Author's Note: I just want to thank everyone who has been patiently waiting. I'm sorry to keep you all hanging. The holidays were pretty crazy and the muse all but deserted me since I could only pluck a few lines here and there when I had time before greeting my work induced exhaustion. It seems to be returning now, though and the story is flowing again. Anyway... it's not much but I hope you enjoy this bit. I hope your holidays were amazing and wish you all a fantastic new year!

Agony in her side pulled Caireann from the blackness of sleep as she was tossed to the hard floor of a tent. The small groan of pain that escaped was masked when she bounced into a set of crates. She didn't open her eyes right away as she silently celebrated that she was alive. During the battle at the camp, she'd taken an arrow to her shoulder and a flail to her ribs before being struck in the abdomen by a red feathered quill. She'd feared she had been poisoned but now she worried about why she hadn't been killed outright.

Her hands and feet were tightly bound and she felt other bound forms near her. Distantly, a part of her mind scoffed about her predicament. Just three months ago, she had been similarly captured with Haavelas. The reminder of her cousin raised a sob of grief and it hurt to swallow it back down. There would be no Legolas or meddling humans or king to save her this time, though she could picture Seren making every insistence that they be rescued and it made the warrior smile.

Slowly she opened her eyes and blinked against the assault of light and color. Her vision refused to form a picture of her surroundings and the blurs of color seemed to shift endlessly. It seemed those who dumped them in the tent had left immediately after releasing them.

Sounds of what could only be a large camp told her she'd been moved far from her people. The search groups had arrived to send the Easterlings back from her own camp, just as she hoped. The Easterlings gathered those they could and fled.

A low groan not far from where she lay identified Laseviir and she grimaced.

"Do not move too suddenly or open your eyes just yet. The poison makes it impossible to see and you will only blind yourself," she whispered.

"Caireann?" the archer murmured. He tried to shift closer to her, grunting as his bindings thwarted him. "Why take us prisoner?" A note of panic crept into his young voice.

"I imagine healthy elves would command an attractive price on their slave market."

Shock jolted Laseviir. "Slaves? They would dare?"

"They will try," Caireann said darkly. "They will fail. Now rest so when the time comes, you can leave under your own motivation."

Reluctantly Laseviir settled back to the winter hardened ground and began meditating. Question about Caireann's ideas about how they might free themselves swirled in his thoughts but he held them back so she too could rest. He couldn't fathom how they might escape but he did know that he would earn his death if they couldn't.

Seren lost track of how long she'd been running. The clear air of the trees that cradled the river had ceded to a cloying heavy atmosphere and it lightened her head at times. She paused to breathe deeply and rested against a twisted thick trunk.

The tree she leaned on pressed against her thoughts and she lowered her guard. A moment later she flinched. It was very sick forest. Everything pulled at her, seeming to grasp at anything that wasn't corrupted for even the briefest respite from the rot and decay.

Like all plants, trees were part of nature's way of absorbing poisons and leaving the air purified. The trees for which the forest was called Mirkwood released only foul plumes that sickened the mind. Sadness from the forest threatened to overwhelm her and she almost wished she couldn't know this. For an intense moment, she longed for the simplicity of her forested mountains back on Earth. Here, in Middle Earth, every touch brought a piece of knowledge about the world around her and with it, a pressing urge to help.

A desire to comfort rose in her mind and she remembered the piercing pain she'd felt before in front of Thranduil. This time she didn't resist, letting it shudder through her. It mingled in the skin of her palm that rested on the tree and felt like a whisper of energy gently peeled from her like when she'd held Menui's Niphredil. The tree seemed greener and healthier in some abstract way. She gazed wide-eyed at her hands for a moment. A feeling of panic rose within her, whispering of delusions and reminding her that humans didn't have magic of any kind. It was folly.

