A/N: See? I updated sooner then a year! Just a warning though: The next chapter may take longer as I am currently playing with the idea of writing my own original story. :3

Thank you, all who added this to their favs/alerts, and especially The Pearl Maiden, LegolasWillabethKenobi, Aranel Mereneth, Cori the Freak-of-Nature, and lisa for reviewing! Every time someone leaves a review, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. :)

Disclaimer: See the Prologue.

~*Chapter Five*~

In Mirkwood…

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Tathar lifted his dagger and tested the edge with a finger, nodding in satisfaction and put his whetting stone back into his belt pouch. He turned the blade this way and that, admiring the way the leaf dapples fell on it. Leaning back into the oak, Tathar laid the dagger on his lap and turned his face towards the sun. The warm beams fell across his features and he closed his eyes, enjoying their caress.

The treesong whispered to him and the faint breeze still carried the scent of winter on it as it breathed against the leaves. Tathar exhaled, and paused for a moment before inhaling, clearing his mind of thoughts. His eyes opened again and the elf readily opened his mind to Ennor's melody, feeling his mind begin to turn to memories.

"Uncle Tathar!"

His reverie was broken as a slight elfling hurtled into sight, branches bouncing with the force he sprang from them, and skidded to a stop in Tathar's oak. He grinned at his uncle. The warrior returned the grin before lazily crossing his legs.

"Yes, Caladbrethil?"

Caladbrethil was practically radiating excitement. "You must see! King Thranduil is planning a feast!"

The Silva sat up straight at that. Indeed? I wonder why…It is only spring, after all. But then a feast would be a good way to bolster spirits. Even if we are already pleased by the enemies' steady retreat. He narrowed his eyes in mock-suspicion. "Indeed? And how did you come by this information?"

The elfling paused, seeming to speak with the wood. Tathar heard a ripple of laughter and promises to remain silent. He chuckled inwardly as Caladbrethil nodded with satisfaction and confided, "I overheard the king and the princess talking in the halls."

He looked so pleased that Tathar let his twitching lips curve upwards. "Did you?"

"King Thranduil said that since we are doing so well in besting the orcs and spiders, we ought to have a celebration," his eyes sparkled, "Princess Merillas did not seem too pleased, but that was only after the king mentioned wine. What's a celebration without wine?"

The elf was struggling to gaze sternly at his nephew, though inwardly he was just as pleased. "Why would the absence of wine bother you, Caladbrethil?"

"Because," Caladbrethil wrapped his feet around a limb and flipped himself upside-down, "wine tastes good. Father let me try some during Yule."

"Indeed?" The Silva pushed his nephew and the elfling grinned with delight as he swung back and forth. He tilted his head to look Caladbrethil in the eye. "I would have said that you are too young for the vintage, but perhaps not. Is there also a young maiden who has captured your eye?"

"What?" The novice dropped onto a lower branch, managing to twist so that he did not land on his head, and stared at his uncle in shock. "No!"

Snickering, Tathar stood and sheathed his dagger. "Are you entirely certain? I believe I saw you-"

"Uncle!"

He shook his head at the shock in the elfling's eyes. "Come then. I hear the hiss of arrows in flight."

Caladbrethil sulked, knowing well what that meant. "I head the splashing of water and laughter."

"Perhaps the water will call to you again after you have freed the shafts. I am certain that it will for I shall hear it then as well," Tathar promised. "Here, let us race to the grounds."

"Alright!" Caladbrethil sprang to his feet and grabbed the branch above him as he warned, "You have to let the smaller bird take flight first though, least it be caught to soon by the hawk."

"Agreed."

The elfling took off through the terraces. Tathar waited for a moment before following his nephew at a more sedate pace.

OoOoOoOoO

Time froze. Celeblas could not move as his wide eyes fixed on those of his brother. He swallowed hard, trying get some moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth. His efforts proved futile and the prince remained staring at Legolas, struggling to form a rational explanation in his mind.

