AN: This is a continuation of a series of stories titled Interrupted Journeys. Parts One through Eight have already been posted. In the case of this story, it is probably necessary to have read at least Part Eight to understand the OCs and their motivations better. Honestly, if you do not know something about the backgrounds of these OCs, you are going to think I know very little about Tolkien's Elves.:-)

This part of the story is set in Legolas's childhood, a few years after Part Eight. Legolas is in the middle of his first formal year of training as a warrior. He is near adulthood, at the age of 46. The story is rated PG-13 for violence, disturbing themes and OC death.

Chapter 1: The wisest judgment he could make

TA 1987
Legolas stood at the end of the line of his fellow First Years, facing Glilavan, and doing his best to appear as if he was listening carefully. He was listening. All the trainees were listening to Glilavan explain the drill they were about to participate in. But Legolas had found over the last year that he had better be sure to make it undeniably plain that he was being attentive. The captain of the training program seemed determined to ensure that Legolas was carefully and thoroughly prepared to serve as a warrior in the Woodland Realm. Or at least, that was the kindest way Legolas could describe Glilavan's behavior towards him. Some of his friends in the training program described it other ways. None of those descriptions were very kind at all, but Legolas was not stupid enough to think that adopting that attitude himself would serve him well, so he endeavored to make sure Glilavan would have no reason to correct him.

"The elves representing Dwarves will be wearing grey tunics," Glilavan was explaining. "Brown will represent Men and black will be for orcs or other enemies. Finally, a green tunic is for Elves from another realm. Any or all of these might appear during your watch, in any combination."

To his left, Legolas heard Anastor repeating the colors and their meanings to himself in a whisper, trying hard to remember them. Only the certainty that Glilavan would fail him on the spot and send him home without even allowing him to take part in this training exercise prevented Legolas from teasing Anastor for his efforts. Honestly! How difficult was it to remember four colors and the races they were supposed to represent?

"As we discussed, you will go with your partners to your assigned positions along the forest edge, manage the encounter with whatever sort of enemy approaches and then stay where you are and await the next part of the test. The enemies will come to you. They move. You do not. Stay inside the range that you were assigned. You will receive your evaluations after you have managed all four scenarios. Understood?"

Legolas joined the others calling, "Yes, sir."

"Are they all going to be enemies then?" one of the adult First Years asked. "Or might the Men and Dwarves be simply travelers?"

Glilavan looked at him sidelong, smirking. "I misspoke, of course. Dwarves and Men are not always enemies of this realm."

Legolas made his expression entirely neutral as Glilavan glanced at him.

"Our King maintains Men and Dwarves as his allies. But be prepared in this exercise to see either the friendly or the not so friendly side of our supposed allies." With that, Glilavan signalled for them to go to their various positions along the forest border. Everyone hurried away, except Legolas. Glilavan froze him in place with a finger pointed straight at him. "A word with you, please," he said.

Legolas remained where he was and met his captain's gaze evenly, but silently he was trying to imagine what he had done to provoke him this time.

As Glilavan walked towards Legolas through the group of departing warriors, he seized Anastor's arm and pulled him, backpeddling, to the spot he had vacated only moments before.

Legolas tried not to frown. He was certain his expression had done nothing earlier to betray his amusement with Anastor's efforts. Well, apparently he was wrong. It must have.

Noruil hesitated, looking over his shoulder at his cousin, but his adult partner wisely tugged at his sleave to keep him moving. The adult First Years that Legolas and Anastor were supposed to be partnered with for this exercise stopped. They stood together, next to a tree several paces away, waiting for their partners with their backs to Glilavan in an effort to afford Legolas and Anastor some privacy.

"You two go ahead and partner with each other," Glilavan said, waving his arm to dismiss the adults.

They cast Legolas and Anastor sympathetic glances and hurried away.

Now Legolas did frown. He had done nothing to deserve being dismissed from the exercise. And Anastor certainly had not. He had sincerely been giving the instructions his fullest attention.

"I want you two to be partners," Glilavan said, finally releasing Anastor's arm after depositing him next to Legolas.

Legolas's eyebrows rose involuntarily and he clenched his jaw to keep his mouth shut while trying to formulate a respectful way to question that order without appearing to challenge Glilavan. Even Anastor was looking quickly from Legolas to Glilavan, drawing a breath to speak.