Seren shook her head, though it only pushed the hysteria to the back of her mind. Maybe Tellis was right: she'd lose her mind in this forest. She couldn't let that happen. Pushing off of the tree, Seren surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye.

The path ahead loomed dark and foreboding and she saw the beginnings of a spider's web. Nothing disturbed the trees for quite some distance. However, she still thought it best not to disturb the sticky white strands.

A path of branches at varying levels offered a way over. She gathered her resolve and turned to face her tree again. Gripping the trunk, she spent a few moments settling her nerves. Drawing one last breath before setting a foot on the base, she pushed up the tree's length. Bark bit into her hands as they found purchase but she allowed only the smallest flinch and kicked off from the tree, crossing to another and planting her feet on a branch. Allowing her momentum to press her to the trunk and using the kinetic return to begin her next leap, she swung an arm out, kicking off again and returning to the tree she started from before repeating the move.

Steadily she made her way up, bouncing between trees and paused when she reached an area high enough above the webs. The air was a little clearer and she heaved great drags of it as her body calmed from the exertion. The tree in which she stood swayed and she felt for it, letting its roots tell her about the path she needed to travel even as part of her mind began to chide her for listening. Her destination was many miles away yet but she could almost see the line she had to follow clearly.

Branches, trees and vines spread before her and some of them seemed twined together purposely, straddling distances where the trees didn't overlap well. At this height, the trunks of these trees bore evidence of forced shaping, though the lower trunks were plain.

Seren grinned. "Follow the yellow brick road, Dorothy."

She shook her arms to rid them of a case of nerves and darted along her branch and leapt the distance to the tree ahead. A cry of joy almost tore from her as she vaulted with greater ease than she expected, though she wobbled a little for balance when she landed.

The fat limb of the tree rose directly up and out, allowing her to run along it and similarly to another branch on another tree. She cleared the distance again and continued her pace. A larger tree stood in her way next but a vine hung in the space separating her from it. When she lunged and her hands closed around the vine, she was dipped toward the left around the grand old oak and a firm arching limb stood out from the tree's far side. The vine swung right up to it. She released it and resumed her momentum, spotting the next set of strangely twined together vine and branches, marked by more formations in the higher trunks.

Every touch left a note of memory from the forest in her mind and she followed the path in the canopy the elves had left. Feeling more confident in herself, she spared a thought for Thranduil, Bard and the others, hoping they were alright and wondering if the king had chosen to follow or stay behind to help the town of the Long Lake. It didn't matter, really. She had one objective; whatever the king chose to do, it wasn't for her to worry about now. Legolas had to be warned of the Easterlings' incoming attack. A part of her wondered what he and her other friends, Varis, Nuineri and Ceridwen were up to this very moment. With that in mind, she focused her thoughts ahead.

"Gone."

Thranduil absorbed the news stoically. He had expected this answer but it was still disappointing to hear.

"Smaug's heart appears to have been taken from the lake," Bard explained before attempting to leave the boat in which he stood. He and an elvish scout had just returned to the shore, meeting the elvenking with the unsettling news.

The high elf's features were pinched as he waited and watched. He cast a disgusted look at the long spear Bard had used to poke around the dragon's remains as it was dropped to the ground.

"We must return to the kingdom at once, my lord!" Tellis insisted for the second time that morning.

Much as the king wished to do just that, he knew they'd never pass the horde encroaching on his kingdom. A path existed that would allow a clandestine entry but not until the Easterlings passed the point at which it joined the river and that was nearly on the doorstep of his halls. They would have to wait.

Thranduil slowly turned and his expression was stony. "Our numbers are too few to be of use. If the men of Esgaroth join us –"

"They will," Bard insisted immediately. "But first, we must free them."

Thranduil drew in a long breath. "A few hundred coming up against the Easterlings from the south will have much better odds than the two dozen we have now."

