Disclaimer: It’s not stealing; it’s borrowing without permission! No infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

A/N: This one is really angsty, folks! It also contains some adult and very disturbing content. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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The guardsman had seen much in the recent years of his service to Gondor, but the sight that assaulted his eyes horrified him and made him want to retch. Like a broken doll, the torn and battered body of a female elf lay on the cobblestones of the dank, reeking alley. A look of utter horror was fixed on her still beautiful face. The position in which she lay and the state of her clothing left no doubt in the guardsman’s mind as to what had been done to her. Swallowing bile, he moved closer hoping futilely that she still breathed. A touch to her neck confirmed that she was beyond their aid.

He moved back down the alley to his companions. The youngest of them had just finished losing his breakfast against the wall. The guardsman spared the youngster a brief glance. He had only begun his service a few months ago and had not seen the horrors the rest of them had in the war. Grimacing, the guardsman made his way to his second in command. The man he sought was speaking in hushed tones to the resident of one of the buildings that bracketed the alley. Catching the man’s eye, the guardsman motioned for his second over. The man approached, saluted, and made his report.

“Says ‘e saw nothin an ‘eard nothin. ‘E were out ‘til near dawn, tho,” the second stated grimly. His superior nodded.

“Lookin at ‘er it ‘appened afore then. Get names o’ th’ ones ’e was with an let ‘im go. King’ll need to ‘ear o’ this, an Prince Legolas, too. Like as not, she were one o’ ‘is folk.” The guardsman grimaced, dreading that audience. “Secure th’ area an wait for King’s orders.” His second saluted and moved to obey.

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King Elessar bade the messenger on his way to Ithilien with a heavy heart. He had not given Legolas much information in his letter, just that a situation had arisen concerning one of Legolas’ people and that Elessar needed Legolas to help resolve it. In truth, he had no idea how he was going to tell his long time friend and brother in arms what had occurred. His men still had no leads into the identity of the ones responsible for the ghastly act. He fervently hoped that by the time his friend did arrive, he would have at least some of the answers. He slumped behind the desk of his study, wearing a fierce scowl and lost in thought.

He had not so much as moved when his wife entered the room quite a bit later. Upon hearing the sickening tale, Arwen Undomiel had made her way directly to her husband’s study, instinctively knowing that he would be there and likely in need of her presence. Crossing the room swiftly, she made her way to his side. One soft, cool hand gripped his forearm while the other stroked his forehead. He raised his eyes to her and gave her a fleeting smile, grateful for the comfort she offered. Arwen was not merely a source of comfort, however, but one of her husband’s most valued advisors and that was made evident by her words.

“This is possibly the worst time for this to occur. You have sent for Legolas?” At his nod, she continued, “Then let us hope that he manages to keep Thranduil out of it.” His quizzical gaze prompted more explanation. “ Her name was Loreleni. She was from Eryn Lasgalen.” Elessar winced.

“You understated the situation then. I truly wish that this had never happened in the first place, but why did it have to happen while Thranduil was in Ithilien? Did you know her, then?” He met his wife’s eyes again.

“Not well, I am afraid. She was the daughter of one of the palace staff. We met on a few occasions when I would visit there. I believe she was one of ellyth who cared for Legolas after his mother died. She came out to Ithilien with her husband in the first group from Eryn Lasgalen.” Elessar sighed and Arwen nodded. “Exactly. We not only have her death for which to seek justice, but likely her husband’s as well. Thranduil will insist on the perpetrators being turned over to him once he hears of this.” She was not surprised to see her husband’s jaw tighten at that.

“No. This happened in Minas Tirith and justice will be sought and carried out here. I have no problem with Legolas or Thranduil taking part in the decision of what is to be done once we find the guilty parties, but I will see that justice is served and that it does not happen again.”

Disclaimer: not mine, never will be.

Legolas paced the length of the room in an uncharacteristically agitated manner, grief and anger both visible in his expression. His father stood silently off to one side, his face impassive save for the cold anger in his eyes. Abruptly, the younger of the two elves stopped and turned back to Elessar.

“Who is responsible for this atrocity?” His blue-gray eyes bored into the king’s, making the king very glad that he and Legolas were longtime friends instead of enemies.

“We have located and taken into custody three men, but we are certain there are at least two more involved. Of course, we are charging them with both deaths,” Elessar replied, his tone carefully neutral. “It is only a matter of time until we have the rest of the men, at which time they will be taken before a tribunal and judged.” Legolas nodded, but Thranduil frowned darkly.

“I fail to see how that will accomplish anything. The crimes were against elves, the matter should be decided by elves,” the Elvenking stated obstinately.

“The crimes took place in Gondor and were committed by men of Gondor; therefore Gondor will judge them and sentence them accordingly. I will have no repeat of this,” Elessar replied with far less heat than he felt. “I know very well what elven justice entails, and it is not harsh enough for a crime of this nature. The penalty for murder in Gondor is death.”

“Adar, Elessar is within his rights to see justice done here in Minas Tirith,” Legolas put in. “He is correct in that our form of justice would not have the same impact. For an elf, our way would suffice but we are not dealing with elves. I trust Elessar to do what is best.”

“I do not doubt you, Elessar. However, I wish to make certain that our interests and our people are protected. As king, you have to be swayed by the wishes of your subjects and them I do not trust them to see the true evil that has been done here.” Thranduil was obviously struggling to maintain his temper and be diplomatic.

“Then it is my charge to see that they do,” the king of Gondor replied without batting an eye. “I will need your input and assistance with that, of course, as well as that of Legolas, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir, and whomever else you would have present from Ithilien and Eryn Lasgalen.”

“As that is the best I will likely get from you, it will have to suffice. For now. I reserve the right to reprise this discussion if I am not satisfied with the progression of the tribunal.” He shot an incensed look at his son and, with the barest minimum of civility, left the room.

“I am sorry, Legolas. I would not have put you in the middle like that if I could have avoided it,” Elessar clasped his friend’s shoulder briefly, feeling the tension in it with a pang of regret. Legolas shrugged and managed a rueful half-smile.

“I have been on the receiving end of Adar’s disapproval before, and doubtless shall be again. It was not your doing. He expected me to agree with him, but I could not in good conscience do so. We will discuss it later at length, I am certain.” Legolas’ expression was grim and the king winced in sympathy. Adult and leader of his own community though the prince was, Thranduil frequently seemed to see him as the elfling he had long ago ceased to be. It was a frustrating thing for Legolas, and he had Elessar’s complete sympathy.

“To change the subject completely, Gimli arrived a little while ago,” the king stated with a faint grin. Legolas’ face lit up, his apprehension about his upcoming conversation with his father almost disappearing.

“Now that is good news! I think I shall go pester him for awhile before I go see my Adar. If nothing else, Gimli can help me think of arguments to use.” With a parting clap on the shoulder, Legolas took his leave.

Legolas stalked through the halls of the Citadel, his expression as dark as storm clouds. His prediction to Elessar that he and his father would have a lengthy discussion had proven more than correct. What had started as a heated discussion had ended as a shouting match and Legolas had walked out. After walking off the worst of his temper, muttering curses in Sindarin, Silvan, the Common Tongue, and even a few in dwarvish inadvertently learned from Gimli, he had calmed enough to seek out the dwarf and request his company on a ride to clear away the rest of his foul humor. Gimli readily agreed and after a brief stop at the stables to collect Arod, they were out of the city and galloping across the fields to the distant trees.

Several hours had passed since Legolas had abruptly ended their argument, and Thranduil was beginning to fear that he had angered his son far more than he had originally thought. Arguments were not common between them, but neither were they unheard of and usually ended with one seeking the other out to make amends. Most frequently, it was Legolas who took the initiative and when he did not appear, Thranduil buried his pride and sought him out. His son was nowhere to be found. Swallowing his pride even further, he began to inquire as to Legolas’ whereabouts, again to no avail.

Eventually, he found himself at the king and queen’s private chambers. As it was nearing the dinner hour, both were in their rooms preparing for the evening meal. Although he felt more than a bit foolish, Thranduil asked where he might find his son with the utmost civility. He felt completely justified in his frustration with Elessar, but Arwen was another matter and he would not be discourteous to her simply because of his pique at her spouse.

“I have not seen Legolas since he left my study this afternoon, but I would hazard a guess that he is off with Gimli somewhere. We will see them both at dinner, I am sure,” Elessar stated in response to the Elvenking’s inquiry. “Gimli does not miss meals, even for Legolas.”

“Yes, I am sure he is in his room as we speak. If you do not manage to speak with him before the meal, you surely will afterwards,” Arwen added, placing a hand on Thranduil’s arm. “It will mend, you will see.” She smiled reassuringly at him, not missing the tension in him and shrewdly guessing the reason behind it.

“My thanks. I shall see you at dinner, then.” He bowed over Arwen’s hand and gave Elessar a brief nod before departing. The king and queen exchanged an exasperated look as they finished dressing for dinner.

Thranduil stood in the formal dining hall of the citadel, glass of wine all but forgotten in his hand. He had yet to catch sight of Legolas, and was beginning to become annoyed all over again with his errant offspring. It was not like Legolas at all to hold onto his anger this long. He frowned as he spied Elessar’s ally, Prince Faramir approaching him. The man bowed respectfully and addressed him in flawless Sindarin.

“King Thranduil, if you would please be so kind as to accompany me, King Elessar wishes a moment of your time. It is of the utmost importance.” The man gazed at him expectantly. Thranduil’s first instinct was to become even more annoyed but he caught himself, remembering that Elessar would not ask for anything trivial, and gestured for the prince to precede him.

Elessar’s squire was tying on the last piece of his king’s armor as Faramir and Thranduil entered the room. The Elvenking started, surprised to see his host in full armor and apparently ready to leave. Elessar sent his squire away with a kind word and further instructions before turning to Thranduil.

“I have been informed, since we last spoke, that Legolas and Gimli went riding beyond the city gates this afternoon.” He paused, visibly steeling himself. “The horse that they rode has come back alone. I am leading a troop out to look for them. Do you wish to accompany us?”

“Yes. I shall meet you at the gates.” Thranduil removed his robes, revealing the simple white tunic and dark trousers that he wore underneath. Elessar nodded.

“I have sent for your weapons. We will leave as soon as your assistant arrives with them.” The two kings exchanged a grim look, knowing that only something very grave would have unseated Legolas from his horse.

For an experienced ranger, it was a simple matter to follow Arod’s path back to the city. The horse had eschewed the roads, preferring the straightest route back to his stables. Once they reached the trees, it became appallingly clear that whatever had befallen Legolas and Gimli was no accident. Signs of a fierce struggle were readily visible. Utilizing his formidable skills, Elessar read the ground.

“They were confronted here,” he said softly, down on all fours and practically crawling so as not to miss a single sign. Legolas reigned in Arod, and tried to turn him here. The horse fell, spilling his riders. Gimli stood here, Legolas here, guarding each other’s backs. They fought, and Gimli was knocked aside, and rolled to here.” Elessar lifted some low hanging branches, revealing the prone figure of the dwarf. Swiftly, he knelt by his friend, searching for signs of life and breathing a deep sigh of relief when he found them.

After assuring himself that the dwarf’s injuries, while serious were not immediately life-threatening, the king of Gondor returned to reading the ground. “Legolas tried to fight his way to Gimli’s side, but was prevented. A net was thrown over him. He struggled, and was overpowered, then bound and carried to ….here.” Elessar straightened and swore furiously, staring at the ground at his feet. “A cart. He was placed in a cart and taken back towards the city.” He turned to the Elvenking. The elf’s eyes had turned to flint-hued ice, fury and fear warring for dominance in them. “We will find him,” Elessar stated with quiet determination, meeting the stormy eyes with great effort. Thranduil stared back for a long moment, and then nodded.

Gondor’s king swiftly arranged for three of his men to take the injured dwarf to the Halls of Healing, instructing them to relay his wishes for Gimli to be cared for by the queen’s brothers. He then turned back to the daunting task of finding Legolas. Thranduil’s hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his arm, startling him. The Elvenking spoke softly and rapidly in Sindarin.

“Elessar, I know well that you love my son as you would a brother and that you will do everything in your power to find him. However, if the ones who took him have harmed him, they shall pay for it and if he dies, so will they. I will slay them myself.”

The elf turned on his heel and mounted his horse, his attention focused on the tracks of the cart. Elessar stared at him for a moment, and then shook himself back to the task at hand. He would have a quiet word with Arwen about Thranduil’s outburst when they returned to the Citadel, hopefully with Legolas among them.

Legolas’ abductors proved to be much smarter than Elessar had originally given them credit for being. The cart had headed directly for one of the more heavily traveled roads to the city. Once there, it was impossible to track, save for searching all divergent paths to make certain that it had not turned off the road. It had not and the king was certain that his friend had been taken into his city. The prospect of conducting a thorough search of the city was a daunting one, and Elessar gave it much thought during the ride back to the Citadel. Grid searches, house to house, would likely be the best way. He rapidly calculated the number of men needed to conduct a search of that magnitude quickly. Too many, he decided. He would have to settle for raising a general alarm, search methodically the most likely places for Legolas to be hidden, offer a reward for information leading to Legolas’ return, and hope for a miracle.

Thranduil, for his part, had said nothing after his fierce words to Elessar. The elf kept his emotionless mask in place, listening intently as the king and his soldiers spoke back and forth, but making no effort to join in the conversation. His mind was solely on his son, and the deep fear in his soul that he would not see Legolas again. The Elvenking feared few things. Indeed after his long and wearing battle against the Shadow, after losing his father and brother, and as a consequence of that, his mother during the Last Alliance, and especially after losing his queen to an orc’s arrow, he had scant cause to fear anything as he had so very little to lose. Legolas was all the family he had left to him. Losing his son would be the death of him, he had no doubt. He had meant every word he had said to Gondor’s king. If Legolas were to die, Thranduil would slay the ones responsible for it before succumbing to his grief. After all, in that event, he would literally have nothing left to lose.

TBC, and I’m afraid I’m not going to be at all nice to Legolas or Thranduil in the next chapter. Elf owies ahead, you have been warned!

For disclaimer please see chapter 1.

Legolas woke to total darkness. He could hear the sound of birds close by, telling him that it was day rather than night. He blinked, and then started slightly as he realized that he was blindfolded. His mouth felt horribly dry, the cloth he was gagged with stealing the moisture from his mouth. It also tasted foul and smelled worse. He lay as still as possible, recognizing from the sharp pains in his arms and legs that he was bound and had been for some time. The prince tested his bonds, frowning when he realized that his captors knew enough about elves not to underestimate his ability to free himself. He was tied with strong rope and chains over the rope. He could hear voices, close by but not in the same room he was in, he was fairly certain.

“’Is lordship sent our little token to th’ king. Now we jest needs ta wait and keep th’ elf alive,” the first voice said.

“’E’s trussed all good an’ proper. ‘E ain’t going nowhere. We jest gotta feed ‘im an’ water ‘im ‘til ‘e’s not needed anymore,” a second voice added.

“Aye, an’ jest that. I ain’t about to waste my time on cleanin’ ‘im. We’d ‘ave ta untie ‘im fer that anyroad, an’ no way I’m gonna do that!” first exclaimed.

“Might be worth it ta jest untie ‘is legs. ‘E’s as purty as a maid,” a third voice chimed in lewdly.

“No road! Ye couldna control yeself wi’ the elf-woman an’ she ended up dead. Yer not touchin’ ‘im unless ‘is lordship gives the say so. Got it, Rafes?” the first voice decreed, from the sound of it slamming third into some article of furniture.

“I got it, I got it,” third whined petulantly. “I’d rather a whore, anyroad. Elves die too quick ta be any fun. An’ if ye beat th’ whore proper, ye don’t gotta pay.”

“Shut yer traps, I gotta go check on our guest,” first snapped, effectively ending the conversation. A door opened and closed, and the sound of footsteps approached the prince. Legolas could smell the man long before he reached the place where he lay and gagged from the stench of his unwashed body once the man bent over him.

“So yer awake, are ye? Might as well give ye sommat ta drink, then,” the man grunted, slipping the gag down and grabbing a fistful of the archer’s golden hair. He hauled Legolas’ head back enough to cause the elf to grit his teeth. “Open up an take yer medicine like a good li’l elf,” the man ordered with cruel humor. Forcing the spout of pitcher through the elf’s teeth, he poured a large amount of foul-tasting liquid into his mouth. Legolas gagged and tried to spit the horrid stuff out, but the man clamped his mouth shut and pinched his nose closed. Legolas thrashed as much as he could, but in the end was forced to swallow or suffocate. As soon as he had, the gag was shoved back in place. “Sweet dreams, elf,” the man said, laughing maliciously. The door shut behind him.

Legolas fought his bonds for several minutes, but was unable to break them. Whatever the man had forced him to drink was making him dizzy and nauseous. He fought not to vomit into his gag, knowing he would likely drown in the contents of his own stomach if he did. Cold sweat broke out on his brow and he gritted his teeth, breathing rapidly through his nose. Finally, his stomach settled, and his awareness receded. His last thought before the darkness reached out and drew him into the pit was that he wished he had spoken to his father before he had left Minas Tirith.

Elessar ran his hand down his face in weary frustration. It had been three long days since Legolas had been taken and they were no closer to finding him than they had been the first day. His men had conducted strategic searches, questioned well over a hundred potential witnesses, traced every known delivery into the city, and posted a reward for knowledge of the elf prince’s whereabouts and still nothing.

A street urchin, one of countless left without family either by the war or disease and hunger, had delivered Legolas’ weapons and a lock of the elf’s hair to the palace that morning. The message that accompanied Legolas’ effects had threatened the elf’s life if Elessar did not release the suspects in the murder and abdicate the throne in favor of Faramir. The prince of Ithilien had been shocked speechless by the demands and had adamantly insisted that Elessar not even consider complying in any way. Surprisingly, that sentiment had been seconded by Thranduil.

“You cannot give in to fanatics, Estel,” he had stated coldly. “Not even for the life of my son.” The pain in the Elvenking’s eyes was indescribable, and Elessar had been momentarily rendered unable to speak. He had gripped Legolas’ father’s shoulder tightly for the moment it took to compose himself.

“It is not only Legolas’ life; do not think that I do not know that.” He met Thranduil’s eyes steadily, something few even among the elves could do for very long. The king of Eryn Lasgalen had nodded almost imperceptibly.

“It does not matter. If you did agree to their demands, they would kill him anyway. So long as they keep him alive, they have something to use as leverage. And you cannot agree. The kingdom would suffer for it. Prince Faramir is a good and honest man, but he would forever be tainted by the deeds of these fanatics. Gondor needs Elessar on its throne and no other until your time is done. Elrond was not the only one who sees what may come to pass.” He had turned away, unwilling to further share his pain. “I shall be in the gardens if my presence is needed.”

Elessar was at a loss as to what course of action to take next. He was having what men he could conduct grid searches of the abandoned buildings in the city, but there were many houses and not enough men. The search was slow, too slow. The reward had elicited many leads, all so far turning out to be dead ends.

Worst of all was what Thranduil was going through. The Elvenking had made it plain that he did not blame Elessar for what had happened. He had assisted where he could and when his temper surfaced, which it frequently did, no one complained. The kitchen staff had informally adopted him, as they were more than passing fond of Legolas, whom they had also informally adopted and tried to fatten up whenever he was in the Citadel. They saw to it that Thranduil was sent treats to tempt his appetite and so keep his strength up and his hopes alive. Any time of the day or night, he could request whatever he wished from the kitchens and it would be cheerfully and promptly delivered to him. The Elvenking’s almost lifelong assistant, Luinloth, encouraged and abetted any such schemes seeking, as he always had, to care for his king.

Elessar sighed and heaved himself to his feet. He needed to check on Gimli. The dwarf still had not regained consciousness, adding yet another worry to the king’s already burdened shoulders. He made his way to his friend’s bedside, hoping that the dwarf had awakened and that at least one worry would be gone.

Thranduil sat on a stone bench in the Queen’s gardens. Even the trees and flowers around him brought him no solace. He had thought that he knew everything there was to know about grief and fear. He had seen the sack of Doriath as an elfling, had seen his grandparents cut down before his eyes. He had seen his Naneth’s sister take a mortal wound defending him. He had seen his father and younger brother cut down in battle during the Last Alliance and had known it to be a needless result of his father’s pride. He had been forced to stay on to lead his father’s troops, robbed of his last chance to see his mother before she faded from grief and joined her husband and younger son, leaving him utterly alone for the first time in his life.

He had watched as the spark of life had left his beloved wife’s eyes centuries ago, extinguished by an orc’s arrow. He had felt the bond between them shatter as her soul forsook her body for Mandos’ Halls. He had seen her topple lifeless from her horse, barely retaining the presence of mind to snatch an infant Legolas from her arms as she fell. He had lived through the dark days that followed, keeping to life by sheer determination alone for Legolas’ sake, refusing to leave his son parentless.

He had seen hundreds of his subjects, some of them his friends for most of his life, fall to orcs, wargs, spiders, and wraiths. He had seen the Shadow creep across his Greenwood, tainting it and turning it into Mirkwood. He had seen the darkness of Dol Goldur, had seen the remains of tortured prisoners within its walls. He had seen terrors and atrocities uncounted befall elves and men alike. He had known sorrow far more than he had known joy, until his wife and then Legolas. His wife had healed his soul, Legolas had healed his heart. He could bear most any trial, most any heartache with his son by his side.

He had come close to losing Legolas before; life in Mirkwood had been neither safe nor easy. As skillful and careful a warrior as Legolas was, he had taken wounds numerous times, more than a few serious, several life-threatening. Legolas had disappeared once as a young elfling on a trip back to Mirkwood from Imladris when his escort had been massacred by an exceptionally large force of orcs. Miraculously, the elfling had been unhurt, the warriors he had been entrusted to hiding him before the orcs attacked. Thranduil had gotten his son back that time, thanks to a kind group of humans and Elrond’s sons.

Then there was the quest to destroy the Ring. Legolas had truthfully and realistically not expected to survive it. Thranduil too had known the risks and as terrified as he was for his son, he was also proud beyond measure of Legolas’ courage and determination to face almost certain death unflinching. When both of them had survived that, Thranduil had thought that their times of danger were over. He and Legolas would both eventually sail to Valinor and that would be that.

This had blindsided him. He had been unprepared to have Legolas torn from him again, not now when they were so close to the end of their time in Arda. Not now when they both were just discovering what is was like to live without the Shadow.

The Elvenking’s hands clenched in his lap, his knuckles going white with tension. He would maintain his control. He would not break, not unless the worst happened. Only if his son did indeed die would he loose his control. He drew a deep breath, calming and centering himself.

A light footfall behind him betrayed the presence of another of his kindred and he turned, wiping all expression from his face. He did not wish Elrond’s daughter to see his pain. Arwen had enough pain of her own; she did not need his as well.

Soft lips grazed his cheek and Queen Arwen Undomiel seated herself by his side, taking his hand in hers.

“Do not give in to despair. He is alive and we shall find him,” she stated softly, a hint of her father’s power in her voice. He glanced sharply at her, knowing that although she was now mortal, she retained most of her elven strengths and abilities.

“You have seen this?” he asked, barely daring to hope.

“My heart sees it. It is not Legolas’ fate to make his end here. He has tasks yet to accomplish and the Valar watch over him. They favor him, I think,” she answered, a hint of a smile curving her lips. The corners of his mouth turned up a bit in response. He never had been able to resist Arwen. She had had him as firmly twined around her little finger from the time of her birth as she did every other male who cared for her.

“Then I will hold to hope, for I trust your instincts as I do your Adar’s. Thank you.” He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a courtly kiss on them before rising. He smiled faintly at her. “I certainly hope that Estel realizes exactly how fortunate he is.” Arwen laughed softly.

“He does and I, too, am fortunate in him.” She rose from the stone bench. “Come, walk with me and let the trees soothe you.”

“I do not know how much solace I will find until I know that Legolas is safe, but I would be honored to walk with you.” He bowed slightly and offered his arm, placing his hand over hers when she took it. “How fares Gimli?”