Tulus stepped forward from the tree he had been leaning against. "They are underage," he reminded Glilavan. "They must work with an adult. That is the rule."

Glilavan scowled at his father and started to walk away. "You are an adult. You will be with Legolas and therefore they will be working with an adult. The rule is satisfied."

Tulus took several long strides to follow Glilavan. Legolas stayed in place, all too happy to allow his guard to fight this battle.

"I am not part of this exercise," Tulus said. "I am here to guard Legolas. Not Legolas and Anastor."

Glilavan stopped and squared off with him. "If they partnered with Hilon and Renion," he said, gesturing towards the adult First Years that had already disappeared amongst the trees, "neither of them is here to guard Anastor either, so there is no need for you to do so. Everyone participating in the drill is expected to be capable of defending themselves. Nonetheless, because these are First Years, this area has been under close watch by the warriors of the Eastern Patrol for the last week in preparation for this drill. My officers swept it today, before we were scheduled to begin. And the Elves acting as Dwarves, Men and Orcs are all Sixth Years, fully capable of defending the forest should anything unexpected arise. There is nothing dangerous here, Tulus. And I am obeying the rules of the program--Legolas and Anastor are working with you, an adult, and with the adult Sixth Years that are playing the roles of the enemies. I thought about the partner assignments while we were traveling to the border and I want to see Hilon and Renion work together again after the difficulties they had in the scouting drill last month. And I would like to see what Anastor makes of some of these scenarios without adult guidance." He turned and pointed at Legolas again. "You let Anastor take the lead in this exercise. You already have experience dealing with foreigners and I am satisfied with it. Anastor does not have that same experience. He needs tested, so let him be."

"Yes, sir," Legolas responded automatically, but his eyebrows went up once again. It was unusual for Glilavan to be satisfied with anything he did, much less for him to admit it.

Tulus drew a breath to continue protesting, but Glilavan turned the finger he had been pointing at Legolas on him and continued speaking without pause. "I am the captain here, Tulus. Not you. Speak to Dolgailon when we return if you insist, but I guarantee that he will support me on this decision. Or speak to the King and we will see if he supports me. For now, my decision stands unless you intend to take Legolas back to the stronghold. Take Anastor with him if you do." With that, Glilavan turned and walked away, following the First Years to the forest edge.

Tulus did not pursue him.

"Legolas!" Anastor exclaimed, sounding distinctly panicked.

Legolas shrugged. "It is not my choice to make," he said softly. But he was not worried. He did not believe for a moment that his guard would force them both to return home.

Tulus watched Glilavan's receding back for a long moment, his hands balled into fists. Then he turned around and looked at Legolas, studying him. He actually appeared to be struggling over the decision to allow him to participate.

Legolas felt his confidence in Tulus quickly fading. He took a step towards his guard. "Honestly, Tulus, Glilavan is right. It is every bit as safe for me to be here now as it would be if I were hunting here, which I have done numerous times. You would not seriously make Anastor and I go home over this?" he asked, keeping his tone level and reasonable.

In contrast, Anastor could always be counted upon to be hot-headed and unreasonable. "You do not have any authority to make me go anywhere!" he declared, glaring at Tulus.

"Except your captain just told you to return with Legolas," Tulus shot back.

Anastor's defiant glare became openly angry.

Legolas gave him a shove and a warning look before stepping between him and Tulus. "Tulus, please," he began, still in a calm voice.

Tulus spoke over him. "I do not like this. Something is not right. The forest here seems...unsettled, somehow. And now Glilavan is changing the conditions of the drill...Making decisions that violate the training program's policies...I just do not like it."
 
Legolas frowned. Making decisions that violate policies. Glilavan had done that before and Legolas--and Uncle Aradunnon too--had thought it was some sort of manipulation. Tulus was undeniably right that Glilavan's order was an unusual one. Legolas drew a deep breath and tried to focus on the forest around him--he had been so intent on listening to his captain and then arguing with Tulus that he had not noticed anything 'unsettled' about it, but if Tulus were right about that too....

"Legolas!" Anastor cried, grabbing his arm and giving him a shake.

Legolas looked at his friend's pleading, nearly desperate expression and sighed. This was silly. They were perfectly safe, less then two days travel from the stronghold in a place where Legolas and his friends regularly hunted. He turned back to his guard. "Tulus," he said firmly, "There is no true threat to my safety at the moment. We will be at the forest edge for only half a day and the only enemies we will be encountering are pretend ones. This is not dangerous. If you make us go back to the stronghold, Glilavan could require us both repeat this entire course. That will mean we finish the program a year late, because this is a required course. Please, Tulus, do not make us go back."

