Chapter 1
"You are not going!" Thranduil’s voice was final, as was the look that he gave his youngest son. "Now leave us, for your brother and I have much work to do."
With anger blazing in his startling blue eyes, Legolas gave his father and brother a final look of defiance before turning on his heels. Both Thranduil and Aldeon could not help but cringe at the sound of the slamming door.
"That child - "Thranduil looked at his oldest with unmasked exasperation. "Sometimes I just do not know how to deal with him."
"He is still very young ..." Aldeon began.
"And yet he believes himself an adult," his father continued. "Ready to go into full battle."
"He is becoming a very skilled warrior," Aldeon said with a small smile. "You yourself know that there is no better archer in Mirkwood than Legolas. He is also very quick with his knives."
"Are you saying that I should let him go to battle?" Thranduil asked incredulously.
Aldeon sighed. "No, of course not. Legolas is skilled, but has no experience. Perhaps we can let him join short scouting missions, somewhere close to home."
Thranduil shook his head. "No, he is but a child yet. I will not have him put at risk. Mirkwood has warriors enough that we do not need to send elflings into danger. His time to serve the realm will come soon enough."
"I too do not wish Legolas be put in danger, but I fear if we continue to hold him back, he may do something foolish," Aldeon said with a slight frown. Of his three brothers, he knew Legolas the best.
Again his father shook his head. "No, I will not hear of it. Now, we have work to do before the troops leave tomorrow morning."
*****
With arms tucked behind his head, Legolas was holding a wordless communion with the ceiling of his room. Anger smouldered in him still after the confrontation with Thranduil and the deep breaths that he was forcing himself to take were not lessening the anger at all. Adar called him a child! Why, he could outshoot any seasoned warrior in all of Mirkwood, and yet he was not considered good enough to fight along side with them. All the long years spent at training were for naught if he cannot put his skills to use. What good was he to Mirkwood if he could not fight to protect his people? How many more years must he stay in the protective confines of the palace before he was considered old enough to join the other warriors?
There was a soft knock on the door and the voice of his oldest brother called out quietly. "Legolas?"
In defiance, Legolas rolled over onto his side and ignored Aldeon as he approached the bed.
"Legolas?" Aldeon called him again as he sat down onto the bed. "I know you are not asleep." He reached out and laid a hand on his brother’s bright head.
"Go away. I thought you and Adar have much work to do. Why are you then wasting your time with an elfling who was sent to bed?"
Aldeon laughed. "I had not realized we sent you to bed. Come, sit up and talk with me."
Legolas reluctantly rolled over and pushed himself into a sitting position. He loved Aldeon dearly and found that his anger was dissipating a little at the sound of his brother’s soothing voice. Still, he could not keep the sulkiness out of his voice when he addressed Aldeon. "What is there to talk about? Adar has already forbade me to go with the troops tomorrow."
"Adar only has concerns for your safety when he refused your request to join the troops. He loves you very much and does not want harm to come to you."
Legolas rested his chin on upraised knees. "What about Feren and Tavaro? Adar sends them into battle. Does he not fear for their safety? And you, you were a captain already at my age."
Aldeon laughed. "Now, Legolas, you know you exaggerate. I was never a captain at your age. I was training, just as you are now, at your age. And Feren and Tavaro are much older than you. They were experienced warriors even before you were born. Do not worry, your time will come. Adar will not keep you back forever."
"Oh, he will keep me back forever if he has his way. I fear I will be doomed to be the only elf in Middle Earth who will sail to the Valinor without ever having seen battle," Legolas muttered rather hopelessly.
His brother laughed again and placed a hand on the sagging shoulder. "If that should become the case, then you are truly blessed. You cannot imagine how I wish Mirkwood warriors will never see another battle. Being in battle is not all glory, you know. There is death, pain and fear all around you. Adar and I would give up our limbs if we can spare you of that."
"But I shall not be spared of that! The shadow spreads each day into our realm. What choice do we have but to fight it? I am the king’s son and it is my duty and responsibility to protect our people. You and Adar cannot take that away from me. Other warriors have given their lives to fight the evil that is spreading in our great woods. It is not right that I should sit here day after day and do nothing to help this cause!"
Aldeon looked at the slightly flushed, passionate face of his young brother and felt a surge of pride. He grasped Legolas’ shoulder again. "You will carry out your duty and responsibility as a son of the king. I know you will make us all proud someday. But now is not yet your time. Trust us, Legolas, we only want what is the best for you."
"But it is my life! You and Adar cannot live it for me!" Legolas protested heatedly.
Aldeon sighed rather resignedly. "I know." He took a deep breath and added, "I promise you will join the troops into battle when we feel you are ready."
"When you feel I am ready? But I am ready now! You have seen my skills with the bow and the knives," Legolas pointed out.
"Being skillful with your bow and knives does not necessarily make you a skillful warrior, Legolas. There are battle skills that you must learn -"
"But how am I ever to learn battle skills if I am never allowed to go into battle?" Legolas demanded in exasperation.
"Be patient, Legolas. I will speak to Adar. Perhaps we can send you on some scouting missions. It would be a beginning."
Legolas looked at his older brother with renewed hope. "You promise?"
Aldeon laughed and ruffled the blond hair . "Yes, little one. I promise, but you also must promise me that you will be patient."
Legolas winced. "Aldeon, do not call me little one for I am as tall as you."
Aldeon pulled him into a fond embrace. "You will always be a little one to me. It is late. Go to sleep."
"Aldeon, when are the troops leaving tomorrow?"
"At first light. They will be gone before you are awake."
Legolas nodded and lay back against the pillows. "Good night, Aldeon."

"Sleep well, Legolas".

Chapter 2
Even the woods were unusually quiet this day. Despite the serenity of the trees around him, Legolas felt the restlessness growing within him as he prodded Hwesta forward at a brisk pace. With the restlessness was also a mounting frustration, frustration with the apparent lack of trust his elders had in his ability as a warrior and frustration at his own inability to convince them otherwise. Aldeon had promised that he would convince Thranduil to let him join scouting missions, but so far his brother had not been successful, assuming, of course, that he had even made the attempt at all. His brother had asked patience of him, but it was increasingly difficult as day after day passed in inactivity.
Three days now since the troops had left, one group heading for the eastern borders and the second group to join the patrol already stationed in the volatile southern borders. He harboured no illusions that his father would let him go anywhere near the southern borders where the shadow was the deepest, at least not in the foreseeable future. But the eastern borders had posed little threat until the recent attacks on the settlement there. Even those had been minor squirmishes and it was only out of an abundance of caution that his father had decided to send troops there to better monitor the situation. He had had hoped that he would be allowed to join the troops heading east, but apparently even that was considered too dangerous for him in the mind of his father, and Aldeon.
But then, why should he be surprised? According to his family, even leaving the palace gates was a danger for the likes of him. It was as if he was incapable of breathing for himself once he was out of their hovering sight. He unconsciously touched the bow slung over his shoulder. It mattered not that he could shoot a leaf from a tree two hundred yards away, but he was considered totally incapable of defending himself against the slightest danger. Ai! What would his father say now if he knew that his youngest had now ventured so far out into the woods on his own? A slight smile pulled at his lips. And Salque, the elf charged by Thranduil to ensure the well being of his youngest, must be frantic by now in searching for him and having to face the prospect of reporting to his king that he had managed to let Legolas out of his sight. He knew he should feel a little more charitable toward Salque, but the old warrior had been suffocating in carrying out his duty to his king. It was nice to be alone, if even for a short while. He would have to face Salque and Thranduil later for this little escapade, but for now he would enjoy the little freedom that he had managed to snatch from under their watchful eyes.
He paused briefly and allowed his elven senses to absorb and check his surroundings. He had never been to this part of the woods before, but he was not lost. He knew the geography of Mirkwood as intimately as he knew the back of his own hand. He knew the landscape of the woods not as a well-travelled warrior, as he was never allowed to go beyond the small perimeters that Thranduil had set out for him, but he had spent hours and hours poring over the various maps of the Mirkwood realm and he was certain he was a match for even the most skilled of Mirkwood scouts in navigating from one point of the woods to the next. And of course, he had probed Salque endlessly for tales of his long life as a Mirkwood warrior. There was a surprising amount of information that one could glean from the retelling of a battle scene, if one was attentive to details. Little did his family know, but he had been most scrupulous in gathering and retaining any and all information that would aid him on his road to becoming a full warrior. There was little doubt in his mind that he would someday become a warrior. If only he was given the opportunity.
Abruptly he tightened his legs on Hwesta and the horse stopped obediently. Someone was approaching on horseback, rather noisily and with little care to discretion. He drew Hwesta behind a large oak and leapt onto the branches nimbly with his bow in hand. From the vantage point of a high branch of the oak, he sighted a rider in the distance, no, two riders on one horse, the one in front slumped slightly forward. Both were dressed in Mirkwood colours. Legolas moved through the branches swiftly and noiselessly, leaping from tree to tree until he was but a shortly distance from the approaching elves. With a silent jump, he landed onto the ground just as the riders came into view.
"Prince Legolas!" the uninjured elf saluted immediately as he brought the horse to a halt. "What are you doing out here, by yourself?"
Legolas swallowed his annoyance at the greeting. It would seem that every elf in the Mirkwood kingdom knew that he was not trusted to be out on his own. "Never mind that, but where are you coming from and what happened? He is wounded!"
The said injured elf straightened painfully from his slouch over the mount and managed to salute, "Prince Legolas."
"No, stay on the horse. Do not strain yourself," Legolas said quickly and then turned to the other elf. "Tell me what happened."
"We were attacked by orcs but managed to escape."
"Orcs, near here?" Legolas asked incredulously.
"We must get a message to the King. There is a group of them marching toward the palace, hundreds of them. We must prepare --" the elf continued breathlessly.
"But the scouts came back four days ago and reported that a large army of orcs were gathering to the south. Adar has sent troops there to confront them. The scouts also reported of attacks on the eastern settlement, but there were no reports of orcs heading for the palace. Are you certain?" Legolas found himself gripping the shoulder of the uninjured elf.
"Yes, I am certain. An army of orcs is heading in this direction. They intend to attack the palace. The scouts were tricked into bringing false reports. The orcs are not gathering in the south. It was a trick to draw the troops away from the palace, as were the attacks on the eastern settlement. It was all done so that the palace is left unguarded. I must get this information to the king. The troops will have to be recalled to defend the palace, but it may be too late already. Come, we must ride to the palace as quickly as we can."
Legolas thought quickly. "No, you two ride back to the palace. I will get try to catch up with the troops heading south. We must get them back to the palace as quickly as possible. There is a woeful shortage of warriors at the palace to put up any meaningful defence against such a large army of orcs. Nevertheless, what warriors there are at the palace must prepare. Go quickly and warn them and I will ride south to bring back our troops."
"But you cannot ride alone. It is far too dangerous. You must come back to the palace with us. The King will send the needed messengers to the south."
"No, there is no time to waste. I know the shortest route to catch up with the troops. I will be in no danger. They rode out only three days ago. How far away is the army of orcs?"
"No more than five days from here, depending on how quickly they move."
"Go then. Fly back to the palace and tell my Adar of the news." Legolas turned and whistled for Hwesta.
"Prince Legolas ---"
"Speak no further for you are wasting precious time," Legolas cut him off and leapt onto Hwesta . "Tell my adar that I will catch up with the troops and not to worry. We will get back in time to defend the palace." And he was off on a breakneck gallop even before the last word left his lips.
The remaining elf had little choice but to jump onto the horse behind his wounded companion and prodded the mount into a quick cantor. "May the Valar help us! I do not know what is worse, being under an imminent attack by an army of orcs or to face the King with the news that his youngest is out there on his own."

TBC

Chapter 3 —
Something rather unusual was taking place in Mirkwood’s throne room at the moment. Voices were speaking all at once, the normal melodic lilt of the elven tongue masked with anxiety and urgency. There was even a tinge of fear.
"Quiet! All of you!" At last, Thranduil’s voice cut through the distinctly unelvish rabble.

The voices stilled and all looked to their king expectantly. Thranduil regarded his councilllors and advisers in frowning silence. When at last he spoke, his voice, in spite of his best efforts, sounded tired and strained.
"Now, Yaavie, you first. What exactly are the settlers telling you?"
"My Lord, it is a rumour only and no one has been able to prove it true or otherwise, but there is word that orcs are gathering to attack the palace."
"Rumours? Where are our scouts whose job is to verify reports such as this? I have no time for rumours." Thranduil’s patience was running low. "Send out scouts immediately and report back to me. If there are orcs advancing on the palace, I want to know."
"My Lord, scouts have been sent already but they have not yet returned. I must advise, my Lord, out of an abundance of precaution, that we should prepare as if orcs are amassing."
Aldeon spoke up for the first time. "Most of our warriors have been sent to the southern borders to deal with sightings of a large army of orcs gathering there. Others have also been sent to the eastern settlement." He cast a worried look at Thranduil. "We do not have enough warriors to defend the palace against a large army of orcs should we be attacked."
"Perhaps we should get word to the troops heading to the southern borders that they should return to defend the palace." Yaavie suggested tentatively.
"And what if orcs are gathering at the southern borders as has been reported? Do we then risk the lives of our warriors there? No, we must wait until the scouts return with their reports before we make a decision in recalling the troops," Thranduil countered. "In the meantime, we will prepare as best as we can. Send word out to the surrounding cottagers that they should take protection behind the walls of the palace and that they must do so quickly. All able men will have to take up arms to help defend the palace should the need arises."
A sudden commotion at the doorway interrupted Thranduil’s string of orders and all eyes turned as a travelled-stained and dishevelled elf made his way toward the dais.
"Forgive me, my Lord, for interrupting but I have a most urgent message," the newcomer saluted his liege nervously.
"He is one of two scouts that I sent out two days ago," Yaavie advised the king.
Thranduil nodded and turned to the weary elf before. "What is your name? And what is your urgent message?"
"My name is Kamil, my lord. There is a large army of orcs marching toward the palace. They are but at most four days away."
"How big is this army?" Thranduil asked sharply.
"Hundreds, four hundred perhaps, probably more."
Thranduil turned quickly to his eldest. "Aldeon, send out three of our fastest riders. We must recall the troops."
"Wait, my Lord," Kamil cut in. "The troops are being recalled already."
Thranduil snapped his head back toward the speaker. "How so? I have only just given the order now. Who has recalled them?"
"Prince Legolas," the elf answered, more than a little apprehensively.
"Legolas?!" There was a look of total disbelief on Thranduil’s face. "And since when has he taken command of the troops? And where is Legolas, by the way?" The last question was directed at his eldest.
Aldeon had no answer for him. "I have not seen him since yesterday."
"I have not seen him either," Thranduil spoke in a very quiet voice.
"My Lord - " Kamil spoke up again, though he had the look of someone who dearly wished at the moment that he was born a mute. "We came across Prince Legolas yesterday in the woods. He has gone after the troops to the south. He told us to come back to the palace to warn of the advancing orcs." After speaking, he lowered his head as much as he could, avoiding the darkening countenance of his liege at all cost.
There followed an explosive silence during which no one dared to speak, or for that matter, dared to draw breath.
"Legolas has gone after the troops, on his own?" Thranduil’s voice was very quiet but cuttingly clear.
"Yes, my Lord. He assured us that he was familiar with the ways of the woods and that he would be in no danger." The weary elf winced inwardly. The words sounded lame even in his own ears.
"He is familiar with the ways of the woods and he would be in no danger," Thranduil repeated flatly.
At that moment, another elf entered the room and approached the dais. It was Salque, alone. Thranduil’s heart sank into endless despair.
"My Lord," the seasoned warrior began, worry etched in the ageless elvish features. "Legolas is missing. He did not sleep in his room last night nor could I find him anywhere within the palace walls. I seek your permission to ride out to look for him in the woods."
"He is missing, indeed," Thranduil said tiredly.
"Adar, I will ride out immediately to search for him," Aldeon said. "He could not have gone far."
Thranduil shook his head and nodded toward the wary scout. "It was yesterday that Kamil saw Legolas. That means he should be almost caught up with the troops by now, assuming that he is still in one piece and breathing."
"Adar -"
"My Lord - "
Aldeon and Salque both spoke at once.
Thranduil held up a hand.
"My Lord," Salque was not to be put off. "Where is Legolas?"
"He has apparently taken it upon himself to go after the troops heading to the southern borders, to recall them. The rumours have been confirmed. The palace is under an imminent attack by an army of orcs numbered in the hundreds. And Legolas believes that it is his duty to head off the troops heading south and bring them back here. He is out there, alone."
Salque hung his head. "I have failed you, my Lord. I am sorry. I will ride out after Legolas and bring him back."
Thranduil regarded him silently and then laid a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. "It is not your fault. I know my son and it was only a matter of time that he should escape our grasp. I am surprised that it did not happen sooner."
"But Adar, he cannot be out there on his own -" Aldeon pointed out. "Let me go after him."
"He is my charge. I will go after him," Salque announced.
Thranduil once more held up his hand. "No, it is too late. Neither one of you will find him now. With the orcs amassing, it is too dangerous for any one to wander through the woods at this time."
"I cannot leave him out there on his own. I must ride after him," Aldeon said determinedly.
"And I with you," Salque concurred quickly.
"Neither one of you will ride after him. You will not find him. He made his choice when he decided to ride out on his own on this foolish errand. I need both of you here. We have a war to prepare for," Thranduil said flatly.
"Adar -"
Thranduil shook his head impatiently. "Speak no more. My mind is set."
Aldeon looked at Salque, seeing his own frustration and anguish reflected in the other warrior’s eyes.
"My Lord," Yaavie spoke up again. "Should we not send another messenger after the troops in case Prince Legolas does not succeed?"
Aldeon glared at the adviser. The fool spoke as if Legolas had already perished.
Thranduil nodded wearily. "Aldeon, send out three of your fastest riders. Their mission is to get the message to the troops, not to look for Legolas. Make that clear to them. And tell them to take extreme care."
"Yes, my Lord," Aldeon nodded and with all the reluctance in the world, left to carry out his king’s order.
Oh Legolas, what have you done?
TBC

