A/N: Thank you Guest and Lord Illyren for your reviews! Only one more chapter after this, and then a short epilogue. Thanks so much for following this story. ^_^

Chapter 13: Lock and Key

Thranduil felt as though he'd been swept up in a hurricane, buffeted by violent gales on all sides until suddenly it stopped, and he found himself blinking up at a canopy of wispy gray trees. For a long moment, he couldn't move, as though he was not connected to his body. Except…hadn't he badgered Mithrandir into separating his fëa from his physical shell? What had given him that preposterous idea?

"My lord, Thranduil," a voice penetrated the haze of his mind, and he turned his head to find Glorfindel kneeling next to him. The elf warrior seemed larger somehow, a soft aura outlining his form in an ethereal silhouette. Any signs of the wounds he bore before were now gone.

"I know it feels strange, but you must collect yourself and get up."

A hand slipped under his back, pushing Thranduil into a sitting position. His head swam, and he squinted against the rush. "That was a rough transition," he grunted.

"We did not exactly go about it the normal way," Glorfindel replied, and stood up. He closed his eyes, and the glow about him seemed to increase, gathering in intensity in his hands. Thranduil's breath caught as the golden light billowed up to coalesce into two gleaming swords. Glorfindel opened his eyes and handed one to Thranduil when the Elvenking got to his feet.

"From the Istari," the elf-lord said.

Thranduil gazed in wonder at the sword, the blade appearing to be made of some midnight-blue alloy, the hilt pure silver.

"Legolas must be nearby," Glorfindel continued. "Gandalf says you should be able to sense him."

Thranduil arched a brow. "You are communicating with Mithrandir?" He looked around, but did not see the Grey Wizard, nor hear any voices in his head.

Glorfindel nodded, shrewd eyes evaluating the strange, decaying forest. "As I said, I am a little more versed in the ways of spirit travel than most of the Eldar."

So it seemed. He had never known the Glorfindel of legend who slew a balrog, for Thranduil had been born later in the First Age. But looking at the Ñoldo warrior before him now, he could see the greatness of one who had lived during the Elder Days, sailed from Valinor to Middle-earth where he perished in battle, and after an age in the Halls of Waiting, came back to Middle-earth once more. And Thranduil was suddenly grateful to have such an elf by his side.

"We must hurry." Glorfindel's urgency snapped Thranduil out of his awe.

He wanted to ask how he was supposed to find Legolas in this place, but at the mere thought of his son, Thranduil felt a ping inside his chest, tugging him in a specific direction. "This way."

Together they strode under the waxen trees until they came to a copse mantled in heavy webs. Thranduil stiffened, recalling what Mornince had said about the horrors she'd populated this realm with, and he quickly scanned the tree tops for Giant Spiders. He heard Glorfindel suck in a sharp breath, and whipped his gaze lower to where a group of giant bats—not spiders—appeared to be feasting on cocooned catches. And in that moment, Thranduil knew beyond a shadow of doubt where Legolas was.

Without a sound, he raised his sword and charged, a silent, deadly agent of retribution. The first bat fell, its skull cloven in two as it drank; Thranduil was careful not to strike the body of whoever was trapped against the trunk of the tree. As the creature hit the ground, the others began screeching and took to the air. Thranduil spotted Elladan partially exposed from one of the cocoons.

The bats flapped up into the forest canopy before diving back down. Glorfindel leaped forward and slashed his blade across one's chest. Black ichor misted the air, and the Ñoldo warrior spun around to cut down the next assailant.

Thranduil ducked under an attack, pressing forward toward the one bat that remained flightless, seated atop a wrap of webbing nestled on the ground instead of a tree. The Elvenking could not say what drove him, save some profound instinct. What a terrible visage he must have been to make a creature born of nightmares cower and shriek in terror. The bat flapped furiously, though its obviously broken wing flailed uselessly at its side. With one sweep of his sword, the creature's head detached from its body and bounced across the ground.

Sounds of fighting cut off abruptly as Glorfindel finished off the last beast, and Thranduil dropped to the ground next to the sticky net, heart pounding as he deftly slashed it to pieces. The gossamer strands fell away, revealing a pale face framed in dirty blond hair.

"Legolas!" Thranduil gripped his son's shoulders and shook him, though Legolas did not stir. There were two puncture marks in his neck sluggishly leaking blood. "Valar, no."

