A/N: Thank you again Lord Illyren for the review! And to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and followed. I'm glad you've enjoyed the story. Last chapter now. There will be a very short epilogue to follow, probably in a few days.

Chapter 14: When the Dawn Breaks

Only a rare few times in all his years had Thranduil experienced the terrifying sensation of nothingness, where one was too severely injured to find refuge in the paths of elven dreams. And so coming out of such numbing darkness was quite a jolt, despite the fact his first awareness was of a soft mattress and pillow beneath him.

Thranduil pried his eyelids open, taking a moment to stare at the smooth curvature of ceiling and lancing rays of golden sunlight streaming through the high, vertical window. He was in his own bedchamber, though he did not remember coming here. Immediately Thranduil became aware of a presence at his side, and when he turned his head, the Elvenking found the last person he expected—or wanted—sitting in a chair by his bed.

Gandalf's beard twitched with a hidden smile. "Welcome back."

Thranduil pushed himself upright, frowning at the dull ache in his head. "What happened?"

"You defeated the gatekeeper and broke Mornince's curse."

Thranduil's blood chilled as he remembered the great serpent and the world seeming to melt all around him. He'd thought he failed, but it had worked… "Not me," he breathed in realization. "Legolas." His heart lurched then. "Is he…?"

"Alive," Gandalf assured. "He was moved to his own chambers once Elrond was confident his fëa was no longer in danger of fading."

"Then he still sleeps?" Thranduil exclaimed in alarm. He swung off the bed, only to regret it when the room spun. A hand gripped his elbow and held him steady, much to his chagrin.

"He woke briefly when the spell was broken, but he was very weak from the ordeal, as were many who had been trapped. Elrond has had a strenuous time mending all the wounded fëar, and is now resting himself under Glorfindel's care."

Thranduil reached up to brace his throbbing temple. "Then Glorfindel made it as well?"

"Yes." Gandalf waited patiently for Thranduil to collect himself. "You have been asleep for a day, but in that time, most of your people have recovered, and the healing ward is no longer overflowing with those who still need rest."

Thranduil nodded in acknowledgement. He almost could not believe they had succeeded. When he'd demanded to go into the dreamscape after Legolas, he felt as though he was following in his father's footsteps—an ill-fated charge that was brave, but perhaps foolish, and would leave his people's numbers sorely reduced and shaken. But he had not failed. Yes, there were casualties, but Mirkwood would recover, as it always did.

"I want to see my son now." Thranduil fixed the wizard with an iron glare before Gandalf could attempt to talk him out of it. Yet the Istar did not argue, and released Thranduil's arm to let him pass. If the wizard trailed a little closely behind the Elvenking in readiness to lend a hand again, neither commented on it.

They came to Legolas's bedchamber, and Thranduil took a deep breath before entering, afraid he would find Legolas the same as before. As he strode inside, he noted Elladan sitting in a large, plush chair next to the bed, a blanket tucked around his waist. He looked pale as he had in the dreamscape, yet when he lifted his head at the visitors, his eyes were alight with vibrancy.

"Good morning, my lord." There was something more to the Peredhil's tone beyond formality and etiquette, as though he truly was inspired by the dawn. As the Elvenking recalled the dreary forest devoid of sun, he supposed that was how Elladan felt.

Thranduil inclined his head, and then approached the bed. As he had feared, Legolas was still, and just as thin and wan. Thranduil's chest constricted, once again the fear of failure tightening around his heart like a vice.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but he is getting stronger," Elladan said. "He wakes for brief moments, long enough to ply some broth into him." Elladan paused. "He's asked for you, but hasn't remained conscious long enough to hear your condition. I'm glad we can tell him you're well now."

With a twinge in his heart, Thranduil hesitantly reached out to brush lank strands of hair from Legolas's brow, and was surprised to find he was no longer cold. His eyes may have been closed, his body frail after nearly two weeks in a coma, but there were subtle differences now, and Thranduil began to believe that Legolas would recover as Gandalf had promised.

"Good morning, Elrohir," the wizard said, and Thranduil looked up to see the younger Peredhil entering with a tray of food.