His retinue had been thirty-six strong, not counting himself and Seren. After the capture of Nuinethir, Eleros, the six he'd taken into the keep, Caireann and four others; if he included himself, he had just twenty-four to make any kind of assault and six of those were still wounded though they insisted they were fit enough to fight in some capacity. Adding Bard made twenty-five. They needed better numbers for a flanking attempt on the Easterlings to have any hope of succeeding.

Tellis swallowed and said nothing more about returning home, resignation drawing his sharp features into a pinched countenance. Ever the loyal servant, he offered his input about the town on the lake. "We have no information on what the situation in Esgaroth is. Our scouts report that it seems utterly still."

"By now, the intruders have had time to round everyone up," Bard supplied. "The last we saw, people were barred into the homes closest to the city square. I would guess many were taken to the main hall."

"That is likely," Thranduil said. "Given the time, the Easterlings will take as many as possible. The slave trade is a primary source of wealth between the tribe nations."

"If they have boats, we may already be too late for some of them," Tellis replied. "The river widens not far south of the lake."

Thranduil tried not to think about what that meant for Caireann and those taken directly south from the camp. He called for his foremost scouts and organized everyone into four groups, placing himself and bard at the head of their own parties. One group was assigned to cross the lake from the south and another from the north.

When he declared his own would enter the front gate, Tellis objected. "My lord? You cannot be serious!"

Bard watched them for a moment and Thranduil steadfastly ignored the gaze. "You hope to draw the most attention and give the rest of us a chance to begin freeing the town," he said. "Why take such a risk yourself?"

Thranduil continued as if his neither had spoken. "The final group will wait at the edge of the forest near the gate. They will deal with any runners intended to gather reinforcements and to guide survivors fleeing back to our camp."

Bard sighed heavily. "Nineteen to assault a taken city and six to hold its borders…"

"It is the town hall I am most concerned about taking. The city is sparsely defended. We must draw them from the Keep. Make yourselves ready." The elvenking turned from them, ending any further debate.

He set himself to the task of making what preparations he could; though without his armor or his sword, confronting the front gate was likely a doomed course. He paused as he lifted the satchel Seren had left him, a slight tremor shaking his hands. It was the one way he knew he could draw the most attention and every advantage was needed if they were to succeed.

The woven bag fell open at his slightest tug and he peered inside, smiling when a small elvish blade glinted at him. He pulled the sheathed dagger out and freed it from the scabbard. He recognized it as the gift Caireann had given Seren in recognition of bringing Haavelas home. The blade glinted in the sun as he appraised it.

Tellis strode over suddenly intrigued. "That is Seren's…"

Thranduil placed the dagger back into its sheath and began fastening it to his right boot. "Yes."

"I do not understand. If she was already armed, why leave it behind? I insisted she take the blade I gave with her into Esgaroth."

"And she accepted," Thranduil replied as he stood to his full height again. "You would have done more to prevent her leaving if she continued to refuse."

Tellis blinked, his brow creasing in confusion. "She is a runner. Out in the open like this, my objection was symbolic at best."

Thranduil smirked. "One must know when it is better to yield."

Tellis said nothing to that a thoughtful frown upon his tan features.

Bard joined the advisor before Thranduil and met his gaze without hesitation. "Thank you, my lord."

Thranduil nodded once. "I will accept that when we have succeeded."

"What of our home?" Tellis asked wretchedly, lacing his hands together and then pulling them apart before crossing his arms.

Thranduil stared off in the direction Seren had gone. "Whether or not Legolas receives warning in time is out of our hands and we cannot much help our kin as we are."

Doubt swirled in Tellis's eyes and a retort hovered on his tongue but he held it back and bowed before turning to address his group.

Thranduil and Bard watched him go.

"I do not take him for a coward," Bard said.

"He put down sword and shield centuries ago," Thranduil replied. "Now, he must recall skills long dormant."

Like him, Tellis had scars that weren't obvious. Thranduil only hoped he didn't get his advisor killed even as he knew that no single life mattered more than another. Tellis didn't deserve to die this day.