“He has not awakened, which is worrisome, but I believe he will wake soon. He is far too hard-headed to allow something like this to finish him,” Arwen replied serenely. “Estel is worried, but I think that is partly due to his worry over Legolas. As I said, Gimli is stubborn and he would not abandon Legolas in any case.” They lapsed into silence, walking the garden in circles and listening to the birds and squirrels.

Furtive sounds alerted both Thranduil and Arwen that they were no longer alone. The Elvenking drew a dagger from his boot, and warily eyed the greenery around them. Arwen silently drew twin daggers from her voluminous sleeves, deftly securing the fabric under the devices that had held the knives. She pulled a third dagger from her elaborately styled hair and handed it to her companion wordlessly. At his raised eyebrows she mouthed, ’my brothers.’ He nodded in comprehension. It was not surprising that Elladan and Elrohir would think to ensure their sister’s safety.

Eight men burst from the undergrowth towards the queen and Thranduil.

To Be Continued………..

Thranduil coolly sized up the attacking humans, keeping himself between them and Arwen. He had no doubt that she was perfectly capable of defending herself, but he had been spoiling for a fight since Legolas had disappeared and for all he knew, the ones attacking them now could be connected with the ones who had taken his son. He rather hoped that they were.

As the first two attackers reached him, the Elvenking feinted left, and then came in behind the guard of the closest man, ramming the pommel of his knife into the man’s temple and knocking him out cold. Thranduil then whipped around under the second man’s guard and hamstrung him, kicking him out of the way and as far from Arwen as possible. His lightening-quick defenses made the rest of the attackers cautious and they paused, plainly considering their options. Thranduil, for his part, remained silent, having learned long ago that silence and an icy glare were far more unnerving to humans than the taunts that worked best with orcs. Arwen merely waited quietly behind him, knives at the ready.

Finally, the men moved as one, evidently deciding that it was best to rush Thranduil all at once in hopes of overwhelming him. The Elvenking responded with a feral grin, further unnerving his opponents, and took two more out in rapid succession. His grin grew as he clearly heard Arwen dispatching the two that managed to slip past him. He concentrated on the remaining two, braining one with the pommel of the dagger that Arwen had given him.

The last was by far the best fighter of the bunch, and considerably more prudent than his companions. He saw the queen that they had sorely underestimated send the last of her attackers into oblivion and made to cut and run. Thranduil was on him in a heartbeat, knocking him to his knees and grasping his lank, unruly hair. Pulling the man’s head back to bare his throat, the Elvenking laid the blade of his knife against it, applying enough pressure to draw a thin line of blood. The man froze, turning terror-filled eyes up at the fell and fierce elven warrior who restrained him.

“If you are wise, you will not so much as twitch,” Thranduil ground out from between clenched teeth. “I am in a less than forgiving mood at the moment.” The man’s eyes closed as a shudder went through him. Thranduil noted with grim amusement that his captive had soiled himself.

“You have not lost your touch, it seems,” Arwen commented dryly, gathering up the discarded weapons and depositing them amid the heavily-thorned rose bushes that had been a gift from Samwise Gamgee.

“Indeed not,” he replied, his keen ears picking up the sounds of Citadel guards heading their way. “Assistance is on the way. Better late than not at all, I suppose.”

“Estel will have quite a bit to say to them, I should think.” Arwen wiped her daggers on the tunic of one of the men she had felled and stowed them back in their sheaths before loosing her sleeves and shaking them back into place.

“As would I in his place. Their lack of vigilance would have cost them their queen had she not been as capable with weapons as she is.” His expression eloquently communicated his approval of her and she gave him a wobbly smile, beginning to tremble as she reacted to the battle.

“Take this piece of filth,” Thranduil directed the stunned guardsman who had stopped directly in front of him, shoving the man he held into the guardsman’s hands. “And gather up his companions as well. They have dared to raise weapons against your queen.” The men snapped into action, showing no hesitation in obeying the Elvenking even though they were not beholden to do so.

One of the soldiers made to go to Arwen, who was struggling to maintain her composure, but Thranduil stopped him. “I will see to her.” The guard began to protest, but the Elvenking’s expression stopped the words on his tongue. “I have known her since she was in swaddling clothes, man of Gondor. I will see to her.” He moved swiftly to her side and drew her against his chest. “Easy, sweet child, easy. You did only what you had to.”

“I am far from a child, Aran Thranduil,” came the reply, muffled though it was by the folds of his tunic. He chuckled. [king]

“Compared to whom? Your spouse, certainly, but to me you will always be a child.” He brushed a leaf from her hair. “You did well, Arwen. Your Adar would be very proud of you.” She drew a deep breath and stepped back, straightening her shoulders.

“Thank you. I think I will be all right now.” She looked around, slightly startled to see their attackers gone. “What they lack in speed, they make up for in efficiency,” she commented, referring to the guardsmen.

“Too little, too late as far as Estel will see it. I almost pity them,” Thranduil replied, studying her carefully. She looked back at him and gave him a small smile.

“Then I should go with them and soften his anger. He will not be as harsh if he sees that I am unharmed.” He shook his head, thinking that nothing would soften his anger if he was Estel, but he held his tongue and merely offered her his arm. She took it with almost her usual serenity and they followed the guardsmen.

As both Arwen and Thranduil had predicted, Elessar had indeed had quite a bit to say to his guards. In the end, Arwen had acquired two human bodyguards to shadow her at all times as well as two elven ones, courtesy of Thranduil and with Elessar’s whole-hearted approval. She had grumbled a token amount before giving in to sooth her husband’s anxiety.

The five surviving attackers were taken immediately into custody to be questioned as soon as possible. Arwen had been unable to avoid killing her opponents, and the first one Thranduil had hit had shattered his skull on a flagstone when he had hit the ground. Arwen was heard to comment to her spouse that the mere sight of Thranduil would now likely be enough to have them gladly spilling all they knew. The Elvenking smiled grimly and left them then, returning to his rooms to remove the dust and blood from his person.

As soon as they were alone, Elessar swept his wife up into a fierce hug, burying his face in her raven hair and breathing a shuddering sigh of relief. Arwen hugged him back with equal fervor, murmuring reassurances.

“Too close, far too close,” he whispered into her hair. “I would not have survived had they harmed you.”

“They did not and they would not have, even had Thranduil not been there. I am not so easily subdued, Estel. My father and brothers have seen to that,” she replied, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “As well you know.” She smiled then and he could not help but smile in return.

“I know.” He kissed her tenderly. “But that does not mean that I am going to relax my vigilance until I have gotten to the bottom of this and seen justice done.”

“That is as it should be, my Estel.” She caressed his face lightly before regarding him with a sober expression. “There is more here than what meets the eye. We must be cautious, thorough, and very canny. We have not yet even glimpsed what lies beneath. I would be very surprised if this was not connected to Legolas’ disappearance.”

“The timing alone makes it suspect,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “I will be very interested to see what the ones who attacked you have to say.” Loud voices from outside the door drew their attention. “Word travels quickly, I see,” Elessar commented wryly as the door was flung open and his brothers-in-law rushed into the room.

“Arwen! Were you injured?” Elladan pulled his sister from her husband’s arms, looking her over carefully for injuries. Elrohir, never more than a step behind his twin, moved to Arwen’s other side, scanning her every bit as carefully as Elladan.

“Peace, brothers-mine! I am well, and not so much as a bruise to show for my adventure.” She gave Elessar an exasperated look and he stifled a laugh.

“Adventure?! Adventure, she calls it!” Elrohir glared at her. “You are almost killed and you call it adventure?”

“They were not trying to kill me, Elrohir,” Arwen stated calmly. “And before you ask, yes the knives came in very handy, thank you.” Her brother arched a brow at her.

“She dispatched two of them, thanks to those cleverly hidden knives that you gave her,” Elessar stated, meeting Arwen’s eyes, his own full of pride for her. The twins wordlessly drew her into an embrace between them. A moment later, Elrohir dragged Elessar in, making the family hug as complete as it could be, East of Valinor.

The first thing that Gimli was aware of was pain, in his head, in his arms, and in his chest. He tried to draw a deep breath, beginning to cough when his cracked ribs protested. Strong but gentle hands lifted him, careful not to cause him any more pain than necessary, and propped him up with pillows. A second set of hands, much softer and even gentler than the first, stroked his brow. A soft voice spoke to him.

“Awake, Gimli! Your friends are worried for you.”

His friends. Gimli knew there was something very important that he must remember about his friends, but his head ached fiercely and he could not think. He tried to force his eyes to open, but the lids were too heavy. He recognized the voice as belonging to Eowyn, and he thought he heard Elessar and Faramir, but he did not hear the elf. Now, that was odd. If he was injured, the elf should be hovering over him like a mother wolf over her cubs. Where was he?

The dwarf tried to force his lips to move, to say his closest friend’s name, but all he could manage was a groan. He heard Eowyn again then.

“I think he’s finally coming around,” the shield maiden turned princess of Ithilien called to the other occupants of the room. Gimli could hear movement and then Faramir’s voice.

“Yes, I believe you are right.” He seemed to move closer. “Gimli, can you hear me?” The dwarf managed an irritated growl and then heard Elessar chuckle.

“That would be a yes, I think.” One of the king’s strong hands supported Gimli’s head while the other held a cup to his lips. Cool, sweet water trickled down the dwarf’s parched throat. He desperately wanted more, but forced himself not to gulp. “Very good, my friend,” Elessar’s voice came again, “only a little at first until we see how it settles.” He slipped his hand from behind the dwarf’s head, allowing Gimli to rest back onto the pillows once more.

Gimli allowed himself to drift for a moment, letting the water settle in his stomach and trying to think as to how he had gotten hurt. With a blinding flash, the ambush came back to his and his eyes flew open, the force of his concern for his elven friend giving him the strength to not only open his eyes but to sit bolt upright, in spite of his injuries.

“Legolas!” Gimli looked about him wildly. “Where is Legolas, was he hurt?” Elessar’s hands gently grasped his shoulders, pushing him back down onto his pillows and restraining him.

“Gimli! Be still or you will aggravate your injuries.” He met his friend’s eyes solemnly. “Legolas is not here, my friend. He was taken after you were hurt. We do not know where he is.”

“Taken? Why?” Gimli could not fathom who would wish to harm Legolas.

“To use as leverage against me, it seems,” Elessar replied with a grimace. “I knew that I would have enemies, but that they would seek to use Legolas against me never occurred to me. Nor that they would make an attempt on Arwen, either.”

“Someone tried to harm Arwen?” Gimli asked, shocked that any would dare. The king nodded.

“This morning, right after we received Legolas’ belongings and a message that if the ones who are being held for the elven couple’s deaths are not released, he will be killed. They wish me to abdicate, as well,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Gimli snorted.

“He’d have your head if you did,” the dwarf replied. “You don’t give in to fanatics, lad. The elf would tell you the same.”

“His father did, though it pained him beyond belief to do so. But he also made another very valid point. As long as we have something they want, it is in their interest to keep Legolas alive.” He raked his hand through his already unruly locks. “We are searching everywhere we can think of as quickly as we can, and I will be questioning the ones who attacked Arwen to see what they know. She and Thranduil both believe that the events are related.” He made a quick survey of Gimli’s injuries. “You have not managed to tear any of your wounds open again, more’s the miracle. Stay in bed, Gimli. I will make certain that if there is any news, you will be among the first to hear it.” The king rose and walked to the door of the dwarf’s rooms. “I will send up some broth for you. Try to rest as much as you can.” With that he left the room, and Gimli settled in to worry about his dearest friend.

For header and disclaimer, see chapter 1.

Legolas shifted restlessly, testing his bonds for the hundredth time. He had lost track of how long he had been a captive, his days and nights melding into a confusing whirl due to his almost constantly drugged state. His captors had discovered very quickly that he was far easier to deal with if he was groggy or unconscious and took care to keep him that way. They had also given him some food and water, but not nearly as much as he would normally have had, and he felt weak and shaky, far beyond what the drugs were responsible for.

He had discerned that there were four guards on him at all times, and that they changed regularly. He had also heard a voice of a certain authority and had concluded, in a rare lucid moment, that whoever was behind this evidently liked to take a personal interest in his lackeys’ performance. It had been some time since he had been given his last dose of whatever drug they were using on him, and its effects had begun to wear off. He had noticed that they invariably did that when the authoritative voice visited. Sure enough, he heard the condescending tone of the authoritative one. Abruptly, the door to the room he lay in opened. Footsteps crossed the room and Legolas’ pallet sagged with the weight of the authoritative one.

“Your friend, the king is very uncooperative, as is his bitch of a wife,” the voice commented peevishly. Legolas stiffened and gritted his teeth at the insult to Arwen. The voice chuckled. “You did not like that, did you? Elf, I have no particular axe to grind with your folk. You, yourself, were merely intended to be the means to an end, as was the queen, had she cooperated and been brought here to join you. As it stands now, you have become a liability that I can no longer afford to have.” Legolas went cold, knowing that in his current state he was unable to fend off any attempts to end his life. “Still, I am reluctant to have your blood on my hands and I do not trust those buffoons not to bungle things. What am I to do with you, then? I suppose I shall have to give you a sporting chance. I wonder if you will be able to get free of those ropes before you starve to death. It will be interesting to find out.” His weight shifted off the pallet and Legolas heard him walking towards the door.

A quick command and there were several men in the room grabbing him and forcing the vile drug down his throat again. He vaguely felt himself being lifted and carried and he struggled to hold onto awareness long enough to gain some information on where he was being taken. He felt them carry him up several flights of stairs and suddenly felt the cool night air on his face. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to at least catch some familiar scent. One of the ones carrying him noted that he was still awake and a fist came crashing down on his head, sending him down into the pit again.

When he next woke, he could hear the sound of dripping water and the faint scurrying of scavenger rodents. The air felt close and dank and he shuddered as he realized that he was below ground, most likely in a cellar. He could hear no activity near, no sounds of humans at all. He fought his bonds and twisted his wrists until they bled freely to no avail. He tried to use the blood soaking the ropes to slip them off, but they were too intricately knotted. He tried to roll, but found that he was wedged between two immovable objects. He was still gagged, so calling out was not an option. Legolas kicked out, hoping to strike anything that might make noise. Failing that, he began to work the ropes again, ignoring the pain in his wrists. He would not give up without a fight.

“What did you find, captain?” Elessar’s face gave away little of what he thought or felt as he addressed the guard captain in charge of following up on the information gained by questioning the men who had attacked the queen.

“He was definitely being held there, my lord king. They likely moved him as soon as they knew the attempt on the queen had failed. We found his jerkin and boots, and the mithril chain that Lord Gimli made for him last Yule, but nothing else.” The captain looked as concerned as Elessar felt.

“No sign as to where they may have taken him?”

“No, my lord king, nothing. We’ve questioned everyone in the neighborhood, but no one admits to seeing anything. We’re continuing the search.” The captain bowed as Elessar dismissed him.

Eight days it had been since the queen had been attacked. The men in question had held out far longer than Elessar would have given them credit for, even under Thranduil’s icy glare. In the end, they had gotten the information they sought, too late. The traitors had gone to ground and disappeared into Minas Tirith’s masses.

The knowledge that at least one highborn person was involved had not been unexpected, but unfortunately none of the men in custody knew the identity of the one they called ‘His Lordship.’ Elessar refused to be reduced to looking over his shoulder every second, but had doubled the guard on his wife and had insisted on being well armed at all times, not only himself but Arwen and the rest of their guests as well.

Serai pulled her ragged cloak tighter around her thin frame. Fall had arrived, the days were cooler, and the nights were getting too cold to be without shelter. She would have to find someplace soon, before her condition began to show. She would need warmth if she was to survive the winter. She shivered, thinking of the small and shabby but warm home she was no longer welcome in. Her father had never been the same after her mother had died, but throwing his only child out into the street for becoming pregnant when his friend had forced himself on her was not something she would have thought him capable of.

The girl spotted a ruined building ahead of her that looked likely. The upper floors would not be warm enough, but the cellar had possibilities, if it was not already claimed. She had found and lost three places already, along with most of the few belongings her father had allowed her to take.

Serai stepped over the threshold cautiously, listening for any sign that the cellar was already occupied. Hearing nothing she continued, pausing every few steps to listen. Still she heard nothing, so she moved the last few paces into the dim, dank room. It stank, and she wrinkled her nose, but she could change that with a bit of cleaning. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the low light, and she began to look around in earnest. The room was not very large, but it would suit her needs and it was warm.

There was debris everywhere, left over from the siege. Abandoned buildings were last on the list to be repaired, especially on this level. Most of the inhabited buildings had been repaired or rebuilt in the years since the war had ended, even down this far, but there was still work to be done. Eventually, this structure would be razed but Serai hoped that it was after she no longer needed it. She stepped carefully over a pile of splintered wood and froze in shock. There, on the ground in front of her lay a body.

Serai was no innocent, not anymore. She remembered the siege vividly and she was no stranger to death, but there was something strange about the body before her. As she stared, it twitched and a slight moan escaped it. Biting her lip, she moved closer, trying to get a better look. A wave of pity rose in her as she saw that the person was blindfolded and gagged, as well as bound. Long, fair hair hid the person’s face. Kneeling next to the unfortunate, she started, shocked beyond measure as she took in the tip of a pointed ear peeking out from the filthy tangle of hair.

Her eyes darted around fearfully. Anyone who would do this to an elf would not hesitate to kill an insignificant human girl. She should leave and put as much distance between herself and this building as possible. She rose and began to move quickly away but the memory of the elf’s crumpled form rose before her and she stopped. She could not walk away and just leave. One of the few happy memories that she had since her mother’s death involved elves.

Serai had been trying to purchase enough food for a meager dinner for herself and her father. By purchasing the slightly bruised or wilted vegetables, bones with little meat on them, and the ends of loaves, she could usually manage on what she could salvage from her father’s pockets after he came home from the tavern and stumbled to his bed. As she was leaving the market, a horse had gotten spooked and had gone wild, knocking her off her feet and her food into a large puddle. She had been able to salvage the vegetables, but the bread had been soaked and a stray dog had run off with the bone she had bought. She had felt like weeping at the loss, but refused to in public. Suddenly, there was a pair of fine boots in front of her.

“Are you hurt, child?” A musical voice had asked. Serai had looked up into a pair of silver eyes and a face so fair it took her breath, framed in long, braided, dark hair.

“I do not think she is injured, brother, but she has lost most of her dinner,” another musical voice answered the first and Serai’s mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of a mirror image of the being in front of her. Elves, she thought giddily, they’re elves!

“Here, child, let us help you up,” the first said, gently taking a hold of Serai’s elbows and lifting her to her feet. “Since it was our horse that caused you to lose your purchases, it seems only right that we should replace them,” he finished, smiling at her. He was so charming that she could not help smiling in return, which he evidently took for assent.

In short order, Serai’s basket had been filled more than twice as full as it had been and the elves were gone before she could form thought enough to thank them. She and her father had eaten for nearly a week because of the elves’ generosity and Serai had never forgotten it. In a way, she reasoned, she could thank her elves by helping this one. Her decision made, Serai set off at a run for the nearest guard station.

Captain Malrel had just finished his morning mug of tea and was settling his cloak around his shoulders when the girl burst into the guard station he commanded.

“Please, I need someone to come with me! He needs help!” She was agitated enough that she was not making much sense and Malrel gripped the girl’s shoulders, enough to steady her, but not cause her any pain. She flinched away from his touch and he released her. He stepped back and raised his hands to show her that he would not harm her and would respect her boundaries.

“Peace, child! Slow down and tell me what’s happened,” Malrel kept his tone soft and calm, not wishing to frighten her further. She took a deep breath.

“The building on the corner, the one that had a red roof?” He nodded his understanding and she continued, “In the cellar, past the wood pile. There’s an elf there. Someone’s hurt him. He’s all tied up, blindfolded, and gagged, but I saw him move. He’s alive and you’ve got to help him!” She saw the captain’s eyes widen and he turned, shouting orders to his men. He turned back to her.

“Child, I’m going to need you to come with us. There’s a lot more to this than you know, and I’m afraid that it’s too dangerous for you to be on your own right now. Do you understand?” Malrel locked eyes with her and she nodded, terror filling her gray eyes. “Good. Now, first we’ll go and see to the elf and then we’ll take a ride up to the Citadel. You can ride with me. I’ve a daughter about your age and I’ll let no one harm you. All right?” She gulped but, visibly steeling herself, nodded. “Good girl. Let’s go then.”

Malrel placed the girl behind him on his horse, reasoning that she would probably feel less threatened there than in front. As the troop paced down the cobbled street, he turned to his second in command. “Lorran, you fought at the Black Gate with Lord Legolas, didn’t you?”

“Aye, Cap’n, that I did,” his second replied, frowning. “He’s a fine fellow. Him and Lord Gimli saved my neck during the battle.”

“You’ll have point then. I’ve only seen him from a distance and we‘ll need someone who knows him to identify him for certain,” the captain stated.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

The troop stopped in front of the building that the girl had described and dismounted. Malrel placed the girl in the care of one of his guardsmen that he knew had daughters and made his way into the cellar.

The air was close and rank in the dark room. Malrel allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom and then located the woodpile. Stepping over it, he spied the prone figure on the ground several feet away. He moved quickly to the elf’s side and removed the blindfold and gag before cutting away the bloodstained ropes that bound him. Gently, he eased the elf onto his back and placed his fingers on the pale neck, seeking confirmation that he was indeed alive. Sighing with relief when he felt a slow, but steady pulse, he motioned Lorran over.

“Aye, Cap’n, that’s Lord Legolas. Wish I had five minutes alone with the ones who did this,” Lorran commented darkly, doffing his cloak and wrapping it around the unconscious elf prince. “With permission, Cap’n, I’d like to take charge of him. Like I said, I owe him my life.”

“Permission granted. Let’s get him to the Citadel.”

The door to the throne room opened with a loud thud. Elessar and his advisors looked up to see Guard Captain Malrel ushering an obviously frightened young woman in. They were closely followed by a guardsman carrying someone wrapped in cloaks. The king spied a stray strand of filthy blond hair escaping from the cloak and shot to his feet. He quickly made his way down from the dais on which the throne stood to the burdened guardsman.

Carefully, he peeled back the concealing cloth to reveal Legolas’ still face. The elf was thinner than Elessar had ever seen him in their long friendship, completely filthy, and rank from his captivity. His eyes were closed, giving the king a bit of a start, but upon closer examination, Elessar could see that he was breathing.

He lifted the elf from the guardsman’s arms, shouting for his seneschal to fetch Elladan and Elrohir, and for someone to inform the queen that she was needed in Lord Legolas’ rooms. As he shifted Legolas into a comfortable carrying position, he felt the elf shudder. He began softly reassuring his friend in Sindarin as he hurried through the halls to Legolas’ rooms.

He laid the elf on the rug in front of the hearth in his bedchamber and moved quickly to the windows, knowing that Legolas would fare better if they were open. Elladan and Elrohir entered a few moments later.

“Eru, look at him! They must have starved him to keep him under control,” Elladan exclaimed, running a healer’s eye over his long time friend. Elrohir merely spat a particularly vile curse in Sindarin and began to cut Legolas’ clothing from him.

“It is fit for nothing but the midden now,” he replied to Elessar’s look of inquiry, “and we need to assess the extent of his injuries.” None of them voiced what they all feared and a bit later all three sighed with relief.

“Well, at least he was spared that,” Elladan stated, brushing the prince’s filthy locks from his equally filthy face.

“Aye, thank Iluvatar,” Elessar breathed. “It looks as if the rope burns on his wrists and ankles are the worst actual injuries. The main problems starvation and dehydration.” The three looked up as the door opened and immediately covered Legolas’ lower body.

“Oh, spare me,” Arwen remarked caustically. “May I remind you that I changed his baby clouts? I assure you, regardless of what you may think, those parts change very little in the interim.”

“Ouch! Whyever did you wed her, Estel? She has the tongue of an adder,” Elrohir commented, laying a hand on his chest to cover an imaginary wound. Elessar merely shot the younger twin an exasperated look.

“Now, that really is a subject that I would rather not discuss with my wife’s brothers,” the king quipped, eliciting a sardonic grin from said brothers.

“How is he faring?” Arwen asked, kneeling by the prince’s head.