Chapter 4
He was exhausted. In fact, he could not remember ever being in so tired a state. It had been over two days since he set out on this self-appointed quest of tracking down the troops to warn them of the pending attack on the palace. He had ridden without sleep or rest along the route that he had mentally mapped for himself. From his memory of the maps that he had studied over the years, the route that he had decided to follow would be the shortest and would bring him to the departing troops in the least possible time. But inevitably, the route was also through some of the most difficult terrain of the Mirkwood realm. His weary mind kept wandering to thoughts of his currently vacant bed and he wondered why he had ever loathed the idea of sleeping his life away when he was at home. If he could but sleep now, if even briefly, he would be forever thankful.
He was also extremely thirsty, and hungry. When he left home what seemed a life time ago, he had not planned on embarking on such a quest and naturally had brought no food with him. Fortunately, he had half a skin of water and though he drank sparingly, he had drained the last drop hours before. There was no readily available source of water along the route that he had chosen, nor could he spare the time to deviate from his chosen path to search for water or to forage for food. He swallowed painfully, his thoughts straying to memories of the countless feasts that he had attended only under the threats of his adar. He doubted he would ever again consider attending feasts an unsavoury part of his princely duties and responsibilities.
He forcefully pulled himself into alertness. His mind had been wandering and his senses dulled to possible threats. He was opening himself up to all manners of danger. A good warrior would not be brought low simply by a lack of food and rest. These were only minor discomforts that he must set aside. The most important task at hand was to return with the troops in time to save all those left behind at the palace, including Adar and Aldeon. What were hunger and weariness compared to lives of loved ones? He reached down and patted his equally weary horse.
"Hwesta, I am sorry my friend, but we cannot rest just yet. Many lives depend on us. We must catch up with Feren and Tavaro, and the troops. I promise you all the water and food once we join up with them. But now you and I must endure these minor discomforts. I think we are close to them. The tracks are very fresh. Perhaps before the night falls. Will you be all right until then?"
The horse snorted rather short temperedly, as if disgusted at the doubt voiced by his master of his ability. Legolas could not help but laughed. "I know, my friend. I was only teasing you. I know you can carry me for days yet, let alone a few short hours more. Come, let us carry on like the warriors that we are."
With a renewed surge of energy, Legolas quickened his mount’s pace, feeling thankful that the woods were now less dense and that the tracks of the moving troops were now quite obvious to his elven eyes. He had not doubted that the route that he mapped would eventually cross with the path of the troops, but still, he had been relieved when he at last sighted the tracks of the departing troops which confirmed the wisdom of his choice of route.
xxxx
Free at last from the endless consultations with his advisers and generals, and having rid of the clinging servants, Thranduil made his way along the halls to the royal family quarters . A part of him knew that he should not be sparing time for such selfish indulgence, that he should be spending his every waking minute preparing his realm against the onslaught of the enemies. He was the King of Mirkwood after all and he was responsible for the lives of all those within these great woods, and yet he could no longer deny the pain in his heart which wept silently for the unknown fate of his youngest child. He sought solitude in the only place he could think of - the room of his now missing son.
Silently, he shut the doors and swept his eyes around the room before him. The emptiness of the room screamed out at him and uncontrollably, he flinched as if he was dealt a physical blow.
"Legolas, where are you, my son?" he breathed quietly to himself as he sat down on the neatly made up bed. "Are you safe, my son?"
He buried his face into his hands in despair, at last relinquishing the fear and pain that he had so ruthlessly held in check the past hours while he plotted and planned with the others in preparation for the imminent battle. Only in the sanctuary of this empty room could he at last shed the burden of being a king and take on the role of an anguished father. It had pained him more than he could ever imagine to forbade a search for his youngest child. Every paternal instinct in him screamed out for riding after Legolas himself, to bring this wayward son back to the security of his arms. But the chains of command weighed heavily on him, holding him a virtual prisoner within their grasp. He cursed with vehemence the shadow that hovered over his realm so menacingly. Was it not enough that he has sent his other sons to battles and to face death on a daily basis? Must he also lose his youngest, the one child that so achingly reminded him of his beloved queen, in looks and in temperament? The last precious gift from his beloved before she was taken from him.
"Legolas, please come back to me safely."
*****
Legolas rolled to his feet in a flash, releasing the arrow even before he was fully upright. The shot found its mark and the spider tumbled from the tree and landed with a sickening thud on the ground before him. Hwesta neighed frantically again and Legolas swirled around just in time to jump aside as another spider lunged at him. There was a sharp flash of pain as one of the razor sharp legs caught him along the arm. With a metallic hiss, he drew his knives and in one smooth upward arc, decapitated the loathsome creature whose deadly stinger was within striking distance. Sensing danger behind him, he swept his other knife backward and up and barely managed to dispatch another spider before it made him its next meal.
He danced back lightly against Hwesta, his back protected for the time being by his faithful horse, and took a quick scan of his surroundings. More spiders were dropping from the trees all around him, cutting off any quick means of escape. He fought down the rising panic and drew his bow again. He managed shoot down four more before the spiders came too close for the use of arrows. The knives came out again swirling in deadly flashes that kept the spiders from getting close enough to inflict further harm, or for that matter, death. Without looking, he knew Hwesta also keeping the deadly beasts away with lethal kicks of his powerful legs. Grimly, he knew that they could not keep up this fight much longer. Already, his breathing was coming in ragged gasps, and his muscles strained mightily to maintain the deadly speed of his twirling knives.
Valar, he had never dreamed that his life would end in battling spiders! I will now never know the honour of being a warrior, he thought bitterly.
Another spider came too close and marked him with another painful slash. He thought fleetingly of his family, and how much he would miss them should he never see them again.
****
Aldeon looked beyond the walls toward the canopy of trees in the distance, straining his eyes foolishly in search of a sight that he knew he would not see. Where are you, Legolas? He could not recall how many times he had asked himself that question. He vacillated between fits of anger and despair. Anger at his young brother for recklessly launching himself on a pursuit that was fraught with danger even for a seasoned warrior, let alone a sheltered and protected elf who had yet to see his first battle. And despair at the thought that his beloved brother may have already succumbed to some dire fate even as he prayed for his safe return.
He looked over to where Salque stood staring at the same trees that he himself had been staring. No doubt the very same thoughts were going through the older warrior’s mind as well. With an inward sigh, he made his way to the side of his brother’s keeper.
"I do not see him," he said rather lamely to Salque.
The older warrior appeared startled at his words. Indeed, Aldeon thought, Salque had not heard his approach at all, indicating how deeply distraught the seasoned warrior must be over his missing charge.
"I, too, was hoping to see Legolas ride out of those trees," Aldeon added quietly.
Salque nodded. "Foolish hopes, and yet we cannot help ourselves." With another forlorn look toward the trees, the older warrior hung his head in total despondence. "Aldeon, I fear for him. You do not know how much I fear for him. I should have kept a closer watch on him. I had feared that he might be tempted to leave with the troops and when that did not happen, I allowed my guard down. I should have known that he was much too restless to stay behind these walls."
Aldeon laid a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. "You cannot blame yourself, Salque. You have managed to keep him safe all these years, and that is no easy feat for we all know how Legolas craves for excitement. No other elf on Middle Earth can get himself into as much trouble as he does so effortlessly. Adar is always saying how Legolas ages him in ways that elves, in their blessed immortality, are not predisposed to suffer."
"And yet if he is any less endearing, we would not all worry so," Salque smiled wryly as he recall the endless mishaps that befell his young charge. Thranduil was not the only one that Legolas had managed to age. At times, when Legolas succeeded in trying beyond the near legendary patience of his watcher, Salque had wondered whether immortality was a blessing at all. Forever was a long, long time to be fretting over someone who thrived on misadventures. More than once he had thought of asking Thranduil to release him from his duty as keeper to Legolas. But these thoughts were almost always banished instantly as soon as the young prince appeared before him, radiating effortlessly the boundless enthusiasm and sweetness that few could match, and before Salque was aware, he was already embroiled witlessly in another of the young elf’s misadventures. Life as Legolas’ keeper was never dull.
He felt the younger elf’s hand on his shoulder again and returned the grasp, each taking comfort from the other while sharing the fear and despondency that preyed upon their waking thoughts so relentlessly.
TBC

Chapter 5
His breathing coming in great sobs, he forced his numbed arm up once again and dealt a glancing blow to the advancing spider. It barely slowed the creature as it lunged at its weakening prey with lethal determination. Legolas knew that he could not escape this time and closed his eyes in defeat. So this was how it would end.
The impact never came and through senses deadened by exhaustion, he heard the familiar whizzing sound of arrows slicing through air. He opened his eyes immediately and blinked at the unlikely scene before him, half in confusion, half in awe. Spiders were raining down from the trees, each one pierced by a deadly arrow. He stumbled back against Hwesta and would have fallen to the ground had his faithful mount not shifted to accommodate his weight. It was over very quickly and he suddenly found himself surrounded by dead spiders and fellow elves dressed in Mirkwood colours.
"Prince Legolas, are you all right?" the elf closest to him asked, his face a mask of concern and anxiety.
For once, Legolas was speechless. He stared at the elf before him and managed to nod in some fashion. He realized that he was still holding his knives in an award defensive stance. With an effort, he forced himself to lower his aching arms down to his sides.
"You are hurt!" the same elf cried out upon a closer inspection of a wavering Legolas.
"No, I am fine. I am just surprised. Are you part of Lord Feren’s troops?" Legolas finally managed to find his voice, though it was much shakier than he liked.
"We are. We found signs of spider activities nearby and the captain decided that it was better that we find them first before they find us. But why are you here, on your own?"
"I must speak with my brother immediately. Orcs are amassing to attack the palace and the troops must turn back." All at once, he recalled the urgency of the situation. "Show me the way to the camp. We have no time to lose. Hurry!"
"I will lead the way. The camp is not far from here."
Legolas considered remounting Hwesta but then decided against it. The horse was as weary as him and he did not want to add to his loyal friend’s burden. Hwesta more likely than not had saved his life today. And besides, the other elves were on foot. He reached out and patted Hwesta with great fondness. "Thank you, my friend. We will have rest soon, I assure you."
Squaring his aching shoulders with resolve, he forced himself to keep pace with the fleet-footed elf before him as the others followed closely. The camp indeed was not far for which Legolas was thankful, as he was beginning to feel strangely lightheaded. He determined that it must be from exhaustion or the lack of water and food . More likely, it was a combination of all that and the fact that his body was no longer fueled by adrenaline as it had been when he was battling the spiders.
The occupants of the camp regarded him with silent surprise as he weaved through the site. A few warriors he recognized, but most he did not. Of course they would be surprised to see him here, he thought to himself sardonically. His adar’s fierce protectiveness of him was surely legendary. His face would be the last thing that a Mirkwood warrior would expect to see roaming through a camp that was readying itself for battle. They must all think Thranduil had surely lost his mind in allowing his youngest so close to danger. Certainly, his adar must be out of his mind right now, he mused tiredly, out of his mind with worry over his missing son.
His guide at last came to a stop before a tent. In spite of his weariness, Legolas observed all around him with wide-eyed curiosity and awe. He had never been among the troops as they marched to battle. For that matter, he was seldom, if at all, given the opportunity to mingle with the warriors of Mirkwood. Being among them now was strangely satisfying.
"Lord Feren, Prince Legolas is here," the voice of the other elf drew him out of his momentary reverie. Legolas straightened, chiding himself for allowing his thoughts to stray when he was charged with imparting such vital information to his brother.
Almost before he had a chance to blink, his brother Feren was standing before him, looking at him with unconcealed shock.
"What in the Valar’s name are you doing here, Legolas?" Feren demanded. "You are hurt! There is blood on you!"
"I am fine, Feren, but you must listen to me. You must return with the troops to the palace. Hundreds of orcs are amassing and preparing to attack the palace. There are not enough warriors back home to defend against such an attack." The words tumbled out of his mouth as he faced his older brother.
Feren grasped Legolas by the shoulder and drew him into the tent, but not before issuing an order to Legolas’ guide. "Find Lord Tavoro and ask him to come to me. I need to speak with him immediately." Then he turned and faced his younger brother again. "The orcs are readying to attack the palace? How did you get this information? And why are you the one to bring me this message?"
"I came across two scouts two days ago in the woods. One of them was wounded. They had discovered a large army of orcs marching toward the palace. The previous reports of orcs amassing in the south were false. It was a ruse to draw the troops away from the palace, making it vulnerable to attack. We must turn back right now or it will be too late." Legolas was annoyed with himself that he was unable to deliver the message in a more coherent manner. He was certain that seasoned scouts were not proned to such a disorderly outpouring of words.
"How far away were the orcs? Did the scouts say?" his brother asked, apparently having deciphered the message in spite of its less than eloquent delivery.
"No more than five days, as last reported by the scout. I fear we are already too late by now," Legolas said with renewed desperation.
At that moment, the tent flap opened and Tavaro walked in. He stopped abruptly at the sight of his youngest brother.
"I must be seeing things. Legolas, what are you doing here? Who else is here? Adar? Aldeon?"
"I am here on my own. Adar does not know where I am."
"Well, then your homecoming should be very interesting indeed."
"Tavaro, we have no time to jest. Go and order the troops to break camp. We are returning immediately to the palace. There is no time to explain in details for I do not know them myself. Now go and give the order to break camp."
Tavaro gave his older brother one last questioning glance. "Your order will be carried out, but I will be back soon enough and you, princeling, will tell us everything." The last words were directed at Legolas with a wink.
Legolas could not help but grin at his brother’s departing back. It was so like Tavaro to find mirth even in the most dire situations. Suddenly the interior of the tent swam before his eyes. Vaguely he felt his brother’s hand steadying him.
"Legolas, you are hurt!"
"No, I am fine. I am just very tired, and hungry and thirsty. Can I have some food please? I have not eaten for days."
His brother pressed him down onto a chair and handed him a skin of water. "Drink and I will order some food for you."
Legolas gulped greedily at the water and did not stop until the skin was half emptied. Water had never tasted so good. By then Feren had returned with a steaming bowl of stew and Legolas felt his stomach cramp painfully at the prospect of finally receiving food.
"Eat it slowly, Legolas or you will make yourself ill," his brother cautioned as he approached his brother with a basin of water and bandages. "You have hurt your arm. I will see to it when you have finished eating."
"Oh, it’s nothing, mere scratches from when I fought with the spiders," Legolas mumbled between mouthfuls.
Feren almost dropped the basin of water, but recovered quickly. He forced the panic from his voice. "Spiders? You encountered spiders?"
"I almost did not survive the fight, but your men arrived just in time." Legolas looked rather sheepishly at his older brother. "I was so tired that I allowed my guard down and did not realize the danger until they were upon me." He set down the empty bowl. Now that his thirst and hunger were satiated, his weariness was almost overwhelming. He eyed the pallet in the corner of the tent with longing.
"Come Legolas, you are exhausted. Lie down and rest while I tend to your arm," Feren said as he guided his younger brother to the pallet. Legolas was asleep even before Feren finished removing his quiver and knives.
For a long moment, Feren gazed down at his young brother, alarmed that he slept with his eyes closed. The child really must be exhausted. This fact was further confirmed when Legolas failed to stir even when his brother dressed the gashes on his arm. As Legolas had stated, they were not serious and Feren detected no sign of spider venom on the cuts. He was beginning to clean the smudges of travel from his brother’s face when Tavaro entered the tent. The latter chuckled when he saw how Legolas slept through the ministrations of his older brother.
"The princeling must had himself some adventure on the way here to sleep through all this."
Feren was less inclined to laugh about the matter. "Apparently he fought with spiders, and only the Valar knows what else. He is exhausted. Look how he sleeps with his eyes closed. I hope it is only exhaustion." He stood up and regarded his other brother. "How soon will we be able to leave?"
"Within the hour. What is this that the orcs are planning to attack the palace? Are we certain?" Tavaro asked as he began gathering things and putting them into their packs.
"That is the message that Legolas brings. We cannot risk not taking it for the truth. I will need to send out the fastest riders that we have to see where this army of orcs is right now. Legolas was told that they were five days away from the palace when the scouts discovered them. If that is true, then the palace is already under siege."
"Orcs are an notoriously undisciplined and quarrelsome lot. If they were five days away then, then they are all likely still five days away now. The left foot of an orc would argue with its right foot as to which is to take the first step. I am confident that they are nowhere near the palace as yet."
"They were disciplined enough that they managed to fool our scouts or else we would not be on this wild chase to the south," Feren pointed out.
"Do you not find that a little suspicious? I think it would prove enlightening if we look into how those reports came to be."
"Yes, that thought has already occurred to me, but we will deal with that later. My main concern right now is getting the troops back to the palace. I can only pray that we are not once again chasing our own tails. I will send a small detachment of troops to the south as precaution. We will also need to send out scouts to apprise the situation there, as well as to the eastern borders. If it is true that there are no threats to the south and to the eastern settlement, then I will want all available troops to return to the palace. Even then, we will be outnumbered."
Tavaro glanced at his older brother and shrugged. "We are always outnumbered by those Valar forsaken creatures, but they are no match for the skills of our warriors."
"It would be prudent not to be so overconfident. The orcs may not be the disciplined warriors that we are, but in large numbers they are still a potent enemy to reckon with."
"Ah, Feren, you worry too much," Tavaro said and then glanced down at his sleeping brother. "And what shall we do with the princeling? Are we bringing him to battle with us?"
Feren frowned. "I do not want him exposed to danger."
"I do not think that we have the option not to right now. We cannot leave him behind nor can we send him ahead," Tavaro pointed out.
"You are right. He will have to stay with us, though I loath the thought of him facing an army of orcs. I still cannot believe that he managed to slip away on his own. What was he possibly thinking of in endangering himself like this? I cannot imagine what Adar will do to him when we get him back home."
Tavaro laughed. "Adar will probably first smother him with loving embraces and then throw the princeling into the dungeons and toss away the key. It will be a sight to behold. I imagine Adar must be frantic. I would not care to be in Salque’s boots right now."
Feren eyed his younger brother wearily. "I do not believe our situation is much improved over that of Salque. We have Legolas with us, and we are about to march into battle with an army of orcs. If harm should come to Legolas, we will be the ones who have to face Adar."
"That prospect is almost as unsettling as facing down a Balrog. Well, then, you and I must ensure that no harm befalls the princeling and being the accomplished warriors that we are, the task should not be beyond us."