"Gandalf," Elrohir greeted as he set the tray on Legolas's writing desk. There was a slight weariness to his shoulders, though not as pronounced as his twin. He glanced at Thranduil and smiled in relief. "It's good to see you awake again, my lord. You and Legolas gave me and my father quite a scare."

Thranduil frowned. Of course, Elrohir had been lending his healing energy when Thranduil and Glorfindel had gone into the dreamscape. But had it really been that close? The Elvenking almost sighed as he realized Elrond must have expended a great deal of effort mending Thranduil's fëa as well as everyone else's. Now he owed the Ñoldo even more.

Elrohir brought over a plate of bread and fruit to Elladan, who laid it on his lap.

Thranduil angled a scrutinizing look at the older Peredhil, more slumped in the chair than reclining. "Surely we have enough beds in the guest chambers for you to attain proper rest."

Elrohir made a small noise of disgruntled agreement in the back of his throat.

"I am merely making things easier on you, muindor," Elladan replied, directing his answer to his brother. "This way you do not have to go back and forth between me and Legolas."

Thranduil was not fooled, nor did he miss how Elladan kept shooting Legolas glances, as though to assure himself the prince was still there. It was a habit Thranduil had become all too familiar with recently, and he recalled how desperately his son and the Ñoldo had clung to each other in that nightmare realm. They had been through much together, but Thranduil would not ask the Peredhil to tell him all that transpired. If Legolas wished to speak of it when he woke, Thranduil would listen then.

Elrohir picked up the chair from the writing desk and carried it over to the other side of the bed across from Elladan. "Here, my lord, you should sit. You probably haven't been up long."

Thranduil held back a sigh; he wanted to sit with his son, wanted to be there when Legolas woke properly and assure him everything was all right, but now that this crisis had been averted, there was much to do.

"Thank you, Elrohir, but I'm afraid there are some things I must see to first. If I could ask you to watch over Legolas a little longer, I will come relieve you in a bit."

The young Peredhil shook his head fervently. "Wild horses could not tear me from Legolas's side. My lord," he added with hasty reverence.

Once again, Thranduil was touched by the devotion Elrond's sons held toward Legolas.

"Nor me," Elladan said.

Elrohir crossed his arms and canted his head. "A butterfly's wings could blow you out of the room at the moment."

"Don't be absurd," Elladan scowled.

Gandalf rolled his eyes to the ceiling, which for some reason brought Thranduil a flicker of amusement. He reluctantly stepped away from his son's bed to approach the wizard, leaving the twins to bicker quietly. Thranduil got the feeling they did that often, and though he could foresee it becoming tiresome, at the moment he was heartened by the apparent normalcy of it all.

"I owe you a great deal of gratitude, Mithrandir."

Gandalf smiled. "Had Mirkwood fallen, all of Middle-earth would have felt the blow." His grey eyes shadowed slightly. "I daresay it would have crippled our ability to stand against the Dark Lord when he rises again."

Thranduil clenched his jaw and looked away. He knew the time of the Watchful Peace was only a reprieve, a false sense of security before war began again. That did not make hearing from one of the Istari that Sauron would return in full any easier to bear, especially so soon after they had all come close to perishing. But Thranduil shoved the wizard's dire predictions down where he need not dwell on them.

"I wish to thank Radagast as well. Where is he?"

Gandalf rolled his shoulder awkwardly. "Ah, he's left already. Said something about taking care of a vermin problem."

"You mean the fox told him something, and he ran off after it," Elrohir interjected with a snicker.

Thranduil arched a brow. The Brown Wizard went chasing after…foxes? Well, the Elvenking probably shouldn't have been surprised; Radagast was as flighty as his sparrow companions.

"He probably went after the last poacher," Elladan said.

Elrohir's earlier amusement shifted into disgust. "I would like nothing better than for Radagast to bring that despicable piece of human excrement back here, but the truth is the adan is likely long gone."

Thranduil gritted his teeth. He, too, would like to see the human that had kidnapped his son suffer for those crimes. But he would not send a patrol after the man, for there was too much healing that needed to be done here.

Getting back to the matter at hand… "Pass on my gratitude to Radagast then, will you, Gandalf? He had no small role in obtaining our victory here."

Gandalf's beard twitched with pride. "That he did, though if you were to tell him so, he would deny it."