“Better than I had expected,” Elessar replied. “Considering that it seems they gave him neither food nor water for the whole of his captivity. The lack of water is the most pressing thing. Elrohir, if you will spoon water into his mouth slowly, Elladan and I will clean him and dress his wounds.” He glanced up at his wife. “Arwen, will you see to it that we are not interrupted? I do not think it wise that either Thranduil or Gimli see him until we have seen to him and tucked him into his bed.”

“I would agree with that,” she replied softly. “He looks like Mordor, and Thranduil and Gimli have been through enough already during his absence.” She rose gracefully to her feet. “I will post a guard and then search out Thranduil. The way he has taken to isolating himself, it is likely that he has not heard yet.”

“Arwen,” the king called, catching her just before she exited. She turned, arching an eyebrow at him in inquiry. “One of the guard captains brought Legolas in. He had with him a young woman that I assume is involved somehow. Would you please see to it that they are given a comfortable and secure place in which to wait for me?”

“Of course, Estel. I shall ask Faramir and Eowyn to look after them here in the outer room. That should be comfortable, secure, and certainly close enough.” At his nod of approval, she smiled and left the bedchamber.

Thranduil stared out across the rooftops of Minas Tirith to the green fields beyond the city walls. He had sought the solitude of this wing of the library, mainly because he had discovered that it was seldom used. He did not wish to show the grief in his heart to everyone in the Citadel, and it was becoming more and more difficult to mask it as the days passed.

He was painfully aware that every hour lessened their chances of recovering Legolas alive. The possibility of it now was remote at best. In a day or two, there would be no hope left to him, nothing but ashes and grief to mark his last days. Already, he could feel the ice encasing his heart. He would not last long, but with luck it would be long enough to see the ones responsible receive justice for their actions. He was so very tired. Perhaps it was best for him to rejoin the family he had lost in Mandos Halls.

A soft step roused him from his dark musings and he carefully schooled his features to hide the path his thoughts had taken. Arwen stepped into his line of vision and her expression caused all thought of fading to fly from his mind. She smiled radiantly at him. Thank Iluvatar, he thought, relief flooding his entire body.

“Where is he?”

“In his rooms. Estel and my brothers are caring for him. He is not well, Thranduil, but he will recover.” She gripped his arm tightly to forestall his headlong rush to his son’s side. “You will be able to see him as soon as he has been tucked into his bed, I promise you that.”

“What did they do to him,” the Elvenking ground out, a new fear gripping his heart.

“Starved him and kept him bound, but other than that they seem to have left him alone. There is no evidence that he was physically harmed beyond the neglect.” She met his eyes as she spoke and he relaxed fractionally. “Come, we will go and wait in the outer chamber until Estel is finished caring for Legolas.” He nodded, unable momentarily to speak, and allowed her to lead him towards his son’s rooms.

Serai looked around her fearfully. The guard captain had not left her side, and she had been given a mug of tea and some food, which she had gratefully consumed, but she was terrified. She had never been in the presence of highborn folk before, besides her elves and that was only for a short time. The prince of Ithilien and his wife had been very kind to her, but she felt shabby, dirty and out of place.

The outer door opened again, and she started at the sound. Two more elves entered, one of whom Serai recognized as the queen. The other caused her mouth to go dry with fright. He looked a good bit like the hurt one, but his expression was hard and fierce and Serai shivered.

The queen drifted over to speak with the guard captain, and the human girl tried to make herself as small as possible. Suddenly, she became aware that the queen was speaking to her and she flushed, stammering an apology. The queen merely smiled her beautiful smile and repeated her question.

“Why are you afraid, child? You have returned our dear friend to us and we will forever be grateful to you for that. There is no need to be afraid, I promise you.” She smiled again, and Serai felt herself responding to that smile just as she had to the elves she had met before. The queen reached out and lightly brushed the human girl’s cheek. “Be at ease, child. None shall harm you, we shall see to that.” She turned to the door as it opened again to admit a dwarf who leaned heavily on a crutch. The dwarf scowled darkly at the queen, shocking Serai beyond measure.

“Not a word, lass. I’ll not return to my bed until I’ve seen that that crazy elf is on the mend.” His expression dared her to object. She merely arched an eyebrow in a manner uncannily like her father.

“I would not dream of suggesting it, Gimli. I would not wish to force you to do something ungentlemanly.” The lilt in her voice suggested that she was teasing him and to Serai’s further surprise, the dwarf flushed.

“My apologies, Arwen. Lying abed makes my temper short.” He bowed awkwardly and she inclined her head, smiling sweetly at him.

“No apology is necessary, my friend. We have all been worried for Legolas and it is only natural that we wish to see him as soon as we may.” She bent and kissed his cheek, making his cheeks redden even further, as she made her way to the other side of the sitting room. She stopped and spoke softly with Prince Faramir for a moment and then moved to the side of the fierce looking elf. Serai could just hear the words they exchanged, but as they were in the language of the elves, she could not understand them. The fierce one looked directly at her at one point in the conversation, and Serai quickly looked away and shivered again.

“It was a brave thing she did, going to the guard for someone she did not even know,” Arwen commented quietly to Thranduil.

“Indeed it was,” he agreed. “She has the look of someone who has been ill-used, unless I am very much mistaken.” He ran a critical eye over the child, dismayed when she looked away and shuddered. “And she is afraid of me,” he stated with a frown.

“I would tend to agree with you, on both counts. If that is the case, then it is not surprising that she fears you. First of all, you are male and secondly, you can be quite intimidating even when you are not trying to be,” she replied, giving him a slight smile. He shook his head irritably.

“A child like that has no need to fear me. Especially not the one to whom I owe my son’s life.” His eyes flicked to the door of the bedchamber.

“Peace, Thranduil. Estel will be finished soon and then you can see Legolas.” She laid her hand on his arm in a comforting manner.

“I know,” he replied softly. His eyes swept the room, lighting on one being in particular. “Not only me, I think. Legolas will have been worried for Gimli. It will comfort him to have his friend at his side.”

“That is a kind thought,” Arwen said, her tone carefully neutral. Things between Thranduil and Gimli had never been more than civil at best. For him to make such a statement was remarkable. He looked back at her.

“I have had a great deal of time to think about certain issues lately,” he replied with a small, but wry grin.

Just then the door opened and the twins stepped into the sitting room. The human girl goggled at them before flushing and dropping her eyes to the floor. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a look with each other and then turned identically questioning looks to their sister.

“This is Serai. She is the one who found Legolas,” Arwen explained, smiling at the girl.

“Life is strange, is it not, brother?” Elrohir commented, a bright smile gracing his face. “Our horse knocks her down in the marketplace and she saves our gwador.” Serai’s head snapped up.

“You remember that?” she exclaimed, then flushed as she remembered herself.

“Your horse knocked her down? Brothers mine, you are slipping if you cannot control one horse,” Arwen teased, an edge of reproach in her tone.

“’Twas not our horse, dearest sister. ‘Twas Éomer’s. We simply had the loan of him after Elladan’s mount went lame. And we made amends to the lady at the time, did we not?” Elrohir’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Serai nodded, gulping and screwing up her courage.

“Aye, my lord, you did. Da and I ate for nearly a week on the food you bought to replace what got ruined,” the girl stated, smiling shyly at the twins. “And I wasn’t hurt, truly I wasn’t.”

“Now that that is settled,” Elladan said, turning back to his sister and Thranduil, “we can return to the subject at hand. Legolas is responding well and will be fine in time. He needs rest and feeding, but he will recover. Estel is just finishing up with him and then you can see him, King Thranduil.” The Elvenking merely nodded, his eyes fixed on the door the twins had passed through. It opened again, and Gondor’s king stepped through. His eyes found Thranduil.

“Come see your son,” Elessar said, holding the door open for the Elvenking. Thranduil stepped quickly to the door, but paused when he reached it.

“Gimli,” he called, causing the dwarf’s head to snap up. “Come, Legolas will want you at his side.” Thranduil gave the stunned dwarf a brief smile and entered his son’s bedchamber. Gimli quickly hobbled after him, not willing to look askance at the unexpected request.

Thranduil approached the bed where his son lay, Gimli barely a step behind him. The Elvenking felt his heart lurch at the sight. His son was pitifully thin and ashen. His eyes moved restlessly beneath their closed lids and his lips twitched as if he was speaking to someone in his dreams. Legolas was curled up in the center of the bed, cheek resting in the palm of his hand. As an elfling, that had been his preferred sleeping position but he had outgrown it long before his majority. Seeing it now caused a resurgence of worry in his father. The prince’s hair, still wet from the washing Elladan had given it, fanned over the pillow. The fingers of Legolas’ other hand twitched, seemingly plucking an imaginary bow-string. His face twisted in phantom pain and Thranduil decided that he had seen enough.

Careful not to wake his son, Thranduil settled onto the right side of the bed. Moving with the practiced ease of a father, he gently lifted Legolas so that the younger elf rested in his arms, head pillowed on his chest. Legolas immediately shifted, turning his face into Thranduil’s chest, the fingers of his left hand curling around a fold of his father’s robes, exactly as he had when sleeping in his father’s arms as a young elfling. Thranduil rested his cheek on the top of Legolas’ head for a moment, and then dropped a kiss onto his son’s brow. He spoke softly in Sindarin, noting with relief that Legolas relaxed at the familiar touch and voice. Gimli eased up onto the bed on Legolas’ left side, resting a hand lightly on the elf’s shoulder. The prince gave a sigh and his body relaxed even further.

“He was already too thin,” Thranduil commented unhappily, brushing the still damp strands of his son’s hair back from his face. “He is naught but skin and bones now.”

“Aye,” Gimli agreed softly. “I’d like to take my axe to the lot that did this.” He scowled fiercely, flexing the fingers of the hand not resting on Legolas’ shoulder.

“And I, my sword. It would be a kinder fate than they deserve.” The Elvenking regarded the dwarf closely. Gimli nodded his concurrence with Thranduil’s statement, clearly indulging himself in thoughts of wreaking vengeance on the prince’s erstwhile captors. The king nodded as well, turning his attention back to his son.

Elessar eyed the quaking child seated opposite him. He had very much doubted that she had had anything to do with Legolas’ abduction, but he had needed to question her to ally any fears his counselors and guard might have. He had asked Elladan and Elrohir to be present as he did so, mainly due to the fact that the child seemed to be in awe of them. The twins sat on either side of him, attention trained on the girl.

“Serai,” he intoned softly, “You are not in any trouble. Quite the contrary, you have our deepest gratitude for your bravery in helping our dear friend. I know from speaking with you just now that you have no involvement in this save as Legolas’ rescuer. Whatever else occurs, you will be protected. Do you understand?” The child swallowed hard and nodded. Elrohir, unable to stand seeing her tremble any longer, moved to her side and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. She flinched away, but not before his healer’s senses focused more sharply on her. He moved back, raising his hands where she could see them.

“Child, no one in this room would ever dream of harming you in any way, nor will we allow anyone else to do so. You have no need to fear us.” He held out his hand to her, waiting patiently until she hesitantly took it and gracing her with a bright smile when she did. “You are a very brave girl, Serai. I would be most proud to count you as a friend.” She smiled tremulously at that. He turned to his twin and the king. “Estel, she has been badly mistreated. I think it should be looked into; she cannot have consented to such, judging from her reactions.” He spoke in Sindarin, carefully controlling the tone of his voice so he did not frighten the girl again. “She is also with child, likely as a result of the abuse,” he added, his tone still soft but his eyes hard as flint with suppressed anger.

A muttered curse passed Elladan’s lips, and Elessar privately seconded it. It sickened him as much as it did his elven foster brothers to think of anyone using a child like this in such a manner, even though they well knew that it went on.

“Child though she seems to us, she is of the age where many maidens are wed,” he replied to the younger twin. “I do agree with you, this does need to be looked into. Such abuse cannot be ignored. Do you think she might talk to you, or perhaps Arwen or Eowyn?”

“I would doubt that she would be willing to speak to a male, but Arwen would be a good choice. It is a pity that Mistress Gamgee is not here at present. I wager that she would have the child spilling the entire story within minutes,” the younger twin stated, with a slight smile. The twins had developed a deep affection and respect for Samwise Gamgee’s spouse.

“I would agree with that also.” The king stated, switching back to the Common Tongue for Serai’s benefit. “The captain told me he thought that you were looking for a place to live when you found Legolas, is this correct?” The girl flushed and nodded. “Well, for now you will be an honored guest here, at least until we can find you a place of your own where you will be comfortable and secure. “

“King Thranduil will wish to be party to that, I am sure,” Elladan commented. “He has a history of showing his gratitude for actions done to Legolas’ benefit.” Serai shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Please, Majesty, my lords, that’s not why I did it! I just didn‘t want him to die and I thought maybe I could repay your kindness to me by helping him, that‘s all!” The girl’s outburst clearly surprised the king and his foster brothers. Elrohir squeezed her hand a bit and spoke in soothing tones.

“We know that, Serai. Be at peace, please. We know you did not do this for selfish reasons, as does King Thranduil. What you must understand is that you not only saved Legolas’ life, but his father’s as well. He would have died of grief had he lost his son.” He waited a moment to let that sink in and then continued, “That, and the fact that we all love Legolas so is why we insist on making much of you. As for King Thranduil, he has had little experience with humans, outside of the ones he trades with near his realm. His way is the only way he knows.”

“He frightens you, does he not?” Elladan asked, his sharp eyes missing not a nuance of her reactions. She nodded and the twins exchanged a look. “He would never harm you, little one. He is merely stern and has seen far too much of the evil in this world. We have known him all our lives, so we know of what we speak.”

“Aye, child, he would not harm a single hair on your head, especially now that he owes you so great a debt,” Elrohir added his own comments to his twin’s. “Now, I think it best to get you settled into your temporary quarters and see that you are fed. Legolas is not the only one who has not had regular meals of late, I believe.” He stood, raising her from her seat as if she was a grand lady and tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. Elladan stepped to her other side, took her free hand and tucked it into his elbow. Bidding farewell to the king, they set out for the rooms set aside for the human girl.

Legolas floated in a gray sea, far from pain, far from the hunger and thirst that had become unbearable. Idly, he wondered how long it would take to reach Mandos’ Halls and if his Naneth would be waiting for him when he got there. He had deep regrets, but there was nothing he could do about them now. He would miss Estel, Gimli, the twins, Arwen, and the hobbits fiercely. They would mourn him for a long time, as he would have done for them had they passed first.

The sharpest regret was that the last words he had spoken to his father had been in anger. He would be able to make amends for that before long, however. He knew that Thranduil would not be long among the living once proof of his own death had been provided. He did not wish to be the cause of his father’s passing. That alone was enough to make him fight the shadows closing in on him.

Slowly, painfully, he swam up through the layers of cloying, gray mist. After awhile, he began to hear a voice. He could not make out the words, but the timbre of the voice was hauntingly familiar. He moved closer to the rich baritone, trying to make out the words being spoken. Another voice joined the first, this one laced with a pleasant burr and a bit deeper that the other. The smooth as silk baritone sounded again, and Legolas found himself drawn towards it. He did not fight the pull, sensing that it was his salvation.

The closer he got, the more he began to feel. His weakened condition had played havoc with the control he normally had over his body, thus he had been achingly cold as well as starved and sore. The cold was gone now, replaced by pleasant warmth. The thirst was gone as well; his mouth was no longer as dry as the foot of MT Doom.

Slowly, he began to become aware of other things. There was soft velvet under his cheek, and the scent of pine, oak, and sandalwood in his nostrils. There was something very familiar about that scent and the feel of the fabric under his cheek, hearkening back to his earliest memories…….

He had awakened; startled from the deep sleep of the very young by something unknown that frightened him terribly. He looked for the warm, soft presence that always came to him when he woke, but it was nowhere to be found. He began to sob, all sense of security gone. Where was the soft one with the beautiful voice and the silky, bright hair that had been there since his awareness had begun? Where was Naneth?

Someone had come then and picked him up, but it was not the one he wanted and he began to wail in earnest. Suddenly, a baritone voice sounded very close to him and strong hands took him from the unfamiliar one. He was placed on a muscular shoulder covered in soft velvet. The scent of the trees in the forest where he lived wafted from the one holding him and he relaxed. No scary things could hurt him now, Ada was holding him. Snuffling, he burrowed his face into Ada’s neck and drifted back into slumber…….

Ada? Why was his father there? Where was he?

Legolas managed, with great effort, to open his eyes. Green velvet folds clutched in his hand and the end of a blond braid gradually came into focus. He drew a shuddering breath and became aware of a hand resting on his shoulder. The chest his cheek was resting on shifted and a hand lightly stroked his hair. Legolas tried to shift to see the face of the one holding him, just to be certain that it was his father and not a trick of his badly abused senses, but he was too weak to move. Gently, the one holding him turned him so that he could see. A ghost of a smile formed on his lips as he beheld his father smiling down at him, the shine of tears in his ancient eyes.

“Ada,” he rasped his voice rough with disuse. Thranduil’s smile widened and he drew Legolas into a fierce hug.

“Ion-nin,” he breathed into Legolas’ hair.

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Legolas tried to look over his shoulder. Sensing his intent, Thranduil obligingly released him from the hug and turned him so that he could see the hand’s owner. His faint smile returned.

“Gimli,” he said in the rough whisper that was all he could manage. The dwarf grinned hugely, all pretense of gruffness gone in spite of the Elvenking’s presence.

“Bless you, lad! We thought we’d lost you for good this time,” the dwarf rumbled, his eyes as damp as Thranduil’s. Legolas’ hand flopped on the blanket covering him, trying to grasp Gimli’s arm and failing. Gimli immediately caught his flailing hand up in an iron grasp.

Legolas sighed deeply, relaxing in his father’s embrace and smiling at both his father and his brother-in-all-but-blood. The cold, hunger, and pain were over, the gray mist gone. He was exactly where he belonged now and here he would stay.

To Be Continued……………

Disclaimer: I own only the plot and the OCs. All the rest belongs to the Professor, bless him.

A/N: < > denotes speech in the Silvan tongue. I know that it was supposed to be pretty much a dead language by the time of the Ring War, but humor me. It’s my contention that Thranduil and Legolas both speak it in remembrance of Legolas’ mother, who was a Wood Elf, in my little realm. Also, just a reminder that I do mix bookverse and movieverse shamelessly as it suits me. I happen to love both.

~

The morning dawned clear and cool, and far brighter for the residents of the Citadel that the days had been recently. Down to the least of the staff, the release of tension buoyed spirits and smiles were frequent.

After awakening the previous day, Legolas spent the rest of his first day of freedom in almost two weeks alternating between resting and being fed broth and thinned porridge. Because the elven prince had been so long without food, Elessar and the twins deemed it wiser to give him only small amounts of bland food at frequent intervals so as not to cause distress to his digestive tract. Thranduil and Gimli stayed with the prince throughout the night, neither wishing to leave the side of the one they had come too close to losing.

In deference to the fact that Legolas had been confined indoors for so long, a makeshift bed was created for him out on his balcony and he was moved out into the air and sunshine immediately after having his first round of breakfast. Thranduil sat with him most of the early morning, speaking softly to his son as he lay with his head pillowed on Thranduil’s thigh. Gimli had been ordered to return to his own rooms at least long enough to bathe and have his wounds seen to by Elessar.

As relieved as he was to have Legolas back, Thranduil was not done worrying. The ones behind the abduction were still at large and Legolas was exhibiting the aftereffects of the trauma he had endured. Although Legolas’ rooms were heavily guarded and inaccessible from the outside to anyone but birds and ambitiously climbing wood elves, Thranduil refused to leave his son alone in the room even for a matter of minutes. The prince had been unable to rest peacefully the night before unless every lamp in the room was lit. His rest was fitful also unless Thranduil or Gimli or both were within arm’s reach of him. It had unsettled both the Elvenking and the dwarf, though neither spoke of it in Legolas’ presence. Gimli would certainly mention it to Elessar, Thranduil knew. He fully intended to discuss it with Elrond’s sons.

Gimli returned as soon as Elessar pronounced him to be healing well. He was accompanied by the princess of Ithilien, who carried a large basket containing another meal for Legolas and treats to tempt both Thranduil’s and Gimli’s neglected appetites. Thranduil ate a single biscuit, more out of respect for Eowyn than hunger. It was at her suggestion and Legolas’ insistence that he reluctantly agreed to leave to see to his own rest and grooming. He was loathe to leave Legolas, but deemed it unlikely that any attacker would get past both Gimli and the slayer of the Witch-King as well as the guards stationed at the outer door.

His son certainly seemed to be at peace with his current company. He was patiently allowing Eowyn to help him eat and conversing quietly with both her and Gimli. The feeling had begun to return to his hands and feet, but the length of time he had spent tightly bound was affecting his use of them. A human or dwarf would likely have lost the use of his hands and feet permanently, if not they did not lose them in fact after having the circulation in them compromised for so long. Elessar and the twins were of the opinion, however, that Legolas would regain full usage of his hands and feet in time.

Gimli, showing sensitivity that Thranduil would have thought impossible for a dwarf before having spent time in this dwarf’s company, moved out of Legolas’ line of vision to eat his meal, knowing that the elf’s meal would be considerably less exciting than the one Gimli had been offered. While Gimli dined on sausages, fried potatoes and onions, and steaming biscuits dripping with butter and honey, the elf was dining on thin porridge that had been lightly sweetened and biscuits. Thranduil forbore to mention that Legolas could still smell Gimli’s food perfectly well. That would have rendered the dwarf’s gesture useless, and Thranduil was no longer interested in being at odds with him.

“If I begin to sprout hair upon my toes, I shall blame it on you,” Legolas jested, his voice still a bit rough. Eowyn and Gimli both laughed, and Thranduil could not keep from grinning.

“You may be eating as frequently as a hobbit, ion-nin, but you are coming nowhere near to reaching the amount of food those small ones consume. I think you need not worry,” the Elvenking returned with a chuckle, walking over to his son and brushing the prince’s loose hair from his eyes before placing a kiss on his brow. “I will return shortly.”

“Ada, please do not hurry on my account. As much as I wish for your company, I also wish for you to rest. I will not lack for companionship, I am sure,” Legolas added, giving his friends a half-smile.

“No, indeed you will not,” Eowyn added, returning his smile. “Faramir will be along later, after he has given instruction to his assistant and his staff. My brother will be arriving very soon and will wish to see you as soon as he can. Arwen also will be here, as soon as she is able, and Elladan and Elrohir as well. You will be surrounded with friends.”

“All the same, Legolas, I will return sooner rather than later. “ Thranduil smiled, but his eyes were still haunted by the anguish he had borne during Legolas’ captivity.

““ The prince bit his lip and looked down at his hands. His father reached out and gently took Legolas’ chin in his hand, raising the prince’s eyes to meet his.

““ He brushed his thumb over his son’s cheek. ““ He bent to place another kiss on Legolas’ brow and then left for his own rooms after bidding both Eowyn and Gimli cordial farewells.

~

Eowyn drifted to the balcony’s rail and stared out over the city. Her eyes were nowhere near as keen as those of an elf, but she could see out onto the Pelennor Fields from her vantage point. She wondered briefly how far Legolas could see and made a mental note to ask him at some point.

She looked over her shoulder at her companions. Legolas had drifted into sleep, his eyes almost closed. Gimli dozed in the chair beside Legolas’ bed, one hand resting on the elf’s wrist. Smiling, the White Lady of Rohan picked up a blanket from a chair just inside the bedchamber and tucked it around the sleeping elf. Legolas shifted, murmuring something in his own tongue before snuggling under the blanket with a contented sigh. Chuckling under her breath, Eowyn returned to the bedchamber, re-emerging a moment later with another blanket in her arms. This one she draped around Gimli, taking great care not to wake him. The dwarf did not so much as stir.

Eowyn returned to her vantage point, but her attention was no longer on the view of the city and the fields beyond the walls. Her eyes remained affectionately on her sleeping friends, her thoughts ranging back to the first time she had actually had a chance to speak with Legolas.

~

It had been the morning after the remembrance of the fallen of Helm’s Deep at Meduseld. Eowyn had made her way to the kitchens to organize the serving of breakfast early that morning and thus had missed the departure of Gandalf and Pippin for Minas Tirith. The gossip reached her shortly after, and she thoughtfully sent a large tray of comfort food to the remaining hobbit.