"Good. Very good. I see you are willing to comply," Legolas purred, smirking. "Now, would you care to place that dagger on your desk?"

The ellon found that he could move and glanced at the weapon in his hand that he had forgotten about. He tightened his grip on it instinctively and made an effort to speak past the lump in his throat. "Le-Lego-" His voice croaked and no amount of spittle seemed to help.

Legolas' tone remained soft, but now there was a steel behind it and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Please place the dagger on the desk, Celeblas." When Celeblas made no move to do so, he repeated. "Please."

Shivers chased themselves up and down his spine and he furrowed his brows, drawing in breaths through his mouth. "Why…," Celeblas gasped, "why do you want it? And who are you?"

The temperature of the room seemed to plummet and the air tightened around the duo as the archer laughed. "You know perfectly well who I am." He lowered his bow and grasped it and the shaft with one hand. Extending his now-empty hand, the elf continued to pin the prince with his gaze. "Please."

Celeblas felt his grip on the blade loosening.

"I have a need of it."

He drew back his hand and raised his chin as he regained control over himself. "No."

"No?" There was a definite edge to the archer's voice now. "And, pray tell me, why not?"

"You are not my brother."

"Aren't I?" Celeblas was reminded of a snake as his 'brother' said silkily. "And what make you so certain of that?"

The knots in his stomach tightened and his instincts screamed at him. Goosebumps appeared on his arms and the cold began to burn, but he stood fast. "Legolas was a merry elf who never threatened friends, much less family, with weapons as you are doing. Legolas is also dead. I saw his body and funeral with my own eyes," Celeblas blinked back the wetness in his eyes. "Also, your arrowhead is strange. It is like…," he struggled to think of what the point resembled. "It…is like…."

The elf spread his hands wide and quirked an eyebrow. "I seem to recall having mock-threatened several friends in the spirit of pranking. Have you forgotten? And if I were dead, I would obviously not be here, now would I? Did you even look at the face of the dead elf?"

It was so hard to piece a coherent thought together. Celeblas gave his head a shake to clear it. "Yes, I did. The orcs had not only killed him, but tortured him as well…His face…It was horribly cut."

"That proves my point." 'Legolas' slinked a step closer, looking at him pityingly. "If the face was 'horribly cut', one cannot prove that it was me."

"But-The tunic was-"

"Undoubtedly pillaged. As were the weapons." He twirled the arrow in his hand. "It would be a simple matter if one wanted to deceive you to confiscate the elf's original tunic and replace it with one of mine. Wouldn't you agree?

"Now, the dagger. Please."

The crown prince still withheld the weapon, though he could clearly see the reasoning behind the other's words. "Then, where have you been these past ten years? We have had need of you!"

'Legolas' stopped twirling the arrow, impatience flashing in his eyes. "I was captured by orcs and taken far from here. I escaped, but had to wander far ere I could find my way back here. But I tire of this. Please give me the dagger."

"No."

His lips pressed into a thin line, reminding Celeblas of King Thranduil when he was angry. "Brother, why must you be so difficult? I only desire to help Merillas as well. Is that so horrible?"

In answer, the prince moved to open the door, knife behind his back. You may claim to be Legolas, but you-

A horrible, lancing pain pierced his stomach and his cry of pain was muffled by a firm hand against his mouth. The already chilly air seemed to be armed with pikes of heat and ice. He tensed in an effort to ease the pain, breathing hard through his nose. The lean body behind him hissed in his ear as it pried open his fingers. "I would not have had to do this if you had only listened to me."

Black spots fizzed in his vision and a wetness spread across his tunic. Celeblas felt the world spiraling out of control and tried to elbow the elf behind him, but only earned himself more misery when the elf took the dagger from him and twisted the arrow. He jerked, eyes wide as the searing bolts of agony shooting through him increased tenfold.

He felt himself being released and fell heavily to the ground. The impact did nothing to help him and he curled in on himself, groaning. Dimly, Celeblas saw the other elf lean down holding the blade. Through a fog, he heard a voice say. "You could have spared yourself this."