Feren studied the innocent face of his sleeping sibling. "With Legolas, nothing is ever that easy."

TBC

Ch. 6
Somebody was shaking him and he swatted the annoying hand away with a groan.
"Wake up, Legolas. We must leave now." A voice spoke from some distance away. "Open your eyes. It is not impossible, princeling."
Open his eyes? No wonder it had been so dark. But why were his eyes closed? With considerable effort, he pried open the heavy lids and saw Tavaro’s grinning face looking down at him. His bleary eyes darted about in confusion. Where was he? This was not his room, and why was his brother here?
"Well, you certainly are a difficult one to wake. Make haste now, the entire camp awaits you." Tavaro extended a hand down to him.
Camp? Memories came rushing back to him and he grasped his brother hand and pulled himself up, suppressing another groan as his body protested the movement. "How long have I been asleep?"
"By the looks of you, not long enough, but we have to move out now." Tavaro handed him his quiver and knives. He peered at his younger brother’s face rather anxiously. "Will you be able to ride?"
Legolas began to strap on his quiver. "I am fine. You should have woken me sooner. I do not wish to be the one to cause any further delays."
At that moment, Feren entered the tent. "You are awake. How do you feel?"
Legolas frowned, wondering whether he looked as poorly as he felt. "I am fine, and I will be able to ride."
Feren’s regarded him with a raised brow. "We will see about that soon enough. Legolas, before we move out, I need you to listen to me carefully."
Legolas looked at his older brother questioningly. "Yes?"
"I want you to promise me that you will stay either by my side or by the side of Tavaro, at all times, unless I give you orders to the contrary. Is that understood?"
"I am quite capable -", Legolas began.
"No, you are not. You should not be here in the first place, and the fact that you are does not mean that you have the right to act as you please. You will be under my command, like all the other warriors." Feren’s tone of voice was that of a commander, not a brother.
"Yes, Feren," Legolas said, though his eyes flashed with defiance.
"As your older brother, and commander, I am responsible for your safety. Do not think that you are a warrior just because you are here. You have never been in battle. You will not know how to conduct yourself in a battle. If I so command, you will immediately move into the trees and stay out of sight until I deem it safe for you to return to the ground. You are in no way to take part in the fighting. Is that clear?"
"But I can help -", Legolas could not help but protest.
"Is that clear?" His brother’s voice made it evident that he would tolerate no answer other than an affirmative.
"Yes, Feren," Legolas grunted between pursed lips.
For a moment, Feren regarded him in studied silence. In the end, he reached out and placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. "I am doing this for your safety. I do not wish you to come to harm. I know you yearn to become a full-fledged warrior, but now is not the time to do so. This will be no simple confrontation with a few marauding orcs nor is this a training game. We will be riding into utmost danger in which even the most seasoned warriors might not escape injury, or in some cases, death. Adar will never forgive me if you should come to harm if there is a way that I can prevent it. Nor can I ever forgive myself, for that matter."
Legolas took a deep breath and nodded. "I will do as you wish."
"Good." There was obvious relief on his older brother’s face. "Let us prepare to leave now."
Tavaro stepped forward and grasped Legolas’ shoulder with a grin. "Let us hope that you will remember that promise in the heat of action."
"Do not tempt him, Tavaro." Feren shot a glaring look at his other sibling.
"Peace, brother. I am only reinforcing your order to the princeling here. It is easy to lose sight of reasoned thoughts, or promises, when the action gets too intense."
"I should think that is also a reminder to yourself as well," Feren said dryly.
Tavaro smiled a little too broadly. "Fear not for me, Feren, for you have enough to fret about with the commanding of the troops, and our little princeling here."
This time, it was Legolas’ turn to glare at him. "Let us not forget that the little princeling did manage to get this very important message to you, and with record speed, I may add."
At these words, Feren looked at Legolas rather sharply. "How did you manage to get here so quickly? It would seem that you have covered the same distance that we have in half the time. Even if you took no time to rest, it would still seem unlikely that you could reach us in so short a time."
Legolas could not help but smile. "I know of short routes through our lands."
"Short routes?" Feren echoed. "How?"
"Let me show you on a map. If we follow the same route back, we may have a chance to get back to the palace in time."
His older brother regarded him rather dubiously but nonetheless retrieved and unrolled a map before them.
Legolas traced his finger along the map and explained. "I took the most direct route to where we are now from where I met up with the scouts. It is not a route followed by most as the terrain is rather difficult and there are no readily available sources of water unless one takes a detour."
"Do you think the troops will be able to follow this route of yours?" Feren asked.
Legolas was immensely pleased that his older brother was actually asking for his opinion. "I do not see why not, if we fully replenish our water skins before we leave. There are parts that we will have to lead our horses and travel by foot, but it is still a much shorter route."
"How do you know about these routes? I thought you have been forbidden by Adar to venture beyond the palace gates," Tavaro asked.
"Oh, Adar has finally acknowledged the unreasonableness of that rule. I am permitted to wander to certain parts of the woods, as long as Salque accompanies me." Legolas’ eyes glinted momentarily with mischief. "And Salque and I have come to an understanding." Turning sober again, he continued, "I have spent much time studying the maps that are kept at the library. I believe a warrior should know his realm as thoroughly as possible in order to better defend it."
The look of surprise on his brothers’ faces changed to one of growing respect and Legolas suddenly felt better than he had in a long time.
"Well, well," Tavaro breathed as he wrapped an arm around his youngest sibling. "It seems we have underestimated our baby brother. Who would have guessed that for someone who was practically chained to the palace would know Mirkwood better than those of us who had been travelling to its borders for more than a millennium? What are we waiting for then? Lead the way, little brother."
***
Legolas did not exactly lead the way, as it turned out. He was at the moment sandwiched between his two brothers, with warriors riding both before and after him. No doubt some were hovering in the trees above to ensure that no danger would drop from the sky and land on him. His annoyance at this smothering protectiveness was brewing and he wondered briefly whether he could abide by the promise that he had made to his brothers should they continue to hover over him so needlessly. He could not even imagine how they would act once they were within striking distance of their enemies.
He shifted restlessly on his mount and wished again that he was atop of Hwesta, but his faithful horse was still weary from the all too recent difficult journey and Legolas had chosen another stallion for the return trip to allow Hwesta his much-deserved rest. Rest. Though he would never admit it, Legolas sorely needed rest himself. The short sleep had restored him a little, but after hours on horseback riding through some very difficult terrain, weariness was once more catching up to him. To make matters worse, they were fast approaching a long stretch where they must travel by foot as the ground was too rocky and dangerous for the troops to continue on horseback.
"Feren," he turned to address his brother. "The ground will be getting very treacherous soon. We will have to travel the next while on foot."
"I am beginning to see that." Feren nodded as his horse stepped gingerly around a sharp outcrop of rock. He issued a quiet order to one of the elves who quickly edged forward to pass on the command to the troops ahead. Feren dismounted, and the others followed suit.
***
Feren stole a sideways glance at his youngest brother. They had been travelling on foot for quite some time now and it was obvious that Legolas was tiring. The boy had made this difficult journey once already, Feren thought to himself grimly, and now he was doing it again with nary a rest between journeys. He wondered how much longer Legolas could keep up. He saw Tavaro reached out with a supporting hand as Legolas nearly stumbled.
"I am fine, Tavaro. You can let go of me," Legolas said irritably.
"I know you are fine, but I need support," Tavaro said good-naturedly, keeping his hand lightly on his younger brother’s arm.
Legolas sighed audibly but said no more, nor did he shake himself loose from his brother’s grasp, which only added to Feren’s concern. Legolas must be exhausted if he was willing to let Tavaro help him along. Concerned as he was, Feren knew he could not afford to call for rest any time soon. Rest on this journey would be short and far between. Too many lives depended on their speedy return to the palace.
"How much longer on foot, Legolas?" he asked. For his brother’s sake, he hoped they could remount their horses soon. The outcrops of rocks were beginning to thin out.
Legolas looked around him. "Just up ahead, we will be able to ride again." There was obvious relief in his voice.
The ground slowly levelled out and Feren gave the order to remount their horses. He laid a hand on Legolas’ shoulder as the latter prepared to climb back onto his steed.
"Legolas, you are riding with me," he said to the younger elf.
His brother turned to him, scowling. "Why?"
"Because you are exhausted and are more likely than not to fall off your horse if you should attempt to ride by yourself."
"I am not about to fall off my horse. When do elves ever fall off horses?," Legolas asked angrily.
"When they are about to drop from exhaustion." Feren took in a deep breath and softened his voice. "Legolas, there is no shame in needing rest. You have travelled long and hard. Even the most seasoned warrior need rest after such a journey."
"You better do as he says, Legolas," Tavaro chimed in. "Or he will likely knock you out."
"Tavaro!" Feren was in no mood for his brother’s peculiar sense of humour at the moment.
"All right, all right. You better do as he says, Legolas or I will knock you out."
Legolas looked at both of his brothers for a long moment. With a sigh, he climbed onto Feren’s mount. He really was too tired to argue with them further and he had been harbouring the fear that there was the possibility of falling off his horse should sleep overcome him. He decided that there was less shame in falling asleep in his brother’s arms than in falling off a horse. He felt Feren climbed on behind him and his older brother’s arms circled round him protectively.
"Sleep, Legolas. I will not let you fall."
In spite of his initial reluctance, Legolas found himself slowly relaxing into his brother’s arms and his eyes closed as exhaustion finally overtook him.
TBC

