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Chapter Text

Among elves, there was a special connection to your one that existed as a tether to another’s heart. This connection was forged of heart stone, its roots grown into your very soul. Naturally, this existence could be felt between the joined. In effect, the death of your One, was one of the most painful things an elf could endure.

Many elves come upon this death beside their loved One, having already found them. But such was not the case for Legolas Thranduilion, the little Greenleaf of Mirkwood. No, he had a far crueler fate in store.

…

Legolas was the youngest elf in Mirkwood by a longshot. The only child remotely comparable being Tauriel, who was 700 years old. Legolas was only 156. Young elves were a rare occurrence in the third age, it seemed.

By the time Legolas turned 100, he was already an excellent archer, though he was not yet allowed to join patrols or spider hunts. His Naneth and Adar were immensely proud of their son’s dedication to his practice, as well as his natural skill for archery. It was clear he had the makings of a great warrior. Legolas had once felt a gentle tug at his bond when he thought of his future as a warrior.

‘This must mean my One is a warrior too..!’ Legolas realized with excitement. When he told his mother of this, she smiled so warmly and pulled her son into a joyful embrace.

“Perhaps you will meet on patrol together someday, wouldn’t that be lovely?” His Naneth remarked happily, gently petting Legolas’s pale golden hair.

“Yes! And we’ll kill all the spiders! Just you wait and see Nana!” Legolas proclaimed, a proud look beaming on his lung features. His mother’s laugh was boystrous and beautiful as she regarded her son with great affection.

“Yes, I am sure you will!” She smiled, and Legolas mimicked it. He was her spitting image after all.

…

One midsummer’s morning, Legolas awoke to an achy feeling in his chest. He rubbed the area sorely, wondering what could be the cause. It was very minor, and easily ignorable, but it was strange indeed. Legolas shook his head and cleared his mind of it, getting ready for another day as crown prince of Eryn Galen.

Once he had tugged on his tunic, leggings, and boots, Legolas strode confidently from his room. The pain in his chest worsened as he moved, but still it was only an inconvenience. He need not worry. In the dining hall, Ada and Naneth were waiting for him, plates already at their places.

“Ah, good morning my son.” Greeted Thranduil in his perfectly even voice. Legolas returned the greeting, smiling when he caught his mother’s green eyes.

“We waited for you.” Naneth beamed at him a smile that he shared, cheeks and all. Lord Thranduil enjoyed their similarity, though he wondered if Legolas would inherit his short temper, or his Naneth’s level headed disposition.

Legolas sat down, bowing his head to his parents in respect. They continued the conversation they had been having in his absence.

“- They just keep coming, honestly I should be out there.” The Queen shook her head, her crown of elderberry branches swaying slightly. “As Queen, I should be spearheading this effort.” Her voice was level and calm, but she had that determined fire in her eyes that everyone in her life knew not to mess with.

“As the Queen, you give our people strength just by being here; leading them. To put yourself in unnecessary danger would do our kingdom no benefit.” Thranduil disagreed, his shoulders tense.

It had ever been the one thing his parents could never agree on. The Queen often led patrols around the kingdom and joined spider hunts, believing it her sacred duty to her people. She was a Silvan elf, so naturally she had a stronger connection to the trees. The people of Eryn Galen were in awe of their courageous queen, and she was ever a source of inspiration and comfort to them. But king Thranduil would rather not risk his family, who had very important, irreplaceable roles as royals, when there were soldiers aplenty to do that work for them. Of course he cared about the efforts! Thranduil made sure that all weapons, armor, and medical treatment distributed among his soldiers was the very best any could offer. They rarely lost one as a result.

“Danger can hardly be considered unnecessary when you send my people to confront it. I am their Queen, yes, but I should be their protector as well.” She urged, pushing a strand of ash blond hair behind her ear. Legolas watched the exchange with little interest, more invested in eating his breakfast.