Tulus did not move. He did not even blink. He only continued staring at Legolas while weighing what he had said.

Legolas met his gaze.

"Very well," Tulus finally conceded, though his stance remained tense. He stood aside to allow Legolas and Anastor precede him down the path to the forest edge.

Anastor rushed past him without hesitation.

Legolas followed him. "Thank you, Tulus," he said quietly as stepped past him.

Tulus only scowled.

*~*~*

"And Eirienil told me that she will not dance with me because she has already promised all the dances at the festival for Galithil's Begetting Day to Sixth Years..." Anastor was complaining as he leapt into the largest tree in the area that he and Legolas were assigned to 'guard' for the drill.

Just as he did, two sharp whistles sounded, signaling the beginning of the first round of the drill. They had barely made it to their assigned places in time!

"It is not a festival," Tulus corrected. The only reason he did not roll his eyes was because he was too busy scanning the surrounding trees. "Only a party."

Anastor made a scoffing noise. "Very well, she has already promised all the dances at Galithil's enormous party that the entire forest will attend that looks a great deal like a festival." He focused pointedly on Legolas. "Aewen is worse though. I heard that she has promised a good many dances to that Sixth Year she currently favors. And she promised to sit next to him at the feast." He covered his mouth with his hand in mock dismay. "Oh, I beg your pardon," he corrected himself dramatically. "It is not a feast. It is just a very large dinner that will feed nearly everyone living around the stronghold. But she will be sitting with that Sixth Year during it."

Legolas sighed. Whenever Eirienil did something new to reject Anastor, which happened every time he made even the subtlest of advances towards her, Anastor seemed to feel the need to console himself by regaling Legolas with stories of Aewen's newest male interest. As if Legolas could not see for himself who she favored. But, this was not the time or place to be focused on that, Legolas told himself sternly, refusing to allow Anastor to draw him into that conversation. Instead, he followed his guard's example and scanned the surrounding forest, the open plain and finally Anastor's tree. It was definitely the best choice of trees in the area. Tulus had already begun to climb into it.

"I swear, if Eirienil cannot at least save me a dance or two, I will stop courting her, just like you have stopped courting Aewen," Anastor declared, leaning against the tree trunk.

Legolas stifled a snort in response to that. Then he approached the tree to climb into it himself. He got within reach of it, but then he pulled back a step.

Since Tulus had mentioned that the forest seemed unsettled, Legolas had been focused on it. Tulus was right. Something was amiss. Further away from the forest edge, where they had been speaking before, Legolas could only feel the rumors of some sort of...fear and grief. The trees had obviously witnessed something unpleasant, and news of it was blowing on the breeze, but neither Legolas nor Tulus saw any signs of what it might have been. But here...in the open, at the forest edge...the trees no longer whispered. They were almost stunned, save this, older one. Legolas's gaze darted from Anastor, lazily sprawled against the tree trunk, to Tulus, who was straddling a branch slightly higher than Anastor's.

"What, Legolas" Tulus demanded in response to his charge's expression.

Legolas loosed a long breath and stared at the tree before gingerly placing his palm flat on its trunk. Raw grief and shock washed over him. He pulled his hand away and his gaze again swept over the forest behind him. He still saw nothing, but the trees in the area were as mournful as the trees in the southern part of the realm. Worse, when he touched this tree, it called out to him as the trees in the south did to his father.

"Tulus, something is very wrong here," Legolas said softly, still studying the surrounding area, but this time pausing to systematically search the crown every tree and the shadowed space between their trunks. His hand drew an arrow from his quiver as he did.

Tulus shifted and followed Legolas's gaze. "What do you see?" he whispered, also reaching for an arrow and nocking it against his bowstring.

"The enemies are supposed to come from the plain," Anastor intervened. In his peripheral vision, Legolas could see a finger pointing east.
 
He ignored it. "I see nothing," he replied to Tulus. "But this tree! It has seen something terrible. Something evil." He glanced at Tulus. "Did any of the training program officers or border patrols mention to you that they actually cleared enemies from this area? Spiders maybe?" Spiders sometimes made it this far north before being discovered and they disturbed the trees greatly.

Tulus shook his head.