She had stepped out to the herb garden to gather a few herbs for the stew that was to be served for the mid day meal, a kindness done for the cook. Upon her return, she was shocked to see the elegant figure of the elf standing beside the hearth and speaking politely to the cook. Eowyn realized with a start that she had never, in the time since his arrival with Aragorn, Gandalf, and Gimli, heard him speak a single word, although she had heard him sing. His voice was quiet and musical, as soothing as his singing.

“Yes, a tea would be fine. Thank you very much, mistress. It is kind of you; I know that you are very busy,” the elf said with a deferential tilt of his head and a slight smile. The cook merely waved her reply. He looked up at Eowyn then. “Good morning, my lady,” he said, placing his hand over his heart and bowing to her.

“Good morning, Master…. Legolas, isn’t it?” Eowyn had heard Aragorn and Gimli both address him with that name, but she was a stranger and friends often had the privilege of familiarity. He smiled again, a full smile this time. It lit his face and enhanced his already breathtaking features.

“It is. Thank you, my lady.” He shifted slightly and it occurred to her that he was uncomfortable.

“Have you had your breakfast yet, Master Legolas?” To her experience, the surest way to make certain that warriors felt at home was to make certain that they had ample food, drink, rest, and activity.

“Nay, my lady. I must see to my errand first, but I thank you.”

“The tea’ll take a bit of brewin’. If you’re hungry, I could fix you a mite to eat in the meantime,” the cook offered, smiling up at the elf.

“I am imposing enough on you as it is. I would not add further to your workload. No, thank you, I will be fine.”

“Oh, nonsense! It’s no trouble and you could do with a bit of a feed, if you ask me,” the cook returned with her usual no-nonsense attitude. “Go and sit right there,” she instructed, waving him towards the long table a few feet away. “Now, here,” she said, putting a bowl of porridge and a pot of honey in front of him. “Be a good lad and tuck into that. I’ll get you a mug of tea and I think I’ve got some fruit around here somewhere.” His face bore an amused grin, but he picked up the spoon and began to stir honey into the porridge. Eowyn could not fault the cook’s thinking. The elf did indeed look rather lean. It also looked as if he might be blushing. His cheeks and ears looked a bit pink, but it could have been a trick of the light. Still, Theoden’s niece felt that she should say something.

“Forgive her, she has six sons and tends to treat everyone as she would them,” Eowyn explained quickly as soon as the cook left for the pantry.

“I am not offended, my lady,” the elf said with a slight smile and a quick glance at her. Yes, he was most assuredly blushing. That surprised Eowyn, but she prudently made no comment on it. He lifted a modest spoonful to his mouth. He ate very neatly, not at all like the rough men that Eowyn was used to. By the time the cook returned, he had scraped the bowl clean. She gave him a smug look.

“Thought so,” she said with a nod. “No fresh fruit to be had, I’m afraid. I’ve got some dried berries that’d go well on another bowl of porridge, though.” She set a steaming mug of tea in front of him.

“Only a small one, please mistress. Gimli will be needing his tea as soon as I can get it to him.” He held to bowl out to her and she spooned a generous amount into it, topping it with the berries.

“Now, mind you finish that,” she instructed, with a sternly fond look. “You’ll have time enough before the tea for your friend is done and you look like no one‘s been feedin’ you lately.” She turned back to her hearth, missing the rueful grin and shake of his head. He finished the porridge in silence and took his leave politely as soon as the dwarf’s tea was done.

“Bit on the shy side, that one,” the cook commented, stirring her cauldron of stew. “Very nice manners, though. You can tell he was raised right. Bet somebody back home is missin‘ him.” She looked over at Eowyn. “He came to get some tea for the dwarf. Seems that the last one left standin’ after the drinkin’ contest last night is gonna be the last one outa bed this mornin’. Good thing he has a friend to look after him so well.”

~

Legolas shifted restlessly in his sleep, drawing Éowyn’s attention back from the past. Gimli roused enough to give the elf’s arm a squeeze and to rumble something at him, calming him. Eowyn smiled as the dwarf slipped immediately back into his doze. She turned back to the panoramic view, pausing as her eyes caught movement in the sky.

Three birds flew in close proximity, coming from the Northwest. As they drew nearer, she realized that they were three of the Great Eagles and her mouth dropped open with surprise. She had heard her brother’s tales of the great avians’ assistance during the Battle at the Black Gate but had never thought to see them herself. She watched as they angled in to land in front of the Citadel, passing close enough in front of her that she could see that each eagle bore a large basket in its talons.

TBC

Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be. This is for fun only; no profit is being made by me.

A/N: Yes, I do know that Aragorn banned Big People from the Shire after the War. I’ve read the books pretty much yearly for the last 25 years, although I can and occasionally do make canon errors unintentionally. This isn’t one of those times.

{} denotes speech in the Silvan tongue. See the previous chapter for the disclaimer on that one.

~

King Aragorn Elessar strode swiftly towards the courtyard of the Citadel. He and Faramir had seen the Eagles pass on their way to land and hastened to meet them. They passed through the doors into the courtyard, Elessar giving a nod to the guards that opened the doors for them. More guards had converged on the patiently waiting Eagles, not to hold them at bay for the guards knew better, but to assist in emptying the baskets the great avians had carried of their cargo. Elessar grinned and broke into a trot at the sight of four small figures.

“My friends! I am so very glad to see you.” He dropped to his knees to embrace Meriadoc Brandybuck, who was closest to him. Peregrine Took pelted into the king’s arms as soon as Merry stepped back. As usual, Samwise Gamgee held back, until Elessar grasped his arm and pulled him forward into a hug fully as warm as the ones that Merry and Pippin had been treated to. After releasing Sam, the king smiled at the gardener’s spouse, who stood just beyond her husband. “Mistress Gamgee, it is a great pleasure to see you, as well.”

“Strider, hang the formalities! Has there been any news of Legolas?” Pippin cut to the heart of things with typical lack of patience.

“Yes, very good news. He is safe and recovering in his rooms here in the Citadel. I am sorry, it had not occurred to me that you would not know that,” Elessar’s smile widened at the relieved sighs and smiles his words produced.

“What happened? The last we’d heard, he was missing and no trace of him anywhere. And Gimli hurt as well,” Sam broke in, upset enough not to wait for Merry or Pippin to ask.

“We still know very little. He was taken and an attempt made on Arwen to force me to abdicate and release several men who are being held on suspicion of murder. Some of the responsible ones we do have in custody, but the leader or leaders are still free. They held him until the attempt on Arwen failed and then dumped him in the cellar of a ruined building to starve to death.” Elessar saw no point in softening the telling of what had been done to their friend. The hobbits, while small, were not children and had seen things that would sicken hardened soldiers. All four of them paled and Sam wrapped a supporting arm around his wife. “They very nearly succeeded. He would not have lasted another day by the time he was found.”

“But, he will be all right, won’t he?” There were tears welling in Pippin’s eyes, all the hobbits‘ eyes, actually.

“Yes, with time and care, he will. Gimli is nearly recovered and refuses to leave Legolas’ side. Would you like to see them now? I think it would be good for them both to see you.”

“Yes,” Pippin replied, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “Hullo, Faramir.”

“Hullo, Pippin,” Faramir said solemnly, drawing the youngest of the hobbits into a brief embrace. Elessar stood and bowed to the Eagles, placing his hand over his heart and sweeping it outward in the manner of the elves.

“We are most grateful for your help, and your speed. Should you need aught of us, you have only to say it and it will be done.” The king stood straight again. The Eagle closest to him bowed his great head.

“There is no debt between friends, King Elessar. Long may our peoples aid each other. If you should have further need of us, send word.” The Great Eagle bowed his head once more and sprang into the air, followed by his companions.

As they walked toward the Citadel, Rose Gamgee reached out and patted Pippin’s shoulder. “There now, Master Pippin. It’ll come right in the end, you’ll see,” the others heard her say. Pippin nodded and gave her a wobbly smile. Elessar and Faramir exchanged a concerned look.

“Faramir, would you be so kind as to arrange guards for our newly arrived friends?” The king asked in Sindarin, which both he and Faramir spoke fluently where the hobbits did not.

“Of course,” the prince of Ithilien replied in kind. “With your permission, my king.” He bowed and turned to the hobbits and spoke in the Common Tongue, “I will see you shortly, good friends. There are things that I must see to before I can join you. Tell Legolas that I will be along as soon as I am able.” With that, he departed and Elessar and the hobbits continued on to Legolas’ rooms.

~

Éomer concluded the story he was telling Legolas with a precisely timed punch line and grinned as the elf dissolved into merry laughter. As good as it felt to hear his friend laugh, the king of Rohan’s insides twisted with anger at the sight of him.

The elven prince had, since the first time Éomer had met him, always been a shade leaner than he ought to have been, but now he was thin almost to the point of emaciation. The bones of his wrists stood out and his cheeks were hollow. It was the only time he had could remember anyone as tall as the elf was actually looking small or fragile. Éomer king had been a warrior practically from the time he could walk and had seen many horrific sights, but the thought of anyone daring to do something this cruel to one of the Nine Walkers turned his vision red with fury.

Controlling himself with an iron will born of many years spent dealing with Grima Wormtongue, the Rohirric king concentrated on amusing his friend by telling funny and embarrassing stories of their mutual friends and acquaintances. He knew only too well how difficult it was for a warrior to remain in a sickbed for any length of time and wished to alleviate Legolas’ boredom as much as he could. Besides lopping off the heads of the ones responsible for placing the elf in said sickbed, it was all he could think of to do, since Elessar had the search for the scum responsible well in hand.

Gimli had stepped out when Éomer had arrived, citing a desire to see if there might not be something more interesting than porridge or broth for their friend to have for his luncheon. The fact that Legolas thanked him not once but several times for undertaking the endeavor was evidence of how tired he was becoming of porridge and broth, despite the fact that he made no complaints.

Éomer was about to begin another story when Legolas cocked his head, obviously hearing something that he could not. The elf turned his attention back to his companion, beaming.

“I know not how but we have company, my friend. Do you hear them?” he asked, still grinning. Éomer strained to hear and finally the sound of Legolas’ chamber door opening and familiar voices reached his ears and he, too, began to grin.

“I do indeed!” He stood, catching sight of Pippin as the youngest hobbit burst through the archway from Legolas’ sitting room. Merry was only a step behind Pippin and Sam and Rosie followed closely behind Merry with Elessar bringing up the rear. “Master Holdwine, it is good to see you again,” he called to Merry, “Pippin, Sam, you too. And this must be Mistress Gamgee.” He bowed to Rosie, turning her cheeks pink at the sight of a king bowing to her. She bobbed a curtsey and received a broad grin in return. “I have heard a great many things about you, my lady, all of them good.”

Pippin had stopped in his tracks, staring at Legolas. The elf fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable under the combined scrutiny of the hobbits. The youngest hobbit shook himself and moved forward at a much more sedate pace to carefully embrace the prince.

“Hullo, Legolas. I think we’re going to have to take over the kitchens and fatten you up a bit,” the hobbit said, his voice a bit muffled against the elf’s shoulder.

“If you cook me something besides porridge, you would be most welcome,” the prince replied with a laugh, his self-consciousness gone. Merry moved to embrace Legolas as soon as Pippin stepped back.

“How are you really, Legolas?” Merry asked, eyes fixed on the elf’s face searchingly as he did so.

“Better than I was yesterday and not so well as I shall be tomorrow,” the archer answered with a shrug and a slight smile.

“Typical elf, ask him a question and he’ll say both yes and no,” a gruff voice said from the archway. The hobbits turned to see a hugely grinning Gimli bearing a tray covered by a white cloth.

“Better that than a dwarf, who answers with a single grunt,’ the elf quipped from his bed.

“Just for that, point-ear, you can have porridge again for your luncheon,” the dwarf retorted, laughing at the tragic face Legolas pulled. “Nay, elf, you know I’m not that vindictive. Here now, finish greeting the hobbits and you can see what I’ve got for you.”

“Thank you, Gimli,” the archer replied with patently false meekness. Gimli snorted, but let it pass without comment. Sam moved forward then and awkwardly patted Legolas’ shoulder.

“Sam, I assure you that I will not break,” the elf laughed and drew the gardener into the same embrace that Merry and Pippin had received.

“Beggin your pardon, Legolas, but you certainly look like you will. Pippin’s right, we are going to have to fatten you up some,” Sam said as he stepped back. Legolas favored him with a bright smile when Sam did not call him by any title. The remaining members of the Fellowship had, as individuals and as a group, insisted that Sam address them as equals before Elessar’s coronation. Éomer and Faramir included themselves in the request, feeling that Sam’s deeds during the Quest negated any class distinction that existed between them. The gardener had protested at first, acquiescing only at Frodo’s insistence, and he still forgot sometimes.

“If that includes your wife’s dumplings and apple tarts, I will not argue,” Legolas replied, throwing a wheedling look at Rose, who laughed.

“Of course it does, and anything else you wish!” the lady in question said stoutly. She moved forward then and Legolas inclined his head and kissed her hand exactly as he would have for one of the ladies of his father’s court. She laughed again, not the least bit discomfited. “Oh, go on with you! You’ll be giving me airs above my station if you keep that up! Although, if it means that you’ll finally let me feed you properly I’ll see if I can’t put up with it.” Rose had become very fond of both Legolas and Gimli during their visit to the Shire during their travels after the War and treated them as she would her family. Sam had been a bit taken aback by that at first, until Gimli had explained privately that both he and Legolas would not have had her do any differently.

After embracing the hobbits, Gimli set the tray on Legolas’ lap and lifted the cloth with a flourish. The elf’s eyes grew large at the sight of the soup, bread, mild cheese, and stewed apples that was his luncheon.

“Gimli, you are a true friend,” the prince stated solemnly, reaching for the spoon. His still impaired fingers caused the spoon to clatter to the floor and he frowned.

“Well, they still won’t give you any wine, lad, but this fruit juice is pretty tasty,” the dwarf replied, stooping to retrieve the errant flatware.

“Then you will be forgoing your usual ale in favor of the juice, friend Gimli?” Legolas asked, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Nay, I’m not the one on a restricted diet at the moment! Although I did have some of it with my breakfast this morning,” he admitted a bit sheepishly. The elf favored him with a cheeky, but fond, grin and tried to wrap his fingers around the spoon again. It clattered to the floor once more and Legolas gave an aggravated sigh.

“I shall be very glad when my hands work properly once more. I am growing very weary of being fed like an infant,” the elf groused, and then winced. “My apologies, I am not a good convalescent.”

“Now, don’t you fret none,” Rose Gamgee stated firmly. “Every one of us here has been either hurt or sick at least once and we’re not likely to take offense.” She grinned at him drawing a slight smile in return. “Well, I did say that I wanted to feed you properly so I guess this is my chance!” She winked and he laughed and nodded his permission.

“Sam,” Legolas said, beckoning the former gardener closer and speaking into his ear but loudly enough so that all the hobbits and Gimli could hear his words, “May I tell you again that you made an excellent choice in a wife?”

“I know,” Sam replied with a fond smile at his spouse. “Though why she’d want me is the real question.”

“You were the only one who ran slow enough for me to catch,” Rose quipped, grinning at her husband, who chuckled at her riposte. The rest of the company broke up into appreciative laughter at her jest as well. It was this moment of levity that greeted Thranduil as he walked through the archway onto the wide balcony.

“That is a most welcome sound, “he commented, gracing the group with a smile. He crossed the balcony to Legolas’ bed and dropped a kiss onto his son’s brow.

“Ada, you have met everyone here except Mistress Gamgee,” Legolas laid his hand on Rose’s wrist lightly. “Rose, this is my father.” She rose and dropped into a self-conscious curtsey. Thranduil took her hand and raised her gently, smiling warmly.

“Mistress Gamgee, it is a great pleasure to meet you. Legolas has spoken very highly of you,” he said, pretending not to notice the blush that stained her cheeks. “And your apple tarts,” he added, a hint of his son’s occasional mischievousness in his eyes and tone. That relaxed her enough that she laughed in response and Thranduil gave Legolas’ shoulder an affectionate squeeze before turning to exchange greetings with the other hobbits and Éomer.

Once he had moved to the far end of the balcony to converse with Elessar, Rose leaned over and spoke conspiratorially to Legolas.

“It’s easy to see where you get your charm,” she said, still blushing a bit.

“According to him, I get that from my mother,” the elf replied with a slight chuckle. “But, opinions differ depending upon who one asks.”

“Well, enough chit chat. Your soup will get cold if we don’t get it into you soon.” To Legolas’ surprise, she made the process of assisting him with his meal a great deal less damaging to his pride than he would have anticipated. That combined with the other hobbits’ nonchalance about seeing him in this situation eased his humiliation a great deal and he actually enjoyed his luncheon. The hobbits certainly made it more amusing than it had been over the course of the last day.

Once his luncheon was finished and after the hobbits had eaten theirs, Merry, Pippin, and Gimli launched into a competition to see who could make Legolas laugh the hardest. Thranduil had drifted back over and stood at his son’s left shoulder as each took a turn telling the most outrageous and humorous stories they could think of.

Midway through the third round of stories, as Pippin stood on the end of Legolas’ bed gesturing wildly and making comical faces as he spun his latest tale, Faramir arrived with two of his assistants in tow and receiving their final instructions as they passed through the archway. The first of the assistants made a soft response to what he had been assigned and bowing, left to complete his assignments. The second asked for clarification on a few things and conversed with Faramir for several minutes.

Despite the hilarity of Pippin’s story, Legolas seemed to withdraw into himself, his expression going blank. Gimli shot him a sharp look and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder, only to find it as drawn as tight as the string of Legolas’ bow. Looking down at the elf’s hands, Gimli could see that they were twisted into the blankets tightly. He gripped the prince’s shoulder just tightly enough that Legolas’ eyes flicked over to look at him, but they flicked away again before Gimli could get a sense of what was upsetting his friend. Legolas seemed to be staring into space and fighting to maintain control over himself.

Thranduil also noticed his son’s increasing retreat, but could no more place the reason for it than the dwarf could. He then settled for placing a comforting hand on the shoulder that Gimli wasn’t gripping and speaking softly to Legolas.

{What is wrong, my son?} He asked. Legolas’ eyes flicked over to him and locked with his, but the younger elf just shook his head. It was at this point that the hobbits noticed Legolas’ distress and Gimli, fearing the elf’s reaction to their inquiries, chose to act.

“Legolas, one of these days you may acquire enough sense to admit it when you’re exhausted. I just hope I live long enough to see it,” he grumbled, beginning to usher the hobbits toward the archway. “Why don’t you go get settled and visit with Arwen and those reprobate brothers of hers,” he suggested, smiling reassuringly at them. “You can visit some more with him after he rests a bit. Blasted elf never does know his limits.” The hobbits laughed and called their farewells to the elf, who neither spoke nor moved. Faramir and his assistant also departed, Faramir stating that he would stop by later after Legolas woke from his rest. Éomer said the same and left with his brother-in-law. Elessar helped Gimli shoo everyone else out and as soon as the door closed behind them confronted the dwarf.

“All right, Gimli. Just what was that all about?”

“Aragorn, look at him,” the dwarf replied, gesturing to the prince. Legolas was still blank-faced and staring off into space. Thranduil shot both Elessar and Gimli a worried glance and sat down next to his son, wrapping his arms around his thin form.

{What is it, Legolas? My child, I cannot help you if you will not tell me what is wrong.}Thranduil grasped his son’s chin, gently forcing him to meet his father’s eyes. Legolas swallowed hard and bit his lip. Thranduil merely waited patiently, giving his son an encouraging nod and a smile.

{Father, the man that was with Faramir, who is he?} Legolas’ voice sounded hesitant, even to the two who waited just beyond Thranduil even though they could not understand what he had said. The Elvenking turned to Elessar.

“Who was the one with Prince Faramir?” His tone was brusque, but Elessar voiced no offense.

“His assistant, Lithmor,” the king of Gondor and Arnor replied, a thread of apprehension coiling in his stomach but waiting patiently for an explanation. Thranduil turned back to Legolas. The prince took a shuddering breath and began to speak in the Common Tongue.

“I never saw any of their faces. My eyes were never uncovered. I could hear them very well, though, and I shall never forget the sound of their voices or what they said.” His eyes met Thranduil’s again and there was a wealth of grief in them. “They bragged about what they did to Loreleni. One of them suggested doing the same to me, but his fellows’ fear of their leader prevented it. I was bound so well that I could not have stopped it if he had tried. I wanted to kill them with my bare hands then. I still do,” he said softly, his eyes dropping to his clenched hands in his lap. Thranduil’s arms tightened around him and Legolas laid his head on his father’s shoulder.

“Their leader, they called him ‘His Lordship’, would come and talk to me when he checked on them. It was his idea to put me in that cellar, he told me what they were going to do before they did it.” Legolas looked up into Thranduil’s face again. “I still hear his voice in my dreams, Ada.”

“Once you regain your strength, you will regain control over your dreams,” Thranduil assured him, smoothing his hair back. Legolas shook his head irritably and locked eyes with his father again. There was cold hatred and anger in the blue-gray orbs.

“Ada, his voice is that of Faramir’s assistant.”

Disclaimer: Not mine never will be. Only the OCs and the plot are mine.

A/N: Sorry it’s been so long, work and sick children have taken their toll on my writing time. This chapter is a bit short, but I hope you’ll like it all the same.

~

Thranduil gazed down at his sleeping son, his expression one of pained concern. Legolas’ nightmares had increased in frequency and intensity since his discovery of Faramir’s assistant as one of his captors. *He must rest to regain his strength and control over his dreams,* the Elvenking thought, *Yet his sleep is so disturbed by the dreams that he cannot rest adequately enough to do so. I know not how to help him other than what we are already doing.*

Even as his father’s thoughts formed Legolas shifted in his sleep, his face twisting in phantom pain. Thranduil swore under his breath, his fingers lightly brushing his son’s brow. He spoke a word of command in a tongue he rarely uttered, Quenya, and Legolas stilled his expression returning to one of peace as the dream left him temporarily. The king sighed with relief, mentally blessing Elladan for teaching him that particular trick to deal with Legolas’ night terrors when his son was a young elfling. He added a blessing for Elrond as well, for teaching the trick to Elladan in the first place.

Legolas was literally never alone. Between them, Thranduil, Gimli, the hobbits, Eowyn, and Éomer made certain that there was always someone to sit with him whether he was awake or not. The twins also did companion duty, but part of their time was taken up by the human child that they had informally adopted as yet another younger sibling.

Thranduil did not begrudge them the time spent with her, not only due to his gratitude to her for her timely discovery of Legolas, but because he felt that she bore as many if not more invisible scars than Legolas did and she needed their skill at healing as much as his son did. Legolas at least had the support of his father and friends. The girl had no one except the twins to support and nurture her, although the hobbits were fast becoming her champions as well.

He glanced up, gauging the position of the sun. It was near to mid day and the hobbits would soon be arriving with laden trays of food. Mistress Rose had promised Legolas an apple tart for his luncheon, as the hobbits called the mid day meal. They would be taking over for him so that he could get a bit of rest, not that he necessarily would. Waking dreams while walking in the garden would suffice, he could not afford to rest more deeply than that these days.

Next to him, Legolas stirred his dreams once again turning dark. Thranduil sighed. His connection to Legolas was still strong, but Legolas’ will was much stronger now than it had been when he was young and he unconsciously blocked much of the charm as he had not been able to do as an elfling. Thranduil refused to use stronger coercion, feeling that even though it would enable Legolas to rest longer it would be a breach of his son’s trust. Only if the need to do so became dire would he resort to that. He glanced up again and made his decision. Gently, he shook Legolas’ shoulder.

“Legolas, ion-nin, wake now.” His son started, blinking and Thranduil smiled down at him. “The Periannath will be here soon with your ‘luncheon’.”

“Mmmm, my thanks, Ada. It would not do to be less than clear-headed around Merry and Pippin. I have a reputation to maintain, after all,” Legolas jested, managing to sound almost his usual self. He ran his hands through his hair and gave his father a grateful smile.