Glorfindel appeared at his side and placed one hand on Legolas's head. A brief moment later, a blue aura shimmered from his palm to swim down and encase Legolas's chest.

"Elrond has him now," Glorfindel said, and immediately jumped up again to go cut Elladan down.

Thranduil could only watch as the incorporeal essence of the Ñoldo healer cradled his son's fëa, imbuing life into him again. The ugly fang marks gradually faded in color before the torn skin began to mend. Out of the corner of his eye, Thranduil registered Glorfindel lowering Elladan to the ground and holding a golden diffused palm over the Peredhil's unconscious face. And he realized there were still more cocoons in the copse.

Glancing at Legolas again, Thranduil forced himself away to go free the other elves. Yet the first cocoon he came to was empty, which seemed strange since the bats had been feeding on all of them only moments before. He hurried to the next and sliced it apart with his sword. A dark-haired she-elf fell limply into his arms, neck also a mess of shredded skin from multiple bite marks. Thranduil carried her over to Glorfindel before returning to the last cocoon, but it turned out to be empty as well.

Thranduil scanned the webbing draped throughout the trees; there were no more wraps that he could see, nor sleeping bats. He hastened back to Legolas, who appeared to finally be stirring.

"Ion nîn?" he called to his son, laying a hand on the side of Legolas's face.

A small moan rumbled in the prince's throat, and Thranduil held his breath as Legolas pried his eyes open, tired blue orbs gazing blearily at him. "Father?" he rasped.

"Yes. I'm here, my son."

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut. "No, not you too."

Thranduil frowned before understanding dawned. "I am not here by some witch's curse. The one who did this is dead and her evil can no longer spread. With Mithrandir's help, I came to get you and the others out of here." His heart broke as Legolas opened his eyes again, tears of pain, grief, despair, and dashed hope barely held at bay. Thranduil gently brushed his finger across the one track that escaped down his son's cheek. "Hold on, ion. This nightmare will soon be over."

"Legolas?" a weak voice whispered.

Thranduil looked up to see Elladan conscious, though barely. Glorfindel had moved to the female warrior—Anaire, Thranduil now recognized—and was channeling Elrond's sapphire healing energy into her limp body.

"Elladan?" Legolas responded, craning his head.

The Peredhil rolled half onto his stomach and crawled forward on his elbows, just enough to reach out for Legolas. At his son's struggle, Thranduil cut the rest of the webbing away from his limbs, and Legolas reached back to clasp his friend's hand.

"You're alive," Legolas breathed.

"I told you…not getting rid of me…that easily." Elladan gave a wan smile, which Legolas returned.

Thranduil's gaze roved over the rest of his son, and he caught sight of more wounds on Legolas's hip. They appeared older, three-quarters healed, and the Elvenking was suddenly and horrifically reminded of when Legolas had nearly faded.

He clenched his jaw. "Glorfindel, I should like Gandalf to direct me to this 'gatekeeper' now." The sooner he battled whatever monster Mornince had prepared for him, the sooner he could get his son home.

Legolas furrowed his brow and lifted his head to take in the elf-lord sitting with Anaire. "What gatekeeper? And where are Calatar and Nólaquen?"

Thranduil frowned. "There were two others with you? We did not find…" He flicked his gaze to the two empty cocoons. What could those mean? He was under the impression that none could wake until he defeated the gatekeeper… Oh. With a heavy heart, Thranduil looked back to his son's grief-stricken face.

"I'm sorry, Legolas," Elladan said softly.

He shook his head. "Such needless death."

Thranduil squeezed his shoulder. There were no words that could ease the pain of losing friends or elves under one's command. Though, Legolas had grown accustomed to dealing with it before, so why did this time seem to weigh heavier on him?

Glorfindel moved to stand over them, now that Anaire was also conscious and leaning against a tree. "Gandalf and Radagast can summon the gatekeeper at any time. Are you sure you're ready?"

"I do not wish to delay bringing my people safely home," Thranduil replied, getting to his feet. "But are you saying they will bring the door directly to us?"

Glorfindel nodded. "This is a spirit realm, and while it has concrete boundaries, it can be…fluid, when manipulated by strong minds or magic."

"I knew it," Elladan muttered.

"I must fight whatever it is on my own," Thranduil told the elf-lord. "I do not know what will happen should someone else slay it, but knowing Mornince's taste for cruelty, I do not wish to find out."

Glorfindel inclined his head in understanding.

