Thranduil slowly paced across the platform on which his throne stood, agitated beyond measure. His leisurely strides were the only hint of his disquiet. Within his calm façade, however; he longed to pick up his blade and go searching for his son himself. He had a kingdom to attend, however and it wouldn't do to have the king of the Woodland elves haring off to look for Legolas, no matter how personally he was affected. The guard would do just as well. Kings didn't have the luxury of being so reckless.

For the morning, his day consisted of reports on their treasury stores, lists of requisitions from the guard and deciding trade arrangements. It was a tedious day that only served to irritate him further until he dismissed the council he'd called, claiming a need for nourishment. It wasn't untrue but he'd often work throughout the day without ever breaking his fast until the last meal. His desire to accept the noonday meal wasn't unusual enough raise questions, however and he was soon alone with his thoughts.

A lieutenant he sent out to ascertain the whereabouts of Haavelas and his party was expected to report back at any moment. The captain was two days overdue and news of a missing map had infuriated the king to no end. While he wished no ill on Haavelas, he also couldn't let this defiance of his command pass without penance. The captain of the guard had forfeit the right to his status with his actions but Thranduil couldn't help the terrible hope that bloomed within when he learned what the rogue elf had done.

Back and forth he wandered; his long pale hair and robes drifting around him as he went. The sound of footsteps entered the chamber and he stopped to see the lieutenant he'd dispatched crossing the stone walkway towards him. He wasn't alone. Four of the elves who had left with Haavelas accompanied him. It was a long parade to the throne and Thranduil watched them, utterly still as though he too were carved from the stone.

"My lord," the lieutenant said when they finally were before him and they all stopped to bow respectfully.

Thranduil studied the group in front of him, feeling a dangerous calm settle over him. After asking the lieutenant for his report, which amounted to little beyond having the newcomers reveal themselves at the edge of the forest, he dismissed him. He drew himself to his full height, eyes narrowed down at the four who had defied him. For a long moment, he simply gazed at them as if they were a distasteful curiosity. Finally he could hold his tongue no longer. His voice, soft and deep, echoed in the chamber around them.

"I wish to know… Have you ever been at leisure to choose not to carry out my will? When was it that my commands became negotiable with your whims?" The questions hung in the air for several moments, until one of them raised his head.

"We have wronged you, king Thranduil and for that we accept whatever judgment you see fit to bestow. As much as is deserved us, I beg you to hear what we must say."

Thranduil raised a heavy, dark brow, amused that the elf seemed to think they could barter their fates with him. "You will submit to my judgment regardless," Thranduil replied smoothly. "Your words will not change it."

The elf shifted on his feet, lowering his head once more. "We do not seek to, my lord."

Thranduil studied him thoughtfully, curiosity churning beneath his breast. Such news as whatever could drive one of his subjects to impertinence surely had some merit. Finally he said, "Then you may speak."

The elf standing left of the speaker moved then, opening his cloak and pulling a bundle from its depths. He held it out for Thranduil to take but when the king made no move to accept, the speaker peeled away the folds and revealed the broken remains of Legolas's bow.

Thranduil starred at it, transfixed in horror. Many thoughts played through his mind but none so crippling as that of having lost the one person remaining to him that he held close. He reached a shaking hand out to the shining wood but stopped before touching it. A voice, muffled to his ears, filtered into his mind and he realized he was being addressed again. Blinking once or twice, mouth slightly agape, he raised wide eyes to the speaker and the words sharpened in sound. He was telling about an encounter with an orc and Thranduil's attention snapped back into focus.

"A full company?"

The elf beheld his king's expression and cast his head down again, unable to withstand the terrible shock still lingering there even as curiosity took its place. "Haavelas sent word back to us, along with the prince's bow, before continuing after them, my lord. He said they've planned to use Legolas in a march against the Greenwood."

"He lives?" Thranduil dared not believe this. Legolas would only be so disarmed if he had been killed.

"We believe so. There was no trace found of him, save this sundered weapon and the orc spoke of a magic that concealed him. They're intent on finding it. They marched into the Grey Mountains, believing the prince to have gone there. Whatever their plan is, they seek to make Legolas a part of it and they are still searching for him."