"There is something in the tall grass. Over there," Anastor interrupted again, still pointing east, but now waving his hand at something.

Legolas still ignored him. Anastor was undoubtedly seeing the Sixth Years. When they finally approached, Legolas would ask them to help determine what was wrong in this area.

"It looks like a package of some sort," Anastor continued. "Do you think it is part of the drill? Are we supposed to investigate it, do you think?"

That caused Legolas and Tulus both to look where Anastor was pointing. From his vantage point, Legolas saw nothing, but Tulus did lean forward in the tree, squinting at a tall patch of grass.

"And here come the Sixth Years," Anastor said, tensing slightly.

Legolas stepped in front of the tree for a better look at them. He hoped neither of them was Torthil or any of his friends. They were always so contrary. He doubted they would even listen to his concerns about the tension in the forest. When he finally saw the approaching elves, he frowned.

"Their tunics are blue! What was blue?" Anastor exclaimed in a panicked voice. "Black was enemies, green was elves, grey was dwarves and brown was men. I do not remember anything about blue. What was blue, Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head. "There was no blue," he answered without taking his gaze off the approaching elves. There were two of them, cantering towards them on horseback, wearing blue tunics. Dark blue.

"Do you think that they are supposed to be an unknown race? Like Hobbits? There was no color for Hobbits. Or maybe Wizards, like that Radagast or Mithrandir, who visit your adar? Do you think we are supposed to ask who they are?" Anastor spoke quickly and as he did, he hopped down to stand next to Legolas.

"I would prefer you both up here," Tulus said.

"Do you recognize them, Tulus?" Legolas asked and he found himself fingering the fletchings on the arrow in his hand. He took a deep, hopefully calming breath. These were still elves, after all.

"I do not. They are definitely not Sixth Years or part of this drill. I know all the scenarios. None of them involve elves dressed in blue or on horseback," Tulus replied.

"So they are truly foreign elves approaching the forest border then," Anastor concluded. "Wonder why they would be this far south of Esgaroth." He started forward to greet them.

"Anastor, wait..." Legolas and Tulus both called at once, but Anastor waved a hand at them without turning.

"Glilavan said I should take the lead, remember," he said with a smirk and he walked out of the shadows of the trees onto the plain. "Who are you and what is your business in the Woodland Realm," he called to the riders as they slowed their horses. "The road from Esgaroth--the Path through the forest--is half a day's travel north. Travelers are expected to stay on the path," he added. By the time he finished speaking, the riders were towering over him on their horses.

"Whatever this is, we should not let him sort it out alone," Legolas said over his shoulder to Tulus.

"Whatever this is, nothing about it feels right. Stay here and keep that arrow at hand," Tulus replied while descending swiftly from the tree.

Legolas drew a breath to protest. To remind Tulus that this was drill. A test of his judgment, not of his guard's. But then he shut his mouth without speaking. Tulus had already stated that these elves were not part of the exercise. That fact, combined with the increasing alarm he felt from the trees around him, meant that obeying his guard was the wisest judgment he could make.

"We are only travelers," the elves were responding as they hopped down off their horses. They both carried bows, still on their backs, and swords. "We are looking for someone in the forest."

"Whence do you come, what are your names and what are the names of the friends you seek?" Tulus demanded. He spoke in the commanding voice that Legolas rarely heard him use.

"Anastor Dannenion is one of the elves we seek," the nearest elf replied.

Anastor faced him with obvious confusion, looking him up and down as if doing so might help him recognize this unknown elf that had just called him by his full name.

Tulus froze in place and his hand fell to the hilt of his sword.

Legolas's brow furrowed. Whatever the meaning of this might be, those were elves, not men or dwarves.

"You are indeed Anastor Dannenion, then?" the elf asked.

Anastor nodded, still studying the elf with wide eyes.

Before Anastor--or Legolas--could even register what was happening, the elf that had spoken reached across Anastor, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him towards him while spinning him around. His spare hand drew a knife.

"Wha...?" was all Anastor managed before steel pressed against his neck, encouraging him to silence.

Tulus moved to intervene, but the second elf drew his own sword and blocked his path.

"Out of here and back to the camp. Now!" Tulus called to Legolas as he raised his sword.