"You're worried for him," Bard observed.

Thranduil drew in a breath. "He sacrificed much in a war that cost him everything and left him less than whole. He foreswore all calls to battle since. What I ask of him is no less than to accept oblivion as well as certain death, should his memories serve him too well."

Bard shook his head and studied the ground. "Elves are envied for their talents and abilities but to never rest unless the world ends or one's soul is destroyed… the requirements of immortality would not suit me."

Thranduil smiled faintly. "Now you understand why we consider human mortality a gift, my friend."

Legolas wandered past his father's throne and paused. Slowly, he turned back to gaze upon the heavy chair. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to claim it. The massive seat, perched high above the dais never felt like it could be his. In truth, he had no desire to rule the kingdom and the thought of trying the chair unsettled him. Of course he would accept the duty if his father perished and the crown fell to him, but he fervently hoped that never came to pass.

He shook off the sense of foreboding and resumed his walk. Every day since the king had left for Esgaroth, Legolas made it a point to walk the grounds and halls of his home. He much preferred to see for himself what the people needed rather than accept a second hand report.

His path brought him past the library and he dipped inside to see Varis at work arranging supplies for the next day's pupils. She looked up from her task and smiled, expecting him despite his silent entry.

"My lord, Legolas; how are you this day?"

He almost answered dismissively but thought better of it and took a seat across from the instructor. "The day feels… restless. I cannot help feeling I am waiting for something."

Varis turned concerned hazel eyes on him. "Have there been unsettling reports?"

Legolas shook his head. "All seems well. Perhaps I'm overanxious. My father's absence leaves me aware of my own shortcomings."

Varis offered him a pitying look and patted his shoulder as she passed him. "You are not like your father, that is true; but you did not have the same upbringing as he. It's not a failing to be a different ruler than he is."

Legolas allowed a small smile to lift the corners of his mouth. Though he was grateful for her sympathy and reassurance, he dare not speak of his darker doubts – they were his alone.

"My lord, Legolas!" Ceridwen rushed into the room, chest heavy slightly. She'd obviously been searching for him for a time. "There is something you must see!"

He stood immediately and went to her, following her from Varis's library classroom. They wove through the corridors and took the stairs to higher levels where many personal chambers were. As they crossed over the throne room, he began to suspect where they were heading. The final turn to the right made him certain and Seren's chamber door standing open confirmed their destination.

As if on cue, Ceridwen started explaining: "Menui came to me with an unusual item and I realized it was Seren's. When I returned with her to have it placed where it belonged, I saw… It isn't possible but I am certain…"

They strode through the doorway and Ceridwen led him directly to the little solarium. Legolas stopped a few paces before the entrance, staring at Seren's easel standing in the center of the little round room. It was only partially visible from the archway and he couldn't clearly make out the rough image. Ceridwen beckoned for him to approach the painting.

Suddenly hesitant, Legolas took only a step and stopped. "We shouldn't be intruding…"

Ceridwen began to pivot the easel and Legolas hurried forward. "Don't! Leave it where it is. We shouldn't be in here."

"My lord, please…" the healer implored.

Legolas sighed and shuffled around the painting uncomfortably. Ceridwen stepped aside and watched him. When he finally gazed upon the image, Legolas felt his mouth go dry and his heart thumped hard in his chest. He blinked hard and glared at the healer.

"How can she have done this?"

Ceridwen shook her head. "I do not know, my lord. Only Seren has that answer."

Silence reigned for many moments before it was punctured by the faint peal of a horn. Legolas sprang into a run, reaching the hallway outside Seren's chambers before the much louder answering horn rang out.

He spared only a quick glance back at Ceridwen before sprinting toward the main hall. Distantly he heard the soft muffled thud of many stone doors in the mountain drawing closed. Several guards were converging on his father's throne when he reached it and a sentinel from the outer door was running across the chasm to the dais.