Thranduil turned from them, processing this news. He gaze skipped from a lamp, to his throne, to the shadows beyond and all around as his mind worked furiously to weigh every option, its risks and its benefits and asked himself if he dared to oversee this personally. He took a few slow steps into the shadows his seat cast on the floor as he continued to ponder and folded his arms across himself. It was indeed strange for the orcs to march into the Gray Mountains. Stranger still was this magic that kept Legolas safe. It seemed unlikely that his son lived… Thranduil stopped and let a moment of sadness pass on his features while he was shielded from being witnessed again. Drawing a deep breath, he reminded himself that there wasn't a better explanation for why a company of orcs was marching into the mountains north of the Greenwood. And if what the orc said was true, finding Legolas was now a matter of his kingdom's security.

Certainty of what his next action must be brought quiet to the king's mind. He straightened and dropped his hands at his sides before calling for his royal guard, standing vigilant and just out of sight as always.

When they appeared, he told them to ready themselves for departure and gave instructions for the compliment of their kin to make ready and join them. When that was done, he stepped toward the four of Haavelas's guard and a brief flicker of gratitude graced his visage, though they could not see it – indeed Thranduil himself wasn't quite aware of it. He could see the hope and relief in the profiles before him, however.

"You will join us. And when we've returned home, you will have a choice: banishment and to go where you will, or to serve as liaison on our trade route with the dwarves and to live in the settlement on the river banks. Whichever you choose, you will never again call these halls your home."

If it were possible, the four dropped their heads even lower to bow in acknowledgement and as soon as they were dismissed, they made haste in their retreat to prepare for the journey ahead.

Thranduil watched them go, breathing deeply to still his heart against the swelling refrain his mind insisted on repeating, My son may yet live…

"Everything is so different here." Legolas peered out into the snowy night through a pane of glass. "Even the things that should be the same, they feel… different."

Seren watched him from her place on the couch and picked pills from the snowflakes on her mother's knitted throw that covered her lap. "Different how?"

Now that the injuries to his face weren't so severe, she could see how fine his features were, the smooth pale skin seemed almost to glow in the firelight from the hearth. An ethereal otherworldly sense emanated from him. Even if she hadn't witnessed the elf's arrival, she would believe that he didn't belong here. She had chosen to remain with her guest while her brother went back to his own house to secure it from the storm. She spared a brief thought for his safety and returned her attention to Legolas.

Legolas furrowed his brow and closed his eyes to the storm outside as he chose the words he felt would explain his meaning. Inward he searched, for many long moments as if he could will them to magically appear. Magic…

His eye snapped open. "Magic..." When he spoke, it was more to himself than Seren. It was an unpleasant revelation. He turned around, eyes wide. "I couldn't put my finger on it before… There's no magic here."

Seren had to clench her jaw to keep from smiling and pursed her lips as she stared at her lap. She accepted that he believed this to be true, though she wasn't ready to accept it as a fact. Believing in magic was a stretch, despite the events of the evening. Even the portal she'd seen could have a sensible explanation – the theory of alternate realities was a scientific possibility, but magic?

"There's magic in Middle Earth?" She asked with her gaze still down. She didn't trust herself not to appear as though she were laughing at him.

Legolas blinked in surprise at the question. "It's everywhere… It's the soul of the world. Even those who cannot wield it, sense it. There are beings of many kinds who have gifts of magic. From the Ents to the Hobbits, we are all touched by it and we all know when it has been twisted. Your world has no magic… and there are shadows everywhere," he added gravely.

Legolas let his thoughts trail off, trying to understand how a world so festered with shadow could stand to let anything thrive in it. More confusing was the resistance possessed by the humans, Seren and Tal. They weren't the monsters that plagued his realm when shadow took hold of its inhabitants. In fact, such creatures were unknown to them.

A wave of dizziness passed over him then and he sat in the stuffed, comfortable chair nearby. He felt Seren's eyes on him and he imagined she was likely at a loss for a reply.