Legolas shook himself to action in response to that command. He hesitated only momentarily, unwilling to abandon Anastor or Tulus, but his guard was right. Whatever business these elves...Elves!...had with Anastor, Legolas's presence only complicated matters exponentially. The best course of action--one that hopefully would prevent bloodshed--was to fetch the officers in the camp in order to put an end to this incident through threat of superior force. In fact...Legolas drew a breath to make the call of a screech owl, the signal the patrols used to announce the presence of danger. It would immediately draw all of his fellow First Years, Sixth Years, Glilavan and the other officers for certain, and if there were any of the Eastern Patrol in earshot, they would come as well.

Before he finished his breath, a twanging noise sounded from the shadows of the forest. Legolas automatically dodged closer to the nearest tree. In one swift motion, he nocked the arrow still in his hand, drew his bow and aimed in the direction of the noise. He had not yet found anything to target when Tulus loosed a pained cry. Legolas's gaze darted to him--his sword was dangling in his hand, his grip weakened by an arrow through his upper arm.

A tall, slender form emerged from amongst the trees. "Lower that bow, Legolas," a vaguely familiar voice commanded. "Or my next arrow will go through his chest."

Legolas struggled to suck in air. Demil!

"Get out of here, Legolas," Tulus called, his voice rough. The elf Tulus had been fighting was pulling his sword away from him. Tulus could offer little resistance. His uninjured hand was occupied with yanking the arrow from his arm, which he managed with a grunt. Then he pulled his knife.

"Everyone put down their weapons," Demil called again, "And, Legolas, do not even think of moving or making a sound, or I promise you Tulus will die first and then Anastor will. Lower your weapons, both of you, and no one need die today."

Legolas realized that he did indeed still have an arrow, on a fully drawn bowstring, aimed directly at Demil. His first instinct was to turn it away. But this was not any Elf. This was Demil, who, by his father's account, had willingly slain unarmed elleth and children in both Menegroth and Sirion. There was no reason to believe he would not make good the promise he just made and kill again--this time slaying Tulus and Anastor if Legolas obeyed his guard and ran. Legolas's heart began to race. This situation was deadly, but he was in a position--partially obscured by the tree, bow already drawn--to end it swiftly, if he had the courage.

"As bad as your adar, are you?" Demil taunted, when Legolas hesitated to lower his bow. "Well, consider this: You shoot me and my arrow will be released. Maybe it will hit Tulus, or maybe Tulus will be lucky and it will go wild. But I am not the only threat here. Are you fast enough to shoot two more elves before they slit Tulus and Anastor's throats?"

Legolas's gaze flicked to his guard and friend. The first elf still held a knife pressed to Anastor's throat. Blood already trickled down to Anastor's collar from the pressure of the blade. The second elf had not yet subdued Tulus, but they fought sword against knife. It was not a fight Tulus was likely to win. Even so, if Legolas surrendered, he was not so stupid as to believe Tulus would be allowed to live. Or that, ultimately, even he and Anastor would be allowed to live. At least not past their usefulness as bait to draw the King into whatever trap Demil and his associates were setting for him.

Every muscle in Legolas's body tensed at that thought.

The first course he and Galithil had taken in the training program was a course on surviving if taken prisoner. All the novice warriors took that course eventually, but Legolas and Galithil had received specialized instruction in it. Rule number one was: Do not get taken hostage. Thranduil himself had explained to them both, in mercilessly frank terms, that there were very few demands he would refuse if their lives were held in the balance. Then Hallion and Dolgailon had detailed--unnecessarily, since Legolas already understood it perfectly well--the impact it would have on the Woodland Realm if Thranduil were incapacitated by grief or threats. Legolas could not allow himself to be taken hostage. He had to end this.

Could he disable Demil and the other two elves fast enough to prevent Anastor and Tulus's deaths? Anastor's? Almost certainly not. A knife was already at his throat. Tulus's? Probably.

Legolas drew a breath and held it, as he always did while preparing to shoot. Then he looked at his target. He looked at Demil. His gaze flicked again to Anastor and Tulus, measuring the shots he must make next.

"Four elves? You will kill four elves today, Legolas?" Demil asked, his voice still taunting. "I say four because even if you do fancy yourself skilled enough shoot all three of us before I shoot you, you cannot think that you are fast enough to save your young friend Anastor. Are you willing to sacrifice him? To cut your losses? That is a bold move. Let us see if you have the stomach to watch him drown in his own blood. Go on. Release that arrow and let us see the skills that drove my lady to target you next. She says you are quite good with a bow."