“Here, sit up and I will braid your hair for you.” Thranduil retrieved Legolas’ comb and hair clasps from the latter’s bedchamber. His son scooted forward, making room for Thranduil to sit behind him. The Elvenking chuckled softly, “Do you realize that I have not done this for you since the last time you were injured on patrol? And the last time before that was before you reached your majority.”

“Now that you mention it, yes, I do remember. It was not so long ago, yet it seems so,” Legolas replied softly.

“Yes, it does. Many things that were not so long ago seem distant to me now.” Thranduil drew the comb through his son’s corn silk hair, separating the fine strands into sections. Legolas looked back over his shoulder at him.

“You are speaking of Naneth now, are you not?”

“Yes. I have found myself thinking of her a great deal lately. Of course, I have not the pressing issues distracting me from thoughts of her now that I have had in the past.“ He saw his son’s expression turn to one of concern and chuckled again, “No, you need not worry. I am in no danger of fading. However, I think that I shall not linger much longer on these shores.”

“I shall miss you terribly when you leave, Ada,” Legolas said quietly. Thranduil tugged on a strand of his hair producing a muffled yelp and a scowl.

“You are not rid of me yet, ion,” the Elvenking stated with a laugh, securing the braid that hung down the back of his son’s head before beginning the one over his left ear. “And you shall not be in the immediate future at least. There is much still to do in Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Good.” Thranduil smiled at his son’s emphatic reply. Abruptly, Legolas changed the subject. “Ada, I had not thought to ask Estel, is the lady who found me still in the Citadel?”

“Yes, though I have not seen her. Elladan and Elrohir have adopted her, or so I have heard.”

“Yes, it is like them to do that.” Legolas grinned, half in amusement, half in remembrance. “I would really like to speak with her, to thank her for what she did for me.”

“As would I,” the king of Eryn Lasgalen replied, “If I thought I would not frighten her half to death merely by looking at her. You, however, would not. I shall see what can be arranged.” He finished the braid over Legolas’ right ear and rose as his ears caught the sound of merry hobbit voices in the outer room of Legolas’ chambers. “Just in time, it seems. I believe that your meal has arrived.”

~

Thranduil walked the long corridor, still in his waking dreams even as he made his way from the gardens back to his son‘s rooms. His keen hearing picked up sounds that seemed out of place to him in Elessar’s home and he changed direction, moving toward them as his awareness returned to its usual sharpness. Harsh jeering mingled with sounds of distress met his ears and he quickened his pace, scowling. He was certain that he recognized the distressed one’s voice.

As he rounded the corner, he was met with the sight of several rank and file guardsmen surrounding the girl, Serai, who was cringing and trying to make herself as small as possible. It was obvious to Thranduil that the child was terrified and the crude comments and suggestions that the guards were throwing at the girl made his blood boil. He reached them in three strides.

“Enough!” he thundered, his cold gaze piercing the guards and silencing them immediately. None would meet his eyes, and more than one trembled visibly. “Report to you commanders and await your king’s justice.” They bolted, not one daring to say a word. He turned to the girl, his hard expression softening considerably. “Child, you are safe. They will not harm you now.” The girl swallowed visibly.

“T-thank you, your majesty,” the girl stuttered. Thranduil could not tell if she was more afraid of the guards or of him and he heaved a purely mental sigh.

“No thanks are necessary, child. I am in your debt and likely always shall be.” He kept his tone light, his voice soft. In a way, he reflected, it was similar to dealing with an extremely skittish horse. She glanced up, startled at his words.

“Nay! I did nothing more than anyone would have done!” As soon as she said it, she remembered to whom she was speaking and flushed, her eyes dropping down to regard her feet once more.

“I will have to disagree with you on that, pen neth. There are many, even among good folk, who would have walked away rather than risk harm to themselves to save someone that they did not know. You are exceptionally brave, and I am far from the only one who thinks so.” He allowed himself a slight smile, heartened when she responded with one of her own. “I would be honored to escort you where you wish to go,” he said, offering her his wrist. She tentatively laid her hand on his proffered wrist. When she did not speak, he asked, “Where would you like to go, child?”

“To see Mistress Rose, please, your majesty,” was the almost inaudible reply.

“Mistress Rose is with my son right now,” Thranduil replied. “Legolas would like very much to see you, if you wish to go there.” A diffident nod was her reply. “Then we shall make our way to Legolas’ rooms. He will be delighted to see you.” The Elvenking guided her down the corridor, careful to move at slower pace than he would normally have used in deference to her trepidation and her much shorter stride.

As they moved away, a shadow moved from one corner to another. Thranduil’s ears caught the faint whisper of sound that it made, but his eyes only caught a faint movement as the figure slipped through a doorway leading to another corridor. The Elvenking frowned, his natural wariness resurfacing. He did not like being spied upon by anyone, and he very much doubted that this spy was reporting to Elessar. He wished very much to follow and see just who had the audacity to follow him, but he had the girl to consider, not to mention that he might very well be walking into a trap if he did trail the unknown person. He continued on his path, his manner not reflecting his suspicions to the girl. He did not wish to frighten her, nor did he wish to alert the watcher. He took a round-about way back to Legolas’ rooms, to make certain that the watcher was still following.

~

Lithmor leaned heavily against the wall, breathing hard. Mordor, but that had been close. For a moment, he had been certain that the elf-king had seen him. Silently, he cursed the foreign king. So close, he had been so close to getting his revenge on that slut of a girl that had ruined his plans. She had just had to stumble across the damned elf before Lithmor had been able to retrieve him.

Regaining custody of the elf-king’s son would not be possible, Lithmor knew that. Still, if he could be killed the plan might be salvageable and Lithmor might not have to pay for his mistakes with his life. Moving as silently as one of his prince’s rangers, he trailed the elf-king and the girl through the Citadel.

Eventually, they came to the family wing of the Citadel. Lithmor cursed under his breath, it would be almost impossible to get in there without being seen. His mind working furiously, he slipped away. Perhaps there might be another way to accomplish his goal.

TBC

Disclaimer: Tolkien all, sheraiah zip. No profit is being made.

~

“It has been five days and still we are no closer to finding out if Lithmor is behind this or if he is working for another. He is being very canny and has managed to lose every person I have had trailing him,” Aragorn ground out in frustration. “Elladan, if you and Elrohir were not so visible at court, I would have you take over the job.”

“While I admit that I would enjoy it, I agree that we are too visible to be effective. Perhaps one of Legolas’ folk?” the elder twin suggested, clearly as frustrated as his brother-in-law.

“Well, none of my people have been successful either,” Faramir stated with a grimace. He still felt partly responsible for Legolas’ abduction and resulting injuries, as well as the attempt on Arwen and Gimli’s wounds even though all of them had assured him that they did not agree.

“Bringing any more of Legolas’ folk in would only serve to raise the serpent’s suspicions, “ Elrohir countered. “We need someone who is already here and is especially skilled at going unnoticed.” Elladan arched a brow at his twin.

“Brother-mine, you sound as if you have that someone in mind.”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” the younger of Elrond’s sons replied with a sly grin. “Thranduil’s assistant, Luinloth, would be the perfect choice. One, he is here already. Two, by now the staff and guards are well used to seeing him going about and seeing to Thranduil’s needs. Three, he has performed this function in the past and done it well. And lastly, he has been most careful to foster the impression that he speaks very little Westron.”

“And he is an elf and can move silently, hear far better than any human however skilled, and hide in places that humans would never be able to follow.” Elessar nodded, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Was the part about pretending not to speak much Westron his idea or Thranduil’s, I wonder?”

“I truly would not put it past either of them,” Elladan said with an amused snort. “Thranduil is the more devious-minded of the two, but Luinloth is at least a millennia older. He was part of Elu Thingol’s household before he came into Oropher’s.” The elder twin grinned at his companions. “He was also Thranduil’s tutor when Thranduil was an elfling.”

“I will need to tell Thranduil and Legolas what we have discussed in any case, so I will suggest using Luinloth’s talents at the same time. Hopefully, Thranduil will agree,” Elessar said, rising from the chair he had been occupying.

“Unless I am very much mistaken, Estel, he will.” Elrohir clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder affectionately.

“Aye,” Elladan seconded. “It will please him, particularly due to the fact that Luinloth will report to him first.”

“So long as we get the information, I care not which of us hears it first,” the king of Gondor and Arnor stated firmly.

Thranduil nodded to the guards at his son’s door as he passed them, Serai in tow. Once inside, he led her to the open door to the balcony, smiling as he heard his son laughing at the jesting between the hobbits and the dwarf. ‘Good,’ he thought, ‘they are all still here and it should be time for another of their meals. Legolas is not the only one in need of feeding.’

He glanced down at the child on his arm. All elves revered life and they almost universally adored children. Thranduil, for all his brusqueness, was no exception. In his eyes, the girl was little more than an infant, to say nothing of the child she was carrying. He was no healer, but he had sensed the babe, as well as the healed scars Serai bore as soon as the girl had placed her hand on his arm. A brief flash of rage flowed through him at the thought of that sort of harm being inflicted on anyone, but he was careful to control his expression. It would not do to frighten the child and cause further harm. Schooling his expression carefully, he guided her out onto Legolas’ balcony.

“Ion-nin, there is someone here who wishes to make your acquaintance under better circumstances than when you first met,” he called, smiling pleasantly. Legolas’ head turned in their direction and he met his father’s eyes for a moment, subtly letting Thranduil know that he was not fooling his son at least, before turning a dazzling smile on Serai.

“I have wished that as well,” the prince said, holding his hand out to them. “I am glad to have the chance to thank you.” Completely disarmed by Legolas’ charm, Serai moved forward to take his hand without hesitation.

“It’s not necessary,” she replied with a shy smile of her own. “It was no more than anyone would have done.”

“You underestimate yourself and overestimate others, lass,” Gimli rumbled from the other side of the chair Legolas was occupying. “You knew perfectly well that your were in danger and you acted anyway. There are a lot of folks who wouldn’t have.” He graced her with a gentle smile, which Thranduil was amused to note that she returned. Most females seemed to adore Gimli. The Elvenking shook his head silently. Add one more item to the list of female mysteries, he thought. He refused to admit that he was beginning to become a bit fond of the bearded curmudgeon himself.

“Gimli is correct,” Legolas replied. “For once,” he added with a sly grin for the dwarf who scowled at him.

“I am usually correct, you simply lack the wit to realize it,” Gimli returned, scowling despite the fact that the corner of his mouth was twitching with humor.

“Nay, I am not the one so deluded as to believe his own illusions, Master stone-cleaver, else I would have to shorten myself and grow fur upon my face,” the prince returned, struggling to maintain his smug expression. Gimli surrendered the battle with a great shout of laughter.

“I’d pay good gold to see that, princeling. But you’d have to smoke as well and I know you’d never last past the first puff.” He clouted the elf’s shoulder affectionately, careful not to strike too hard. Legolas’ face scrunched adorably in disgust.

“I must concede on that point, friend-Gimli. How you stand the smell of it is beyond my understanding.” He turned back to Serai, who was still giggling at their banter, before Gimli could make use of the opening to launch another volley. “But, we are forgetting our manners. Have you met everyone present?” Serai managed to control her giggles with an effort.

“Mostly, yes.” She flashed her diffident smile at the hobbits, who greeted her warmly.

“Well, as you have heard, this is Gimli, son of Gloin, a dwarf of some renown,” Legolas said with an arch look for Gimli, who snorted in amusement. “Gimli, this is Serai, the brave lady who risked her life for my sake.” At this point Rose Gamgee stepped forward.

“Pay them no mind. They go on like this all the time and not a lick of sense between them,” she said tartly, guiding Serai to one of the other chairs. Thranduil resisted the urge to chuckle at his son‘s expense with some effort as Rose continued uninterrupted. “You’re just in time for tea and a good thing, too. You need feeding almost as much as Legolas does.” The afore mentioned prince had the grace to look shamefaced, but like the others had sense enough not to comment. Gimli merely grinned behind his beard, not a bit fazed. The hobbitess’ gaze shifted to the Elvenking, who arched a brow at her in anticipation. “You too, King Thranduil. From the look of you, you’re one that doesn’t eat when he worries.”

He inclined his head gracefully, unwilling to argue what he knew to be a valid point. From the doorway to the balcony he heard Luinloth’s faint snort and muttered, ‘I have been telling you that for millennia to no effect’ in the Silvan tongue before his assistant and several servants approached bearing covered trays. He nearly sighed with relief to see Legolas eyeing the trays with interest. Rose evidently saw it as well and she smiled at the younger elf.

“Hungry, Legolas dear?” she asked, handing him a napkin and a cup of tea.

“A bit, perhaps,” he replied with a puckish grin, drawing another giggle out of Serai. He sipped the tea and nodded to Rose when he found it sweet enough. She smiled again and proceeded to make certain that everyone had tea and food before taking her own.

Thranduil settled next to his son, pleasantly surprised to see elven treats included among the traditional hobbit fare, although he had found over the last several days that he was fonder of hobbit cuisine than he was of Gondorian. He glanced at Luinloth, who gave him a bland look confirming his suspicions as to where the Gondorian staff had obtained the recipe. He had to admit, upon tasting, that the kitchen staff had done a fairly good job on the one dish included that was traditional to Eryn Lasgalen. The pastry made with nuts and honey still tasted a bit off, likely due to the fact that a different sort of nut had been used in place of the conventional one, but it was not a bad effort. Legolas seemed to agree and Thranduil was heartened to see his son tucking into the food with obvious enjoyment.

Serai seemed to be enjoying both the food and the company, although she declined to try the pastry from Greenwood stating that she was not fond of the type of nut used. The hobbits did likewise, probably to ensure that Legolas ate more. Between them, Rose, Sam, and Merry made certain that her plate stayed full while Gimli and Thranduil did the same for Legolas. Pippin elected to provide the entertainment, in between bites of his repast, and he had them all laughing merrily. It was to this scene that Elessar, the twins, and Faramir entered.

“I would wish to see such a merry scene every day,” Gondor’s king declared with a grin as he crossed the balcony towards the group. Suddenly his expression sharpened as he looked at Legolas, who had gone ashen. “Mellon-nin, are you well?”

“Nay,” the elf replied, raising a shaking hand before his face, “I think perhaps that I am not.” Thranduil reached for him as he doubled over, clasping his arms around his middle. Elessar grasped the prince’s shoulders and gently drew him from his father’s embrace to lay him on the floor. Thranduil stumbled to his feet, a general feeling of malaise suffusing him. He, too, went deathly pale and Luinloth rushed forward to support his weight as he doubled over. Through the pain in his abdomen, he felt himself being placed on the floor next to his son. His hand shot out, trembling violently, to catch Elessar’s sleeve. When the king of Gondor’s startled gaze met his, Thranduil hissed one word through his clenched teeth.

“Poison!”

TBC

A/N: I admit it; I’m an evil, cliffie writing wench!

Disclaimer: Not mine and no profit being made.

A/N: I know nothing about poisons, or about healing their effects. The poison in this story is my own invention and should not be confused with any real or fictitious poisons. And yes, Lithmor is a rat b*stard.

Thranduil gritted his teeth; it felt as if knives were being driven slowly into his belly and twisted. Through his pain, he managed to keep focused on his son, who looked to be in worse straits than he was. Legolas’ face was set in a grimace of pain, his breathing rapid and shallow. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he stared, wide-eyed into Elessar’s face. Gondor’s king snatched up a large bowl that had held fruit and set it quickly down next to Legolas before turning the prince and holding his head over the bowl. He had no sooner done so than Legolas’ meal made a rapid and violent reappearance. A second large bowl, the basin from Legolas’ wash stand in fact, appeared next to Thranduil’s head, courtesy of Gimli.

“Luinloth, hold Thranduil’s head over the basin,” Elessar instructed. “If he does not regurgitate on his own, make him. It will hopefully limit the amount of poison in his system.”

“I do not know how, my lord,” Luinloth replied, his worry for his king and prince evident in his voice. “Please tell me what I must do.”

“Here,” Elladan said, kneeling by the Elvenking’s head. “Just hold him. I know what must be done.” He forced Thranduil’s teeth apart and suited action to words. A moment later, Thranduil was retching forcefully into the basin.

“Quickly, tell me what they ate that you did not,” Elrohir said to the hobbits, who were standing in a tight knot, watching with fearful and concerned expressions.

“It was the pastry, Elrohir,” Serai replied, her eyes wide with fear. “That one, with the honey and the nuts.”

“Brother, go get the kit from our rooms!” Elladan called to Elrohir, who nodded and sprinted through the balcony doorway. The elder twin looked up at Sam. “Sam, is there any hot water that has not been brewed into tea?”

“Yes, we’ve been keeping a pot of it on the hearth in Legolas’ room, just in case he wants a spot of tea. I’ll go get it.” He gave his wife a quick, reassuring hug before moving rapidly into the main room to fetch the water.

“Thank you, Elladan,” Elessar said quietly. “If this is what I think it is, we will need to dose them both with antidote as quickly as we can.” He took Legolas’ jaw in his hand and shook him gently. “Stay with us, Legolas. You cannot sleep yet.” He looked over at Luinloth, “Do not let Thranduil sleep.”

“I will not,” the raven-haired Sindar replied quietly, his eyes fixed on his king’s face.

Thranduil, still gasping from both the pain in his midsection and from the vomiting, was staring intently at his son. His hand flailed out, seeking Legolas’. Elladan reached over and placed the younger elf’s hand into his father’s. The prince’s head turned fractionally, his eyes seeking his father, who squeezed his hand weakly.

Elrohir remerged onto the balcony at a full run, carrying a cask made of leather. He opened it as soon as he reached the table, taking out a bundle of flasks secured to a long piece of stiffened leather. Selecting one, he placed three drops of the clear liquid inside it onto the pastry. It turned black in seconds.

“Bitter-bloom, no question,” he stated, pulling a bundle of herbs from the cask. He placed them into the hot water to steep for a few minutes. As soon as it had steeped to his satisfaction, he measured out two doses into cups and handed them to Elessar and Luinloth. “Make certain that they drink it all,” he instructed. “Else we shall have to dose them in a most unpleasant and undignified manner.”

“Drink, Legolas,” Elessar said, supporting his friend’s head and neck and holding the cup to his lips. The prince obeyed, gagging as he did. “You must try to keep it down.” Luinloth emptied the contents of the second cup into Thranduil.

“How soon will we know that it is working?” Thranduil’s assistant asked softly.

“We will have to keep dosing them at four hour intervals for the next couple of days. If they survive the next twelve hours, they will recover,” Elessar replied.

“If?” Gimli asked, his tone sharp with concern.

“If,” Gondor’s king replied equally sharply. “Not everyone responds to the antidote, as I am certain the ones who did this know. Let us make them as comfortable as possible.”

~

Elladan emerged from Legolas’ bedchamber, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. He, his twin, Aragorn, Gimli, and Luinloth had finally gotten Legolas and Thranduil dosed again. Both father and son were at least keeping the antidote down, which was a minor miracle although it had been a near thing in Legolas‘ case. The elder twin still was not certain that they would not have to resort to an alternate method of dosing the younger elf before the ordeal was over.

Sighing heavily, he dropped into a rather shabby, but extremely comfortable chair. A half-hearted smile crossed his lips as he caught the faintest whiff of pipeweed coming from the well worn cushions he rested upon. Gimli’s chair, he thought, with weary amusement. Trust Legolas to make certain that the dwarf felt at home, even in the prince’s room. He draped his arm across his eyes, shutting out the room. He had no idea how long he had rested before a faint noise caught his attention. Dropping his arm he peered around the room anxiously, relaxing when he saw Serai lifting the pot of hot water off the fire and replacing it with another pot she had just filled. A few moments later she pressed a mug of tea into his hands.

“Here, you look like you could use this. The hobbits are fixing a meal for everyone. We decided that we’d take care of our own meals from now on, just to be on the safe side.” She dragged a footstool over and lifted his feet onto it, waving away his protests. “Don’t be daft, Elladan. I can’t help in there,” she nodded her head towards the sickroom, “But I can help take care of the healers and that’s just what I’m going to do.”

“You are getting cheeky lately, pen neth,” he replied, sipping the tea. “Must be Elrohir’s bad influence. It suits you.”

“Well, I just want to help. Everyone has been so kind to me that I want to do the same. Besides, it‘s better to be busy than to dwell on petty fears. I‘m tired of jumping at shadows,” she replied, clearing Legolas’ books off the large table and stacking them neatly on a nearby shelf.

“I would hardly call your fears petty, Serai. Your personal demons are far too real,” Elladan returned without thinking, wincing when he realized what he had said. She gave him a look that was similar to one he had seen on a frightened animal before she shook herself and squared her shoulders.

“Well, that answers that question. Rose said you likely knew, and I’ve talked with Sam enough to have a good idea what elves can do.” There was no anger in her tone, but she still looked wary. He sighed and sat up; making certain that he met her eyes, his expression one of gentle concern.

“Elrohir and I were waiting until such time as you decided to confide in us. We ‘saw’ your scars and sensed the child as soon as we touched you.” He kept eye contact with her. “We did tell Elessar because we felt that justice needed to be done for you, but we would never betray your trust by carrying your secret to anyone else.”

“I know that. I trust both of you, Elladan. You know that. I just don’t want everyone to know yet.” She dropped her eyes to her lap. “I can’t hide it much longer, but I’m not ready to tell everyone.”

“I take it that Mistress Rose does know?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Serai answered softly. “She saw it straight away. She said that she’s borne enough babies to know the look of it on someone else. So does Sam. No one else knows, though.”

“I would not bet on that, little one. My sister knows, I am certain. However, she takes after our father enough to hold her own counsel even from Elrohir and myself to protect your privacy.” Serai grimaced.

“If you knew when you touched me, then King Thranduil and Prince Legolas know too.”

“Oh, I would say that King Thranduil definitely does, but Legolas may not unless he was trying to focus on reading you. His senses are not yet as sharp as they normally are. You need not worry about either of them in any case. They will respect your privacy and I have told you that elves love children. I would not put it past Legolas to want to be an honorary uncle. He certainly is to Sam and Rose’s children. I have lost count of the number of human children he has played uncle to over the years that I have known him, and the number includes Elessar.“ He gave her a half-smile. “And elves do not always have the same talents. Elrohir, Arwen, and I have healer’s senses because of our father, but Legolas and his father have other talents. I could not tell you the extent of Thranduil’s, only that he is very powerful. Legolas has a good deal of power as well, but his humble manner makes it difficult to tell in what ways and to what extent.“

“Oh, “ she replied faintly, clearly surprised by his speech. He decided that she had dwelt on the subject long enough and flashed her a mischievous grin.

“Besides, Brother and I have told you several times that we are not fully elven, so the usual rules do not always apply to us.” She rolled her eyes, earning a full smile from him. She had come a great distance in a short time to be able to behave in so familiar a manner with any male, especially after finding out that he and his twin knew her secret, and he was flattered that it was Elrohir and himself that she was so at ease with.

“How are they?” she asked, glancing toward the bedchamber door. He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“It is too soon to tell, but they are at least keeping the antidote down which is encouraging. I worry less for Thranduil, he is simply too blessed obstinate to allow a mortal to get the better of him. Legolas, however, is another matter. I worry very much for him.”

She had no chance to reply as the hobbits came in then, well laden with food and accompanied by members of the kitchen staff bearing even more. As soon as the food was on the table, Serai filled a plate and handed it to him before taking his mug and refilling it. Sam knocked on the bedchamber door and upon hearing the answer, passed through closing the door behind him. He emerged a few minutes later and began filling plates and setting them on an emptied tray which he then carried back through the door. Elrohir accompanied him when he returned to the sitting room.

The younger twin dropped gracelessly into an unclaimed chair. Serai soon had him settled with a plate of food and a mug of tea, scowling him into obedient consumption of both much to his twin’s amusement.

“You are becoming very cheeky of late, Serai.” Elrohir complained good-naturedly between bites of his meal. “I blame Elladan.” The hobbits were heard to snicker briefly, but the overall mood was somber and they spoke very little beyond what was required by courtesy. At length the twins shared a significant look and rose as one from their seats.