"I've never beheld any tangible form of magic, Legolas," she said carefully, as she watched from across the room. "Many peoples on Earth believe it's possible, some even think they can perform such acts with rituals and talismans… but magic isn't part of our reality. We find a sort of magic in making beautiful things and meeting good people. The joys of life are magic to us."

"It is the same in Middle Earth," Legolas replied and leaned forward eagerly. "Those moments of light are what strengthen the energies of all inhabitants of Middle Earth. Sometimes, the smallest gesture can have the greatest effect; bend the whims of fate so that tragedy is avoided. In those more powerful, their gifts require a great respect and humility for all things. When that is forgotten, the magic they wield becomes twisted and spreads shadows… And in turn it corrupts everything it touches. There is one being in my realm who became the greatest evil we've ever known and has brought much suffering to the world. His armies of orcs are among the foulest creations to roam the land."

The ugly black monsters that she'd seen through the portal flashed through Seren's mind and she asked, "Orcs? Those are what I saw chasing you?"

Legolas nodded once and stared at the flames in the hearth for a long moment before deciding to voice his most troubled thought. "I should be dead. Before I arrived here, I was battling them and their numbers were great. There was no end to them. I stood at the top of a sharply pointed hill. With so many around me, keeping them from fighting on foot seemed the only way to prevent being overtaken."

His eyes lost focus as he delved into the memory further, almost hearing the clang of steel in his ears, the orcs' foul decaying stench cloying in the air around him and feeling utter despair closing in once again.

"It was only a matter of time before one of them managed to reach me and I was too exhausted to match him…" Memories of gasping for air, his feet flailing for purchase as he was held aloft by the throat made him swallow reflexively. "My bow was snapped in front of me and tossed down the hill. I expected the killing blow then but he stayed his hand. He said his master had plans for me, that I was to lead them in war against my father. I managed to gather what strength I had left and strike him so that he released me."

Still he stared into the flames, reliving those moments, trying to recall every detail. The jagged rock had jarred him when he landed and cut his face open as he'd been too weak to raise his hands to protect himself. With difficulty, he managed to pull his legs under him and crawled to pointed edge of the cliff and though the seething mass of orcs below wasn't a welcome sight, he hoped to have enough time to get to his feet and run for it.

"I jumped from that precipice…" He looked at Seren again. She was patiently watching and waiting. She was sad for him he could see but also enthralled with his tale.

"I expected to fall onto half a dozen orcs and a moment later to be struck by a dozen more. But the impact never came."

Realization dawned for Seren. "That's when you came through."

Legolas frowned in thought. "I remember falling and feeling the briefest moment of peace and when I expected pain and oblivion, light blinded me instead. And I was cold, so very cold. Then you were there."

Suddenly he looked at her. "Why were you there?"

Seren fumbled a bit with the abrupt change in focus. "Oh I… I paint. Pictures, portraits, landscapes – that sort of thing; I went to my favorite clearing to try and capture the beauty of a winter's night. I was making decent progress until you popped out of thin air."

At this, Legolas felt a smile tug faintly on his features. "I'm sorry to have interrupted, but I'm glad you were there. I don't imagine I would have survived the night, given the conditions now." He said this last with a glance at the window and the swirling storm outside.

"I don't imagine you would've survived lying in the snow either," Seren said with a smirk. "No one ever goes up that far and I would have found your body the next time I came there to paint. It would have completely ruined the scenery for me and I would never have been able to paint there again."

"Now that would truly have been a tragedy," Legolas agreed, smiling. He was glad to talk of things other than the orcs that had nearly captured him. "The painting you were working on," Legolas said. "May I see it?"

Seren cast her eyes from him to the window before looking down a moment to steady herself and then looked upon him with strangely guarded expression. "We couldn't collect my easel and supplies and carry you as well. And there wasn't time to return to the clearing before the storm arrived. It has surely been destroyed by now."

"I'm sorry," Legolas said. It was clearly a terrible loss for her.

Before Seren could reply, a great cracking noise from outside ricocheted around the house. The sound of rending wood grew in pitch and something heavy fell against the edge of the roof, scraping the wall as it traveled to the ground and every lamp in the cabin went dark.