A/N: Wow, a lot of people were about ready to attack me for the last chapter! Despite the near-death-experience, I thank all of you for the...um...lovely reviews. Just...just put down your pitchforks, please. Yes, that's it, nice and slow...

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Disclaimer: Tolkien's never getting Legolas back, cuz I killed him! Mwahahahahaha! He can have eberything else back, though.

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ch.16

Thranduil stared at the elven lord in disbelief, his heart pounding horribly in his ears. He felt tears gathering in his eyes and was not ashamed of them. Then he shook his head and gathered the younger elf in his arms.

"No. No, he's not. He can't be, he just can't!" He leaned over Legolas' still form, watching as the glow continued to fade. Yet he realized as he place a finger against the young elf's neck, a hand against his chest…there was no pulse. There was no heartbeat. And the glow granted to all elves began to die from the one held in his arms, continuing to fade.

"Legolas. Legolas, no…" Thranduil's pleas gasped from his tight throat, the tears spilling over his eyelids. He bent over his son's form, his frame shaking with heavy sobs. He felt his heart being pierced by the cruel needle of grief. He held the still body close to his chest, wishing to give his own life to save Legolas'.

"A-Ada…" Estel choked, watching the king's sorrow and crawling slowly into the arms of the elven lord. Tears were running down his cheeks as well, trailing over the tracks of the old, but with a new purpose. These tears were brought from heart-banging grief for a dear friend lost forever, for the pity of a mourning father. The boy buried his face into Elrond's robe to hide the sight of Thranduil's tears, though his own stung his eyes.

"He was not meant…to fly before me…" Thranduil whispered into Legolas' golden hair. "He was…not…" The king rocked slightly, shaking with new sobs. Forgive me, my Greenleaf, he thought. I never was able to show you real paternal love, I was never able to show you I care. I'm so sorry this had to happen, especially to you. I'm so sorry.

Elrond watched the king silently, his brain spurring for ideas on what to be done. He knew that there had to be a way to save the prince. There had to be. Elves had died before in front of him, but never like this, never at the end of so much suffering. He felt that he had to do something…

Elrond glanced at the ring on his forefinger. The practice had not been done in centuries, yet it seemed to be the only way.

Pulling Estel quickly from his lap, he leaned forward and took Legolas' arm. Thranduil sat up and looked horrified for a moment, yet the king saw grim determination shining the elven lord's eyes and kept silent as his son was placed gently on the ground. Elrond leaned over the prince, closing his eyes and resting their foreheads together, with his hands on either side of Legolas' face.

Without a second thought, Elrond reached for the rare power in the ring on his finger, going from there to draw the power from the moon. He garnered it together and reached into Legolas' consciousness, holding onto the power like a lifeline, prodding through the darkness in the younger elf's mind. He at last found Legolas' soul; it was hovering between existence and death, wanting to stay as long as his body did not betray him. With every ounce of power he possessed, Elrond called out mentally.

Legolas. Come back to the light. Now, Legolas, we need you here. Do not leave Estel and your father in grief. Come back to us.

The small light that was Legolas flickered briefly, growing stronger as Elrond fed him some of the power he had collected from the moon. Legolas' soul began to grow brighter, it was beginning to return as the elven lord gradually passed strength into his form and spirit. Legolas' heart gave a feeble flutter, but its beat did not continue. Elrond spurred it again, and this time, its rhythm resumed.

Thranduil watched in amazement as the blue glow that had died returned to encase itself around Legolas' still form. The body Elrond was leaned over gave a sudden flinch, and Legolas gasped loudly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathed. Only when the young elf's breathing slowed did Lord Ventai sit back up, his eyes opening wearily.

"H-how…?" Thranduil was already reaching for his son, relieved beyond what he had ever felt before. Elrond backed away.

"Watch over him. I will get my steed and we will take them back to the house." Elrond stood and went to speak with his elven children, who were waiting patiently amidst a sea of collapsed orc bodies, cleaning their blades of the black blood or collecting their strewn arrows. He acted as if he had not just saved the life of another, something that confused and baffled the king.

Thranduil watched the elven lord go before turning his gaze back to his son. He gathered the younger elf in his arms and placed his cheek atop Legolas' crown, rocking him slowly as he had done centuries before, when the prince was but a mere elfling. He whispered soothing Elvish words, as well as prayers of thanks to the gods, to the unconscious figure in his grasp. Estel waited silently by his side, not wanting to be an intrusion.