Ch. 7
"Legolas, awaken." A voice cut through the heavy depths of his sleep.
Legolas stirred and opened his eyes. He tensed as he felt arms about him and then realized that the arms were those of his brother. Self-consciously, he pulled himself up and away from his brother’s embrace. "What is happening?"
"How do you feel?"
"Better," Legolas admitted and then added as an afterthought, "Thank you. I guess I needed the sleep. I think I can ride on my own now."
His older brother’s hand gripped him briefly. "Yes, no doubt you can." And watched with a small smile as Legolas leapt nimbly onto his own mount.
"Where is Tavaro?" Legolas looked around and asked. "And many of our warriors are no longer here. What has happened?"
"I have split up the troops. Our scout has returned and reported that the orcs are less than a day away from the palace."
"So they have not attacked yet?" Legolas cut in anxiously.
"Thank the Valar, no."
Legolas closed his eyes and breathed a brief, thankful prayer. They were not too late yet! There was still hope. He once again turned to his brother. "What are our plans?"
"I have sent out two groups of warriors, one to the east and the other to the west. They are to engage and draw out the orcs from both flanks," Feren began to explain.
"And we will attack them from behind," Legolas finished rather triumphantly.
His brother looked at him approvingly. "Yes. The plan is to draw enough of those foul creatures away from the main formation so that the entire army falls into sufficient disarray for us to mount an attack from the rear. I fear the plan places far too much trust in the expectation that orcs tend to be rather undisciplined in battles. Though that has been our past experience with them, we do not know whether this particular army of orcs will behave as such."
"It sounds like a good plan," Legolas said, glancing at his brother. "I know I am inexperienced in battle strategies so my approval probably does not count for much."
Feren favoured him with a smile. "Though I would rather not have you learn the rudiments of battle so precariously close to danger, I do believe you will be much wiser after this escapade of yours."
"What better place to learn battle strategies than on the battle ground itself?" Legolas grinned with enthusiasm.
His brother’s brows immediately furrowed. "I hope you have not forgotten your promise to me. Nothing has changed. You are not to take part in the fighting."
Legolas’ face fell. It was one thing promising inaction on his part when he was on the brink of collapse from exhaustion, but now that he had recovered much, if not all, of his strength, resentment was beginning to grow once more at his brother’s unreasonable over-protectiveness. He opened his mouth to protest but was ruthless silenced by Feren.
"No arguments, Legolas. You have given me your promise and I expect you to fully abide by it. I have a battle to conduct and I cannot be distracted with concerns over your well being. You will stay within the safety of the trees until I tell you otherwise."
"I am not as completely helpless to defend myself as you may think. After all, I did manage to find my way to the troops without coming to grievous harm," Legolas retorted angrily. "And how long will I have to stay in the trees? Until the fighting stops? That can be days -"
"I will assign one of my warriors to stay with you. And you will do as he commands. We are about to go into battle. This is no time for your childish display of injured pride," Feren spoke more harshly than he had intended and when he saw the naked pain on his brother’s young face, he regretted the hurtful words even more. He was about to say something to lessen the sting of his words when a commotion among his men drew his attention. A scout had returned and the duty of command called to him. He would have to deal with Legolas later. With a brief glance at his brother, he tuned and hurried to the newly arrived scout.
"My lord, orcs are coming this way," the scout reported even before he was questioned. "There are at least fifty of them heading this way. They look as if they are on their way to join the main army."
"How far away are they?" Feren asked quickly.
"Not more than half an hour away."
"All right, we will have to stop them. Tuile, I want you and your men ride out to ensure that no orc gets pass to join the main army. Uurime, you and your men go through the trees and draw the orcs in this direction. Make certain that none stray behind. The rest of us will wait here in the trees and cut them down as they draw near. Hesin, I want you to stay with Legolas. Make sure he stays hidden until the danger has passed. All right, let us prepare ourselves."
Feren rejoined his brother. "Legolas, into the trees right now! Climb as high as you can and stay well hidden. Hesin will stay with you."
"What is happening?" Legolas could not help but asked.
"Orcs are approaching. Now no more questions and get into the trees!" Feren ordered sharply.
Legolas threw his brother one final look of defiance before sprinting toward one of the larger trees nearby. In a flash of gold, he disappeared into the thick foliage, followed closely by Hesin.
Feren stared briefly at the tree which Legolas had so readily climbed, his lips pursed with frustration. With a deep breath, he resolutely put aside thoughts of his young brother and made one last visual sweep of the woods around him. His men had already taken their places in the trees and to the untrained eyes, were virtually invisible within the sheltering canopy of the trees. He made his way swiftly to the tree that he had chosen and in a few liquid moves, he too was hidden among the leaves with his bow nocked for action. His keen hearing had already begun to pick up sounds of the heavy footsteps of orcs trampling through the wooded grounds.
Legolas’ heart was pounding with anticipation as he strained his eyes to catch his first sight of the oncoming orcs. Excitement coursed through him as he readied his bow. Feren had forbidden him to take part in the fighting, but picking off orcs with his arrow from the safety of the trees was not really fighting, at least not in the sense of face-to-face combat with the enemies. Hesin made a move as if to stop Legolas, but then seemed to have thought better of it. After all, the young prince was well known for his prowess with the bow and if more orcs could be killed by arrows, then the risk of a ground confrontation would also lessen. At this thought, the warrior readied his own bow.
The noise of fighting long reached Legolas’ ears before the orcs themselves spilled out amongst the trees and into his line of vision. At the first sight of the dark brutish creatures, his breath caught and nearly stopped, and his bow wavered fractionally. The whizzing sound of arrows slicing through the air snatched him from his momentary paralysis and then he too released his arrow. Once again, Legolas faltered as he watched his arrow tore into the neck of an advancing orc, dropping the enemy instantly. His first kill, and he felt strangely nauseous.
"Do not stop," Hesin’s voice commanded quietly at his side.
Fool, Legolas chided himself as he nocked another arrow with lightening speed. The enemy does not stop just because you are feeling squeamish over your first kill. His second arrow again found its mark. Then Legolas found himself firing off arrow after arrow, with unconscious fluidity and speed. He noted with grim satisfaction that each of his flying arrows culminated in the certain death of an orc. His hand reached back once more and this time, it met air. He was out of arrows. He looked at Hesin in near panic. The other elf’s quiver was also empty. Something caught his eyes and Legolas snapped his attention back to the ground beneath him. He saw with dismay that a number of elves had left the protection of the trees and were now engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the orcs that continued to filter out from the trees. His heart gave a curious lurch when he saw that Feren was among those elves. Instinctively he moved further out onto the branch to catch a better glimpse of the fighting.
"Prince Legolas," he heard Hesin call out warningly.
Oblivious to the warrior behind him, Legolas watched with fierce concentration the swirling figure of his brother as Feren skillfully parried the scimitars of the orcs with one knife and delivered death with the other. More elves were dropping from the trees and joining the melee of the battle. Whether purposely or not, Feren was moving closer and closer to the tree where Legolas had perched himself. His brother had just struck down another orc and was turning to seek out another when Legolas caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Behind Feren, an orc, assumed dead by the warriors, had lurched to his knees and was about to let loose an arrow that was aimed directly for his unsuspecting brother’s back.
"No!" Legolas cried out and without thinking, jumped from his perch in a reckless dive.
"Prince Legolas!" Hesin made a wild lunge for the young elf but only grasped air. He watched with horror as Legolas landed briefly on a lower branch and then dove again toward his brother. A mere second later, the younger elf’s body collided with that of his brother, knocking Feren to the ground and out of the deadly path of the flying arrow. The arrow instead found another target.
Hesin was immediately behind Legolas but despite of his speed, he was still too late. It was he who cried out when he saw the deadly arrow slam into Legolas’ back, pitching him forward on top of his fallen brother. Hesin sprang from where he landed and with one quick swipe of his knife, decapitated the foul creature that had brought down his prince. He rushed back to where Feren was kneeling on the ground, cradling the limp body of his brother in his arms.
His face contorted with anguish, Feren grounded out his command through clenched teeth. "No orc is to escape!"
Grim-faced, the warriors fanned out through the trees to hunt down the orcs that had managed to slip by them. There were few which had managed to escape and the warriors had no intention of letting them go far. A small group remained behind, gathered in a protective ring around the two princes.
Feren looked down at the ashen face of his brother. "Legolas, you fool, why? Why did you do it?"
His breath coming in panting gasps, it took Legolas several agonizing tries before he could give sound to his words. "I do --do n-not want the orcs to – to take you. They have –already taken – Naneth."
His eyes stinging with unshed tears, Feren lowered his head until his forehead was touching his brother’s. "Oh, Legolas, I do not want the orcs to take you either!"
TBC

Ch. 8
"My lord." There was a light touch on his shoulder and Feren looked up.
"The arrow, we must remove it." It was Hesin, his face written over and over again with guilt.
Feren nodded briefly and forced himself to take in a steadying breath. He eased his brother’s body up slightly over an upraised knee and Legolas cried out in pain.
"I am sorry, Legolas," he whispered. He reached out tentatively for the thick black arrow that protruded so grotesquely from his brother’s body, but stopped halfway when he found that his hand was trembling too much.
"Allow me to do it, my lord," Hesin offered.
Feren nodded at him gratefully, relieved that he would not be the one to cause his brother further pain. Numbly, he watched as another elf began to ready the needed bandages and healing herbs.

"My lord, the arrow has almost gone right through. If we pull it out, it will cause even more grievous damage." Hesin was studying the arrow with a frown. "I suggest that we push it through, remove the arrow head and then withdraw the shaft."
Feren peered down his brother’s back. The arrow had entered Legolas’ lower left side with nearly a third of the shaft burying itself in the torn flesh. Pushing the arrow through would create another wound, but tearing it out could very well end his brother’s life instantly. Both seemed to be unthinkable choices.
"We will push the arrow through." Feren forced the words out with difficulty. "Spread out a cloak so I can lay him down."
Legolas cried out again as he was eased down onto the ground and Feren noted with a sinking heart that his brother’s cries were already weakening. Gently he positioned Legolas onto his side and began to cut away the blood soaked tunic, being careful not to jar the protruding arrow.
When all was ready, he took one of his brother’s hands into his own while he placed the other firmly on Legolas’ shoulder to hold him still. Another warrior held down the young elf’s legs. Legolas whimpered weakly, barely holding onto consciousness. Feren glanced briefly at Hesin and nodded.
As Hesin pushed the arrow through in one quick movement, Legolas’ body bucked wildly against the restraining hands and his scream pierced Feren’s heart and soul with unimaginable anguish. The young elf’s body suddenly went slack and Feren breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar that his brother was at last unconscious and beyond reach of the all-consuming pain.
Hesin quickly cut off the blood-slicked arrowhead and with one smooth pull, drew the shaft from the now inert body. Blood gushed liberally from both wounds and Feren pressed cloths against the gaping holes in a fruitless attempt to stem the bleeding. He had to force back threatening cries of fear and helplessness as he felt his brother’s blood spilling over his hands with sickening warmth.
"Press harder, my lord or we will lose him!" Hesin admonished sharply. "You cannot hurt him now."
After what seemed an eternity, the bleeding finally slowed enough for herbs to be applied and bandages wound thickly around the young elf’s body. Legolas had not wakened and Feren had to check time and time again to ensure that his brother in fact still drew breath, so deathly still was he.
Even as he sat cradling his brother’s seemingly lifeless form, Feren knew that they could not afford to linger any longer. Tuile and his group of warriors had since returned with the report that they had been successful in preventing any orcs from escaping. His men were now awaiting his order to move out against the enemies. Desperate as he was to do so, Feren knew they could not remain stationary to give Legolas the much-needed time to heal and knew, as well, that his brother may likely perish because of this, but there were too many lives at stake. As the king’s son and commander of troops, he could not justify the weighing of one life against so many, even though that one life was that of his brother. If they could not win this battle, it was unlikely that Mirkwood would survive. Any other option was closed to him.
"All right, prepare to move out. We have lost enough time already." He wrapped another cloak around his unconscious brother and pushed himself upright with Legolas cradled in his arms.
"My lord, what of Prince Legolas?" Hesin asked hesitantly, his eyes unmoving from the motionless form of the young prince.
"We cannot leave him behind. It is far too dangerous. He will ride with us – for as long as it is possible. Once we have fully engaged the enemies in battle, I want you to find a way to take him back to the palace." ‘if you can’. The unspoken words hung heavily between them. They both knew the chances of getting Legolas safely back to the palace amidst the fighting were slim, if there were chances at all.
Hesin hung his head in guilt. "I know I do not deserve your trust for I have already failed you once, but I swear to you that I will protect him with my life."
"I know you will, Hesin," Feren said quietly. "Do not blame yourself. I know you did your best, but Legolas is – unstoppable." He closed his eyes in momentary anguish. Then gathering what remained of his self-control and discipline, he straightened with his burden and said in his commander’s voice. "Let us move out. We have an army of orcs to kill."
***
They were riding very quickly, and Feren did his best to cushion the jostling that would only add further injury to his brother who remained so alarmingly still in his arms. He glanced down at Legolas, as he had done countless times before on this ride to battle, and as before, the colourless countenance of his brother caused his heart to lurch and skip most painfully. He was thankful that Legolas, in his senseless state, could not feel the pain the jarring cantor of the horse no doubt inflicted, but he worried also over the prolonged state of unconsciousness that his brother had fallen into. He knew if Legolas were to survive, they needed to get him to the care of the skilled healers at the palace and that any delay would only dim his brother’s chances of survival. And yet their path was blocked by an unruly army of orcs bent on destroying all of Mirkwood.
In all his years as a warrior and commander, Feren had never felt such helpless frustration. His youngest brother was slipping closer and closer to death and he was completely powerless to halt that deadly descent. How could he possibly face Thranduil, or his other brothers, should Legolas be lost? How could he face himself, for that matter? How could he ever live with the knowledge that Legolas sacrificed his own life so that he may live?
Stop it, he admonished himself silently. Legolas breathed still. Dwelling on thoughts of death would not help the situation, dire as it was. He must focus on his other responsibilities. His men depended on his skills as a commander if they were to win this battle. If he faltered now, all would be lost.
As these thoughts tumbled through his anguished mind, his arms tightened unwittingly around his injured brother. Legolas moaned and the older elf snapped out of his untimely reverie.
"Legolas?" Feren called out softly, peering intently at this brother’s ashen face for signs of wakening.
From Legolas, there was only another weak moan as he stirred imperceptibly.
"Be still, Legolas or you will cause yourself more pain."
The thick lashes lifted fractionally and Legolas moved his lips as to speak, though no sound came forth. Feren brought his horse to a halt and the other warriors followed suit.
"We shall stop here briefly," Feren said. "Tuile, send two of your men ahead with a message to the other two detachments – that they are to attack as soon as they are ready. Uurime, send a scout ahead to apprise the location of the orcs. I believe they are near. He is to signal to us as soon as the flank attacks commence . We will be close behind. The rest of you, take this opportunity to ready yourselves for battle."
"My lord, pass Prince Legolas down to me while you dismount," Hesin held out his arms.
In spite of their care and gentleness, Legolas whimpered in pain as he was passed from his brother’s arms to those of the waiting warrior. With the utmost care, Hesin eased the wounded elf back against the trunk of a tree. Feren knelt down beside his brother with the water skin.
"Come, Legolas, you must drink some water." He slipped a supporting hand behind his brother’s head and eased him forward slightly.
Legolas only managed a few small sips before he pulled away weakly. "No more."
Frowning, Feren took the water skin away. Legolas needed to drink more, to compensate for the severe blood loss. Setting that worrying thought aside, he turned his attention to the more obvious concern. "Legolas, I need to check your wound."
Beside him, Hesin had already prepared fresh bandages and was sorting through the herbs. With a tremor that he could not control, Feren unwound the thick bandages that covered his brother’s slender body, grimacing at the spreading stains that colored the white linen. The wounds continued to seep blood, no doubt aggravated by the constant jostling on horseback. Stoically blocking out the small sounds of pain that his brother was making, Feren quickly applied a new layer of crushed herbs and rewrapped the wounds securely. He was not the skilled healer that his brother so desperately needed but he hoped the herbs would at least ease some of the pain and slow the bleeding. He pulled the edges of the cloak closer around his brother’s chin.
"How do you feel?" The question sounded lame even in his own ears, but he could think of no further words at the moment.
Surprisingly, there was a wisp of smile on his brother’s colourless face. "Weak, and in pain." The words were barely above a whisper and were spoken with an obvious effort.
Feren laid a gentle hand against his brother’s face. "I am sorry I cannot do more to ease your suffering."
"I know, Feren," he paused to collect his breath. "Where are we?"
"Very close to our enemies. We will be launching into battle soon." His thumb gently stroked the soft skin of his brother’s cheek. "I am sorry, Legolas, but I must leave you soon."
"I know, Feren," Legolas whispered. "For battle. Your duty."
Feren swallowed painfully at the unexpected words of maturity. What of his duty to his brother? He angrily shook the thought away. "Hesin will stay with you and take you back to the palace."
"Worry not. I will be fine." The hint of a smile again touched his brother’s whiten lips.
Feren leaned forward to kiss his young brother on the forehead. "May the Valar watch over you, Legolas."
Legolas grasped his brother’s tunic weakly. "Feren, take care. Meet at palace – after battle."
Feren furiously blinked back the threatening tears and pulled his brother into a gentle embrace, hoping desperately that this would not be the last time that he would hold his brother in his arms. "Yes, we will meet after the battle, at the palace."
"I would do it again," Legolas whispered.
Feren pulled back slightly. "What?"
"Taking the arrow."
This time, the tears spilled helplessly and he pressed his brother once more to his chest. "Thank you, little one, for my life." Then with renewed resolve, he eased Legolas back against the tree and stood up.
"Hesin, I deliver him into your care." He clasped the other warrior’s arm forcefully. "I will send word to you as to when to set out for the palace."
Hesin returned the clasp. "With my life, I will protect him, my lord. He shall live as long as I draw breath."
Feren nodded and forcing himself to not look back at Legolas one last time, he leapt onto his horse and held up a hand, drawing the attention of each of the warriors. "We ride to battle, for Mirkwood!"
TBC