Legolas pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Why alone? Father, these creatures are unlike anything ever seen in Middle-earth."

Thranduil gazed down at him, eyes drifting slightly to the side where he'd set his sword. He knelt to pick it up.

"Where did you get that?" Elladan breathed in awe.

"From a rather obnoxious wizard," he replied, though without any heat. He stepped forward then and clasped Glorfindel's shoulder. "Protect them."

Glorfindel returned the elvish embrace and nodded firmly. Thranduil cast one last look at Legolas, who was now propped up by Elladan and gazing back at him with a pleading expression. Be careful.

Giving his son a resolute nod, Thranduil turned to stride out from the sheltered copse. It would have been nice to have some warning on what the wizards needed to do in order to summon this gatekeeper, or how quickly it might appear. But he had no such mental connection with them as Glorfindel did—though, he wasn't sure he wanted Mithrandir in his head anyway.

He had only walked a short distance from the others when the trees ahead began to shake and thrash…as though something large was barreling through them. Straight toward Thranduil. Gripping the sword with both hands, the Elvenking stood his ground and braced for what horrifying apparition would reveal itself. All he could see through the tightly woven forest was a huge black mass, swelling ever larger as it drew closer.

And then a few seconds later, a dragon like one of the great Worms, crashed into the open, splintering trees under its massive bulk. Obsidian scales gleamed like oil down its wingless form, and its talons alone were half the length of Thranduil's sword. Its saurian head snapped to the side, nostrils flaring as it narrowed a red, slitted eye on him.

Thranduil gritted his teeth. Of course Mornince would mock him with this as the demon he must defeat. But if she had thought taunting memories would cow him, she was sorely mistaken. He had faced the serpents of the North, and his scars would not serve as a debilitating weakness, but proof of his might and prowess.

The dragon opened its mouth and spewed forth a cloud of cloying black smoke. Thranduil took grim reassurance that it did not breathe fire before raising his sword and attacking. With a roar, the beast reared up and lashed its head out. Thranduil swung his blade at the throat, but it wrenched away at the last second. The Elvenking spun, his sword an extension of his arm as he pivoted and slashed in a ceaseless, breathless dance.

So intent he was on avoiding the claws and fangs that the tail whipping around caught him by surprise, knocking his legs out from under him. The impact with the ground jarred his body, but he rolled with the momentum into a crouch, and thrust the sword at the dragon's flank. Normally, a mere blade would not pierce such a thick hide, but this was not a regular dragon—nor a mortal sword.

The celestial alloy plunged through flesh and muscle, and the beast screeched in pain. As it jerked away and Thranduil yanked the blade out, a fork of lightning shot from the tip directly into the creature's wound, amplifying its agony. Thranduil darted away from the thrashing, arching a brow at the unexpected result and wondering if Gandalf was watching more closely than he'd thought.

He darted in to strike again, but the dragon was faster—it snapped its tail at him, which he saw coming this time. Yet as he ducked to avoid it, he found himself directly in the path of a massive clawed foot, which slammed into his chest and propelled him through the air. Thranduil hit the ground hard enough to send stars bursting across his vision. Shock made his limbs numb, and he couldn't seem to move, even as impact vibrations trembled through the earth beneath him from the dragon stalking closer.

He heard someone shout, and a golden haze leaped past him, swinging another blazing sword at the dragon. Thranduil gasped in an effort to get up. No! Glorfindel couldn't be the one to kill the beast. But the Ñoldo warrior appeared to only be distracting the dragon, scoring shallow cuts across its face and flank, drawing it away from Thranduil to buy the king time to regroup.

Thranduil pushed himself upright, grimacing as pain radiated down his spine. He had to get up; he could not fail! His fingers cramped around the hilt of his sword, and he used it to brace himself as he got to his knees. A sharp cry tore from Glorfindel, and Thranduil looked up in time to see the elf-lord get thrown into a tree. The dragon whirled back to Thranduil.

He staggered to his feet and lifted his sword, but the beast lashed out and clamped its jaws around the Elvenking's arm. He could not help the scream that escaped his throat, and his useless fingers dropped the sword to clatter on the ground. Jerking him to the side, the dragon flung him down. This time his vision whited out completely.

Before he could get up again, a heavy foot smashed down on his chest, claws curling over his shoulders. Thranduil gasped, struggling to get free. The air whooshed out of him, and hot, putrid breath billowed in his face so that he could not replenish his lungs. A glittering red eye appeared above his face, flaring with triumph. The head pulled back, jaws opening wide in preparation to devour.