“Dear friends, thank you for your care of us but we must return to our duties,” Elladan said as he and Elrohir both graciously bowed to their companions before sharing yet another look.

“Indeed,” Elrohir agreed, smiling grimly. “We have to persuade a king and a king’s assistant to take some rest.”

“Not to mention a notoriously stubborn dwarf,” Elladan added.

“I prefer to choose my battles wisely, brother-mine,” his twin retorted. “I will be content if we can convince Estel and Luinloth to retire to their rooms and Gimli to a chair in the corner.”

“True,” the elder twin replied. “Estel alone will be a great victory.”

Luinloth twisted the cloth he was using to bathe his king’s fevered brow, wringing the excess water from it, before laying it back on Thranduil’s forehead. Thus far, Legolas’ temperature had not risen significantly but his father’s was rising at a rate that alarmed his assistant. Elessar, who at the moment was curled up in a chair in the corner dozing, was monitoring him closely but said that he thought that it was simply the manner in which Thranduil’s body was fighting off the poison and that unless the fever went dangerously high that they should not interfere. The cool cloths were more for comfort’s sake than to lower the fever. The Elvenking was lucid, when he was awake, although he was still in considerable pain.

Legolas, however, had not regained consciousness since he and his father had been carried into his bedchamber. He had swallowed his dosage of antidote with Elrohir’s patient coaxing and although he gagged he had kept it down. He lay unmoving, silent except for an occasional gasp or moan of pain. Luinloth alternated between the two stricken elves, knowing that his king would want to know how his son fared when he woke.

He had to admit to a growing admiration of the dwarf’s devoted friendship with the prince. Luinloth, as a survivor of Doriath, neither trusted nor much liked dwarves, but he was finding that his prejudices did not hold with this particular dwarf. It was obvious that Lord Gimli loved Legolas like a brother, even caring for him with his own hands, something that Luinloth would never have expected to see. He found himself speaking to the lord of Algarond as he would have an elven lord. The dwarf merely shrugged off the formality, insisting that it was not necessary and bidding Thranduil’s assistant to ‘call him Gimli like everyone else did.’ To his surprise, Luinloth found himself not only doing just that, but conversing pleasantly with Gimli, swapping stories from his long life in return for colorful ones from the dwarf’s.

It was in the aftermath of a particularly amusing, and embarrassing for Legolas had he been awake, story of Gimli’s that Thranduil awoke again. Luinloth was not chuckling, exactly, but his eyes were crinkled with mirth and his face bore a slight smile. His attention immediately turned to his king as soon as he realized that Thranduil was awake, his expression once again becoming one of concern, but his king had seen and gave a pained chuckle.

“He grows on one like fungus on a tree, does he not?” the king asked in the Silvan tongue.

“Indeed,” his assistant agreed, lifting Thranduil’s head and shoulders and holding a cup of water to his lips. “He has a high sense of honor and he is devoted to the prince. I believe he is well named as an elf-friend and I never expected to say that of a dwarf.”

“Nor did I, but I have been forced to re-examine my views on many things of late.” He sighed, his eyelids drooping once more before snapping back open. “Legolas…”

“Is resting and has no fever,” Luinloth answered, wringing the cloth out again and reapplying it to Thranduil’s forehead. “He is also keeping the antidote down. Rest now, my lord.” The Elvenking’s eyes closed once more.

“How is he doing?” Gimli asked from his seat at Legolas’ bedside. “The lad’ll want to know when he wakes.”

“He is lucid, but I worry about his fever.” Luinloth replaced the cloth again. “But, I am no healer, so perhaps I worry unnecessarily. How fares the prince?”

“About the same. Aragorn said that as long as he’s not having trouble breathing and as long as he’s keeping the antidote down all we can do is wait and see. Mahal, but I hate waiting!” The dwarf grimaced and covered his discomfort by fussing with the light blanket covering Legolas.

“Yes, in this case, I do as well.” Luinloth closed his eyes briefly before resuming his task.

~

Lithmor stalked back and forth across the floor of his modest bedchamber. He would not know for a few more hours if his attempt on the elven prince’s life had succeeded. That the elf-king had also ingested the tainted pastry was an unexpected, but welcome, bonus. Still, he knew better than to gloat before he was certain that he had reason to, so he remained in his rooms ostensibly as

frightened of the ‘unknown villains’ as the rest of the populace. As the younger son of a minor nobleman and courtier, it was expected that he should ‘stay out of the way and let the guardsmen do their duty.’

He had hoped to use his contact in the kitchens further, but the dratted Halflings had made that impossible. The scullery maid was dim-witted, if pretty, and her usefulness was limited to begin with. He’d have to dispose of her, too, as soon as he could without arousing even more suspicion. A promised tryst, a quick twist of the neck, and a dark alley in which to dump the body would be all that would be needed.

He glanced at the darkened sky outside and scowled. Just how long did it take to kill an elf anyway?

TBC, because I’m evil. Muwahahahaha!

Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be. Only the plot and the OCs are mine. No profit is being made beyond my enjoyment in writing these wonderful characters. For the full header, see chapter one.

Warning: This story contains mature content. Mentions of rape, torture, murder, and capitol punishment, while not graphic or gratuitous, are contained within. Reader discretion is suggested. This one’s not for kids, folks!

                                                    ~

Legolas shifted slightly, forcing his reluctant eyes to open. He searched the room for his father, a deep frown marring his features, as he remembered why Thranduil was not hovering over him. He tried to speak, but his words emerged as a croak. Gimli was at his side in a second; supporting his head and shoulders and holding a cup of blessedly cool water to his lips. His first instinct was to drink deeply, but the dwarf firmly restrained him.

“Not too much to start with, laddie. You don’t want it coming back up, do you?” Gimli was smiling, relief evident in his face and manner.

“Nay,” Legolas responded faintly. “I like my food and drink to remain on the inside once it is there.”

“Ah, now you’re sounding a bit more like yourself. Good, your father’ll be glad to hear it.”

“Where is he, Gimli?” Legolas’ fear for his father’s well-being was plain for any to see, and the dwarf squeezed his shoulders in sympathy.

“Right over there, lad, and he’s holding his own so stop your fretting.”

The prince’s eyes followed his friend’s gesture, to see Thranduil laying on a bed that had been placed in the room specifically for his use. The Elvenking’s eyes were closed, but his bare chest rose and fell steadily. Luinloth lifted the cloth that he had placed on his king’s brow, dipping it in a bowl of athelas-infused water before wringing out the excess and placing it back on the woodland king’s overheated forehead. Thranduil twitched when the cool cloth met his skin, but made no other move. His assistant then took up another cloth and began to bathe Thranduil’s face, arms, and chest with the athelas-water.

“He’s fevered, and has been for some while now, but he doesn’t seem to be in pain like he was before. It’s a good sign, Legolas.”  Gimli eyed the archer critically. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I believe. It no longer hurts.” His eyelids drooped. “But I am tired.”

“Just a moment, before you drop off again you need another dose.” Gimli reached behind himself to pick up a vial off the small table that normally stood by Legolas’ bed. “Bottoms up, lad. It’s best to drink it quick.” Legolas pulled a face, but drank the bitter potion without comment. “Here, this’ll wash the taste out of your mouth.” The dwarf held another mug to his friend’s lips, this one filled with watered-down fruit juice. “Aragorn never has bothered masking the foul taste of his concoctions.”

“Perhaps he believes that warriors need no cosseting?” Legolas murmured, his head lolling against Gimli’s shoulder.

“Either that, or it’s habit bred from treating injuries gained in hare-brained stunts,” Gimli replied, easing the elf back onto his pillows. An indistinct murmur was his only answer as Legolas drifted into a true sleep, his eyelids sliding completely closed. The dwarf laid his hand on the elf’s shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. The corner of the elf’s mouth curved into a slight smile, and he sank deeper into his dreams.

                                                 ~

“Legolas is improving steadily, but Thranduil shows no improvement,” Elladan stated, rubbing the back of his neck irritably. “Have you any suggestions, brothers-mine? I admit that I am at a loss for ideas at the moment.”

“He is not improving, however neither is he worsening.” Elrohir  pointed out. He looked from his twin to Elessar and back. “Personally, I think it is simply that Legolas’ body has dealt with poison so many times that it is better equipped to handle it than the body of one who has not. That we know of, the one instance of Morgul poisoning is the only experience Thranduil has had.”

“Luinloth would know for certain, but that is neither here nor there at present,” Aragorn said, absently picking up a piece of bread off the tray on the table he and the twins were seated around. “Increasing the dosage of the antidote would be as dangerous as the poison, and his fever may very well be a reaction to the antidote instead of a result of the poison. My thought on this is that we should lessen the dosage of antidote and treat his other symptoms as separate issues.” He dropped the bread back onto the platter and rose, pacing the room. “I have already instructed Luinloth to apply athelas-water to his skin in an effort to bring the fever down.”

“That is a good thought, Estel. The water will cool him, and the athelas certainly will do no harm and quite possibly could aid his resistance to the poison and other issues he is experiencing.” Elladan rose and crossed the room to stand beside Elessar. “I agree, and I will pay a visit to the Houses of Healing for the required herbs.”

“I will go and see if I can convince Luinloth to rest for an hour or two,” Elrohir said, rising from the table.

“I wish you well in that endeavor, brother,” Elladan commented with a tired grin. “He is as stubborn as his king.”

“True. Do you think perhaps that Gimli could be persuaded to rest now that Legolas is on the mend?”

“Perhaps, if there were someone to sit with Legolas in case he wakes again,” Elladan ventured, rubbing his neck again.

“We have no lack for volunteers, brother,” Elrohir pointed out. “Is your neck paining you, Elladan?”

“’Tis only that I have slept in a chair the last couple of days, Elrohir. Why yours is not sore as well is a mystery to me.”

“Elrohir has the sense to ask for help when he hurts,” Elessar commented flatly, giving the eldest twin a pointed look.

“I have had more pressing issues to attend to,” Elladan stated with a scowl.

“You are as bad as Adar when it comes to seeing to yourself,” Elrohir retorted, scowling back at his twin.

“Elrohir, why do you not go get the herbs while I see to Elladan,” Aragorn suggested, attempting to head off the rare squabble that loomed between the brothers. ”And then I think that both of you should rest for a few hours. As Elrohir said, we have no lack for volunteers to sit with both Legolas and Thranduil.” The twins traded a look.

“Estel, you are no better off than we are in that area,” Elladan returned softly.

“On the contrary,” the king said with a slightly sheepish grin, “Luinloth and Gimli insisted that I spend a couple of hours sleeping while I was in with them last evening. I am not overly tired right now but you are, my brothers, especially if you are on the verge of arguing with each other.” The twins traded another look.

“I hate it when he is right, “ Elrohir commented. His twin nodded.

“Indeed, it makes him entirely too smug,” Elladan agreed, and then sighed deeply. “Very well, Estel. After we prepare the needed medicines, we will both rest for a couple of hours. However, you must give your word that you will summon us if there are any changes, and I mean any.”

“You have it,” Elessar stated, placing a hand on each twin’s shoulder and squeezing lightly.

                                                    ~

Elladan was walking the paths of the Golden Wood, the beauty surrounding him feeding his weary soul. He wandered aimlessly, with no firm destination in mind. His steps finally brought him to the bathing pools, and he indulged himself, swimming and soaking in the spring-fed waters. He came to rest at last on the stone ledge at the far side of the pool, leaning his head back and relaxing fully. He gradually became aware of someone calling his name.  He frowned, wondering who would be so inconsiderate as to disturb him in the bath…….

“Elladan, wake!” Arwen shook her eldest brother’s shoulder. “Elladan!” He groggily lifted his head from the pillow, scrubbing his fist against his eyes.

“Arwen, what is it? Has Thranduil’s condition changed?”

“Aye, his fever has lessened but that is not why I am here.” She smiled fondly at him.

“Do you intend to tell me sometime this age, sister-mine, or do you plan to leave me in suspense?” He sat up, running his hands through his hair. “How long have I rested?”

“Nearly a full day,” his sister replied, rummaging through his wardrobe. “Elladan, when was the last time you looked in here? Do you even own a tunic that is not torn? Ah, here we are!” She drew out a dark blue tunic and a shirt several shades paler. “Where do you keep your clean breeches?”

“The trunk at the end of the bed, if you must know. I am capable of dressing myself.” He arched a brow at her.

“I do not plan on dressing you, brother-mine. I am merely trying to expedite your morning routine.” She gestured at the doorway that connected his bedchamber with his sitting room, “There is a tray of food on the table. Why do you not eat while I have a bath drawn for you?” She tossed his dressing gown at him, turning her back so that he could rise from the bed and retain his modesty at the same time.

“Precisely why are we doing this?” he asked, drawing the gown on.

“You are needed, of course,” she replied. “Am I safe to turn around now?” He grunted non-commitally, stepping around her.

“Dearest sister, I am not nearly awake enough to play guessing games with you. Would you kindly come to the point and then remove your lovely self from my presence so that I can get on with whatever it is I am needed to do?”

“Very well, surly-one. You are needed to see to Serai.” His expression shifted from one of annoyance to one of concern and she continued. “Evidently, Serai has a would-be suitor and she is not reacting well to that fact. Rose has talked until blue in the face to no effect, so we thought perhaps the child would listen to you. She respects you and may heed your word where she would not heed mine or Rose’s.”

“Who is it?”

“One of the city guard, a good man by all accounts. Lorran, son of Lorris is his name.” She fished a pair of breeches that matched the tunic from the trunk. “He was one of the guards who returned Legolas to the Citadel. Both he and Gimli know Lorran from the War, evidently,” she added, almost as an afterthought. Elladan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I can think of at least one legitimate reason that Serai would feel justified in turning down anyone’s suit.”

“As can I, so long as she did so for the right reasons. However, if she refuses any suit because she feels herself unworthy, she will be doing herself a grave disservice.” She met his eyes solemnly.

“I agree.” He gestured for her to precede him. “I will eat while my bath is prepared. I would not wish to frighten the child by looking like a troll.” Arwen chuckled.

“Brother-mine, at your worst you could never resemble a troll.” She rose to plant a kiss on his cheek. She crossed the sitting room, pausing in the doorway to deliver a parting shot. ‘An orc, perhaps, but never a troll.”

He threw a hunk of bread at her as she passed, laughing, through the doorway.

TBC, of course!

Sam reached for another apple and deftly peeled it, the peel coming off in one continuous spiral. As soon as it was peeled, he cored it, chopped it, and added it to the pot in front of him. By his side, Rose sprinkled spices and sugar over the pieces of dough she had just cut and placed on a large flat pan and carried the pan over to one of the enormous stone ovens built into the sides of the kitchen’s hearth. Returning to Sam’s side, she began to roll out another piece of dough. The hobbits worked quietly, listening to the chatter of the kitchen staff around them. One of the cooks approached them.

“That looks like pie dough,” she commented, looking over Rose’s shoulder.

“It’s something like it. My mum always baked these to be used in place of shortcake with fruit, but my brothers and sisters and I would always eat half of them before she even got the fruit done. Legolas is very fond of them,” Rose explained with a smile.

“He’s doing better then?”

“Some. He’s still got a ways to go, but he’s better.” Rose picked up the sharp knife and began cutting the dough into leaf and star shapes. “The shapes make him laugh,” she said, smiling at her husband. “Miri looks like she’s having a better day today than she was yesterday,” the hobbitess commented, nodding at one of the younger kitchen maids.

“Oh, she says her young lord is speaking to her again. Pay her no mind, like as not she’s talking out her hat anyways.” The cook shrugged. “If she wasn’t my cousin’s child she’d be out on her rump the way she’s been mooning about.” She did not notice the look that passed between the two hobbits.

“If she isn’t, I’d wonder about it. It don’t seem right, a young lord sniffing around after a kitchen maid,” Sam commented with feigned indifference.

“I would too, except that she’s never out of the kitchens when she’s working, we send Anira or Kessa if anyone needs a tray in their rooms,” the woman stated. “Miri’d go all mooncalf at any lord she saw, much less an elf.” She frowned in the girl’s direction. “Well, I’d best get back to my soup. Let me know if you need anything at all.” The hobbits thanked her as she walked away.

“Rose,” Sam said suddenly, “I’m low on nutmeg. I’ll only be a minute.” He hopped up and made his way over to the cabinet where the spices were kept, which incidentally was next to Miri. The girl was deep in conversation with Anira and took no notice of the hobbit as he perused the spices.

“Miri, you should be careful! Young lords usually only want one thing, and you know the king and queen don’t hold with that behavior like the old steward did.” Anira’s cheeks were flushed, and she kept her voice low. “You could end up in trouble, or worse.” She scowled at her friend. “Honestly, Miri, what do you think is going to happen with a young lord. He won’t marry you, you know.”

“Shows what you know! I’m meeting him tonight and we’re running away together.”

“Oh, Miri, don’t do it!”

Sam nonchalantly picked up the nutmeg and sauntered back to the table he was sharing with Rose.

“Rosie, how’s your supply of cinnamon holding out?” She eyed him for a brief moment.

“I’m running low. Is there some down here, or do I need to go back up to our room to fetch it?” she asked, betraying none of her curiosity.

“Oh, I’ll fetch it, if you’ll mix up the apples and get them started cooking for me.” He replied, meeting her eyes evenly.

“Good enough, then, but please remember to bring those lovely fruits that Elrohir found for us in the market yesterday. I think they’d make a wonderful trifle.” She smiled winningly at him and he chuckled.

“Rosie-lass, you’ll have Legolas fattened up in no time!”

“That’s my aim,” she replied, winking saucily at him. “His father could use a bit of fattening, too, if you ask me.” He chuckled again and departed, stopping at the door only long enough to collect his escort of guardsmen.

                                                         ~

Legolas looked quickly around the room. Gimli was slumped in the chair next to the bed his elven companion rested in, snoring quietly for once. Luinloth had been persuaded to retire for the night, the sons of Elrond having assured him that they would watch over the king and the prince. Said Elrondionnath were both curled in chairs on the far side of the room beyond the bed that held Legolas’ father. The younger elf gave the room a quick once over again before pushing back his covers and slowly sitting up. He carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pausing a moment to both gather his strength and make certain that all were still asleep. With painstaking slowness, and great effort, he stood. He swayed dangerously, and almost fell before catching himself by gripping the bedpost tightly.

Slowly, shakily, he crossed the distance between his bed and the cushioned chair that sat vacant next to Thranduil’s bed. Sighing silently in relief, and trembling with exhaustion, he sank gratefully into the chair. It was several minutes, spent leaning back into the chair with closed eyes, before he was able to focus his attention on the object of his covert action. Reaching out with a hand that still shook, he lightly stroked his father’s still face. Thranduil shifted, his head turning slightly towards his son, but his eyes remained closed. Leaning forward, he laid his head on the pillow next to his father’s and began to speak softly to the Elvenking. Thranduil’s eyelids fluttered for a moment before lifting. Legolas could see his father’s eyes slowly focus on him and a slight smile formed on the older elf’s face.

“Ion-nin,” he whispered. Legolas smiled back, the hand not resting on Thranduil’s face moving down to clasp his father’s hand.

“Ada-nin,” the younger elf responded, eliciting another smile from his father.

“Worry not, Legolas, it would take much more than this to finish me,” Thranduil stated, his weakened condition very evident in his voice.

“Nay, you are far too stubborn for that,” his son returned, still grinning.

“So are you, the acorn falls not far from the oak.” Thranduil’s voice was softer yet, his eyelids drooping. “I know perfectly well that you are not supposed to be out of bed.”

“I am well enough to make it across the room unaided,” his son retorted, with a grin. Legolas smoothed Thranduil’s hair back from his face as Thranduil sighed and closed his eyes. “Rest, Ada. I will be right here.”

                                                       ~

Gimli, son of Gloin, woke with a start to the warmth of sunlight on his face, his eyes instantly going to the bed beside his chair. It was empty. The dwarf leaped out of his chair, his eyes darting around the room until they fell on the slumped figure occupying the chair next to the bed across the room. Moving much faster than most would give a dwarf credit for being able to move, he closed the distance between himself and the errant archer, immediately checking for signs of relapse. There were none, Legolas was merely asleep, and Gimli heaved a great sigh as the tension left him. Amusement came in its wake, and he chuckled, waking the twin peredhil at the far side of the room. As soon as their eyes focused, Elladan and Elrohir traded sardonic looks before unfolding their tall frames from their respective chairs.

“He is up to his usual tricks, I see. We could ask for no better sign that he is on the mend,” Elladan commented, running a hand through his tangled locks. “Let us put him back to bed, brother.”

“Nay,” Elrohir countered as Gimli opened his mouth to object as well, “Let him be. ‘Twill be to Thranduil’s benefit as well as Legolas’.”

“Aye, the lad’s been fretting about his father.” The dwarf walked back over to Legolas’ bed and picked up the blanket. Crossing back to the archer’s side, he tucked the blanket around his friend’s sleeping form. The twins judiciously hid their smiles.

The door to the sitting room opened, revealing Luinloth, Serai, and Rose Gamgee. Luinloth’s eye’s quickly flicked over his king and prince before addressing Gimli and the twins.

“There have been some developments that you need to be aware of. The three of us will stay with my lords, you are needed in Elessar’s council chamber as quickly as you can reach it.”

Elladan and Elrohir turned to each other, each straightening the other’s hair and clothing with an expedience that suggested a great deal of practice. Gimli merely ran a hand along his braided hair and beard and settled his tunic. That done, the twins and the dwarf hurried to the king’s council chamber.

                                                     ~

“’Tis a fortunate thing that most Big Folk tend to underestimate hobbits,” Merry commented, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. “And doubly fortunate that our Sam is a first rate eavesdropper.”

“I’ve been keeping both ears open in the kitchens ever since Legolas and King Thranduil were poisoned, just in case,” Sam replied, his cheeks a bit red and Merry’s left-handed praise. “So has Rosie, for that matter.”

“I dare say that kitchen maid has cause to be grateful to you for it,” Elladan stated from his seat at the open window, his expression grim. “You probably saved her life today.”

“How is she?” Sam asked, his expression one of concern.

“Shaking in her very shoes at the thought that she had anything to do with this,” Aragorn replied, chewing on the stem of his pipe. “If I needed any proof that she was an innocent that Lithmor duped into helping him, that would be enough.” He shook his head. “She will need to be watched constantly for her own safety, both from the perpetrators of this plot and herself, I fear. She is so despondent that I fear she may try to take her own life.”

“Legolas would forgive her instantly, Estel, if he knew the circumstances surrounding her involvement. Perhaps he should be the one to speak with her.” Elrohir opined from his perch on the window opposite Elladan. “It might help her heal.”

“Perhaps. In the meantime, we need to form a plan on how best to use this valuable information,” Aragorn Elessar stated, pacing the floor and puffing on his pipe.

“If she wasn’t so fragile, I’d suggest using the girl as bait to catch the snake,” Merry piped up, his eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘We might still be able to make it work, though,” he continued, his eyes meeting Eowyn’s. The White Lady looked sharply at him and then a wicked grin spread over her face.

“It would serve him right to get caught by a female after what he has done, both to the poor little maid and to the elf lady he helped murder, not to mention what he’s done to Legolas and his father. If we decide to do this, I am willing to play the bait to the trap,” Eowyn stated firmly, her chin lifting in a gesture that could only be seen as defiant. Her husband studied her for a moment before nodding.

“I have seen him spar. The smallest of the pages could best him in a fight.” He smiled at his fiery wife. “Eowyn would have his guts for bowstrings inside a minute, if it came to that.”

“Where was the maid supposed to meet him?” Elladan asked, rising from his seat now that the pipe weed was gone.

“The alley leading down to the barracks. At that time of night, it is dark, lonely, and the perfect place to rid oneself of a loose end,” Elessar responded, frowning fiercely. “And he would think it all to the good to make it appear as if one of the citadel guard was responsible for the act.”

“There are good spots all along that alley to place archers, if memory serves,” Elrohir said, abandoning the window to move closer. “’Tis a pity that Legolas is not up to drawing his bow as yet, for it will be too dark for men to sight on a target at that hour.”