The king lifted his head and gazed down at Legolas as the prince began to stir, moaning at the stress of his injuries and opening clouded eyes to gaze at the face above him in confusion.

"A-Adar?" he rasped, analyzing the position he was in and whom he was with. He tried to sit up and break away from his father's grasp. Thranduil pulled him tighter to his chest, feeling the tenseness in Legolas' muscles.

"Please don't back away from me," he whispered into his son's hair. "I thought I had lost you, ïon-nîn. You had me frightened." More than you would ever know.

"I…I'm sorry," Legolas whispered, relaxing into his father's protective embrace and resting his head on the king's shoulder. Thranduil shook his head.

"Don't blame yourself for what has happened," the king said softly, tears building and threatening to spill. "It is my fault in more ways than one. So many things are my fault." Legolas blinked in confusion as he felt unconsciousness coming to him.

"For what do you fault yourself, Ada?" he asked quietly. He saw tears leave the king's closed eyes and his heart skipped a beat. He reached weakly up and gently brushed them from his father's cheeks.

"There are so many things, ïon-nîn," Thranduil whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "So many things that I must tell you later, when you are well again." Legolas nodded and closed his eyes, his awareness fleeing him. He went limp in Thranduil's arms. The king held him closer, bending over his son's still form. A snuffle sounded from his right and a light tan muzzle appeared over his shoulder, brushing the top of Legolas' head. Thranduil smiled softly and leaned back to give the mare a better view of her elf.

Khílya nickered in concern and lightly nudged the unconscious elf with her nose, wondering whether he was all right or not.

"He merely sleeps, Khílya," Thranduil whispered to the mare in Elvish. He raised a hand to pat her velvety nose. "He is fine." Khílya whinnied and lay down next to the king to keep a proper watch on her elf, lying her head on Thranduil's knee, by Legolas' hand. Her brown eyes eyed the peaceful face of the one she cared deeply for.

"Thranduil," Elrond called, striding up with his steed behind him. "We are ready to move on." The king nodded and allowed Legolas to be taken from his arms and placed on the back of Elrond's steed, the elven lord's arm curled around the prince's shoulders to keep him steady. The king lifted Estel up behind his father and mounted Khílya, following the dapple-gray that carried the prince into the forest, back to Elrond's home.

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(See? I couldn't really kill him. ;oD)

"King Thranduil, please, you need rest, especially after tonight," Elrond insisted, pausing in the doorway. Thranduil was seated beside Legolas' bed, watching the prone form carefully. He shook his head.

"Nay, Elrond," he whispered. "I would like to be here when he wakes." The elven lord opened his mouth, about to protest again, but there came a tug at his robes. He looked down to see Estel, bleary eyed and shivering with a thin blanket around his shoulders. The wounds from the whip had been treated and bandages circled his thin torso with healing salves underneath.

"Estel, you should be in bed," Elrond said gently, kneeling down next to the boy. "You are in no condition to be walking around like this."

"I…I wanted you to help me go to sleep," Estel whispered. The elven lord's heart wrenched. Estel hadn't asked Elrond to help him sleep since two months after his parents had been killed. What had those orcs done to him to make him so frightened?

"Of course, Estel," he replied softly, leaning down to scoop the boy into his arms. He left Legolas' room, Thranduil still sitting stubbornly within it, and carried his human son to his own room. The covers were thrown back on the bed, and Elrond placed the small bundle in his arms atop the sheets, pulling the comforter back up and straightening them over Estel's body. The boy cuddled down in their warmth. Elrond sat down on the side of the bed.

"What is bothering you, ïon-nîn?" Elrond whispered soothingly. Estel gazed up at the elven lord with large silver eyes.

"A bad dream," he replied shortly. "About…"

"The orcs?" Elrond finished gently. He was not surprised. It was only three hours after he and his elven children had rescued both the human child and the prince. They had been cared for, Legolas unconscious and Estel whimpering with each medicinal herb or salve being applied. The young elf prince had remained sleeping since they had brought him in. Estel had gotten an hour and a half worth of sleep, but he kept seeing the orcs, their whip and laughing taunts and jeers, Legolas hanging limply in his bonds, the abuse and pain. The child had been through too much stress in only a few nights. It would take some time before he recovered both physically and mentally.

"Yes," Estel answered quietly, tears appearing in his large eyes. "They kept hurting me. They wouldn't stop when I begged them to. Then…they hurt Legolas…they left him tied to the tree the whole night. They wouldn't let him down. Ada, I don't want you to go tonight, can you stay here with me?"