Ch. 9

Hesin knelt down beside Legolas and called out softly. "Prince Legolas, you must drink more water."
The young elf looked up listlessly and regarded the other with eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion. Legolas drank obediently as Hesin studied him with increasing worry. The youngling’s face was a colourless mask, with two small patches of unnatural colour tinting the deathly pale cheeks. Alarmed, the older elf reached out and laid the back of his hand over the other’s forehead. He immediately felt the unmistakable heat that was so unnatural to elves. The wounds must be festering. The need to get the young elf to the healers was becoming increasingly desperate. Hesin strained his ears for sounds of one approaching but could only pick the distant clamour of battle. The fighting had begun then. Hesin debated briefly with himself the wisdom of riding out before a signal from his commander and almost immediately decided against it. Feren was more than a capable commander and no doubt word would come soon.
"I am sorry, Hesin," Legolas suddenly spoke up, startling the older elf.
"Sorry for what, my prince?"
"You would not be here if not for me," Legolas whispered. "You would be with your fellow warriors, defending Mirkwood."
Hesin regarded the younger elf and allowed himself to smile. "You are part of Mirkwood, my prince. I feel no less honour protecting you than if I were protecting Mirkwood by fighting the accursed orcs with the others."
"But you are a warrior," Legolas said. "Not a nursemaid."
Hesin could not help but smile again at the youngling’s words. "The duties of a warrior are many, one of which is tending to the injuries of another warrior and ensuring the other’s well-being. And that is exactly what I am doing."
There was a sparkle in Legolas’ eyes that was not put there by the fever. "You would consider me a warrior?"
"You have conducted yourself as well as any of us when we confronted the orcs back there in the woods. Your arrows more often than mine found their target." He touched the young elf lightly on the arm. "Moreover, you were willing to sacrifice your own life for that of another warrior, something which even a seasoned warrior might hesitate in so doing."
"I only wanted to save my brother," Legolas said softly.
"Nevertheless, it was very brave and selfless of you." Hesin reached out and clasped the young elf in the manner of a warrior greeting. "I am proud to call you my fellow warrior."
Legolas smiled and whispered, "Thank you, Hesin. You do not know how much your words mean to me."
"Now rest, young one. You must conserve your energy for what is ahead." Hesin watched in grim satisfaction as Legolas closed his eyes. He did not want to think that death awaited them, but he also did not think they would reach the palace unscathed. He could only pray that he would be able to return Thranduil’s young son to his liege alive. It mattered not what price he himself would have to pay.
It was not long before his ears picked up the small sounds of an approaching rider. In a flash, he was on his feet, standing protectively over Legolas with his arrow pointed in the direction of the noise. He knew the newcomer must be an elf by the lightness of his approach, but he dared not take chances, not with the life of his king’s youngest at stake.
The rider was indeed an elf. He was on the ground even before his horse had fully stopped. "Lord Feren has ordered that we ride out with Prince Legolas right now."
"How goes the battle?" Hesin asked as he prepared his own mount.
"It is too early to tell. The orcs are many," the other answered. "But I believe Lord Feren’s plan of breaking them up is working. There are orcs scattering in all directions. We must leave quickly in case some find their way here."
Hesin bent down and lifted Legolas gently. The young elf’s eyes opened immediately. "What is happening?"
"We are going back to the palace, my prince."
"I can ride, Hesin," Legolas protested as the other continued to cradle him after mounting the horse.
"No, it is too dangerous. You might fall." Hesin shook his head.
You will need your arms free to fight. You cannot protect me if you are unable to wield your weapons," Legolas insisted.
Hesin was forced to consider this situation. "Koire will be riding at our side with his weapons,"
"It will not be enough, and you know it."
After another brief consideration, Hesin nodded and with infinite care, helped the young elf sit back on the horse. Legolas clenched his teeth against the flashing pain the movement caused and for an agonizing moment, the world around him swam and darkened. He felt Hesin’s supporting hands on him and eased back against the older elf with a half-suppressed groan.
"I am all right," he panted breathlessly. "Let us be on our way."
Hesin tightened his hold on the young elf fractionally and urged his horse forward at a quick cantor. He felt Legolas’ muscles tensed with the onslaught of pain the jarring movements must be causing, though the young elf made no sound. Hesin pressed his lips into a thin grim line. There was naught he could do to ease Legolas’ pain. He could only pray that the young prince would not fall off the horse.
For Legolas, his world had become a red haze of pain as he slumped over the horse, his hands clutching its mane in a death grip. Each movement of the horse sent jolts of breath-stopping agony through his entire being. He could not recall ever being in so much pain. The temptation to slip into painless insensibility was great, but he resisted the easy tides of dark oblivion with teeth-clenching effort. He could not become a greater burden to Hesin than he already was. Yet even as he struggled to maintain his senses, he could feel the warmth of his own blood soaking the already stained tunic and spreading onto the leggings.
Dimly, he became aware of the sound of clashing steel amidst a melee of unearthly screams and cries. He could also feel the jerking movements of Hesin behind him. With heart-pounding effort, Legolas forced himself up fractionally and opened his eyes. What he saw was a scene so nightmarish that he could not contain a cry of fear. Their horse was cleaving its way through what seemed to be a deadly sea of clashing elves and orcs, each intent on the total destruction of the other. Bodies of fallen elves and orcs alike strewed the trampled grounds and bright red elven blood mixed with the thick black gore of their enemies soaked the littered battlefield in gory patches and puddles. Even his pain was forgotten momentarily as Legolas gaped in horror at the passing sights as their horse continued to plunge ahead. A lunging orc quickly disappeared as Hesin’s knife swept out in a lethal arc. They skirted sharply around several other charging orcs and Legolas was saved from falling off the galloping steed only by Hesin’s quick grab of his tunic. He heard his own voice crying out in pain as his side was brutally jostled. Desperately he shook his head in an effort to clear the invading darkness that threatened his sight.
Suddenly all motion came to an abrupt stop. Then some unknown force was propelling him over the head of the horse as he grasped wildly for its mane. His hands met air. For a brief infinity, all senses were lost to him, only to come crashing back seconds later when his flailing body hit the ground in an explosion of agony. He did not even have the breath to cry out. Somewhere amidst the swirling mists of black pain, he instinctively knew that he could not succumb to the inviting darkness. He had to remain awake or surely death would overtake him.
Pulling on what remnants of strength remaining to him, he forced open his eyes and found the face of an orc staring sightlessly at him from mere inches away. He gasped involuntarily before his overtaxed senses told him that the enemy was no longer alive. His breathing coming in great shuddering sobs, he somehow pushed himself upright, his trembling body supported by an equally trembling arm. Blinking furiously against an easy darkness, his eyes slowly came into focus on the scene before him. Elves and orcs continued to battle in clusters around him, yet miraculously, the enemies seemed not to take immediate notice of him. His eyes searched for and finally found Hesin. The latter’s legs were pinned beneath the body of his horse and he was looking frantically in his direction. Legolas wanted to assure the older elf that he was in fact alive, but could not summon sufficient energy to give sound to the words. Somehow, he would have to make his way to Hesin as it was obvious that the warrior could not come to him. There was no sign of the other warrior who had been riding at their side.
Suddenly, to his horror, Legolas caught sight of an orc advancing on the trapped warrior, scimitar raised menacingly to strike down the hapless elf.
"Hesin, look out!" Somehow Legolas found the strength to yell out. And somehow, the older warrior, alerted by his cry, managed to swing up his knife and diverted the deadly path of the orc blade. Frantically, Legolas searched about him for some form of weapon and his eyes fell on a discarded scimitar. Without hesitation and drawing on strength that he thought he no longer had, Legolas grabbed the orc blade and threw it. With a sickening thud, it slammed into the other orc just as the latter was about to cleave Hesin into halves. The dark creature instantly crumbled and fell atop of the trapped warrior.
Heaving with exertion, Legolas closed his eyes and felt the soothing darkness embracing him. No, not yet. He could not give in yet. Hesin was trapped still and he must somehow free him, or at least somehow fend off the enemies until help arrived. Laboriously, he began to claw his way to the older elf. The distance was no more than ten feet, but amidst the all-consuming pain and darkening vision, it seemed immeasurable to the wounded elf. Not yet, not yet, he told himself over and over again as he pulled his bleeding body blindly forward. He could not give in to the darkness yet.
Somehow he reached the other elf, and somehow, he managed to pull the dead orc off the trapped warrior.
"Hesin, are y-you al-all right?" he gasped brokenly.
"My legs are trapped. I cannot move. You must leave me and save yourself," the other elf said urgently.
Legolas shook his head weakly. "I cannot ." With a supreme effort, he pushed himself up against the dead orc and took the other elf’s knife into his own trembling hand. He did not think he could defend himself against a newborn elfling at the moment, but he was also determined that he would not let the orcs take him or Hesin without a final fight. He slumped back against the dead orc. Repulsed as he was by the feel of the foul creature against his own body, he simply was too weak to sit unsupported.
"Prince Legolas--" Hesin pleaded again. "You must save yourself."
"I have — no --more strength," Legolas panted breathlessly.
The battle raged on around them, but Legolas had not the strength nor the wit to take heed of its happening. He wondered vaguely why no elf or orc had taken further notice of them. Perhaps they already looked like the dead.
Not yet, not yet, but he knew he was drifting closer and closer to oblivion. At least he would die on a battlefield, with other warriors.
TBC

Ch. 10
Even in his near stupor, Legolas could sense someone approaching.
"No!" He raised the knife with a trembling arm, ready to make the final stance before death.
"Legolas!"
He looked up blindly at the familiar voice. "Salque!" he cried out in total disbelief, but found that he had made no sound at all.
The older elf dropped to his side and swept him into his arms. "I have found you, little one."
"Salque, Salque." Discarding the knife, he weakly clutched at what he could of the older elf as tears stung his eyes.
"It is all right. It is all right. You are safe now. I will not let anyone else harm you." The older elf whispered soothingly. His arms tightened around Legolas once more before releasing him. "We will go back now."
Standing upright, he let out a shrill whistle. Drawn by the sound of the whistle, and the sight of a lone elf standing, several orcs lurched toward him, their weapons waving menacingly. Salque watched their approach with narrowed eyes. Good, he thought. The sight of a bloody and battered Legolas had aroused a deep and cold anger in him. He would gladly vent that anger by sending these Valar forsaken creatures back to their maker.
With a near animalistic cry, he launched himself upon the advancing enemies, his knives sweeping out in a deathly arc that immediately cut down three foremost orcs. With guttural cries of their own, the remaining orcs converged on the lone elf. Fuelled by his anger, Salque showed no mercy as his knives slashed and cut into the enemy flesh. With a satisfied grunt, he yanked his knife from the body of the last orc and watched as it crumbled to the ground. He looked up and saw a group of elves approaching on horseback. Salque nodded to himself. It was time to get the young prince back to the palace. He turned to make his way back to his young charge.
Suddenly, his warrior’s instinct screamed out at him and he instinctively swung around with his knives.
"Salque!" Legolas’ heart-rending cry filled his ears at the same instant that something immeasurably cold and hard rammed into his body. For an endless second, he froze before his knife continued on in its deathly path. His enemy was still grinning when the elvish knife deftly separated his head from the rest of his body. The headless orc body remained standing for a brief second before finally toppling to the ground, pulling with it the black blade that had been imbedded deeply in the other’s body.

"Salque!" From somewhere off, Salque heard the familiar voice. He tried to turn but fell to his knees instead as he desperately tried to draw in breath.
"Salque! No, Salque!" Legolas frantically clawed himself forward to where the older elf crouched, oblivious to the elves that now surrounded them. He reached the other elf just as Salque crumbled forward.
"Salque, no! No!" Legolas cradled the fallen warrior, his horrified eyes taking in the blood pouring from a gaping hole in the other’s chest. He pressed his hand, stained with his own blood, over the gushing wound in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding.
"Salque! Can you hear me? Salque?"
Salque desperately wanted to assure the young elf but he could barely draw breath, let alone give sound to his voice. His efforts to speak launched him into a vicious fit of coughing that left him gasping even more for air. He knew he had little time left.
Sacrificing everything he had, he forced himself to take in enough breath to speak. "Legolas .."
"Salque, you will be all right," Legolas cried brokenly.
The older elf moved his hand weakly and Legolas grasped it with his own. "I cannot – pro- protect you any – more, lit – little one."
"No, Salque, you cannot leave ." Tears poured down Legolas’ cheeks, streaked with blood and dirt.
Another spasm of violent coughing seized the older warrior. Legolas watched in helpless desperation as blood began to stain the other’s whiten lips.
With breath rasping in his throat, Salque forced himself to speak again. "You – will – go on, little one." He stopped, grappling with the shortage of breath and the paralyzing pain. "Do not –mm-mourn me."
"Salque! Please, do not say that! You cannot die!"
"My time c-comes– Halls of – of Mandos b-beckon," the older elf gasped laboriously. His grip on the other tightened fractionally. "I - l-love you, little – one -- son I – I never h-had." The cold hand slackened and the light forever left his eyes.
For a mind-numbing moment, Legolas stared down at the still face of his one-time guardian, all thoughts and senses deadened. The world was suddenly an empty and lightless void. Slowly, he lowered his head and laid his face against the unmoving, blood-soaked chest of the now dead elf. "Salque, do not leave me. Please do not go." Tears spilled from his eyes as the pain in his heart grew and grew. Salque was gone!
"No!" The heart-rending scream was tore from his lips and he dissolved into loud, inconsolable sobs. He clutched Salque’s bloodstained tunic as he wept as he had never wept before, past caring for whatever else that might be happening. Salque was gone!
From above, the ring of protective elves watched in numbed sorrow. Though death surrounded them, the passing of an immortal life was something that no living elf could easily accept. Among them, stood Aldeon, his own eyes blurred with unshed tears. It had all happened so quickly that none had the opportunity to prevent the tragedy. His heart wept for the dead warrior, but it wept more for the battered and heart-broken elf that was his little brother. He stepped forward and knelt down by the grieving prince.
"Legolas, come, let us get you back to the palace." He touched his brother’s arm gently. "It is not safe to linger any further."
Legolas looked up, his face wild with grief and devoid of recognition of the one before him. "Salque is gone! Make him come back, please!"
Aldeon thought his heart would break at his brother’s stricken words. He reached out and untangled the young elf’s hands from the lifeless body. "Come, Legolas."
"No, I will not leave him. I will not!"
"We will take him back with us. Come, little one."
Legolas made as if to pull back, but his body, tried beyond endurance, at last gave out under the overwhelming trauma of grief and physical hurts. His eyes slipped closed and he toppled forward. His brother caught his limp form and smoothly swept him up in his arms. Aldeon stared down at his now unconscious brother, his heart constricting with fear as he took in the ashen pallor and the blood that continued to soak his brother’s already reddened and tattered tunic. Dear Elbereth, let him not be too late!
TBC