His parents had this argument many times over, and always it ended the same. The King expressed his opinion and told the Queen to kindly NOT go on any more patrols. The Queen, meanwhile, frowned but nodded solemnly. The very next morning, she’d be off to hunt spiders again and be back before breakfast. Legolas found the exchange amusing, often giggling behind his hand when his Naneth returned home with a triumphant gleam, still clad in a chest plate and gauntlets. Truly, it was his Ada’s expression of exasperation that made it so comical.

“You know I take EVERY precaution-“ The voice of his father faded from his ears, as the drumming of his heart was far louder. Legolas winced as the ache of his chest jumped from mildly uncomfortable, to heavily painful. He could feel his heartbeat throb in his fingers, and a cold sweat broke over him. He shuddered, eyes growing hazy as tears pricked at the edges.

“Legolas?” His Nana got up from her seat and stood above him, taking his hand and holding it gently. He could not see her look of concern, for his eyes were swimming with tears.

“Legolas, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” Thranduil’s voice was far more urgent than Naneth’s, and immediately he too was up from his seat and by Legolas’s side.

“I-“ Legolas tried to speak but his throat closed down on his attempt. A stab of lightning struck, a flaming blade plunged through his heart caused Legolas to shriek in pain. His parents jumped and looked on in horror as their little Greenleaf began to cry with anguish and despair, agony clawing at his chest. His Ada’s panic for his son was such that he immediately called for a healer, his voice holding more emotion than ever had been heard by his servants. Nuadu was fetched and he knelt beside the writhing prince, but he soon discovered there was nothing he, nor anyone else for that matter, could do.

Per Nuadu’s instruction, Legolas was rushed to his room and laid down, hoping that perhaps the comfort of his bed would ease his pain. But no such luck would befall him this hour. Legolas struggled fitfully amongst his covers, his limbs growing weaker by the second. He felt drained, so drained. Was he fading? His eyes snapped open, icy green irises darting around the room in panic as his breaths became sharp and shallow. His parents’ concerned faces loomed over him, and he longed for their image to be clear in his clouded eyes.

“Don’t let me fade” he whispered desperately, tears streaming down both sides of his face and wetting the soft pillow beneath his head. Thranduil’s face crumpled and he pressed his forehead to his son’s chest.

“You’re not fading Legolas, we won’t let you fade.” His mother’s voice whispered beside him. The notion was ridiculous, for an elf so young as he to even be wary of fading- it was impossible! And yet- Legolas sobbed, his strength leaving him at last. His limbs fell limp and his head lolled back onto his pillow, heavy breath tearing itself from his chest. He felt as though he’d just run for three days straight without stopping for rest. But finally, he felt the intense pain in his chest begin to dull. The ache remained, and he still felt heavy, but the firey torture subsided, and he found he could take deeper, shuddering breaths.

“Legolas?” His father called to him and Legolas could do little more than whine in response. Thranduil turned to the still present healer, his pale blue eyes searching for hope.

“Is it as we fear?” Was his simple question. The Queen’s head snapped up in attention, desperate to know the answer as well. Nuadu tipped his head in solemn condolences.

“I’m afraid so, your majesty.” He looked truly sorrowful for the young prince and his parents. Thranduil’s eyes darkened as he turned away, grief for his son’s loss being levied against his relief that Legolas was not in serious danger. The Queen kissed Legolas’s poor forehead lovingly, her heart clenching for him. She remembered when her mother had gone through the same pain, though she had been much older. Legolas was so young, he could not possibly wether this burden well. The pain had left him motionless in bed, whereas a fully grown elf would simply have clutched their heart and cried with grief.

This was the pain an elf felt when their One died. For elves, this only ever meant tragedy, for no natural death would ever part lovers of elven blood. But for Legolas, one so young as him, it was especially cruel. He would never know his One, nor would he know whom his heart ached endlessly for. Elves who lost their One prior to meeting them were at greater risk of fading, and quickly too. And for a prince not even of age yet, fading would be a tremendous blow to the entire kingdom. He was the heir, the only heir.