"Yes, young one," Elrond murmured. "Of course. How could I leave you alone now?" Estel nodded and closed his eyes, snuggling down into the covers.

"Thank you, Ada," he mumbled as sleep took him. Elrond smiled and kissed the boy's brow.

"Your welcome, ïon-nîn," he whispered softly. He sat back and watched the child sleep for a moment before turning his gaze outside, to the stars that glittered there. He watched as the moon steadily rose over the forest, casting its glow over the trees.

Tonight had been close. They had almost lost both Estel and Legolas tonight to the orcs. To think that they were even this close to Rivendell was disturbing. It was angering to know that they had kidnapped his son, the child he had come to love over these months as well as Legolas, one who had had enough darkness and angst in his life and treated them this way. Elrond wished he could kill the whole army again with his bare hands. The marks he had cleaned on both Legolas' and Estel's bodies were grievous and Elrond had felt like screaming in rage when he had seen them. Legolas' elven healing abilities would soon absorb the scars that had been made on him, but Estel was human and he would possess those ugly slices the rest of his life. He was too young to be living with such marks, much too young to have received them. His innocence had been ripped away by the orc army, his fears disturbed.

Legolas was probably in no better shape. The night his mother had been killed by orcs had locked him away. He had been young then too, so young. The fact that he had witnessed such horrors as that when he was only an elfling was sorrowful, but the fact that he had had to go through it again and watch another generation suffer what he had endured was heartbreaking. Elrond wondered what had truly happened and would ask the prince when he awoke.

Elrond brushed a lock of dark, curly hair away from Estel's face. He would have to stay with his son until tomorrow morning, and even then the boy would refuse to leave his side.

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Legolas turned his head atop his pillow, cognizance returning to him. He opened cloudy blue eyes to verify where he was. He blinked as he saw a blurry dark form sitting beside his bed, the shoulders slumped and head bowed. He forced everything to come into focus and recognized the figure beside him. He struggled to sit up, moving slowly so as not to aggravate his wounds.

"Ada?" he whispered, his voice rasping from a dry throat. Thranduil's head snapped up and his gray eyes fixed onto his son. He leaned forward, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes with one hand.

"How do you feel, Legolas?" he asked urgently. The prince tried to sit up again. The king looped an arm around his back and helped him into a sitting position, settling the younger elf onto the pillows propped against the headboard behind him.

"I'm sore everywhere," Legolas replied quietly. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here?" Thranduil repeated, raising his fair eyebrows. "Legolas, you were taken by an orc army and beaten to near death and you ask me why I am here?" A small smile flickered over the king's face. The prince shook his head.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "That was a foolish question." Thranduil's faint smile disappeared and he looked away, down at the floor.

"Not unnecessarily so," he said softly. "In truth, I am the one who should be sorry, Legolas." He turned his gaze back to his son, who cocked his head in confusion and stared at his father questioningly. Thranduil took the prince's slender hand in his own for comfort. Legolas was slightly surprised at his father's open need for consolation, but he hid it well and waited for the king to speak.

"I have not been what you needed," Thranduil whispered. "I have been your king, your mentor, but one thing I needed to be most of all was your father. I never was. I closed myself off from you when you lacked someone to take comfort in and left you alone. I am sorry, ïon-nîn. I have been a horrible father to you and I should not have been. When Khílya died, she probably left thinking that I would take well care of you, that I would be here for you, but I let her down. I let you down, and that is something I can never forgive myself for. You are all I have, Legolas, and I have taken you for granted. I am sorry it took me so long to realize that you are what I truly care for. Not my kingdom or my realm…if I had a choice between you or Frosted Forest we would probably be sleeping out together on a treeless plain beneath the stars." Legolas stayed silent throughout Thranduil's whole confession, his hand held in his father's. He felt that his fondest wish had suddenly and unexpectedly been granted.

"I…I thought that…you…" Legolas stammered, hardly being able to get the words from his mouth. He knew what he wanted to say, it was something he had believed for centuries, and now it was suddenly proven wrong.

"What?" Thranduil asked softly, leaning forward slightly. Legolas closed his eyes for a long moment and when he opened them again, the king could see glistening tears swimming above the dazzling blue he had inherited from his mother.

"I thought you had hated me," Legolas whispered, bowing his head. Thranduil's eyes grew wide.

