather accept and embrace it. Use his skills as they were meant to be used. Seek out and destroy all those who wanted to invade and defile his home and if he found enjoyment in this then why not? It was only right to want to see his home restored to former glories he had only heard of in stories, only natural to revel in the fact that each creature dispatched brought him closer to this goal. After all, they were the spawn of evil, they did not deserve to live. He smiled thoughtfully as the last of the spiders stilled. Maybe this life in exile wouldn't be so bad after all.

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~o~

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It was working. The witch king stared out through unseeing eyes across the treetops. He had been sceptical when the master had suggested that it was possible, but he could feel it was working. The elfs natural defenses were being gradually eroded as grief, solitude, the constant exposure to battle, and lack of rest took their toll. It would not be much longer now before he could make the next move. A shiver of anticipation ran through his skeletal frame. He only hoped the master would reward him with what he so badly wanted., To feel again. To touch and be touched. A sigh of cold, foetid air breathed from under his hood. He must not rush, must time things just right or risk losing all and that he must not allow, no, he would be patient and bide his time, after all the result would be well worth the long wait.

A/N

So here's a longer chapter to make up for the fact that I may not be able to post another for a couple of weeks whilst I am away. I must say though that I very nearly didn't post this at all and if it hadn't been for the kind words and support from someone I consider to be a real friend I may have just abandoned it all together after reading the comments left by Winterfell on chapter 1.

So a big hug and thank you to LegolasLover2003 for being there when I needed her most. You are a very special person mellon nin. x

Thanks also to all of those who are still reading and have favourited/followed this story. It is very much appreciated.

Thanks also to LegolasLover2003, BlackMinx17 and ijskonijntje for their reviews. I realise that the three year gap came as a shock to you all.

ijskonijntje - it is actually chronological if you think that Estel and the Twins spent about 2 years back in Rivendel then add the journey time from there to Mirkwood and it will fit.

I would just like to reiterate that this is a dark fic, with some themes some people may find upsetting or difficult to read but please do not judge the whole story by one chapter alone and remember it is a sequel so it may be of benefit to read The Loss first to understand how we have got to this point.

I feel a little scared to say it but please... Review and let me know how you feel it's going.