A loud clanging sound made Legolas flinch and he glanced towards it. The elf fighting Tulus had just knocked the knife from his hands. Tulus backed swiftly out of range of his opponent's sword, reached for an arrow from his quiver and held it like a spear.

"No one dies today if you lower that bow, Legolas," Demil said softly.

Legolas looked back at him, sighting down the length of his arrow. Then he released the breath he was holding and lowered his bow. He could not do it. Even if he managed to disable all three of their attackers, he would watch Anastor die and that was something he could not do. There would surely be a better solution eventually.

"Wise decision," Demil said, stepping forward and turning his bow, still drawn, to fully target Legolas. "Now throw that bow, and the arrow too, into the forest as far as you can sling it."

Legolas obeyed.

"Stop, Tulus, or I will kill him here and now. You know I will not hesitate to do it."

Legolas was staring at Demil, but in his peripheral vision, he saw Tulus shift his stance enough to determine if the threat against Legolas was real. When he saw that it was, he straightened, dropped the arrow, and held his arms wide, hands open.

Legolas's full attention was drawn to Tulus when the elf behind him drew back his sword as if to run him through. Legolas tensed and called out a warning to his guard, but Tulus did not move. Legolas took a step towards him, reaching for his own sword, but when the elf reached Tulus, he only pushed him down with a vicious kick to the back of his knees.

"Stay exactly where you are, Legolas. And throw that sword and the knives on your belt and in your boot into the forest," Demil commanded.

Legolas did as he was told, watching while the elf that had fought Tulus held him in place with a boot on his back, ripped off his quiver and used its straps to bind his hands behind his back. Legolas could not hide his relief at that action. They would not take the time to restrain Tulus if they were going to kill him. After the elf efficiently bound and gagged Tulus, he moved to Anastor and repeated the process, removing and discarding his weapons, cutting his quiver from his back and binding his hands. Then he cut a sleeve off Anastor's tunic, tore it into two strips and used one to gag him and the other to bind his eyes. The elf that had held his knife at Anastor's throat pulled him to the horses. The other elf grabbed Tulus by the back of his collar and dragged him towards Demil.

Demil still had his arrow on Legolas.

Once Tulus lay at Demil's feet, the elf walked towards Legolas. Legolas did not move or resist as the elf stepped behind him, removed his quiver as he had Anastor's and roughly bound his hands behind his back. Once that was done, Demil lowered his bow and approached him, smiling.

The elf's knife knicked Legolas's arm as he cut off his sleeve.

"The smart thing to do, Legolas," Demil said, drawing his own knife and making a show of inspecting its intricately engraved blade, "would have been to take the advantage you had, since my bow was trained on Tulus, and pivot to shoot the enemy with the greatest advantage over you--the one holding your friend Anastor." His tone was like that of the training masters. "Always eliminate the strongest enemy first, if you can. If I had reacted logically, I would have been forced to attack you, rather than Tulus, before you turned back to me, so it would have been a contest between the two of us: who would be fastest to turn on the other. I would have had a slight advantage, since my arrow was already nocked, but I have heard you are a fast shot. You almost certainly could have gotten off an arrow at me before my shot hit you too. Tulus had a fighting chance against his opponent until you surrendered it. That would have been the tactically wisest solution to this situation."

Legolas remained silent. Demil was right. That would have been the best solution, but Legolas had not thought of it. He had little time to lament that error. Demil raised his knife and held it against the side of Legolas's neck, below his ear.

Legolas tensed. Somehow, the thought of his own, immediate death had not occurred to him yet.

Demil drew the knife, but Legolas barely felt it and when Demil stepped back he was laughing.

"I am not going to kill you, Legolas. I gave you my word. No one dies today because you surrendered peacefully. You can credit yourself with saving at least Tulus's life. I would have certainly killed that traitorous worm. But I will content myself with the fact that he can deliver news back to Thranduil that he allowed you to be captured. By me. Thranduil will kill him, so the end is the same. But you and your friend Anastor. No, you will not die today. There are still far too many uses to make of you."

Demil took the knife and drew it across Legolas's sleeveless arm. This time Legolas did wince away automatically. Demil cut him deeply enough that blood quickly soaked the sleeve of his undershirt and oozed down to his wrist and hand.

"I did not promise to leave you uninjured," Demil said. He dragged something soft across Legolas's arm, through the blood and then stepped back and held it up. It was a clump of now bloody, golden hair. Demil reached into his tunic with his free hand and pulled out a paper. It had writing on it. A letter, Legolas realized as Demil unfolded it, tucked the hair into it and refolded it. A letter to the King, no doubt.