"How could you think such a thing, ïon-nîn?" he asked quietly. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Because…it was my fault Nana died," Legolas whispered. The tears were freed from his eyes and Thranduil could see them falling to the bedsheet. "I thought you hated me because you blamed me for her death." The king's normally stoic heart tugged painfully within his breast. How long had the prince had these ideas? Since the night Khílya had fallen? Why had not Thranduil corrected them? The king realized just how troubled and agonized Legolas' heart and mind was.

"Oh, Legolas, is this what you have been believing all of these years?" Thranduil asked quietly, hooking a finger beneath the prince's chin and tilting the tear soaked face upward. He brushed the tears away gently.

"Aye," Legolas whispered softly, his voice dripping with emotion. He was near to having the carefully built walls of his reserve collapse. Thranduil could see the exterior of his son's boxed in emotions crumbling and quickly pulled the younger elf into a tight embrace. Legolas was again surprised at his father's sudden open show of tenderness, but his shock was swiftly forgotten as the walls toppled from the strain of sorrow behind them and immersed him in waves of rocking anguish. Legolas fell lax fully in Thranduil's arms, his body trembling from the hard sobs that shook his lithe frame. The king held his only child tightly in his arms and whispered soothing Elvish words in the prince's ear.

"I never blamed you, Legolas," he said softly, stroking his son's golden hair gently. "I never hated you. I'm sorry I stayed distant enough for you to believe such things. Forgive me, ïon-nîn, forgive me though I do not deserve it. Everything is my fault."

"Please…don't blame yourself, Adar," Legolas whispered, his face buried in his father's chest. "The last thing I want is for you to feel guilty about this."

"It is rightfully mine, Legolas," Thranduil whispered into his son's hair. "You have bore it for much too long when I should have taken the load of it off your shoulders. If I had not let us become so distant with each other I would have had it long ago and you would not have had to suffer. It belongs to me."

"Ada…"

"Do not argue with me, Legolas," Thranduil said gently, yet firmly. "Especially in the state you are in. What did the orcs do to you, ïon-nîn? Did they burn you?" He pulled the younger elf away from him, his hands on Legolas' shoulders. His eyes grazed over the many wounds his son had suffered by the hands of the vulgar creatures. Legolas looked away. He could feel his father's gaze on him.

"They burned me with fire, yes," Legolas whispered. "They also had a whip and other tools. They gave me poison as well. Wyvern Milk." Thranduil winced. He knew what the vile liquid was. He had had a taste of it long ago and knew how painful it was.

"But the worst thing was when they beat Estel," Legolas whispered, his eyes tearing at the horrid memories. "They forced me to watch. Ada, it was horrible. Why should one so young be treated in such a cruel way? What justifies that? I wanted to stop it, I wanted to so badly…" Legolas' fists curled as he recalled the blind rage he had been in when he heard the cries coming from the small boy.

"That is what I thought when I rescued you those many years ago," Thranduil whispered, gently brushing golden locks away from his son's face. "You were so young and helpless, and the way they had treated you…murdered your mother right in front of you…I was so angry with those horrid creatures…I wanted to bring them back to life simply so I could kill them all with my bare hands."

"That is not all they did, Ada," the prince whispered. The king inched closer to his son for comfort and gazed at the downcast face.

"What did they do to you?" he asked softly.

"They…forced me to call one of them…master," he spat the last word like a curse unfit to be uttered by any tongue. "I could not take any more of the pain, Ada, I fell apart. I called that thing master. It was what they wanted, and I gave it to them. I was so weak and probably still am…"

"Do not say that," Thranduil said firmly, taking his son's shoulders and turning the younger elf to face him. "You are not weak, Legolas. You lived through that horrible ordeal so many years ago, when most elves older than even me would normally die, and you lived through this one as well. That is not weakness, Legolas, it is anything but. You are one of the strongest beings I know and my idea of strength is hard to meet."

"Hannon le, Adar," Legolas whispered, raising his gaze to the king's. Thranduil smiled softly and tugged his son into another embrace. Legolas fell willingly into it, resting his head on his father's slender shoulder and allowing himself to be rocked gently in the king's arms. It had been so long since Thranduil had ever held him as such and Legolas found that a bone-aching need had been quenched. He fell slowly into sleep in his father's arms. Thranduil kissed his son on the brow before laying the prince back down on his bed, pulling the covers up.

"Rest well, my Greenleaf," he whispered softly.

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See? He's alive. I couldn't seriously kill him off. What do you think I am? Heartless? Nope, he lives. Reviews please! (We're almost at the the end!) :oD