Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or Lord of the Rings. If I did… why would I be writing this?

A/N: No, I'm not dead! Amazing, huh? Um… yeah, I just finished this. I'm really sorry. I have no excuse, really. I've been lazy, and that's really all there is too it. I'm going to try to stick with the story, really I am. On another, unrelated note, I uploaded another story (a one-shot) today, as a peace offering for this chapter being so very, VERY late. So, check that out if you want to. And PLEASE take the time to review! Enjoy!

Chapter 13

Silverwish kept easy pace with Asfaloth and the twin's mounts as they trotted over the fields, as happy and carefree as ever. Legolas's mind too was at peace with his descision to return to his father as soon as this venture was over. In a way, to be traveling again raised Legolas's spirits, knowing he could see his father very soon.

Elrohir was chatting away about what they could do in Lothlorien, and while occasionally Elladan would comment on something, the elder twin's mind was clearly on other things. Glorfindel was rather silent, and had been for some time. Legolas didn't feel much like speaking either, so they all listened to Elrohir as he spoke happily, oblivious, or acting so, to their odd silence.

After some time, they decided to stop for lunch. They dismounted and sat under a grove of trees that provided shade, eating fruits and lembas that had been provided by the cooks of Imladris. The meal passed in an odd and nearly uncomfortable silence, broken only by quiet requests for more fruit. Legolas lost himself in thought of Mirkwood; of what he would say to his father when he first saw him.

Legolas still worried his father would be angry with him, but he felt he would be too glad to see Thranduil to care much. Already almost a dozen scenarios of meeting his father had run through Legolas's head. The prince was quite content to daydream about their reuniting for now.

After they finished lunch, Glorfindel got to his feet, "I'm going to scout ahead, not far, but far enough I'll know if we're in any immediate danger. We aren't protected out here, and a threat has been growing in my mind this day. Here, however, you should be rather safe."

Legolas nodded and agreed, "We can take refuge in the trees should we need to."

"The trees," Elrohir repeated, looking at said objects with a worried expression, telling Legolas that the younger twin didn't know how to hide in the trees.

"It is definitely a Woodland trait then." Legolas thought to himself in slight amusement, "I should've figured, we live among trees, so we would know best how to use them to our advantage."

"Aye," Elladan responded to his brother, a cheeky smile on his face, "The trees,"

Glorfindel chuckled lightly before mounting Asfaloth and riding south with speed. Just as the sun reached its peak, Legolas felt something jump inside him, without any warning. He closed his eyes, and suddenly felt hints of fear, adrenaline, and pain course through his mind. It had been a long time since he had experienced anything the way he was now.

The last time he felt this way was when his father was injured by Spiders in the woods. He had felt the same rush of emotions in the same way. Legolas was unaware for how long he tried to figure out what was happening; how long he tried to reawaken the bond that had once burned strong between father and son, but upon doing so, all he felt was the faintest touch of guilt, grief, and some other emotion Legolas couldn't place. It felt familiar, Legolas knew, so faintly familiar, like a dream, or a dream of a dream, but he couldn't place it.

He was suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder and his eyes shot open. Glorfindel had apparently returned and was now crouched beside Legolas, eyes full of worry.

"Is something wrong?" Glorfindel inquired.

"I-I don't know," Legolas answered softly and truthfully.

Elladan walked over and stood above Legolas, frowning at Legolas's answer and saying stubbornly, "Something is clearly wrong, Legolas. What is it?"

"It isn't important; it doesn't have anything to do with us." Legolas answered, but a sudden wave of unease washed over him, and he added inwardly, "Or, at least, I don't think it does."

All Legolas knew was that something was wrong with his father, and quite possibly something was wrong with their- Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir, and Glorfindel's- journey as well. Legolas had never been one to ignore unease, and vowed silently to watch his back carefully.

As they rode into the marshes, Faeron called back to the king, "Stay close."

"I know." Thranduil responded, trying hard to sound calm, or even slightly annoyed: anything to hide how he truly felt. He still had the aggravating feeling that something was wrong, very wrong. Thranduil didn't want to bother his friend with a mere feeling, however.

Thranduil's thoughts began to wander, they wandered to Legolas again. Thranduil felt his heart beat faster at the thought of finding his son safe again. The king got lost in his thoughts for a few moments; when he looked up, a thick fog had settled over the marshland, and Thranduil couldn't see Faeron.

"Mellon nin?" Thranduil called, praying for an answer.

He got one, but it was one he would've rather not received. Several men were suddenly everywhere, an arrow piercing the king's horse. The dead animal fell, and Thranduil barely leapt off its back in time to avoid becoming stuck under the full weight of the dead animal. Horror flashed through his mind at the sight of his dead companion, but now was not the time to dwell on such things. The elf drew his sword, raising it into a defensive position, his heart racing in terror.

They didn't ever give him a fair chance, instead, all five men rushed at once, and somewhere in the chaos, his sword was knocked away by one of the other weapons. He found a blade held to his throat and a man on either side of him, each holding one of his arms, effectively keeping him still. Thranduil, knowing there was little chance of escaped, felt the anger rise in his chest. Desperation flashed through him.

Letting authority fill his voice, he demanded loudly, "Release me now!"

One of the men, who Thranduil took to be the leader, scoffed walking forward, surveying Thranduil with slight interest, "We are not under your control, Elvenking. Try to keep in mind that you are the prisoner here."

Thranduil tried to struggle free, but the blade only came closer to his neck. Thranduil closed his eyes, wondering if it wouldn't be better to die now by this man's blade before responding coldly, "You won't get away with this."

"My dear Elvenking, I already have." The leader sneered, a touch of madness in his eyes that made Thranduil's heart beat faster in horror. A madman was an even more dangerous captor than a sane or even vengeful captor. The man looked around at his companions, "Let's move, if we go quickly, we'll be back tomorrow night!"

The men seemed inspired by this and Thranduil felt his hands being bound with rope. It wasn't elvish rope, and thus wasn't as strong, but the men tied it tight enough around his wrists that the strength of the rope itself was of little matter.

Thranduil felt suddenly as though a heavy weight had been dropped back on his shoulders. At that moment, he was in despair, total despair. His world crashed down; became filled with pure grief as his hope of ever seeing his only son slipped away.

Meanwhile, Faeron had realized the king was no longer following. Turning around, the advisor rode swiftly, hoping to find his lord. At some point, Faeron found a dark lump on the ground and dismounted. Crouching, Faeron recognized the body as that of the King's horse. Fear shooting through him, Faeron scouted the surrounding area and didn't find Thranduil's body, but he did find a large number of tracks.

Faeron swung up on his horse, and followed the clear tracks out of the marsh. Once out of the wetlands, they had turned east, toward the Misty Mountains. Even now, Faeron's keen elf eyes could see a group of men that were most likely responsible for this. Faeron frowned, looking at the party, silently debating about what to do.

He could ride fast to Lorien, and plead help from the Lady Galadriel. But then, he told himself, he could lose the trail. Or, on the other hand, he could ride after these men, which, as he reminded himself, was somewhat foolhardy, as he was but one. But still, his sense of duty to his old friend overcame him and in moments, his stallion was racing east, intent on freeing his king.

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