Ch. 11
In his haste, Aldeon almost collided with a servant who was just coming around the corner. Only with a desperate twist of his body was he able to avoid the impact, but it nearly cost him his precious hold on his brother.
"I am sorry, my lord," the servant stammered an apology as he stumbled back a step, eyes widening at the sight of the bloody and battered form cradled in Aldeon’s arms.
"Get word to the King. Tell him we have found Legolas. Tell him to come to the healing room!" Aldeon was already running even as he issued the order to the stunned servant who stood staring at the trail of bright red droplets left on the ground in the prince’s wake. Coming to himself, the servant turned and ran in the direction of the throne room, his heart cringing with trepidation at the prospect of delivering such ill news to his liege. How could the young prince be alive when there was so much blood?
The healing room was in a state as Aldeon had seldom seen it. Elves, with varying degrees of injuries, laid upon rows of pallets that crowded the normally spacious and pristine floor. Harried healers, their customary calm demeanor notably absent, moved swiftly among the wounded with bowls of water and armfuls of herbs. The scent of healing herbs filled the room, but mingled with that was also the unmistakable reek of spilled blood. Aldeon faltered at the doorway, momentarily at a loss as the sight before him once more rammed home the viciousness of this one battle.
"My lord," a quiet voice drew him back to the current desperate situation. "Bring him this way."
Almost in a daze, Aldeon followed the healer to an unoccupied pallet at the far corner of the room, his heart tightening at the sight of so many wounded.
"I am sorry, my lord, that I cannot provide a better spot. I will go and notify Kala that the young prince requires his skills." Kala was the head healer.
Aldeon nodded his thanks and gently eased his brother onto the pallet. He laid a trembling hand against the side of Legolas’ throat, closing his eyes in relief when he at last found a weak and stammering pulse. Pushing back his fears and forcing a steadiness to his hands, he began to strip the blood-soaked clothing from his brother’s limp body.
"Does he live?" His father’s voice sounded beside him. Thranduil had silently joined him by his side and was gazing intently at the deathly still form of his youngest son.
"He draws breath yet," Aldeon answered, his voice thick. "But he is gravely wounded."
"Where is Kala?" Thranduil demanded.
"I am here, my lord," Kala had silently appeared at their side. "Allow me to tend to him."
Thranduil and Aldeon moved aside quickly and watched with unblinking eyes as the healer rolled the inert body to its side and began cutting away the soaked and ruined bandages. At the first sight of the gaping wounds, both father and son gasped. Kala, after the briefest hesitation, pressed cloths firmly to the wounds and turned to his assistant with quiet orders for the preparation of the necessary poultice and brewed tea.
"How is he? How is my son?" Thranduil asked.
"As you can see yourself, the wound is grave. He has lost much blood and is still bleeding. He also burns with fever," .
Thranduil reached out and touched his son’s stained cheek. "Will he live?"
Kala frowned. "It is too early to tell, my lord. The most important thing right now is to stop the bleeding. The wounds are infected and that is what is causing the fever. The poultice that I am having prepared will help with the infection and tea is being brewed right now that will help to ease the fever."
"Is there poison?" Thranduil could not keep the hint of fear from his voice.
"I can detect no sign of poison, thankfully. The young prince has enough as it is to contend with at the moment." The healer lifted the cloth carefully and peered at the wounds. "The bleeding has eased." With infinite care, Kala began to bathe the wounds with water steeped with herbs, wiping away the clotted blood and crusted stains.
Through it all, Legolas remained distressingly unresponsive which only heightened the cold fear that had such a stranglehold on the hearts of his father and brother. Both Thranduil and Aldeon had taken up cloths to help cleanse the inert body of blood and dirt. It was unnerving to feel the heated skin under their gentle hands when Legolas himself remained so remotely still. Unnerving, but at the same time, reassuring. As long as there was heat, albeit the heat of fever, then Legolas lived. It was all they could cling onto at the moment.
When he had done all that he could, Kala straightened and bowed slightly to his liege. "My lord, there is no more that I can do right now. He is in a deep sleep that is beyond my ability to rouse. We will continue to give him the tea for the fever. Until the fever abates, it will be difficult for his body to begin the healing process. I will have one of my assistants bathe him with cool cloths."
"Nay, I shall do that," Thranduil said abruptly.
Kala nodded with quiet understanding. He too, was a father and could identify with Thranduil’s need to take part in any process that might aid in his son’s healing. "I will ensure that you will always have basins of cool water available for your needs."
Thranduil barely acknowledged the healer’s words; his attention already riveted to the still face of his youngest son once more. Aldeon pressed a gentle hand to his father’s shoulder.
"I will see to the advisers and find out about the state of the battle," he said quietly to his father.
Thranduil looked up at his eldest. "Thank you, Aldeon." And almost immediately, his eyes returned to the still figure beneath him. "I cannot bear to leave him in this state, not even for a moment." There was a huskiness to his voice that few in Mirkwood had ever heard.
"I understand, Adar. I will attend to the needs of the realm. Your place is here, with him. Our people will understand." He gripped his father’s shoulder once before straightening. "I will be back as soon as I can. Take care of him, Adar."
Thranduil nodded, not daring to risk his voice again. A healer brought forth a basin of cold water and set it at his side along with a neat stack of folded cloths. He wetted one of the cloths and began to bathe his son’s face and chest with infinitely gentle strokes, his thoughts straying faraway to memories of a golden-haired elfling splashing bath water joyously over himself and his ada, the infectious childish giggling prevailing over the half-hearted scolding of the king.
Time became still for Thranduil as he continued his vigil by his son’s side, tirelessly bathing the hot skin with the cold cloths and patiently coaxing tea down the unresponsive throat drop by drop. And still, Legolas remained silent and unmoving. More than once Thranduil had wanted to shout out his helpless despair as he struggled to contain the near manic temptation to rush out and personally cut down the orcs that had so hurt his child.
Years ago, when he had first laid eyes on the newborn Legolas in all his fair delicacy, Thranduil could only marvel at the wonder of such sweet innocence being brought forth at a time when Mirkwood was slowly being eclipsed by the growing shadow. It had brought renewed hope to his then despairing heart and as he held the precious warm bundle in his arms, he vowed that he would protect this tiny elfling with all that he had. When those dark creatures of the shadow killed his beloved queen, his protectiveness of the golden elfling grew even fiercer with the realization that the immortality of elves was no longer infallible against the growing evil.
His need to protect Legolas from all harm paralleled his tireless struggle to keep the woodland realm from being taken by the shadow. If he could shelter his youngest from the this growing evil, then hope remained for Mirkwood. It was a sentiment shared by Legolas’ older brothers, who were no less diligent in their efforts to protect this youngest sibling. Looking down at his deathly still son now, Thranduil was forced at last to acknowledge the futility of his efforts of all these years. He looked about him in near despair. These were his warriors who had fought so bravely for Mirkwood and had paid the price. Was there hope yet for his woodland realm or was this to be the end?
You are a king! Act like one! He berated himself harshly. How could he give up hope when at this moment, warriors beyond the palace walls were fighting the very evil that threatened their realm? Among these were his own sons, two highly skilled and accomplished warriors who would not let Mirkwood fall. Mirkwood would not so easily cede victory to these foul creatures.
***
"How is he?" Aldeon asked as he took one of Legolas’ unresponsive hands into his own.
"He has not awaken. The fever has a stubborn hold on him," Thranduil replied. "At least he no longer bleeds. What news of the battle?
Aldeon allowed himself a small smile. "The tide has turned for us, I believe. The orcs are dispersing in all directions. Our warriors are giving chase."
"Good!" Thranduil nodded in cold satisfaction. "I want them destroyed, each and every one of them. We will light up the skies when we burn their foul bodies. Let this be a warning to others who seek to destroy Mirkwood!"
The skies would not be lit up with the burning of only orc bodies, Aldeon sighed. Many of their warriors had also perished in this battle. Victory, if there was to be one, would be bittersweet.
"Adar, I have not yet told you, but Salque was killed," Aldeon said quietly. Thranduil froze, the damp cloth forgotten in his hand.
"How?" Thranduil asked brusquely.
"He had just found Legolas and had signaled to the rest of us. His whistle drew the orcs to him. He would have survived if not for the one orc that he thought he had left for dead. His mind must had been preoccupied with worries for Legolas."
Thranduil closed his eyes. Salque had been more than a protector to his youngest child. He had also been a life time friend. He forced himself to ask, "Legolas knows of his death?"
Aldeon nodded grimly. "He tried to warn Salque, but it all happened too quickly. Salque breathed his last words in Legolas’ arms."
"Oh, my little one!" For a brief moment, Thranduil lost his composure and Aldeon gripped his father’s arm tightly. The king looked at his eldest in despair. Aldeon returned the look.
"I know, Adar, that is why I fear for him."
Thranduil stared at his youngest child and said fiercely. "We will not let him succumb to his wounds or his guilt! He will come back to us!"
Aldeon wanted to share his father’s fierce optimism but he could not dispel the cold fear from his heart each time he looked at his brother’s colourless and still face. At this moment, immortality was precariously distant So many lives had been claimed already. Aldeon’s grip tightened over Legolas’ unresponsive hand. Dear Elbereth, let his brother be spared.
TBC

Ch. 12
Aldeon stared down at the sleeping face of his youngest brother and once again touched the cool skin of the still colourless cheek, as he had done countless times before, to reassure himself that the heat of the fever was really gone. The fever had broke only that morning and Kala, with cautious optimism, had told them that Legolas’ broken body had at last began to heal itself. They had moved Legolas to his own room after that as Kala deemed that the young prince no longer required the constant scrutiny of the healers. Legolas had not once waken, but Kala had assured them that the young elf was now sleeping the deep sleep of healing. In time, Legolas would open his eyes.
Earlier in the day, Aldeon had finally succeeded in persuading an exhausted Thranduil to take rest. The king had stubbornly refused to leave his wounded son’s side since Legolas had been brought back. It was only after Kala repeatedly assured his liege that Legolas’ life was no longer in danger and Aldeon himself had promised not to leave his brother unattended even for a moment that Thranduil had at last acquiesced to their urgings of rest. Aldeon knew that his father had slept little, if at all, in recent days, his mind wrought with worry for the missing Legolas and the imminent attack of the orcs. Aldeon himself had not fared much better, but he had managed to snatch a few hours’ rest last night when exhaustion finally overcame him and Thranduil had ordered him to bed.
In the quiet of the room, Aldeon’s mind drifted over the events of the past days. The orcs had been defeated, but not without a price. Many of their warriors had perished in the battle and the funeral pyres had been burning incessantly. Aldeon had been in attendance for many of these funerals and had comforted the bereaved families with heart-felt sympathy and gratitude, for these brave warriors had given their lives to defend Mirkwood. Many more had been wounded. Among these were Feren and Tavaro, his own brothers who had led the battle. Aldeon’s heart tightened at the thought that he had nearly lost all three brothers in this one battle.
Tavaro was the first of the two to return with a deep slash to his thigh that had almost touched the bone. With his usual stubbornness, he hobbled into the healing room with the aid of two others, brushing away concerned healers until Thranduil himself intervened and ordered him to lie down.
He was still protesting the seriousness of the wound when his eyes caught sight of the still form of Legolas on the pallet next to his. All words left him and he looked beseechingly at Thranduil.
"He lives," Thranduil answered the unspoken question with a weariness that his sons had seldom seen. "Barely, but he lives"
"What happened to him?" Tavaro at last found his voice.
"We do not know yet. He has not awaken since we brought him back." It was Aldeon who answered him this time. "Lie down, Tavaro, so we can tend to the wound."
"Feren, has he returned?" Tavaro asked and hissed in pain as the soaked bandages were cut away. "I last left him with Legolas sleeping safely in his arms."
"No, Feren has not returned yet," Aldeon said quietly as renewed fear gripped his heart. Was Feren injured also? Where was he? Brushing aside the dark thoughts resolutely, he held a cup to his brother. "Drink this tea."
"What is it?"
"A sleeping draught. The healer needs to stitch your leg."
"I do not --" Tavaro began to protest.
"Drink it, Tavaro. I do not need to see another son in pain." Thranduil ordered flatly.
Tavaro threw one look at his father’s weary face and drank the tea without further protest.
Aldeon found himself smiling a little as he recalled the scene between his father and brother. Tavaro may be a fierce and accomplished warrior on the battlefield, but Thranduil’s orders were not something that one could counter or ignore. Unless, of course, if one happened to be Legolas.
It was not that Legolas purposely ignore or counter his father’s orders, but his young brother would more often than not end up at the opposite spectra of what Thranduil had precisely ordered, complete with reasoning and excuses against which even Thranduil himself could not argue. Most of these had been harmless escapades, but on occasions, Legolas had caused more than a little concern for the Royal family and Aldeon was certain that his father had more than once wanted to throttle his youngest. He wondered how Thranduil would deal with Legolas once the youngling finally recovered from this near brush with death.
His thoughts strayed to his other brother, Feren. The latter was among the last of the warriors to return, which was expected as he was, after all, the commander of the troops. He too had been wounded, but the injury had been no more serious than a sword cut along the arm that did not even require stitches. Of more concern to his family was Feren’s reaction upon seeing Legolas in the healing room.
At the sight of his comatose brother, Feren turned deathly white, prompting instant fear in both Thranduil and Aldeon of poison in the sword wound. Their hovering concerns and queries went unheeded as Feren abruptly dropped to his knees by Legolas’ pallet. For an endless moment, he stared at the colourless countenance, oblivious to all that was around him. Then with a trembling hand, he reached out and touched that deathlike face. He snatched his hand back with a sharp intake of breath.
"He burns," he said to no one in particular. Then slowly, as if lifting a great and invisible burden, he looked up at his father, his eyes filling with tears. "I am sorry, Adar. I am so sorry."
"What do you mean?" Thranduil gripped him firmly by the shoulder. "What are you trying to say?"
"That arrow was meant for me, but Legolas jumped right into its path and shielded me. He risked his own life to save mine," Feren whispered as the tears fell freely.
Thranduil’s stunned gaze wavered from the silently sobbing Feren to the still form of his youngest.
"I am his older brother. I should be the one protecting him," Feren continued tearfully, shaking his head side to side as in denial. "That arrow was meant for me."
Thranduil drew his weeping son into a hard embrace. "Feren, you protected Mirkwood. You were the one who led the troops to victory. You have nothing to be sorry for."
"But Legolas--" Feren looked at his father through tear-blurred eyes.
"Legolas did what he did because of his love for you," Thranduil said firmly. "You are brothers." He paused briefly and then continued, "Feren, you are exhausted. You need sleep. You have fought a long, hard battle and Mirkwood is grateful to you for its continued existence. I am proud to have such an accomplished commander as my son." He embraced his son once more. "Aldeon, take him to his room and ensures that he rests."
"Come, Feren, Adar is right. You need rest," Aldeon put an arm around his younger brother.
Feren pulled away. "No, I need to stay with him. He needs tending." His eyes were once more drawn to Legolas. "I left him once already when he needed me. I cannot leave him again."
"Feren, he will be in my care. Do you not trust me?" Thranduil asked gently.
His son stared numbly at him as he struggled against the waves of exhaustion that were crushing him like unwanted armour. In the end, Feren let out a long and shaky breath and allowed his brother to guide his weary body from the healing room.
Aldeon sighed. His heart ached at the memory of a tearful Feren, once in the quiet sanctuary of his own room, recounting to him the perilous events that had brought Legolas to the brink of death. He heard for the first time how his youngest brother had succeeded, against all odds, in getting the warning to the troops of the advance of the enemies upon the palace. He heard also how it was Legolas who ultimately led the warriors back through the deepest part of Mirkwood in that desperate race against time.
His heart had been bursting with pride for his youngest brother as he listened to Feren’s tale, but it had also been heart-rending to see Feren, the most disciplined and stolid of all brothers, so broken. Even as he tried to console his devastated brother, fear had grown within Aldeon’s heart. He had been certain that should Legolas succumb to his wounds, then it was unlikely that Feren could ever be free of the guilt that so consumed him.
He studied the sleeping Legolas and reached out with a gentle hand to stroke the still head. "Legolas, you must wake soon. Feren needs you," he said softly and then added, rather desperately, "And I also need to see your guileless smile again."
TBC