Thranduil let out a soft snort. That was true. Out of all the wizards, Radagast was a gentle, humble soul…one the Elvenking did not mind having nearby to help look after Mirkwood. Despite his apparent penchant for talking to animals.

Gandalf's expression softened. "Thranduil, why don't you stay with Legolas for a little? I believe he's due to wake soon, and it would do you both good to see each other. I will gather your counselors and captains and make sure their reports are ready for you before you need receive them."

Thranduil hesitated. His heart yearned to do just that, though the king in him instantly bristled against any assistance for what he was capable of doing himself. Yet…the wizard's offer was not born of haughtiness. Everyone who had come to Mirkwood's aid—wizards, Ñoldor—were not crutches to Thranduil's rule, but pillars of strength.

He inclined his head, the words coming out slowly. "Thank you, Mithrandir. I…accept." But curse the Istari if he didn't look a little bit too pleased by the acquiescence.

Gandalf excused himself, and Thranduil went to take the chair opposite Elladan. With a faint grin, he noticed the Peredhil had fallen asleep. Unlike before, there was a sense of tranquility on the young elf's face that put Thranduil's mind at ease. Elrohir gazed fondly at his brother for a moment before taking the plate of food from his lap and carrying it back to the tray.

"It seems this dawn brings many good tidings," a voice spoke from the door.

Thranduil glanced up as Elrond entered. The Ñoldo indeed looked weary, his movements more guarded than graceful, and there were creases around his eyes. He had sacrificed much and nearly lost more in this war that never should have been his to begin with. Yet there was no trace of bitterness or resentment in Elrond's expression as he walked over. Thranduil placed a finger to his lips and flicked his gaze meaningfully toward the two sleeping charges.

Elrond smiled at Elladan, and then turned to Legolas, settling a hand over the prince's forehead. Elrohir fidgeted in the background.

"Do not look at me like that, ion," Elrond chastised softly. "I am not overextending myself. I merely wish to see how he is doing."

Elrohir huffed.

"And?" Thranduil could not help but ask.

Elrond smiled tiredly. "He is resting peacefully. You should ready some broth, Elrohir; I believe he will surface soon."

Thranduil felt a little more tension loosen from his shoulders, only to be replaced with more as he considered his next words. He was not used to needing to express so much gratitude to so many in so short a time. It is not weakness, he reminded himself.

"Thank you, Elrond," he said, though his voice was so low that Elrohir probably did not hear it only six feet away. "For returning my son to me."

Elrond canted his head sympathetically. "You did that, Thranduil. And by so doing, returned my son to me as well."

The Elvenking shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Still, I know you must have…tended to me, afterward. In addition to all the other wounded elves. I can never repay you."

If Thranduil expected Elrond to gloat or be smug, he was disappointed. Elrond crossed an arm over his chest and bowed. "There are no such debts between friends."

Though he was briefly stunned, Thranduil nevertheless managed to return the gesture. But unlike in the past in his dealings with kingdoms of dwarves and men, this time was less formality, and more genuine respect. Perhaps, with the help of their sons, these two ancient elf-lords would cultivate stronger relations between Mirkwood and Imladris from now on.

Elrond's gaze flicked down. "He's coming around."

Thranduil leaned forward in anticipation, a thrill racing through him as Legolas's eyelids fluttered. He reached for his son's hand and squeezed. "I'm here, ion nîn."

Blue eyes turned toward his voice, bright and clear, and Legolas smiled. "Ada."

The next two days were hazy for Legolas. He did not even remember half the times he woke from a deep, senseless slumber only to be force-fed cup after cup of broth. He wished Elrohir would give it a rest, for the effort exhausted him and he wanted to stay awake for at least a few minutes, considering how long he'd slept already. But his mind and body were at odds with each other, and he had no control over slipping back into that dark oblivion. At least he did not dream.

Legolas felt himself waking once again, though he could not say what time or day it was. There was light suffusing through the window, so it was mid-afternoon. He turned his head, and was startled to find that one of the main fixtures that'd been there every other time he'd surfaced was gone. He felt a brief flash of panic start to rise within his chest.

"Elrohir took him for a walk in the garden," a familiar, comforting voice wafted over him.