Legolas might have saved Anastor's life, or Tulus's, but he had forfeited his father's if he could not get himself out of this and quickly.

The elf behind him shoved a bit of tunic sleeve into Legolas's mouth before he could clench his jaw. A strip of cloth swiftly followed, tightening across his mouth. Another was tied over his eyes.

A hand gripped Legolas's arm right over the cut. The gag stifled his involuntarily cry of surprise and pain.

"Take Tulus out of sight into the forest and secure him to a tree," Demil ordered, his voice inches from Legolas's ear as he pulled him away. "And pin this letter to him." Demil loosed a quiet laugh. "Use an arrow, if you like."

In the gap at the bottom of his blindfold, Legolas saw the letter and then an arrow with a silver shaft and blue fletchings pass between Demil and the other elf.

Then Legolas was pulled, stumbling sightlessly through the tall grass, towards the horses. They stopped briefly next to one--Legolas could smell it. There was a shuffling of elven feet and horse hooves as Demil mounted. Then Legolas was half pulled, half hoisted across the saddle in front of Demil like a sack of trade goods. He grunted as the air was knocked out of him.

"We ride," Demil ordered, and the horse leapt forward. Legolas was prevented from falling off it by Demil's rough grasp on his bound hands.

*~*~*

Thranduil lifted his wine goblet and focused intently on the swirling, red liquid and the bloom of flavor it delivered. He felt unsettled. Tense.

The family sitting room was silent and nearly empty. Galithil sat in one corner of it, a book in his lap. Thranduil had never, once, seen his nephew read for pleasure. Dolgailon sat near him. He was studying the tapestry hanging on the sitting room wall as if he had never noticed it, despite the fact that it had hung in that precise spot for Dolgailon's entire life.

At least his nephews were making a pretense of keeping Thranduil company. Celonhael herded his family straight to the Green immediately after dinner, observing that the evening meal had been sufficiently oppressive. Golwon made it as far as the sitting room, but excused himself, his wife and daughter before any of them had even poured themselves wine. Even Hallion claimed he had paperwork to attend to in the Great Hall. It would serve him right if Thranduil followed him there.

Lindomiel's absence he could forgive. She was distracting herself in her workshop, working on cloth that would be used for new cloaks for Legolas, Galithil and Berior this winter. Of course, it was only late summer, but Thranduil did not begrudge Lindomiel's need for distraction. Pity no one in his family respected his.

"Honestly, Thranduil," Engwe exclaimed. His voice sounded like a scolding jay. "If you were going to worry and fuss like this, why did you give Legolas permission to join the training program? He is under age. He must have your permission to participate. Simply withdraw it. And if you will not, at least have the courtesy to stew in solitude, so that the rest of us might enjoy our evening."

Thranduil turned his gaze from his wine to his uncle.

"There are many places you are free to remove yourself to, the better entertain yourself, Uncle Engwe," Galithil said before Thranduil could think of a sufficiently scathing reply. "You might be wise to seek the safety of one of them, rather than further interfering with the decisions the King makes regarding his own son's duties to the realm we all serve."

Engwe's back stiffened and his gaze flashed to Galithil. "I will not tolerate being spoken to in that manner."

Dolgailon's expression hardened, glaring at Engwe, and he drew a breath to speak--whether to tell Galithil or, more likely, Engwe to be silent, Thranduil would never know, because Galithil did not hesitate to answer his uncle himself. "Yet you expect the King to tolerate the way you speak to him. He has every right to be worried about Legolas. What parent would not worry when their child goes on his first patrol? But the King has no right to refuse his son the training everyone else's children take, and you know that. If you cannot be supportive, be silent. If you cannot be silent, be gone."

Engwe stood, back even straighter than it had been while he was sitting. His chest puffed out in a threatening manner that was completely ruined by the fact that his mouth opened and closed, emitting only unintelligible puffing noises.

Galithil remained seated, scowling at him and shaking his head.

Thranduil could not deny that Galithil had managed to provide a highly entertaining distraction, better than any he might have imagined only moments before. Even if it was one that he could not allow to continue. "Galithil, mind your tone when speaking to your Uncle Engwe," he said quietly.

Engwe's puffing turned on Thranduil, obviously appalled at the mild correction.