Ch. 13
The moan was so low that Thranduil at first doubted his own ears. Nevertheless, he peered anxiously at his sleeping son and held his breath. The pale lids flickered almost imperceptibly and a frown creased the once smooth brows.
"Legolas?" Thranduil called out softly.
There was a shaky exhalation of breath and the thick lashes lifted slowly. Thranduil found himself immersed in the twin pools of liquid blue that were his son’s eyes, glazed yet with confusion and pain. Thranduil nearly wept with the joy and gratefulness that flooded his heart and soul.
"Legolas, you are awake, at last." Thranduil could not control the tremour in his hand as he cupped his son’s face. "Thank the Valar!"
The blue gaze looked back at him with uncertainty. "Ada?" The voice was barely above a whisper, raspy and cracked with disuse.
Tears stung Thranduil’s eyes at the sound of that one whispered word. He could not recall the last time that his youngest had addressed him as "Ada" and Thranduil suddenly realized just how much he missed hearing that term of endearment from his last child. He fought down the urge to sweep his son into a suffocating embrace. Instead, he contented himself with a tender kiss to the pale forehead.
"Welcome back, my son. How do you feel?" he asked gently, his hands reluctant to leave his son’s face.
Legolas closed his eyes. "Hurts."
"That is not surprising. You have been gravely injured. Kala has left some tea here to lessen the pain. Let me help you with it." Thranduil eased Legolas’ head up fractionally and brought the cup to his son’s lips. The movement, small as it was, elicited a small moan of pain from his son. Grimacing at the taste of the tea, Legolas nevertheless drank enough to satisfy his father. Setting aside the unfinished tea, Thranduil offered him a cup of water to wash away the taste, which Legolas gratefully drank.
For several moments, Legolas laid with closed eyes. Even that small exercise had tired him. Through muddled thoughts plagued with pain and an invasive weakness, he tried to recall how he came to be wounded. Pain radiated from his entire left side and his trailing hand felt the thick swathes of bandages that wound around his body. What happened? His adar did not appear to be angry with him so the injury could not have stemmed from some misadventure, or perhaps his injuries were sufficiently grim that Thranduil had not the heart to reprimand him, yet.
"Legolas?" He felt his father’s hand caressing his face with gentle and soothing strokes. "Has the pain eased?
He could still feel the pain, but somehow it was more distant and remote than it had been previously. With the abatement of pain from the foreground of his consciousness, his thoughts were becoming more and more coherent and flashes of memory invaded his once befuddled mind.
He had been atop of a galloping horse, cutting his way through some nightmarish scene of clashing steel and death. The sudden remembrance of breathtaking pain and wild and unadulterated fear made him gasp and his eyes flew open on a startled Thranduil.
"The battle!" He had managed to push himself halfway up before the pain sent him gasping back onto the pillow, his hands clutching weakly at the white hot pain that blazed from his side.
"Legolas, be still!" Thranduil admonished sharply, pressing firm hands on his son’s trembling shoulders. "You do not want to restart the bleeding."
"The battle, the orcs--" Legolas gasped through clenched teeth.
"The orcs have been defeated," Thranduil cut in quickly. "Mirkwood stands."
Legolas let out a long shaky breath and closed his eyes in overwhelming relief. Then another memory struck him with such horrifying clarity and violence that all air was driven from his lungs.
"Legolas!" Thranduil cried, alarmed at the sight of his stricken son. "Calm down, Legolas, it is all right! You are safe!"
Legolas grasped wildly for his father’s hand. "Salque?"
There was such a desperate pleading in Legolas’ eyes that Thranduil was struck dumb momentarily, and the king cringed at the thought of how his son would react to the words that he was about to impart.
"I am so sorry, Legolas, but Salque is gone." Thranduil forced himself to voice the words that he knew would cut his son’s heart to shreds. "I am so sorry."
For a long agonizing moment, Legolas stared back at him with eyes widened with immeasurable pain and sorrow, the tears brimming yet stubbornly refusing to spill over. Thranduil thought his heart would break at the sight.
At last, Legolas nodded and said with surprising calmness. "It is what I feared." When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "And Feren and Tavaro? Are they safe?"
"All your brothers are safe. Fear not for them."
"And Hesin?"
"His legs are broken, but he is mending well. He has inquired of you repeatedly." Somehow the calm reasonableness of his son’s voice and questions was even more frightening to Thranduil than if Legolas had fallen into loud and inconsolable grief. He touched his son gently. "Legolas, it is all right to cry.
"I know, but tears will not bring him back," Legolas responded in a deadened voice. Then with infinite slowness, with pain and exhaustion marking his every move, Legolas turned and curled onto his side.
"Legolas, please, you will hurt yourself," Thranduil pleaded with his son’s unresponsive back. Minutes passed in thick silence. Nearly imperceptible at first, he felt the slight shaking of his son’s shoulders as the onslaught of grief at last broke through the barriers of numbed senses. The sight of his son’s silent weeping brought tears to Thranduil’s own eyes and with infinite gentleness and care, he gathered his youngest into his arms.
"It’s all right, child, let it out." He whispered soothingly into the golden hair. "So long as we are able to grieve, then our heart will continue to beat and will heal in time."
Legolas clutched weakly at his father’s tunic as he wept with total abandonment. "Salque is gone, Ada. He is gone because of me!" The words were muffled and broken. "He died because of me!"
"No! You are not to blame yourself. He was killed by those accursed orcs. He died in battle, as did many of our warriors. Their sacrifice was for all of Mirkwood, for each and every one of us who still lives." Thranduil’s voice was firm.
"But he came looking for me. Had I not been out there, he would not have put himself in danger."
"Salque was a warrior before all else. It was his duty as a warrior to confront those dark creatures whether you were out there or not. He merely carried out his vows as a warrior when he took to the battlefield. All of our warriors have sworn to give their lives to protect this woodland realm of ours. I would expect no less from Salque, or from you, my son, once you have taken your vows as warrior. We shall grieve for Salque, as we shall grieve for all of our fallen warriors, but we cannot dishonour their deaths by miring ourselves so completely in our grief that we forget all else. It is our duty to continue the battle that Salque and all those brave warriors have fought and paid for with their lives."
Thranduil looked down at his son’s tear-stained face and sighed with a heart-felt weariness. "I would forever shelter you from this pain and grief if I could, Legolas, and the Valar knows that I have tried since the day that you were brought into this world. But we cannot escape or hide from death, and that holds true even for elves with our all immortality. We grieve, we hold onto the fond memories and then we go on."
Tears continued to spill down the pale cheeks. "But it hurts so much. I just want Salque back."
Thranduil’s arms tightened around his son fractionally as he bent to kiss the wet cheek. "I know, little one. I will miss him too for he was a dear friend. But I know he would not have wanted you to grieve endlessly for him."
"He told me that he loved me like a son, before — before he died," Legolas whispered brokenly on a sob.
"He did love you like a son, and I am certain his spirit will always be by your side to keep watch over you," Thranduil said quietly. Thranduil continued to cradle his son as the sobs slowly dwindled to a halt. "You are exhausted, Legolas. Sleep now."
"Do not leave me, Ada," The voice was that of the small elfling that Legolas was once, and in the heart of his father, would always be.
Thranduil’s heart tightened and he brushed his lips against the youthful forehead. "I will not leave you, my son. Sleep, you are safe."
Legolas turned his face into his father’s tunic, revelling in the warmth and security of his father’s arms and for a brief moment, the pain and grief dissipated. He allowed his eyes to slip close as exhaustion finally overwhelmed him.
Thranduil felt his son’s body relax into a deep slumber and he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. His own eyes closed as he pressed his cheek against the fair head, feeling in his own heart his child’s pain and loss, and the pain of his own failure to protect this son from the hurts that now so plague him. Deep in his soul, he knew that the sweet innocence of his little elfling was forever lost, and he silently mourned that loss, which in some ways, wounded more deeply than death itself.
TBC

Ch. 14
"How is he?" Aldeon asked anxiously as Kala carefully inspected the exposed wounds.
"He is healing well, ," Kala answered, sounding pleased. He pressed gentle fingers on the healing tissues and Legolas drew in a sharp breath and clamped down on his lip.
"You are hurting him!" Aldeon protested, his own hand tightening on that of his brother.
Kala cast him a patient look and continued with his examination. "I am merely ensuring that there are no further signs of swelling. And now if you would move aside, Aldeon, I will rewrap the bandage."
Aldeon reluctantly moved from his brother’s side though his eyes scrutinized every move that the healer was making. Kala ignored the other’s hovering, smiling a little to himself. The entire royal family would not be breathing with ease until this young one was up and about in full recovery. He tied the last of the bandages snugly and relaced Legolas’ sleep tunic.
"Have you been eating?" he asked his young patient.

"Yes," Legolas said quietly.
"No!" His older brother cut in at the same time.
The healer looked from one brother to the other, raising his brow questioningly. "Which one of you should I believe?"
There was a brief silence. In the end, it was Legolas who answered. "I spend all my time drinking that foul tea that you keep brewing for me. There is no space left in me for food." He regarded the healer’s face and had the grace to add, "Besides, I have not been hungry."
"You must eat if you wish to regain your strength, not to mention that your body needs nourishment to heal properly," Kala said as he began to put things back in his pack.
"That is what I have been telling him also," Aldeon spoke up.
Legolas stared down morosely at his own hands, pale and idle atop of the pristine sheets. "I feel no hunger."

"Eat a little at a time. Your body needs to get familiar with food again as you have gone without for so many days while you slept. But you need to take in more nourishment." He turned to the older prince. "Have prepared for him several times a day light meals of broth, fruit and bread. I need not to tell you that taking in sufficient nourishment is a very important part of the healing process."
Aldeon nodded. "I will ensure that he eats."
Kala patted his patiently gently on the shoulder. "If you do as you are told, we may be able to get you out of this bed before the week is over."
Kala had expected a rush of impatient expectancy from his patient in response to his words, but was favoured only with a wan smile on the still too pale face. The healer signed inwardly. There was still too much grief in the youngling, for which he had no ready cure.
"I shall come back to see you tomorrow."
As he was turning to leave, the door opened and Tavaro hobbled in on crutches. He stopped short at the sight of the healer and grimaced.
"Oh, caught in the act again" He worked hard to put on his most winsome smile.
Kala nodded. "Right. I believe it was this morning that I told you that you were to stay off that leg for at least another day. Sit down and let me take a look at it."
"You checked it this morning," Tavaro reminded him.
"That was before you decided to put it through some undue exercise. Sit down."
Aldeon helped his brother to the nearest chair and pressed him gently onto it. "Do as you are told, Tavaro. He is the healer." He pulled up another chair and carefully lifted the bandaged leg atop of it.
"Ow!" Tavaro cried out rather dramatically. "Can you not be more gentle, brother?"
"I am sorry," Aldeon said quickly, gripping the other’s shoulder briefly in apology.
"Precisely," Kala said in his calm voice. "That is precisely why I have warned against using that leg too soon. Let me see if you have done any damage to it." He gently unraveled the bandages as Tavaro hissed and grumbled steadily under his breath. Kala paused in his ministrations and regarded the disgruntled prince with a raised brow. "For an accomplished warrior that you claim to be, you certainly are quite vocal when it comes to discomfort."
"I am an accomplished warrior. I have probably killed more orcs than you have healed elves," Tavaro protested. Then seeing the look on the healer’s face, he quickly added. "Well, perhaps we are even on that score. But just because I am a warrior on the battlefield does not mean that I have to be one in the sick room. Warriors feel pain too and have as much right as anyone else to express such pain." He glanced over at Legolas, who was watching him in wide-eyed silence from his bed. "Right, bratling?" He gave his brother a conspiratorial wink and was rewarded with a small smile.
Tavaro then turned to his older brother and said, "Aldeon, since you are standing there doing precisely nothing, why not make yourself useful and bring some food from the kitchen? It has been some time since the midday meal and neither Legolas nor I are sufficiently mobile to sneak by those grumpy cooks."
Aldeon was watching the slowly widening smile that was now gracing his youngest brother’s face and could barely suppress his own grin as Tavaro continued with his cheerful bantering. He clasped Tavaro’s shoulder briefly before heading out of the room. "I shall bring back a feast."
"Kala, is his wound serious?" Legolas suddenly asked, surprising both the healer and his brother.
Kala finished retying the bandages. "It was, but it is mending nicely. So long as he refrains from putting undue strain on it, it will be good as new within a week." He looked down at the older prince with a slight smile. "And I am certain your brother will not do anything foolish to jeopardize the healing of that leg. Am I not right, Tavaro?"
"Kala, you know you are always right. We all bow to your infinite wisdom, including Adar himself," Tavaro said rather dryly.
The healer dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. "Only in the art of healing dare I claim superiority. As for the governing and defence of our woodland realm, I gladly defer to the King and his sons. I take my leave now as I have other patients to attend to."
"Thank you, Kala, as always" Tavaro called out to the departing healer. Once they were alone, he turned his attention to his brother, taking note of the pallor and the small grimaces of pain that Legolas could not easily hide. He reached down and picked up the crutches with a grunt.
"Tavaro, Kala said you should not move," Legolas cautioned.
"He did not say that I should not move. He merely warned me to take care, which I am doing right now. I am only moving closer to you so that we need not to shout to each other across the room." He eased himself down onto the chair by the bed and grinned at his anxious brother. "There, I made it in one piece. You may breathe now, bratling." He reached out and ruffled Legolas’ hair playfully. "And how are you feeling?"
"Everyone asks me that," his brother replied rather sullenly. "It gets very tiresome."
"I am merely carrying on the tradition for I too have been asked that question far too many times in the past days. I have promised myself that I would throttle the next person who asks me that, and since I do not wish it to be you, I thought I had better beat you to the question," Tavaro explained and was pleased that his words elicited another smile from his younger brother.
"I do not suppose you have heard as you have been cocooned in your room for many days now," Tavaro said rather casually.
"Heard about what?" asked Legolas.
"Oh, there is ample talk among our people about how a certain princeling, with unprecedented courage and valour, had saved Mirkwood from certain annihilation. It would seem, bratling, that you have become quite the hero."
Legolas stared at his brother with eyes round as saucers. "They do not mean me, surely?"
Tavaro looked around him. "I do not see another princeling; your brothers and I grew out of that title millennia ago. Yes, Legolas, I believe they will be singing songs about your heroics soon, and tales will be retold to other wee elflings through the ages of how the young prince rode days without food or drink, and battling evil spiders along the way, to get that all important missive to the troops who were happily marching to battle in the wrong direction," Tavaro finished with a grin.
"You exaggerate," Legolas said after a moment of stunned silence, though his eyes glinted with renewed light.
"Only a little. Your name has been bantered about so frequently in recent days that I am becoming a mite jealous. I thought Feren and I were supposed to be the accomplished warriors in the family, a distinction, I should remind you, that took more years than you can imagine to build up. And now, little brother, your reputation is eclipsing ours. The injustice of it all appalls me."
There was no mistake about the sparkle that shone so brilliantly from Legolas’ eyes now, nor could one be immune to the spreading smile that was slowly pushing away the shadows of pain and guilt that had blighted the young face for so many days.
"I do not know what to say," Legolas stammered.
"Well, you had better start thinking of appropriate responses because once you leave the confines of this room, you will no doubt be faced with people groveling before you in complete awe."
Legolas could not help but chuckle at the thought, only to stop short at the sharp pain that emanated from his side the slight movement caused.
Tavaro watched his brother with amused eyes, gladdened that his words had brought a measure of reprieve, however temporary, to Legolas’ darkened mood. Awkwardly, he leaned forward and embraced his younger brother, brushing his lips over the fair hair. "I, too, want to thank you, bratling."
"For what?" Legolas asked, puzzled.
"For saving Feren’s life. Though Feren can be as exciting as a bowl of day old porridge at most times, I know I would surely miss his bossing me around on the battlefield, as would, I am sure, the rest of the troops. As for your method of saving him from death, that is another matter to consider. Do you know how foolish it was to jump into the path of that arrow?" He regarded his brother’s downcast eyes for a long moment, before adding, "But I probably would have done the very same thing myself."
Legolas looked up, smiling. "That was what Aldeon said too."
Tavaro nodded. "And I am sure Feren would have done no differently, for all his talk of discipline." He once again ruffled his brother’s already disheveled hair and grinned. "I guess we are all definitely Thranduil’s sons, no doubts about that."
At that moment, the door opened and Aldeon entered, balancing with care a tray laden with food.
Tavaro eyed the tray with open admiration. "You cannot tell me that you were able to sneak by the cooks with a tray like that."
Aldeon set the food down onto a table and pulled it close to the bed. "No, of course not. The cooks themselves helped me prepare this tray."
His brother looked at him with disbelief. "But how can that be? They have never catered to me like that before."
"Perhaps you are there too often for their liking?’ Aldeon offered innocently.
Tavaro laughed good-naturedly. "That is entirely too possible." He reached out and helped himself to the cold meat.
"Legolas, I brought you some broth. Shall I help you with it?" Aldeon asked, taking note of the renewed light in his little brother’s eyes and the hint of a still lingering smile. He wondered what miracles Tavaro had accomplished in the short while that he was gone.
To his surprise and gratification, Legolas nodded at the offer of food. "I can feed myself." He reached out shakily for the bowl in Aldeon’s hand, but was stopped by the sharp pain shooting from his side. He gasped and his hand involuntarily grabbed at the thick bandaging that covered his healing wounds.
Aldeon eased himself down onto the bed. "I think you best let me help you."
With a resigned look on his face, Legolas nodded and suffered the indignity of being fed like an elfling as his brother proceeded to spoon the broth into him. Some heroic picture this must paint, he thought glumly to himself.
"Brings back memories, does it not, Legolas?" Tavaro asked between mouthfuls. "You recall, how I used to smuggle food into your room and we would have ourselves a midnight feast while everyone else slept?"
Legolas smiled and nodded, remembering with fondness the countless times that Tavaro endeavoured to bring adventure and excitement to the otherwise boring and uneventful life of a royal elfling confined behind the palace walls.
"You did what?" Aldeon asked, debating whether he should be frowning or grinning.
"Oh, I would keep the elfling up half the night with food and tales of battles fought. Adar must wondered endlessly as to why his little elfling tended to nod off to sleep at the most unlikely times on certain days." Tavaro was grinning with satisfaction.
Aldeon finally opted for grinning. "I used to wonder why Legolas would get so excited each time you come back on leave from patrol. So it is you who have been corrupting our little brother all this time."
"I would hardly label it as corrupting. I consider it a widening of the elfling’s horizon," Tavaro corrected.
Aldeon regarded both of his brothers dubiously. "I am sure Adar would beg to differ." He set down the half-emptied bowl and helped to ease Legolas back onto the bed. "I believe our elfling tires and should sleep. And you, Tavaro, should also head back to your own chamber before Adar sees you up and about, before you should be up and about."
"Where is Adar? I have not seen him today," Legolas asked sleepily as his brother tucked the blankets around him.
Aldeon hesitated before replying, "He has been visiting the families of our fallen warriors."
There was an uncomfortable pause. Legolas closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "Too many have died."
The eyes of his older brothers met and each read in the other the sense of loss that Legolas’ words brought to their hearts. The previous jovial atmosphere of the room suddenly sobered. More than lives had been lost in this battle. Such was the thought that crossed the minds of both Aldeon and Feren as they looked down at the youthful face of their now sleeping brother.
"He is no longer an elfling," Tavaro said quietly, half to himself.
"No, he is not," Aldeon agreed, not quite able to keep the sadness from his voice.
TBC