“Yes, but there are enough blind corners that we can station swordsmen every few feet,” Elladan returned, frowning in concentration, “and you and I could conceal ourselves on either side of the meeting place easily.” He grinned at Eowyn. “After all, why should we let the lady have all the fun?” She grinned in return, and Faramir chuckled.

“Lithmor will be in for a rather nasty surprise, I fear.”

                                                     ~

Serai glanced over her shoulder. Behind her Rose Gamgee was very efficiently mothering both convalescing elves, much to the amusement of Luinloth. The Elvenking had awakened only moments after the twins and Gimli had departed. Groggy from his long period of unconsciousness, and considerably weakened, he was still an elf to be reckoned with, however, and a very difficult patient.

At the moment, Rose was carefully holding a spoonful of broth to Thranduil’s lips while she fussed at Legolas to allow Luinloth to assist him into the bathing chamber and into the bath the dark haired elf had prepared for him. At a stern look from his father, the younger elf acquiesced and disappeared through the doorway, leaning on Luinloth for support.

“He will feel much more himself after he’s had his bath,” Rose stated as she held another spoonful of broth to Thranduil’s lips. From his carefully blank expression, Serai knew perfectly well that he would have liked to have scowled at her, but was far too well mannered to do so. Rose smiled sweetly. “So will you.” His eyebrows rose into his hairline for a moment before his expression turned rueful and he chuckled.

“I have been told many times what I trying convalescent I am, Mistress Gamgee. You have more patience than most.” He accepted another spoonful of the broth before making a face. “No more of that for now, I think. It is not settling well.”

“Do you feel like it’s going to come back up?” The hobbit lady asked, watching his face intently.

“Not unless I have to ingest any more of it. No reflection on your laudable talents in the kitchen, Mistress, but I simply do not like broth.”

“Well, you could try some plain toasted bread if you want. I don’t expect that’d hurt you any,” she suggested, setting the broth aside and smoothing the blankets over him. “Just a moment and I’ll toast you a piece.” She climbed down from her perch on his bed and placed two slices of bread on a long handled fork that she held over the coals in the hearth.

The door to the bathing chamber opened, and Luinloth supported a heavily listing Legolas across the room to his bed. Serai hurried to support the side Thranduil’s assistant was not already shoring up. Legolas made a distressed noise, evidently intending to protest.

“Oh, I don’t mind, and you aren’t the least bit heavy.”

“Indeed, you have lost what little weight you had regained, Legolas,” Thranduil observed. “We shall have to remedy that.” He arched a brow at Rose who chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t see that being a problem,” she said, smiling at the blushing prince. “I made the spice dough that you like so much, and Sam stewed some apples for you to have after your elevensies.”

“Spice dough?” Serai asked, settling a blanket over Legolas’ lap. “What is spice dough?”

“It is very good,” Legolas said leaning back into his pillows with a sigh, heedless of his still-damp hair. Luinloth clucked his tongue at his charge, prompting him to sit forward enough to allow his father’s assistant to comb and towel-dry his locks.

“Well, there’s plenty of it,” the hobbitess said, turning the bread she was toasting. “I might even see to it that you get a piece or two, King Thranduil, if the bread stays down as it should.”

“As long as it is not broth, Mistress Rose, I am willing to try it,” the Elvenking said evenly, eliciting another chuckle from the hobbitess.

“I dare say that it might be better for you to eat a bit more before you have your bath, if my Lord Prince’s current state is any indication,” Luinloth observed acerbically. Legolas’ head had lolled onto Serai’s shoulder, the prince’s eyes all but closed in deep reverie. The human girl merely shifted him into a more comfortable position.

“He isn’t heavy, and really it just reminds me of my little brother,” she said, a bittersweet smile gracing her face.

“Oh, how old is your brother,” Rose asked, careful to keep her tone light. Serai seldom offered any information about her life prior to her discovery of Legolas in the basement of the wrecked house and the hobbitess had no wish to scare the girl into drawing her shutters again.

“He was five when he died,” Serai answered, unconsciously rocking the sleeping elf as if he was the child she spoke of.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Rose exclaimed. “How terrible for you to lose him!” Serai gave her a wan smile.

“He was the first one of us that got sick. My littlest sister was next, but she died before he did, probably because she was so small. She was only a month old. My mother got sick after my brother died, and then my other sister. They both died on the same day. I never got sick at all, so I took care of my father until he got better. He was never the same, though.” She shook herself, and drew a deep breath. “I thought that I might go work in the Houses of Healing when I grew up, but that won’t happen now.”

“Never say never, little one,” Luinloth said, laying a long-fingered hand gently over the girl’s hand with an expression of deep compassion in his dark grey eyes. “Even the wisest beings cannot say what may come to be.” Suddenly, an impish grin lightened his normally serious face. “I would hazard that anyone who can handle one so difficult as this one,” he gestured at Legolas, “Would be welcomed most heartily in the Houses of Healing.” For a wonder, the girl did not flinch away but returned his smile with a wobbly one of her own.

“He hasn’t been difficult at all,” she said, helping Luinloth settle the prince back onto his pillows. “He’s been very nice to me.”

“No, he saves the obstinence for those of us who have know him since he was in baby clouts,” Luinloth’s tone turned acerbic again. Serai snickered, and the expression on the dark haired elf’s face suggested to Rose that he had intended that to be her reaction. His eyes met the Elvenking’s over Serai’s head and Thranduil nodded approvingly. Rose tucked the information that the human girl had volunteered away until she could speak to her husband and King Elessar.

“Now, my lord,” Thranduil’s dark haired assistant said, crossing the room to his king’s side, “Let us get some toasted bread, and perhaps some spice dough into you so that I can help you remove the residue of the sickroom from your person.”

“Enjoy this whilst you can, Luinloth,” Thranduil said, his eyes narrowing. “I do not plan on being a convalescent for very much longer.”

“I assure you, sire, I await your recovery as much as you do,” his assistant replied, his expression deliberately neutral.

                                                           ~

Lithmor slipped silently down the alley, carefully looking back every so often to make certain that he was not being followed. A bit further down the alley, he could see the outline of a female figure but did not quicken his pace. One less loose end, he thought with a frown, and the sooner the better.

“Miri, sweet, I apologize for my tardiness,” he said, reaching out towards the shadowy figure. A hiss of steel was his only warning as the figure turned and a sword tip was placed at his throat.

“You have far more to apologize for than tardiness, worm,” a Rohan-accented voice stated flatly and Lithmor’s eyes widened as he looked down the sword blade and into the face of the former shieldmaiden.  He stepped back quickly and turned to flee, stopping short at the sight of another sword.

“Not a good decision, traitor,” tall warrior said, stepping into the light. Lithmor gasped at the sight of his liege-lord. He drew back again only to meet the swords of the sons of Elrond.

“You have much to answer for,” Elladan said, his expression as cold as his twin’s.

“Indeed, we have much to discuss,” a deep voice came from the darkness. Lithmor’s knees gave out and he sat down hard on the stone path as King Elessar stepped into the meager light. “And your fate will depend greatly on what you have to say.”

                                                       TBC……

Lithmor’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He raised his eyes to his captors.

“Verily, Aragorn Elessar, there is nothing that you can do to me that would be worse than what I will face at the hands of the one I take my orders from,” the dishonored man stated wearily. “My life is measured in seconds now, and he can reach me even in your Citadel.” He rose to his feet, shaking the debris of the path from his clothing before favoring Faramir with a resigned look. “Guard yourself and your family well, my lord Steward. You were to be but a means to an end. You would have been ruling Steward only long enough to produce an heir, who would have followed you not long after. They feared your father far too much to move against him, and your brother also.”

“Why target Legolas?” Faramir asked, his eyes like flint.

“It is well known that he is as a brother to the king. They needed King Elessar off-balance and without as many of his allies as possible. That is why the Queen was targeted, as well as the fact that the one who is behind this desires her for his own. She was to be taken to him, had she been secured, despite what happened with the other elf-woman.”

“It would have been the death of her as well,” Elladan ground out, his fingers tightening on his sword.

“That would have mattered little to him, I assure you,” Lithmor said, meeting the enraged elf’s eyes calmly. “Once he was done with her.” He shifted slightly. “He wished to turn the elves against both the king and the steward, again to weaken their power base so that he might have an advantage. In truth, he told us to kill the dwarf if we could when we ambushed Lord Legolas, to anger the dwarves as well.”

“And who is ‘he’,” Elessar asked, his tone deadly calm.

“Why, my dearest uncle and your chief counselor,” Lithmor answered with a smirk. “For one who can supposedly see into men’s hearts, you are remarkably short-sighted, my lord king.” He grinned at all of them, and suddenly lunged forward, impaling himself on Eowyn’s sword before any of his captors could move to stop him. Elladan swore a blistering oath and grabbed the traitor’s shoulders, lowering him to the ground. The elder twin felt of the man’s neck briefly before swearing yet again.

“He is dead,” Elladan spat, rising to his feet again.

“He is also a liar,” Faramir stated flatly. “Lord Torbin is no traitor.”

“Nay, he is not,” Elessar agreed, running a hand through his hair. “I have looked long and well at all the members of my council, and replaced any in whom I saw deceit. No, the snake behind the worm is farther afield than my council, although he may well be using some of them without their knowledge.” He looked around at his companions. “We must be even more cautious now, my friends.” He heaved a great sigh. “Now I must go tell Legolas and Thranduil what has happened.”

                                                  ~

“So he is dead, and without providing any useful information,” Thranduil stated flatly, his hand absently smoothing his son’s hair while his eyes bored into those of Gondor’s king. The Elvenking sat propped with several pillows in his bed, the setting and his current infirmity in no way lessening the force of his personality. Legolas sat on the bed beside his father, his head resting on Thranduil’s shoulder and his unbound locks obscuring his face and hiding his expression from his friends. The tension in his too-thin frame betrayed his state of mind, however, and Thranduil broke off his staring-contest with Elessar to speak softly to his son in the Silvan tongue.  After a moment, he raised his head again. “What I wish to know, King of Gondor, is where you intend to go from here.”

“Because of Lithmor’s involvement, we at least have a starting point for our search,” Aragorn began, a frown of concentration creasing his brow. “Although I am certain that Torbin himself is no traitor, he may well be the tool of one. It is in his lands that we will begin to search, as well as in the lands of anyone that had dealings with Lithmor.”

“It’d be wise to take a look at Lithmor’s enemies as well,” Gimli put in from his position at Legolas’ side. “Even if they aren’t involved, they might well know more than they’ve said.”

“You should ask their household staff,” Sam put in with his typical level of hobbit-sense. “Servants see everything, and most quality-folk take no more notice of them than they would furniture.”

“That is an excellent suggestion, Master Samwise,” Thranduil commented, a faint smile gracing his face. His eyes moved over the assembled group, stopping on the young human girl in the corner. Elessar and the twins followed his gaze, their concern growing when they noted the pallor of Serai’s face. Elladan and Elrohir traded a look and moved to sit on either side of their young charge.

“Perhaps we should have waited until you left, little one. We none of us wish to add to your fears,” the elder twin said, enfolding Serai’s hand in his.

“No, I think it might be a good thing that I did hear this,” the girl said, a tremor moving through her body. “I’ve heard that name before, Lithmor I mean. A…friend.. of my father’s did business with a man named Lithmor. I always got the feeling that whatever the ‘business’ was that it wasn’t good. He was always trying to get my father involved.” She raised her head to look at Elessar. “I know he hated you, my lord king. He was always talking about how things were under Lord Denethor.”

“Serai, I can promise that I will spare your father’s life if he is involved, but I need to know who his friend is,” Elessar said softly, moving to squat down in front of the seated girl.

“It would be far kinder than he deserves,” she replied bitterly, her face twisting into an expression of mingled hurt and anger, her body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Elrohir’s hand enfolded the hand his twin was not already holding and she looked up at him with a tremulous smile. “He made his choice and I must make mine.” She looked up at her king and squared her shoulders. “Even if you had not shown me the kindness that you have, my lord king, I would choose to stand with you.” Elessar rose enough to place a fatherly kiss on the girl’s forehead and she visibly strengthened.  “His name is Durmir. He is a merchant.” She shuddered again as she spoke his name and the twins’ eyes met over her head, their expressions dark.

“I have heard of him,” Elladan said quietly. “His reputation is not one of honesty in his dealings.”

“Thank you, child,” Aragorn Elessar said, his expression warm with approval. “And now I think you should have something warm to eat and drink before you take to your bed. It is far beyond the hour that you should have been in it.” Serai gave a strangled sob and the king gathered her gently against his chest, rocking her like a small child.

Legolas raised his head from his father’s shoulder, pushing his hair back from his face. Sparing Thranduil a quick glance, he rose shakily to his feet and crossed the space between the bed and the kneeling Dunadan, Gimli close behind him ready to lend a steadying hand to  the elven prince if necessary. Reaching his friend and the girl, he stopped, raising his hand slowly and laying it on Serai’s head in a gesture of comfort.  She lifted her head, looking up at him with tears still running down her face.

“Do not despair for what has happened in the past, Serai. It cannot be changed, no matter how we wish it could be. Instead, think on the now and the future. Nothing erases the pain caused by memories of the wrongs done to us, but looking ahead and thinking of the blessings you have now can ease the pain somewhat. Actually, that is good advice for the both of us.” He leaned down to kiss her brow as Aragorn had done, smiling as she straightened and rubbed her sleeve across her eyes. Gimli snorted and handed her a handkerchief, earning a raised eyebrow from his dearest friend.

“It was a gift from Sam,” he said gruffly. “I thought you might need it sometime.”

“Of course,” Legolas replied, the corners of his mouth twitching suspiciously.  Serai gave a watery chuckle and he winked at her.

“I will be all right now,” she said, sitting back in her chair.

“Of course you will,” Elrohir replied, taking the handkerchief from her and drying her cheeks. “Have I not told you that you are stronger than you realize?”

“I would agree,” Legolas said, his mouth curving into a gentle smile that widened as Serai smiled in return. “And now, I think Estel is correct. It is time for most of us to be abed and resting.” He held his hand up where Serai could see it shake. “Will we see you later in the morning, little one?”

“I think so. Lorran would very much like to visit you,” the girl said shyly.

“Of course! I wish to thank him for his care of me.” Legolas swayed and Gimli wrapped a supportive arm around him.

“It’s bed now for you, laddie, before you fall on your face,” the dwarf said, leading the archer to his bed. The elf gave Serai a sheepish grin and went quietly, allowing his friend to help him. She grinned back, being led away herself by Elladan and Elrohir.

Elessar moved to Thranduil’s side, assessing the Elvenking’s condition and nodding approvingly.

“You are looking better,” he said, laying a hand on the woodland king’s forehead. “And your fever is gone, but you must still allow yourself more time to rest and recover.”

“I make no promises, Estel. Well you should remember that I do not easily take to convalescence,” Thranduil replied, his heavy eyelids belying his bravado.

“Then we shall have to see what we can do to make your recovery less tedious,” Aragorn replied as he moved to the table between the two beds to mix both father and son another dose of medicinal tea. “Perhaps Arwen will have some suggestions.”

“Estel,” Thranduil waited until the Dunadan met his eyes, “Do not neglect to look in unlikely places for these traitors. I have found that to be the best practice for discovering them.”

“As always, your advice is much valued, and I will heed it, but at the moment I want you to drink this tea and concentrate on mending your body.” He handed the cup to the frowning elf. Thranduil’s assistant immediately stepped forward, supporting the tilting cup and helping his king raise it to his lips. “However, I may wish to utilize Luinloth’s considerable talents in the days to come.” The dark haired Sindar looked to his king, who nodded briefly before grimacing at the bitterness of the tea.

“Of course I am at your service, as my king allows,” Luinloth said, his dark grey eyes glittering with curiosity.

“Good. We will meet here and lay out our plans after the mid day meal,” Aragorn replied with satisfaction. He glanced over at the other bed to see Gimli setting aside Legolas’ now-empty cup. The dwarf tucked the covers around the barely awake elven prince and Gondor’s king hid a fond grin. “I will see you after mid day.”

                                                    ~

The cloaked figure moved quietly through the alleyways, careful not to be seen from the few windows that were still alight. Reaching it’s destination, the figure raised it’s hand to scratch at the door softly. When the door opened fractionally, the figure removed a rolled scroll from it’s sleeve and passed it to the one opening the door. The figure then vanished into the night.

Durmir shut the door and unrolled the scroll, reading quickly. He swore, crumpling the scroll and casting it into the fire on the hearth. He spared a glance to the man slumped and snoring drunkenly in the corner before pacing the length of the small room. His master was not going to be pleased at the latest development. The merchant spared himself a smirk, he had advised the master against utilizing that lackwit Lithmor in such a pivitol role and it was grim satisfaction to have been proved right. The imbecile had managed to jeopardize the entire plot. They would have to escalate their efforts if they were to succeed.

TBC

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to the Tolkien estate. The
original characters and plot are the property of the author. No profit is being
made.

A/N: Yes, I'm still among the living! All I can say is that my life has been
crazy for several years. I haven't stopped writing, though, and you may expect
periodic updates from here on out. And yes, I know the formatting's wonky. I'm afraid it was a choice of posting it like this or not at all. I no longer have internet access at home expect via my cell phone so I have to make do with what I have.

The sun's first rays had just begun illuminating the room when Thranduil awoke.
He ran a hand across his eyes and took a visual survey of the room. Legolas was
still deep in reverie, Gimli snoring in the chair beside his bed. Elrond's sons
where nowhere to be seen, but he had expected them to be seeing to Serai after
last night's traumas to the child. Luinloth also was not in evidence, nor were
any of the hobbits. They must be fetching breakfast for all of us, he mused. So
much the better, as he needed to heed nature's urgings and it galled his pride
to allow anyone, even Luinloth, to assist him in doing so.

Slowly, he levered himself into a sitting position, and then onto his feet.
Holding onto furniture for support, he made his way at a snail's pace to the
bathing chamber, and long moments later, back into his bed. He was ashen and
trembling with fatigue when he lay down again, and he dozed off as soon as his
head touched the pillow.

It seemed only seconds later that he woke to Luinloth gently shaking his
shoulder, but by the level of light in the room at least an hour had passed.

"Awake, my Lord, it is time to break your fast," Luinloth said, helping
Thranduil sit up and arranging the pillows behind him to prop him up
comfortably. "Mistress Rose made fried apples and porridge this morning."

"That is a vast improvement over plain porridge and broth," the Elvenking
stated, eyeing the laden tray that Luinloth set on the table beside his bed with
a great deal more enthusiasm than he had displayed towards his meals recently.
"My thanks, Mistress Rose."

"Now, none of that! I wouldn't be taking proper care of you if I didn't try to
put some meat back on your bones, would I?" the hobbitess said, grinning at him
as she set her tray on the now wide awake prince's lap.

"I have often thought since meeting the elder Master Baggins that there is a
great deal to be said for `hobbit sense'," Thranduil mused to no one in
particular. Rose grinned cheekily at him again and he smiled back, reaching for
the bowl of apples on the tray Luinloth placed on his lap.

"I don't care how you have to do it, just get me in that room. I'll take care of
the rest. We have to strike now while they're still weak if we're to have a
rat's chance in Mordor of salvaging this," Durmir said, passing the bag of coins
to the cloaked figure. "Pay off who ever you need to at whatever price you need
to. This has to happen today."

"What about him?" the figure asked, gesturing to the man snoring drunkenly in
the corner.

"He's one of us, and in far too deep to develop a conscience now, assuming he
could stay sober long enough to string two thoughts together. Don't worry about
him. Just do what I told you to do."

"As you wish. I'd better be rewarded handsomely when this is all over," the
cloaked man warned.

"You will be, so long as you don't fail."

~

"You are both strengthening, albeit at a slower rate than I would like but I
suspect that has to do with Legolas' condition prior to the poisoning and to
your adverse reaction to the antidote," Aragorn said, as he sat by Thranduil's
bed. The Elvenking snorted inelegantly.

"What concerns me is that Legolas and I are not at our full strength while the
ones behind this are still free. You know as well as I that this is far from
over, Estel." He glanced at Legolas, gauging his reaction, but his son merely
met his gaze levelly.

"I know that you do not want to hear this, but you are guarded more heavily than
my treasury right now." Aragorn grimaced at the look the elf sent him.

"And your queen is guarded more heavily still, I do not doubt." Thranduil spared
the king of Gondor a small, wry smile before continuing. "None of us doubts your
diligence, Estel, nor do we doubt your desire to see these traitors come to
justice."

"But, you are both warriors and unused to being idle while others ready for
attack. You need not explain your worries to me," Gondor's king said with a half
smile. "I would be doing that same, I am sure."

"And complaining the entire time," Legolas added with an arch look. Aragorn
lobbed a pillow at him, missing deliberately. Legolas merely laughed and lobbed
it back.

"All jesting aside," Aragorn's expression turned serious once more, "the fact
that we have heard nothing and that nothing has been attempted since Lithmor
died makes me uneasy. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were."

"You have the gift of foresight, as your fore-father Elendil did, and as Elrond
does. I am inclined to read a bit more into your feeling of uneasiness than I
would with other Men, and more than a few elves," Thranduil commented. "Caution
is warranted here, and I for one would feel a great deal better if I had at
least some weapon close to hand." He paused for a moment before continuing, "No
slight intended towards your guardsmen, Estel, but even the best trained
warriors can be defeated."

"I do not take offense; you are correct. I agree, you should have some weapon
available to you in the event that you have cause to use it. Even though you are
not a your full strength, you would at least be able to defend yourself until
assistance arrived." The king of Gondor and Arnor rose to leave. "I will see to
it that your weapons are brought here." He looked at Legolas. "Am I correct in
assuming that you already have yours handy?" The prince smiled serenely and
rolled the sleeve of his shirt back to reveal a sheathed dagger.

"I have four daggers concealed within my garments, and my knives are within easy
reach of my bed," he replied.

"I expected as much," Aragorn said, smiling grimly. "Even when gravely injured,
I have never known you to be unarmed except involuntarily." Legolas looked away,
a shudder passing through his body.

"I think it will be a very long time before I can bear to go unarmed, even in
places I know to be secure," he said softly, meeting his friend's eyes once
more. Aragorn merely nodded, clasping his shoulder briefly before exiting the
room.

~

Legolas sat on the ledge of his balcony, deep in thought. He felt uneasy, but
that was hardly unusual of late. 'Shall I ever be at ease again,' he thought,
'or will I always be looking over my shoulder in the lands of Men henceforth?'
He frowned. 'I do not wish to think ill of most Men because of what a few
twisted Men have done. That is as wrong as Men fearing my kin because they no
longer remember the old friendships.' He sighed and twisted the end of one of
his braids around his finger. 'Perhaps Aragorn and Gimli are right and I simply
need time to heal. I hope so. I do not like feeling like this.' He glanced up at
the roof longingly and shook his head, sighing again. He had promised the dwarf,
and his father, that he would not attempt the roof until Aragorn agreed that he
was strong enough, but really, he just wanted to be left alone for awhile. He
had not had a moment by himself to sort through his jumbled memories and
emotions since his return to the Citadel. As profoundly grateful as he was for
his friends' company and concern, he sorely needed a little peace and wished
that they would leave him alone for even just an hour or so.

He smiled ruefully, shaking his head again. Of course, his adar knew him too
well and was attempting to do just that even now by occupying Serai's attention
inside Legolas' rooms and keeping Luinloth running one errand after another. The
hobbits were seeing to the mid day meal and Aragorn and Arwen were occupied
hearing petitions. Faramir had gone off to investigate at Lord Torbin's estate,
leaving his wife at the Citadel in the king's care. Where she, Eomer, and the
twins were, he had no idea.

Legolas' mouth quirked wryly. Faramir was in for a surprise when he returned.
Idly he wondered if Eowyn had discovered the surprise yet herself. He doubted
it, especially after learning of the manner in which Lithmor had been
apprehended. Had she been aware, Eowyn would not have risked herself and having
found out about the plan only after it had been carried out, Legolas had not
been able to inform her. There was little need to do so now, he preferred to let
her have the joy of discovery on her own without his interference. Still, he was
looking forward to it almost as much as he was looking forward to the same
situation for Aragorn and Arwen, whenever they decided to agree on it. Or, for
that matter Gimli, if the dwarf ever got his act together and spent enough time
among his kindred to charm a lady dwarf into wedding him. Legolas had grand
plans of teaching any children Gimli might sire to climb trees like elflings
just to make his friend sputter and swear. The thought made him chuckle and his
mood lightened a bit.