The relentless throbbing in his abdomen and the multiplying blotches in his vision made him wonder if he was only imagining it when he realized the arrowhead was of the same style of Merillas' strange blade. Before the hilt descended to send him into the abyss, the prince also thought he saw his opponent's eye color change from grey to blue.

OoOoOoOoO

"'Tis so gay in the Greenwood, I say,

In the lovely, evernew Spring,

When the sweet birds chirp and sway,

And ever the flowers bloom;

"Then rears the ash his chest,

Then shines the birch in his vest,

And the beech glittering leaves drest,

And dark shows the oak his chest;

"A many branches so their sheen,

As the golden sunbeams shine between,

Ever the leaves are brighter green,

Dull is the fea that sings not then,

In the deep recess of Greenwood's glen."

Thranduil smiled to hear the light-hearted air amidst others as the wood elves prepared for tomorrow's celebration. Simply that it was Spring was a good enough reason for a feast to them. And why not celebrate? They were successfully beating back the Shadow, trade was good, and there were no complications with their allies. Let his daughter protest all she wished; there would be only the finest vintage there.

His father had been correct. The Silvan elves were not as high and mighty as the Noldor were, but they possessed something that Sauron had been unable to completely quell and that the High elves only allowed themselves to taste in small quantities. A jubilant wildness.

Ever since the…, his features contracted in a scowl, stunted…ones had made their escape, many young elves had made a game of running on the floating barrels, the faster, the better. They also relished racing across thin ropes, jumping from very high places to land lightly on two feet, daring each other to step out onto the thinnest twigs, purposefully trying to capsize boats in the Enchanted River…Risking their necks basically.

That air, combined with rigorous training and a natural suspicion of strangers, was part of why they had never succumbed to the Darkness.

He stepped through the door into the sunlight, nodding coolly to the guards. Thranduil made his way towards the training grounds, loosening his sword. The need for a good duel to release frustrations came to his mind. It would not due to be angered tomorrow.

The elvenking heightened his senses as he walked, waiting grimly for a sense of evil to brush against his awareness. Before the Necromancer had fled, spiders had been bold enough to venture into his realm. He was gratified that no such feeling came. It was another testament to how hard his warriors had worked in the short time since then. Lately, the elves had been regaining land lost, going deliberately beyond the borders and searching for stray orcs, wargs and spider nests. The enemies were not so bold now. They had not Sauron's power dictating them and seemed rather lost.

However…This morning's report had not been so pleasing. Young Faerlad had been even more shy and uneasy as she related the…dagger…incident. Merillas merely confirmed it with a dark look and said that Celeblas was reviewing the annals for information. Thranduil hoped that his son found some soon; he despised being left in the dark for any length of time. Knowing Celeblas, he would have to ask for a quick answer or the prince would meander through the documents, analyzing every tidbit he thought even slightly relevant.

The thunk of something hitting a solid object became more pronounced and Thranduil paused by one of the clearings to see his daughter stalk over to a target, retrieve her dagger, return to her original position, and throw again. She held her injured arm close to her body, but seemed determined to make up for its weakness by perfecting her speed and aim further. It struck the bulls' eye with a skill born of centuries of practice. His son Daenagnir had helped her when she was first learning how to handle a knife before he had sailed. He had also assisted Legolas in archery until his younger brother surpassed him and taught Celeblas sword craft.

Thranduil shoved away thoughts of his son. They would only lead to memories of Bregelon and the Last Alliance, his lovely wife Eruwestiel and their unborn child in the warg attack, Sulthalagan's sailing, Legolas and the orcs, Cossidh's disappearance…He firmly turned his mind towards military matters.

"Your grip on the dagger is slightly off," Thranduil said critically as Merillas prepared to throw again.

She pivoted towards him, eyes flashing, before checking herself stiffly. "Thank you," she replied shortly and adjusted her hold before forcefully throwing the dagger at a more distant target.