Ch. 15
As expected, Legolas was not alone. Feren found Thranduil watching over his sleeping brother. Even now, with Legolas well on his way to recovery, the King was seldom far from his son’s bedside. Death had come too near this time and the ensuing fear was not to be brushed aside easily.
Feren approached the bed with trepidation, his longing to see his brother tempered by overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame. Legolas had nearly died.
"You have come at last to see your brother," Thranduil said in a quiet voice. "He has asked for you. I think he feels abandoned by you."
Feren winced. There was no hint of accusation in his father’s voice, but Feren was only too aware of the implication.
"I am sorry. I had wanted to come, many times, but I did not have the courage," Feren admitted as he took the seat that his father gestured to.
"He does not blame you," Thranduil said gently.
"I know, I blame myself."
"Feren, need we go through this again?" Thranduil asked. "Guilt serves no purpose whatsoever. It certainly cannot change the past. I have told Legolas as much."
Feren nodded obediently. "You are right, of course, Adar. I will make an effort."
"Indeed you should, for Legolas’ sake as well as your own." Thranduil clasped his son to him briefly. "Stay with him awhile. I am sure he will be glad for your company. I will come back later to relieve you, but I have matters to attend to right now."
"Adar, how is he?"
"He is mending, though there are times that he feels lowly." Thranduil let out a long sigh. "His sleep is often plagued with nightmares. That is to be expected. Hopefully in time, he will mend completely." He gave his sleeping son one last look before making his way to the door.
Left to himself, Feren turned his attention to his youngest brother. Legolas was still far too pale, and buried within the bed sheets, he looked more than ever like the elfling that he once was. But things were no longer as they were. Too much had happened and it pained him to know that the carefree world of his young brother was no more. It did not seem fair. Legolas was so young still, far too young to be thrown so mercilessly into the adult world of pain and grief. He clenched his fists in helpless frustration. He had successfully defended Mirkwood, but he had failed to protect his own brother.
"I am so sorry, Legolas. I have failed you," he whispered as he stroked the golden hair gently.
At the light touch, his brother stirred and slowly opened his eyes. The blue orbs blinked sleepily.
"Feren!" Surprise and joy lit up the young face.
"Hello, Legolas," Feren smiled and helped his brother to sit up. "How are you?"
Legolas shrugged. "Sleeping far too much, I fear. Kala says that I may get out of this bed perhaps tomorrow. I do not know whether I remember how to walk."
An awkward silence fell between them. Then Feren’s reserve broke and he moved forward and pulled Legolas into his arms.
"I am sorry, Legolas. I should have come sooner, but I was plagued by too many thoughts," Feren whispered softly, feeling grateful for the living warmth of the body in his arms. It seemed a lifetime ago since he had last held his brother in his arms.
Legolas returned the hug with equal gratification. "I am glad you are here, Feren. I thought you were upset with me."
Feren pulled back. "Upset with you? Why?"
"I disobeyed your orders," Legolas replied, eyeing his brother from under thick lashes. "And I broke my promise."
"I would not be here if you had not disobeyed my orders," Feren said at length. "I can only thank you for my life, though I forbid you to ever do anything so foolish again! I cannot bear the thought that I almost lost you." His voice cracked as he spoke the last words.
"But you did not lose me. I am here and am almost healed."
"Thank the Valar!" Feren breathed. After a pause, he said. "Legolas, I am so sorry about Salque."
The light disappeared from his brother’s eyes as they reddened and brimmed with tears. "I miss him, Feren. I miss him so much! I keep hoping that this is a nightmare and that Salque is still alive. Or that he is simply playing a trick on me as I had done so often on him. I keep waiting for him to show himself." He stopped as his breath caught on a half sob. "But he is not coming back and I will not be waking up from this nightmare." He twisted the blanket between his fingers savagely. "Why did he come searching for me? I should have been the one who died out there on the battlefield, not him."
"Oh Legolas!" Feren pulled his brother into his arms again. "Think of the pain that your death would bring to Adar, Aldeon, Tavaro and me. Do you think I could live with myself if you were lost? It pains me beyond measure to see you hurt like this. I would gladly give up my life if you could be spared of all this."
He felt his little brother shuddered. "I do not want anybody to give up their life for me. I just wish things could go back to the way they were." The last words were barely above a whisper but they struck Feren’s heart like a physical blow.
"I too wish things could be as they were," Feren said, his arms tightening around his brother.
"I cannot help but feel that if it were not for me, Salque would still be alive," Legolas said miserably. "That thought eats at me constantly."
"Oh Legolas, you cannot blame yourself for Salque’s death. If anyone is to be blamed, it is I," Feren said.
This time it was Legolas who pulled back. "I do not understand. Why should you be blamed?"
"You were injured because of me. Had you not been injured, you may have been able to help Salque against the orcs. The outcome may have been completely different."
"But it was my choice to jump into the path of the arrow. You cannot blame yourself for something that I did, something that you have no control over," Legolas protested.
"Then you should not feel guilt for Salque’s death. It was his choice to protect you from harm."
"It is not the same. I am alive, but Salque is dead."
"And I am alive because of you. Had that arrow killed you, would you have wished me to feel the same guilt that you do now over Salque’s death?
Legolas shook his head miserably. "No, of course not. I do not wish that on anyone."
Feren let out a long shaky breath and looked at the young face that was now marred by premature pain and guilt. "It is not easy for me either, Legolas. I too am plagued with guilt. Each time I see you, I feel responsible for all the pain and suffering that you have gone through. I am your older brother. I should be protecting you, but instead, I am the cause of your pain."
"Feren, you should not feel this way," Legolas said with surprising severity. "I do not blame you at all."
Feren smiled sadly at his younger brother. "I know you do not and I am grateful. But guilt eats at me nevertheless. So what shall we do, little brother?"
The two brothers shared a long look of misery, neither finding the words to comfort the other. In the end, it was Feren who broke the heavy silence, speaking with a resolve that he did not quite feel. "Adar is right. Guilt serves no purpose and it certainly cannot undo what has been done. We cannot let it take over our lives. Let us make a pact between us, Legolas. Let us both put this guilt behind us and go on with the life that the Valar has seen fit to grace us with. Other are not as fortunate as us."
Legolas looked at his older brother helplessly. "I do not know whether I can, Feren."
"I do not know whether I can either, little brother, but I intend to make the effort. Will you do the same?"
Slowly, Legolas nodded. "I will try."
Feren embraced his brother again. Things could never be the same again, he knew, but perhaps it was not so impossible to return to some form of normalcy that they could both live with.
xxxx
Thranduil sat back in his chair and took a sip from his goblet, feeling for the moment a contentment that he had not felt for far too long. Mirkwood had withstood the enemy’s attack and his sons were safely by his side again. For the moment, that was enough for the King. This evening was the first time in a long while that the entire family was together for a meal and Thranduil was determined to savour each moment of it.
Feren and Tavaro were carrying on a light banter regarding battle tactics with Aldeon adding his advice and thoughts now and again, while Legolas looked on with quiet thoughtfulness. Despite his brothers’ repeated efforts to draw him into their conversation, he remained, for the most part, uncharacteristically sullen and withdrawn.
Thranduil studied his youngest in discrete silence. Since his injury, this was the first time that Legolas had joined the rest of the family for the evening meal. He had, for all intents and purposes, fully recovered from his wounds, but to the king’s paternal eyes, his son was still too pale and thin. And even more distressing was the absence of the buoyant enthusiasm that had so marked his youngest son’s demeanor in the past. With an inward sigh, Thranduil reminded himself to be patient. His son may have recovered from the physical ailments, but the wounds invisible to the eyes were still healing, and would be healing for some time to come yet.
It was only when Tavaro spoke of the patrol that he and Feren were to embark upon the next day that Legolas at last spoke up.
"You and Feren are leaving tomorrow on patrol?" Legolas asked, a look of anticipation, mixed with a hint of fear, crossing his face.
"Yes, now that the orcs have been dispersed for the time being, spiders have sprung up to take their place. We just want to ensure that none come too close to hinder the rebuilding of the cottages. We should be back within days," Tavaro said as he poured himself some more wine. "It would be a good expedition for you to join were you not still recovering."
"I am recovered," Legolas protested, a little half-heartedly.
"No, you are not, Legolas," Thranduil said firmly while at the same time threw Tavaro a stern look for even broaching such an outlandish idea. The latter shrugged and hid his face behind his goblet. Thranduil turned to his youngest. "And I have not yet recovered from the fright that you have so recently dealt me and until I have, you will stay put. My heart is far too frail right now for any more fear and worry."
Tavaro burst out laughing, nearly choking on his last sip of wine. "If only Mirkwood’s subjects can hear their king lament about his frail heart. Adar, should this leak out, your reputation will be forever ruined."
"It may have failed to come to your notice, but it is a well established fact that if one is a parent, then he or she suffers invariably from a frail heart. It is an ailment that comes with parenthood." Thranduil eyed his youngest in particular as he declared these words. He noted with satisfaction that Legolas had the grace to squirm under his steady gaze.
"Well, Legolas, you heard Adar. I do not think you will be joining any patrols soon," Tavaro said.
"On the contrary, it may be sooner than you think," Thranduil said slowly, surprising them all. Legolas looked at his father expectantly, scarcely believing his ears.
Thranduil laid a gentle hand on his youngest son’s shoulder. "You know you did a very foolish and dangerous thing by going out there on you own, do you not? We nearly lost you, Legolas. I am half tempted to you throw you into the dungeons for the balance of your immortal life, if only to save myself from ever going through the fear and despair that I suffered in the past weeks."
Legolas stared down at his hands. "I am sorry, Adar. I never meant to cause you worry and despair. I just thought it was the right thing to do at the time."
Thranduil studied the young face and decided that he could not bring himself to reprimand his son any further. What Legolas was going through was more punishment than the young one ever deserved. He patted his son’s shoulder gently. "I know you had the best of intentions, but what you did was wrong, Legolas. A good warrior does not put himself into danger with such recklessness. However, your action also saved Mirkwood from certain annihilation. You have shown that you are capable of being a very skilled fighter, one that can rival any one of Mirkwood’s warriors. I am very proud of you, Legolas, as I am sure, are your brothers." Thranduil watched with mixed emotions as his son’s once pale cheeks flushed with newfound pride and light danced anew in the blue orbs. The King knew then in his heart that he could no longer hold back this last child. With an effort, he forced himself to continue, "However, you still lack the experience. Perhaps, when you have fully recovered your strength and if your training masters concur, you may join Feren and Tavaro on one of their shorter patrols."
Legolas looked at his father in wide-eyed disbelief. "Do you really mean that, Adar?"
Thranduil smiled and nodded.
"Thank you, Adar!" And in that one moment of joy and excitement of being acknowledged at last as an equal by his elders, the dark memory of death and destruction of the recent battle was pushed aside and briefly forgotten.
Thranduil watched the youthful exuberance that once more filled the face of his youngest and a sense of bittersweet joy filled his heart. He breathed a silent prayer to his beloved queen.
"My love, our last child is a child no longer. He is on the cusp of becoming a formidable warrior, like his brothers. I shall miss that innocent golden elfling with all my heart, but I cannot change the path of destiny. Watch over him, my love, and guide him, as shall I."
THE END