Muted pieces of his father's conversation with Serai drifted through the gauzy
curtains that separated the large balcony from the sitting room. He supposed he
should rejoin them before Thranduil began to worry, but it was a very pleasant
temptation just to sit in the sun and feel the breeze ruffle his hair for a few
minutes longer. He sighed, rising to his feet and beginning to walk back towards
the sitting room when he realized that the conversation had stopped. Feeling an
icy chill run down his spine, Legolas quickly ducked out of sight against the
wall, all his senses trained on the sitting room. Taking a deep breath, he
risked a look into the room.

Thranduil stood facing the balcony and shielding Serai behind him, his face
impassive and his hand hidden in the folds of his dressing gown, no doubt
grasping the hilt of his knife out of sight of the Man who stood with his back
to Legolas. The girl, Serai, looked terrified. All her attention was focused on
the Man, and the unsheathed sword in his hand. Praying that the girl did not
give him away before he reached his target. Legolas began to creep silently
forward.

Thranduil grasped the hilt of his knife, hiding it in the folds of his dressing
gown and praying that his aim was steady enough to at least slow the Man down.
He could feel his legs starting to tremble with fatigue and he silently cursed
his slow recovery. He only hoped he could hold the Man off long enough for
Legolas to realize what was happening. He tensed slightly as he caught sight of
Legolas moving into the room noiselessly behind the intruder.

"How did you get in here?" Thranduil demanded, distantly pleased that his voice
sounded far stronger than he felt.

"With much more ease than you would expect," the Man replied with a smirk. "I
regret that I haven't time to talk, but you're a loose end that needs cutting."
He started forward. "It's too bad about the girl, of course, but she's rather in
the wrong place at the wrong time."

"It won't matter if you kill us, the king will find you," Serai said, sounding
far calmer than Thranduil was sure she felt. The Man laughed.

"Still haven't grown up, eh, Serai? Would have thought I'd taken care of that
the last time we saw each other. I almost wish I had more time." He leered at
her and Thranduil felt her shudder. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"If Elessar does not carve your manhood from you, I will," Thranduil growled,
his hand tightening further on his knife. The Man laughed again.

"Rather hard to do that when you're dead," he said, raising his sword. Just
then, his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed. Legolas stood behind
him, one of his daggers reversed in his hand.

"He truly needed to cease speaking," Legolas remarked, pulling the braided cord
from the curtains from behind his back and bending to tie the Man's wrists and
ankles. "Is he alone?"

"I would think not," Thranduil replied. "And we have no way of knowing how many
he had helping him." Legolas glanced at him.

"With all respect, Ada, please sit down before you fall down. Serai, are you
well?"

"I will manage," the girl said shakily. "Is he dead?"

"Unfortunately, no," Legolas replied, finishing his final knot. "I would prefer
that he was, for your sake as much as my own, but he may have information that
will be of use to Elessar." He gave Serai a measuring look. "May I have use of
your kerchief, tithen pen? None of us really wants to listen to any more of his
bile, I think." She handed it to him wordlessly and he gagged the Man securely
with it. Eyes darting around the room, the prince chewed his lip, thinking
furiously. "Ada, you and Serai need to barricade yourselves in the bathing
chamber. It is the easiest room to defend, and it will not take as much strength
to keep the door closed. I am going to have to climb over to the next balcony
and get us some assistance."

"Legolas, ion nin...."

"Ada, we have no other choice. I would prefer not to do this, but neither do I
wish to sit and wait for them to come to us. In any case, we need help. You can
barely stand and I am little better." Thranduil stood and pulled his son into a
fierce embrace.

"Be careful! I have come too close to losing you too many times of late." He
touched his brow to Legolas' briefly before releasing him.

"You as well, Ada. I promise I will be as careful as I am able."

~

After dumping the unconscious Man into the bathtub and helping Serai and his
father barricade the bathing chamber door, Legolas ducked quickly out the
window, climbing as nimbly as a squirrel over to the balcony of the next room.
Gimli's room, in fact. The elven prince was hoping against all hope that the
dwarf was in his rooms. He slipped onto the balcony, pausing a moment to catch
his breath before moving forward silently. Ordinarily, Gimli would not be
startled to find Legolas climbing onto his balcony, it was the elf's preferrred
method of entering his friend's rooms, but with the restrictions placed upon the
archer by his prolonged illness catching the dwarf off guard was as likely as it
was dangerous. Peeking into the room, he breathed a sigh of relief to see his
friend seated in his chair, nodding over a book. Looking about, he located a few
small shards of masonry. Aiming carefully, Legolas lobbed the first piece into
the drowsing dwarf's lap. Gimli woke with a start, eyes immediately finding the
elf crouching in the entry to his balcony. He opened his mouth to berate his
friend, shutting it immediately as the look on Legolas' face registered.

"What's happened?" he asked quietly.

"Ada and Serai were attacked. They are well for the moment, but we do not know
how many the Man who got into the room had with him." Gimli immediately stood
and collected his axes.

"We have to assume that the guards were either eliminated or were in on it," the
dwarf rumbled grimly. "Let's go give them a nasty surprise right back." Legolas
grinned ferally at him.

"My thought exactly."

~

"Brace your legs against the tub," Thranduil gritted through his teeth. "I do
not think I can hold them off without your help."

"I'm trying! I'm too short!"

The pounding on the door stopped abruptly and then redoubled. Thranduil pushed
against it with all the strength left in his body as the door frame began to
splinter. Serai lay almost full length on the floor, her arms pushed against the
door and her feet against the base of the tub. Just as he thought the door was
going to shatter, the pounding suddenly ceased and all became quiet on the other
side of the door. Thranduil and Serai traded a look, reluctant to trust the
momentary respite. The door rattled and Thranduil threw his weight against it
again.

"Easy, it's Gimli!" the dwarf's voice called from the other side of the door.
"I'm going to have to take my axe to the door to get it open, they've made a
right mess of it." Thranduil scooted away from the door as quickly as he was
able, urging Serai ahead of him.

"Go ahead, Gimli. We are clear of it," the Elvenking called, leaning heavily on
the far end of the tub. Two impressive blows of a dwarven axe later, the door
fell inward to reveal the dwarf. He looked both Serai and Thranduil over
minutely before calling back over his shoulder.

"They're fine, laddie. Mind your own self and quit worrying about your father!"
The dwarf turned, planting himself in the doorway, plainly guarding the
occupants of the bathing chamber. Out in the hallway, Thranduil could hear the
sound of fighting and tried to struggle to his feet. The dwarf heard him and
turned back to scowl at him. "No you don't, King Thranduil! Stay down, you're
out of the fight for now. The lad's fine, Elladan and Elrohir are with him.
They're just mopping up, as it were."

Greenwood's king sank back down, listening intently to the noises in the
corridor. He wrapped his arms around Serai as he felt her begin to tremble
violently in reaction. "Easy, child. It is over now," he said softly, rocking
her like a small child. Running footsteps and shouting heralded the arrival of
guardsmen loyal to Elessar and Thranduil sighed heavily in relief.

~

"About blessed time! You're late, Aragorn!" The dwarf grinned through his beard
at the newly arrived king of Gondor. "But we've a nicely wrapped present for you
all the same!" He grasped the door, tossing it aside easily and gestured towards
the still unconscious Man in the tub. "Durmir, I believe?"

"And he is still breathing! That is a welcome surprise. He has much to answer
for." Aragorn leaned over checking the bound Man over in a cursory fashion.
"Your handiwork, Gimli?"

"No, Legolas'. Have a look at that crazy elf, would you? He's looking a little
gray around the edges if you ask me. He's pushed himself too far today, not that
there's been much help for it. Have a look at King Thranduil too, while you're
at it. You know Legolas won't settle unless he knows his father's unharmed."

"He will settle, as it appears he is ready to fall on his face," Elladan
commented from the doorway, assisting a not quite steady on his feet Legolas
into the nearest chair. "I will not take you to task, gwador-nin, as I know you
had no choice but to overtax yourself today, but neither will I suffer any
backchat from you. I know that last one wounded you. Did any other?"

"Nay, only him, I think, and it is not enough even to need stitching. I have
not the strength left to argue with you, Elladan. Take advantage while you may."
Legolas sank into the chair with a deep sigh. "How are my adar and Serai?"

"I am well, tired merely," Thranduil called to his son. "I will not need to be
dosed with anything foul tasting in order to rest, I deem." A weary but wry grin
graced his face at the chuckle that escaped his son. "Serai will be fine, once
she has calmed a little."

"I will be fine as soon as I no longer have to breathe the same air as that
piece of filth," Serai said shakily, gesturing toward the bathtub.

"I agree. Allow me, lassie," Gimli said, grinning maliciously. He grabbed Durmir
by the back of his collar and heaved him none too gently out of the tub before
dragging him across the floor to the door out into the corridor. "Here," he said
to the nearest guardsman, "take charge of this traitorous son of an orc. The
rankest cell in the prison is the best place for the likes of him!" He turned
back into the room, dusting his hands off with satisfaction. Legolas chuckled
again.

"My count is still higher than yours," the archer said with a slight smirk which
turned into a wince as the elder of the twins helped him out of his tunic and
shirt.

"Only because you brained him," Gimli retorted. "we'd be even otherwise."

"Oh, Valar, are they still playing that game?" Elrohir groaned as he passed
through the door into the sitting room. "I wanted to garrote the both of them
after the Battle of the Pellenor because they would not cease arguing about it!"

"That Mumak STILL only counts as ONE!" Gimli said, waving his finger at Legolas.

"The Mumak, yes, but the individual Haradrim on his back each count as one as
well," Legolas replied, his eyelids drooping as Elladan began to clean and
bandage the shallow cut along his left side. "Which means I am still fifteen
ahead." He smiled sweetly at the dwarf. "Gwador-nin." Gimli growled and stomped
off back to his rooms. Legolas chuckled. His expression turned serious as he
regarded Serai, who along with Elrohir was helping Thranduil to his bed. When
Thranduil was comfortably settled and the girl had turned back around he
beckoned her closer. She crossed the room and sank down to sit on the floor next
to his chair, taking his hand when he held it out to her. "You did exceptionally
well today, tithen pen. I could not have asked for better. You are far braver
than you credit yourself for being." He frowned slightly. "And now I truly wish
I had killed that orc, Durmir." Serai colored but straightened her spine.

"I want him dead, but I want him to tell the king everything he knows first,"
the girl said, a hint of steel in her voice. Legolas gave her hand an approving
squeeze and a grin complimenting the twins' simultaneous exclamation of, "Now
THAT is our girl!" and Thranduil's "Well said, child."

"I wonder does Lorran know what a jewel he is courting?" Elrohir said, winking
at Serai.

"Lorran's parents raised no fools," Legolas opined. "I am certain that he does.
And if not, there is no lack of volunteers to set him straight on that score."
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "Elladan, are you finished
fussing over me? If so, I should like to seek my bed for awhile. Elbereth, but I
am weary!" Aragorn, just returned to the room after giving instructions to his
guard captain regarding Durmir, eyed Legolas sharply. Elladan forestalled him
quickly.

"Nay, Estel, he is fine. Just weary and the injury is exactly as he said, a
scratch. He only needs rest now."

"Yes, please stop fussing and just let me sleep," Legolas huffed. He shook
himself and rose to his feet with far more effort than usual. "At the moment I
wish only my bed," he added, shooting a pointed look at the twins.

"Humphf, keep someone from getting a sword in the back and see what thanks you
get," Elrohir groused, winking at Legolas to show he was not truly offended.

"As you might recall, I did thank you for that. I also returned the favor,"
Legolas retorted as he reached his bed and sat down upon it. "We will not
mention, however, that you also threw me headfirst into fresh horse manure less
than a week later along with your foster brother."

"Yes, after you and he threw a bucket of frogs onto Elladan and I as we slept. I
would argue that both of you got what you deserved," Elrohir said, laughing at
Serai's expression. He grinned at her. "Be glad that that particular war is
over, dear heart. There was considerable collateral damage through the course of
it."

"Not the least of which was Gimli," Legolas laughed. "The prank war is over
primarily because none of us want to tangle with Gimli again. Ever."

"Not ever," the twins agreed, nodding emphatically. Thranduil turned his head
towards the two peredhel.

"I have not heard that part of the tale. Anything that deters the four of you is
something I have great interest in hearing." He arched a brow inquiringly at
them expectantly.

"Ask Gimli about it, Ada. It is really his story to tell, after all, and he does
it well. Elladan and Elrohir tend to make light of their part in things when
they tell it," Legolas stated, yawning.

"Come along, pen neth," Elladan said to Serai. "The manure is getting deep in
here."

"But it will lessen when you leave, Elrondionnath," Legolas replied, smiling
serenely.

"I hate it when he is injured and we cannot sit on him and rub his face in the
dirt," Elrohir remarked to his twin as they escorted a giggling Serai through
the door, shutting it behind them. Aragorn, still chuckling, turned to Legolas
as soon as they were gone.

"You seem to be feeling better than you were," he commented.

"Much to my surprise, I am," Legolas said, stretching out on his bed. "Perhaps
it is that I was able to get a bit of my own back from those who have done me
harm. Perhaps it is only temporary and I have a ways to go still. I do not know,
and I am not inclined to examine it further at the moment."

"Then neither will I. Eomer and Eowyn will be here soon, and the hobbits will
follow shortly with food enough for any who may be hungry. I have tripled the guard, only those whose loyalty is beyond doubt. It seems there are more
traitors for me to ferret out given the manner in which you were attacked. I
will send word when I have learned more. Rest well, my friend."

~

Title: Hidden Agenda ch 17

Author: sheraiah

For full disclaimer, see chapter 1.

A/N: Well, I'm still writing, albeit far slower than I'd like. Real life is crazy busy and fun stuff like this unfortunately gets relegated to the back burner. Just know that I have no intention of abandoning any of my stories, with the exception of my POTC fic 'Pearl of the Sea'. I'm also doing a massive re-write of 'What Comfort You May Find' which will eventually replace the current story. If you're especially fond of it, you may wish to make a copy of it, It will eventually get taken down. Other than that, I do intend to complete all works in progress.

It was not often that Aragorn Elessar Telconter swore. He had often been heard to say that swearing was an indication of a lack of vocabulary. However, there were times that nothing summed up a situation so well as a string of curse words. This was one of those times, and Aragorn was doing it justice.

His foster brothers, now law-brothers, sat off to the left of where Gondor's king was pacing, very quietly discussing the stream of words coming from the mouth of their sister's husband.

“He got that one from Legolas, I am certain,” Elrohir said, sotto voice. His twin nodded.

“I think you are right. Oh, that was one I have not heard before!” He and his brother exchanged a look before agreeing, “Eomer.” Elladan's eyebrows rose at the next one. “That had to be Halbarad, Valar keep him.”

“I am certain I have heard that last one coming from my lord's mouth a time or two,” Luinloth chimed in softly from behind them. “Is this a private game, or may any play?”

“No, you are welcome to join in, for so long as he keeps it up,” Elrohir said, equally quietly. “He has yet to surpass Legolas' record for endurance, but he's made up for it with diversity.”

“Hmm, that one sounds dwarvish. Gimli, then,” the older elf opined.

“I am sure you are correct,” Elladan said. “He has not run down yet, he might well surpass Legolas.”

“He has not begun with Quenya yet, Brother,” Elrohir said. “And to be fair, Legolas had both that and Avari to fall back on.”

“He probably knows some good ones in dwarvish by now.”

“He does,” Luinloth confirmed.

“Morgoth's Balls! This is not the time for that nonsense! We have just lost the only lead we had into this mess!” Aragorn threw up his hands in exasperation. “Thus far everyone we have linked to this conspiracy has ended up dead before we could question them, and right under our noses as well!”

“With respect, my Lord Elessar, we are not so badly off as all of that,” Luinloth said, a speculative look on his face. “True, having Durmir wind up dead in his cell is a setback, but not an insurmountable one.” Aragorn frowned thoughtfully, his eyebrows rising a moment later.

“Serai's father. Durmir was the only one who knew of that connection.” He sighed, walking to his chair and dropping into it. “This will have to be handled carefully. Regardless of his cruelty to her, he is still her father and I would not have him harmed for her sake.”

“Yes,” Elladan agree, shifting forward in his chair. “I would have the child have no more regrets where he is concerned than she already does. Whether she will say so or not, she loves him still, despite his actions towards her.”

“Agreed,” the king replied. “I would also not lose this source of information as we have the others, regardless of who he is. Suggestions?”

“I would hide him somewhere besides the Citadel. Somewhere where agents of this conspiracy would be unable to reach him,” Luinloth said. “Somewhere like my prince's current home.”

“I agree, Ithilien is the one place that anyone trying to reach him to silence him would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb,” Elladan said, sitting up straight.

“And the elves are beyond suspicion in this,” Aragorn said, obviously thinking furiously. “We would have to move swiftly. Luinloth, are there any among those that accompanied Legolas or King Thranduil that you would choose to escort Serai's father to Ithilien?”

“Aye, myself, Mennelion, Carandraug, Glorlas, and Duinion,” the older elf replied. “Pending my Lord's approval, of course.”

“Of course. Let us go share this with King Thranduil and Legolas so that we may act sooner rather than later, lest we lose this link as well.”

~

Seldar, son of Saldon, rolled over in his bed with a groan and sat up, fumbling for the bottle he kept on the table next to his bed. Two long draughts from the bottle and he thought he might feel well enough to try to find the slop jar. A glance showed it to be full, making his stomach lurch. No matter, the back door of the small house he occupied led to an alley. That would do for his purpose and he stumbled out, only just clearing the door before opening his breeches. He braced his right forearm on the wall, and rested his forehead on the cool stones, sighing in relief. The wind caught the door closing it and startling him briefly, but he shrugged, returning his forehead to the wall and closing his eyes.

He drifted, thinking of nothing but finishing the bottle inside his house before he left to earn enough money for another, when faint noises from inside his house reached his ears. Seldar paused, for once having clarity of thought enough to see the need for caution, and the made his way down the alley as quietly as he was able. Just as he ducked behind some barrels at the back of the cloth merchant's shop at the end of the alley, he heard the back door of his house creak on it's hinges.

“Damnation, the old sot isn't here!”

“He can't have gone far, look! The alley stinks of piss, and this puddle is still fresh. Where would he go this time of day?”

“He earns a bit of coin carting away grease and rags from the taverns in the city,” the first voice said. “He'd likely be on his way to get his cart.”

“Too public for our needs, what does he do after?”

“What else? He drinks up his profit in the Archer's Rest.”

“Hmm, it's dim enough in there for our purposes. That'll do. We'll wait for him there, buy a couple rounds for him, and make sure he doesn't leave the public room alive.” Seldar heard the door close. He remained crouched behind the barrel, shuddering, for what seemed to him like hours. He did not dare enter his home again, the men had almost certainly left someone watching it. Where could he go?

“Well, it seems you have gotten yourself into quite the predicament, have you not?” a cheerful voice said just above and behind his right ear. He startled violently, swinging around to confront the owner of the voice, only to fall onto his rump in shock. The voice's owner, a dark-haired elf, was perched cross-legged atop one of the barrels. “I should think swearing off drink would be the second thing on your list of things to do today,” the elf continued, a smirk crossing his lips briefly before a look of utter seriousness replaced it. “Right behind getting to your knees and thanking Eru that the daughter you threw away still loves you and has made some powerful friends.” He rose gracefully and held out his hand to Seldar. “If you would like to continue living, I suggest that you accompany me.”

~

Two hours later, Seldar huddled miserably in the back of a wagon, covered by a tarp. He had been taken to an unoccupied house, allowed to bathe and change into clothing the elf had somehow found for him, and then was bundled into the cart and warned not to make a sound until he was told otherwise. He had dozed, feeling ill, for most of the past hour. His ears told him that they were beyond the city walls now, but he had no idea what direction they were taking him in. His head was pounding, and his stomach felt like it was going to rebel at any moment. Suddenly, the cart stopped and the tarp was thrown back.

“This is as far as I go,” the driver of the cart told him. “You can get out and stretch your legs a bit if you wish. “I imagine your escort for the rest of your journey'll be along in a bit.” Seldar stumbled out, nearly falling until the driver steadied him. “Here,” he said, handing Seldar a waterskin. “It's not the hair o' the dog, but it'll help.” Seldar took a careful sip, drinking more deeply as he recognized the flavor of the herbs in the water as a common remedy for over-indulgence.

“Thank you,” he said, leaning against the cart and taking another draught. The man shook his head.

“I'm not doing this for you, sir. Get that straight now. I'm doing this for Serai. Valar know why, but she doesn't want anything to happen to you. It's far better than you deserve, after the way you treated her.”

“How do you know Serai?”

“Well, sir, I intend to marry her and will count myself the luckiest of men if she'll have me,” the driver replied. “Name's Lorran, son of Lorris, and I'm a guardsman up at the Citadel. I met Serai when she stumbled across Lord Legolas after the scum that attacked him and abducted him dumped him in an abandoned building and left him to die. Serai was looking for a place to survive the winter in and ended up leading us to Lord Legolas before it was too late. Needless to say, she's pretty high in the king's favor now, not to mention that of Lord Legolas' father. I don't really care about all of that, you understand. I'd still be wanting to marry her if she was a street urchin or a lady's maid. I just thought you ought to know what kind of a daughter you threw into the streets for something that wasn't her doing.” Seldar stared numbly at the driver, who met his gaze squarely before glancing at the surrounding trees. “Best hide yourself again, sir. I hear horses. It should be your escort, but I'd not take a chance on that if I were you.”

Seldar did as he was told, watching through the slats of wood on the cart. Lorran walked over to the nearest tree, miming heeding the call of nature, while keeping his eyes on the trees in the direction the horses were approaching from. Apparently, the riders were the ones he was expecting because he moved away from the tree and flipped the tarp back again.

“Well met, Master Luinloth, Master Glorlas! You made good time.”

“As did you, Guardsman. No trouble, I trust?” The elf Seldar had met previously replied, jumping down off his horse.

“Not a bit. He's a bit the worse for wear, however,” Lorran said, nodding toward Seldar. 'I don't think sudden sobriety agrees with him.”

“Lords Elladan and Elrohir sent a potion that should help with that,” Luinloth said, handing Seldar a small skin. “Drink it, and then eat a small amount of this,” he handed Seldar a loaf of coarse bread. “It will help settle your stomach and your head.”

Seldar did as he was instructed, beginning to feel better almost immediately. He gathered his nerve and faced the tall elf directly. “I don't want to sound ungrateful, my lord, but this can't be just because of Serai. Why are you helping me?”

“Because of certain things you may have heard or witnessed. I do not think you to be an inherently bad man, Seldar, but you have allowed yourself to sink into despair to the point that you have made some very serious errors in judgment and have kept company with some truly evil Men. Now is the time to redeem yourself, if you would do so. The king has need of any information you might have on your friend Durmir and his associates and their activities. Help him, and you may become again someone who is worthy of your daughter.” The elf studied him for a moment. “I have known despair such as you have experienced, Seldar, son of Saldon. It can cripple you, or you can use it to make yourself stronger and live for your one remaining child. The choice is yours.”

“What did you choose?” Seldar asked. Luinloth gave him a sad little smile.

“I chose to remain for one I loved as if he were my own son. I serve him still, and his son as well.” His eyes became distant for a moment. “Eru willing, I will see my beloved and the others I lost so long ago one day. In the meantime, I wish for my life to have meaning and purpose. And so, I believe, it has.” He met Seldar's eyes and the man found that he could not look away. “What will you choose? To continue to wallow in despair for what you have lost or to regain your honor, your purpose, and the love of your daughter?” He looked at the sky. “We are wasting daylight. Can you ride?” Seldar nodded mutely. “Good, this horse is for you,” he said indicating the riderless horse he had been leading. “We need to be going.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To Ithilien, to the elven settlement there. You will be safe while you decide what path you wish to take.”