The son of Oropher narrowed his eyes. There was no call for her to be angry with him, especially not after he had given her advice. He stepped into the clearing. "Your anger would be better served against our enemies."

Merillas tensed and turned her back toward him as she flung another blade at a leaf. "Indeed? Unfortunately, I cannot go against them until this heals."

Thranduil glanced at her bandaged shoulder before focusing back on the back of her head. "You can. By helping your brother in his research."

He watched impassively as she spun back to face him, face dark with anger, though inwardly he was wondering what had brought about this rage. A wounded shoulder did not merit such emotions. "Celeblas has no need of me. His precious books will occupy him until the dwarves make amends to us. I have better things to do with my days. I know of what we faced and what we face now. I worry for our people while others concern themselves with dusty parchments of the past and jewels. I-"

"Enough!" The elvenking glared at the princess. "You are obviously not in your right mind if you so presume to be the only one aware of what our position was and is. You will speak with respect, and if you cannot, then curb your tongue!"

She met his gaze challengingly and he intensified his glare. Merillas opened her mouth to speak again, but closed it and her body relaxed. She bowed her head, murmuring, "Forgive me, sire. I-I know not what came over me."

Thranduil's temper cooled somewhat, but he did not release her from his gaze. "See that it does not come over you again. Words of advice are not meant to inspire anger."

"Yes, sire."

As she lifted her head, Thranduil caught confusion in her eyes, but she resumed a proud stance.

"You may go assist your brother now." That will have to serve as punishment,

"Yes, sire," Merillas said again, a resigned air in her voice and bowed. She went to collect her blades.

Thranduil resumed his course and frowned. Merillas did tend to flaunt her opinions, but she usually knew better than to throw a scene like that and so demean others.

The Sinda purposefully avoided the archery grounds on his way. They brought too many memories of Legolas to mind.

The sound of metal on metal was much closer now and again Thranduil stopped to watch his warriors' prowess. One pair of elves was dueling while one or two others watched. They moved with such grace, fluidity, and speed that mortal eyes would be hard pressed to make out more than a blur. The two complimented each other, feinting, ducking, leaping, and slashing with equal skill. Locked in their dance, they nonetheless kept all of their senses alert for aught wrong out of their fight. As was their nature, the Silvan elves did not stay bound to the ground, but made use of the trees as well.

The elvenking was content to stand and watch until it ended. The skill of his warriors' inspired pride in him.

One of the elves finally managed to gain the upper hand for a moment and used it to disarm his opponent. The sword flew through the air and landed in the grass near Thranduil's feet. The victor tapped the unfortunate's collarbone once and took a step back. He offered his arm and they grasped forearms.

"Well fought."

"Well won."

The Sinda entered the clearing and all present inclined their heads. He retrieved the fallen sword and offered it hilt first to its owner. "That was an excellent duel."

The elf accepted it with a low bow and they both thanked him. The victor saw his loosened sword and quirked an inquiring eyebrow. "Would you like to duel, sire?"

"Indeed, I would," Thranduil said. "But it would not be fair for me to fight you when I am entirely fresh and you are not." The light in his eyes warned them not to argue.

A dark-haired elf emerged from the trees and approached as the others subsided. His long-time friend Gaelgil halted a few paces away and looked at Thranduil questioningly. Thranduil gave a slight nod of permission and they exchanged a half-smile. The two elves stepped forward so that they could grip each other's forearms just like the younger elves had. Then, they both walked a few paces away from each other and drew their swords.

The elvenking felt the humming tension in his body waiting for a release and melded his mind to focus on the silver blade, feeling it become an extension of his arm. The treesong seemed to dim, and yet, at the same time, became even more pronounced.

He then turned back to face Gaelgil and they met each other's eyes, signaling that they were ready.

Yet, as they both began to move, Thranduil's keen ears caught the sounds of someone moving through the trees at a rapid pace. He turned to confront a very anxious elf who dropped out of a tree, bearing some alarming news….

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Just as a note, that song is mine. I wrote it a year ago, soo…Yup. And please, do concrit! It means the world to me. :)