Legolas looked to his right and found his father exactly where he'd been for the past however many days, an open book lying in his lap.

"He needs to regain his strength, but they'll be back," Thranduil explained, deep understanding in his eyes.

Legolas let out a breath of relief. They were not in that dreamscape, and he had not woken alone because Elladan had been taken by giant bats. No, Elladan was on the mend, which Legolas was glad of, though he recognized he would soon be subjected to the same rehabilitative therapy. Legolas attempted to furl a fist, sighing at how weak it was. It would require many hours of training to restore his use of a bow. But it was a discipline he was familiar with, and could therefore accomplish.

He blinked to find his father gazing at him pensively.

"I have not spoken to Elladan of what happened in that dreamscape," Thranduil began carefully. There was an open invitation in his tone, yet also the promise not to pry. "I can tell you two went through a great deal together."

Legolas swallowed hard. "Time…seemed to pass differently there. I was alone for so long, and then Elladan was there…" His throat constricted. "He nearly died because of me. I'm sorry, father, for causing all this, for nearly destroying our home."

Thranduil surged forward to clasp his arm fiercely, the book falling to the floor with a thud. "I will not have you blame yourself, Legolas."

"I should not have let those men catch me off guard," he protested. "I should have…" He faltered, unable to think of what he might have done differently. Gone for help as Lícumon had said? But then the men would have simply taken him, wasn't that what they'd said? Could Legolas have fought harder? When they'd had him drugged or the giant man had been choking the breath from him? Should he have resisted until they killed him instead?

Thranduil remained quiet, letting Legolas deal with the torrent of thoughts and what-ifs until he'd exhausted all realistic alternatives—and found none. His father seemed to sense it as well, for he finally spoke again.

"It is no more your fault for being captured and abused than it is mine for letting Mornince go free the first time."

Legolas frowned. So his father had known the sorceress?

Thranduil ran a weary hand down his face, a gesture Legolas rarely saw from his father, and one none outside private chambers had ever witnessed. "I will tell you all that transpired while you were trapped in that place, but for now I want you to hear me and believe that you fought valiantly to protect your people, Legolas. And in the end you did save them."

Legolas turned his palm over to clasp his father's hand. "We saved them," he corrected.

Thranduil smiled, and then his face began to blur as Legolas felt the tug of sleep once more. He tried to resist, but his father's gentle touch stroking his head only served to lull him further. Still, it was the longest conversation he'd had in days. It was progress.

Legolas sat perched on the highest platform balcony up in the peak of the underground palace. A week of rest and slow, healer-directed exercise had him out of bed, though he still tired easily. The climb up here had left him winded and shaky, and he was likely to receive several scoldings when he returned, but for now he simply wished to gaze at the stars through the oval opening in the mountain. He had missed their comforting presence dearly.

Lilting voices drifted up from far below where elves sung laments for those souls who had been lost. Between the requiems were also verses praising King Thranduil and Prince Legolas for their valor and sacrifice. Legolas did not care to be included, though he was pleased to hear Anaire's name honored. He had told his father everything that happened in the dreamscape, and the Elvenking had intended to bestow commendation on the archer. Calatar's and Nólaquen's bravery were also mentioned in the dirges, along with their sacrifice.

The bereavement had become too much for Legolas to bear, which was why he had retreated to a place where the haunting music could soothe his spirit without the lyrics being clear enough to pierce his heart.

Shuffling on the stairs elicited a drawn out sigh; he was in for it now. Except it was not his father or the well-meaning but overbearing Peredhil twins that ascended to the balcony. Gandalf hobbled onto the platform, leaning heavily on his staff. He did not speak, but made his way over to sit across from Legolas, huffing from exertion.

Legolas canted a wry look at him. "You should not have climbed so high, Gandalf."

The wizard harrumphed. "I think the same could be said for you." But there was no real rebuke in his tone, nor a threat of removal. Though perhaps that was merely because Gandalf had to regain his breath first.

Legolas lolled his head back to gaze at the midnight-blue sky speckled with celestial diamonds, savoring the sight if he was to be dragged back to his chambers soon. Gandalf did not say anything more, however, and simply watched the stars with him in companionable silence.

Far away on the eastern horizon, the first glimmers of twilight heralded the arrival of dawn.