Thranduil desperately pushed against the unyielding foot pinning him down. Gandalf! Elrond!

The fangs never sank into his flesh, for the dragon reared up onto its back legs with a horrendous, ear-splitting screech. Thranduil blinked, confused as to the blond-haired figure he suddenly saw standing beneath the dragon with Thranduil's sword plunged into its belly. Glorfindel wouldn't…

No, not Glorfindel. Legolas. Thranduil sucked in a breath, even as Legolas pushed the blade deeper, and a great crack of bright light sundered the dragon's stomach. It threw its head back with another roar, body jerking violently. As it twisted around, a foreleg swung out and connected with Legolas, throwing him several feet away. Thranduil's heart stuttered as he watched his son hit the ground and not move.

The dragon started to bubble and boil. Black goop burst from pustules along its scales, splattering the ground, and as the creature began to melt, so too did the trees. Like gray candlesticks, wax dribbled down the trunks and the leaves warped into heavy globs that plopped on the ground. Even the sky seemed to liquefy into raindrops of sludge falling away.

Thranduil tried to crawl to Legolas, heart thundering in his chest. Where was the doorway? Had it been a trick and killing the dragon would not set them free? As earth and sky bled into each other, the only thing Thranduil could think of was getting to his son. His sleeves were soaked in mud that inhibited his movements, but he fought all that much harder. Just as he reached a hand out to grasp Legolas's fingers, the world was plunged into darkness.

Elrohir snapped out of the meditative trance as he felt the three wandering fëar slam back into their bodies. He swayed, catching himself on the bed's headboard. What was that? He lifted his brows questioningly at his father, and then at Gandalf. Yet before anyone could speak, a sharp inhalation from the bed had everyone's gazes whipping downward.

"Legolas!" Elrohir bent down to cup his friend's face, elated at the sight of those blue eyes, however tired and dazed they appeared.

Legolas blinked at him, mouth parting as though to speak, but then his head lolled to the side and his eyelids slid closed again. Elrohir shot his father a panicked look. Elrond placed his hands over Legolas's forehead and chest, his own brow furrowing with concentration. Elrohir sensed the healing energy flowing between them, and in the next instant he was leaping to his feet and dashing around to the other bed. His heart soared when he was greeted by open, dark eyes.

Elladan squinted at him and smiled. "'Ro," he rasped, flailing a weak hand outward. Elrohir caught the lax fingers between his own. "I felt you there," Elladan breathed. "Pulled…me back."

Elrohir's eyes prickled with moisture. "I've missed you, muindor." We aren't ever supposed to be separated like that.

"Not half as much as I missed you."

Elrohir snorted, and hauled his brother up into a crushing embrace. "We will have to agree to disagree on that one." He felt Elladan's arms come around to return the hug, though his grip was far from strong. And then Elladan stiffened. Elrohir drew back worriedly, only to find his twin staring over his shoulder.

"Legolas," Elladan whispered.

Elrohir craned around just as their father withdrew his hands, disconnecting the healing transfer. "Ada?"

Elrond turned to them, and his shoulders visibly sagged as his gaze fell on Elladan. "He's alive and back with us." Elrond cupped the back of Elladan's head, pulling him to his chest. "And so are you, ion nîn."

Elrohir could see their father moving his other hand discreetly up and down Elladan's back, that subtle blue glow searching for injury.

"Elrond," Gandalf spoke up. "You are needed."

Elrohir looked over, eyes widening as he saw Thranduil had yet to regain consciousness. Glorfindel stood next to him, one hand on the king's shoulder.

"He was wounded by the gatekeeper," he informed them.

Elrond tightened his hold on Elladan, reluctant to let go, even as the healer in him demanded he do just that.

"I am well enough, father," Elladan assured him. "Go."

Elrond clasped his shoulder before pulling away and moving to see to Thranduil.

Elrohir scooted closer to his brother. "What happened there, Elladan?"

A haunted look came over his twin, and Elladan reached out to grip Elrohir's hand like a lifeline. Elrohir squeezed back in understanding. They would speak of it, when the memory was not so fresh and painful. For now, though, Elrohir had his brother back.

All around them, elves in the other beds began to sit up and blink at their surroundings in confusion and relief. The nightmare was over.