"Yes, Uncle Thranduil," Galithil replied, not bothering to sound even slightly repentant.

Thranduil struggled not to laugh at that. "And you heed Galithil's warning," he said, facing Engwe. "I am in absolutely no mood for your bile tonight."

Engwe glared at Thranduil a long moment. "By your leave then," he said, deigning to offer Thranduil a bow before departing the sitting room without waiting for Thranduil's leave to do so.

No matter. Thranduil would have given it gladly. Of all the members of the family whose company he might wish for tonight, Engwe's was the least comforting, for obvious reasons.

"It is not even a patrol," Dolgailon said softly, as Thranduil watched Engwe stalk away. "It is a completely structured, scripted exam. The officers of the training program carefully planned who the First Years will meet along the border, where they will meet them, and how the encounters will play out. And you do know that everyone involved is elves, do you not? We clearly cannot enlist real Men or Dwarves--and certainly not Orcs--for this exercise."

"And do not forget that the Eastern patrol was informed that Legolas is at the border with the First Years, so they have tightened security there even more than they normally would for the Training Program's drills," Galithil added.

"This is indeed a very safe exercise, my lord," Dolgailon agreed. "Glilavan even told me that he intended to take part in the exam personally, since Legolas was in this group."

Thranduil's mood had been lightening in response to Dolgailon and Galithil's reassurances. Indeed, he had even begun to feel slightly foolish. Galithil had done this same drill last year, after all, and had come through it unscathed, earning fairly high praise for his reactions to some of the scenarios he faced. Legolas would certainly do the same. But Dolgailon's last statement returned the scowl to Thranduil's face.

"If you expected that Glilavan's presence would put my mind at ease, you were gravely mistaken," he said, looking at Dolgailon sidelong.

Both Dolgailon and Galithil fought to maintain respectful expressions.

Neither had the opportunity to reply before the outer door to the family quarters opened.

"Where is the King?" a breathless voice demanded of the guard at the door.

Thranduil frowned and stood, facing the sitting room door, as the guard instructed the new arrival to follow him. A warrior appeared at the threshold of the room. He was sweaty, disheveled, even still breathing hard. He glanced around the room, noticed Dolgailon and gave him a slight nod, but the moment his gaze fell on the King, he advanced towards him and began speaking without any courtesy what-so-ever.

"Glilavan is returning with the rest of the First and Sixth Years," he began. "But because he travels necessarily slower with all of them, my captain sent me ahead, to the stronghold, with this."

He shook a fist clenched around a piece of paper.

"We are not certain, exactly what happened," he continued, without offering the paper to the King. Thranduil eyed it, his breathing already coming with nearly as much difficulty as the warrior's. "Tulus did not wait to give us too many details before leaving. He did not want to take the time...he needed to catch up to them.... He ordered us--my fellow warriors and I--not to come with him and my lieutenant agreed. Tulus said he would mark an easy trail to follow, but he did not want to attract too much attention to the pursuit...to do anything to scare anyone into...doing something stupid. But he made me promise to assure you right away that he had pursued them himself."

Galithil and Dolgailon were looking between the warrior, the paper in his hands and Thranduil with no effort to control their expressions.

"Get to the point, Boril," Dolgailon ordered, his tone sharp.

The warrior's gaze flashed towards him. "Sorry, my lord," he replied. "Someone took Legolas. And Anastor. I thought I understood Tulus to say that it was elves, but I must have been mistaken." He shook the paper in his fist again, still without surrendering it. "We found Tulus, tied to a tree, with this...this was...stuck to him. An arrow...stuck to him on an arrow...through his shoulder...." The warrior handed the crumpled note to Thranduil.

Thranduil took the paper. The back of it was facing him and it was badly bloodied. He quickly turned it over and pulled it open, unable to stifle a gasp in response to the contents of the letter--a strand of hair, obviously Legolas's, stiffened with dried blood. And the note itself. It simply said: ‘Áva tinta ormë ilfirin óressë!’

The warrior retrieved a silver arrow with blue fletchings from his quiver. "Tulus told me to give you this also, my lord. It is the arrow that the note...the one from his shoulder. He said you would recognize it."

Thranduil did not take the arrow. Instead, he looked at the guard at the door. "Bring me Conuion," he whispered.

*~*~*

‘Áva tinta ormë ilfirin óressë!’ -- Do not kindle anger in an immortal heart.