"What is it?" He demanded before coming to a stop at the foot of his father's seat.

"Word from the outer-most patrol: there is an interloper making haste toward our halls," the sentinel reported between heavy breaths. "The alarm was sounded immediately."

"Just the one?"

"It might be a spy or scout from a larger offense," the sentinel replied. "The message wasn't detailed."

Legolas addressed the nearest captain and commanded that all doors to the kingdom were to be barred and placed under watch. After appointing several to accompany him, he and his chosen guard made for the outer doors. By the time he reached the bridge outside, the remaining sentinels had more information.

"It's Seren," one of them said by way of greeting.

"The patrols sent word that she is running hard and disregarding all attempts to communicate, though there are no signs of a pursuer," said another. "She seems intent on arriving here without delay."

"What of my father and the retinue they departed with?" Legolas asked. They didn't have an answer. He gazed to the direction of Esgaroth, anxiously awaiting the faintest sign of Seren or the patrols.

Behind him, Ceridwen suddenly spoke: "How could she have come through the forest on her own?"

Doubt suddenly gripped the prince and he narrowed his gaze at the sentinels. "You're certain the patrols said it was her?"

"They are certain it is Seren and the message was genuine, my lord."

The tempo of rapid footfalls rose above the silence of the woods just beyond and Legolas hurried over the bridge. Heedless of potential danger, he rushed over southern hill and spotted the patrol in the distance. Ahead of them by a dozen yards was Seren, red hair flashing between the trees. She was flanked at a couple of yards by a pair of runners, hurrying to keep up. She glanced up the hill and her eyes widened when she saw him but she didn't slow her pace.

Seren's lungs burned and her chest felt too tight for her heart but she didn't dare stop now. The hill loomed, making her head swim a little and she loped up the shallower end, allowing gravity to slow her. She coasted down the other side and almost cried out to see the great blue stone doors of the Elven kingdom towering just ahead of her. Her legs, suddenly weak, buckled and she stumbled into a tree, wincing as her weight crushed her skin against the bark.

Legolas turned to follow her and was there immediately. He called for Ceridwen and slipped his arms around Seren's back for support mindful of how exhausted she seemed. Her skin was flushed red and her heart pounded against his arm with the ferocity of a stampede.

"Seren? Where are the others? What's happened?" he asked as they trekked back toward the bridge.

"Easterlings… sacked Lake Town…" She answered in a rush. She gulped for air and heat suffused her skin, sweat rushing to the surface. The world turned dizzyingly. "Some were taken… Caireann, Eleros and Nuinethir… king's going after them."

The news made Legolas's stomach churn and he clenched his jaw. He would send his father reinforcements. Doubtless he sent Seren back home to keep her safe, though it surprised him that she had obeyed the directive if Caireann and Nuinethir were in enemy hands.

Ceridwen met them at the end of the bridge and surveyed her patient as they shuffled back toward the stone doors in the mountainside.

Seren heaved in a great gasp of air to speak. "Legolas, the Eastern tribe is advancing on the Greenwood. They should arrive by nightfall." She huffed and pounded a fist against pressure in her sternum when her heart missed a beat. She should have spent a minimum of five minutes slowing down instead of stopping suddenly but now that she had, she'd never get back up to speed for a proper cool down – she was so weak and her vision greyed around the edges.

"I ran ahead of them… and cut through the forest."

Legolas stared meaningfully to his guards over Seren's head. "Begin preparations."

"Yes, my lord," they said in unison and bowed.

"I need her to be brought to the infirmary," Ceridwen announced.

Seren didn't protest as consciousness became more difficult to hold onto. Two guards took a place on each side and lent a supportive shoulder, guiding her away from the doors when they entered.

"Legolas… Your father thinks they have Smaug's blood; that it's why they took Esgaroth."

Legolas offered her a reassuring smile as she was led away. "Thank you. Rest now, Seren."