Thranduil’s grief became rage. How could the Valar be so endlessly cruel? Had Eryn Galen not suffered enough in the throes of Orc infestation and Spider attacks?? Now they must lose their prince’s happiness as well?? Who sought to cause such pain? Who in the halls of Valinor, high above these mortal shores, sought to destroy the Greenwood so zealously?! And what had the royal family done to incur their wrath?

…

Legolas, once the playful young prince of Eryn Galen, became the melancholic prince of Mirkwood. He was kind and gentle like the Queen, but he harbored a sadness within him now that seemed to blanket all other emotions. His beautiful smile never reached his eyes anymore, and oh how the King and Queen lamented such a loss. But he was still their son, their bright and wonderful young son.

After the incident, Legolas became oddly more interested in performing his duties as prince. He took on administrative roles and focused even more so on his training. Thranduil’s captain of the guard expressed his astonishment at the young elf’s progress, claiming he could join the guard early with a skill such as his. Indeed he had honed it, and young Greenleaf was now considered by many to be the best archer in the kingdom.

Once again, his parents were endlessly proud of him. But they were also concerned. Every morning, Thranduil half expected his son to come to breakfast with his skin translucent to the light of dawn. Though his body had not yet begun to fade, all that resided within the palace knew that his spirit had. His soul flickered like a flame on a windy day, and the rulers or Mirkwood were now forced to consider that their son may never inherit the throne.

One night, after a particularly sad day for Legolas, which was the anniversary of his One’s passing, the King and Queen knew they could delay no longer.

“If he fades, there will be no one left to the throne. We cannot let this come to pass.” Thranduil was regretful to regard his son as a fragile, passing being. But for the good of the kingdom and its subjects, precautions had to be taken.

“It’s unfair to him. How can we consider a spare when he fades before our eyes and we do nothing?!” The Queen cried quietly, careful not to disturb the night even in her grief.

“There is nothing we can do. There is no cure for this, you know that.” Thranduil took his wife into his arms, curling around her like a shield. She shuddered, leaning into her husband for comfort. Beneath his stony exterior, however, she knew that Thranduil was a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. He needed her comfort just as much as she needed his.

“I don’t feel good about bringing a child into the world just as Legolas’s replacement.” The Queen shook her head, hands grasping the fabric of her husband’s cape.

“Not a replacement. Nay, they’ll be a companion. Perhaps a sibling will bring joy to his life and ease his grief.” Thranduil considered in a rare bout of optimism. The Queen straightened at that, her deep emerald eyes staring up at Thranduil like he hung the stars.

“I hadn’t considered.. Yes, a sibling would do him good! We shall bring them into the world not of desperation and necessity, but of joy and hope for the future.” Suddenly, the Queen’s face was once again alight with happiness as it had been before their loss was sustained. A child, a child would be their hope!

…

A little brother had taken Legolas by surprise, his Nana’s pregnancy sprung upon the kingdom suddenly. The realm rejoiced, the thought of a newborn warming the hearts of all. Legolas admitted he was excited and curious to meet the little one, despite the fact that he knew they would be his replacement. He was not ignorant to his fate, nor the needs of his people. If he could not be depended upon to serve as the heir to his Mother and Father’s throne, then there must be another. He wasn’t upset. Quite the opposite in fact, he was relieved. The self loathing he had developed knowing that he would fail his parents had become so heavy and burdensome. Now that he knew his place would be taken by another, he could let go of his guilt.

Still, he could not help feeling to blame. He wished he could take his place someday, but he knew he was fading.

One spring morning, Legolas had awoken to his fingers feeling numb. At first, he thought it might be the cold weather, as strange as it was for a little frost to affect a wood elf. But he soon discovered, via a long, horrified stare, that the morning’s light passed right through his hands. He was 800 years old now, and already his hröa was being consumed by the grief of his soul.

That morning, he was even more solemn than usual, and wore long sleeves to hide his hands. His father frequently wore such clothes, so he hoped it would go unnoticed. But of course, he could not fool his parents, nor could he lie to his Nana when she asked him why he looked so upset that morning.

Upon questioning, he tried to remain calm, and promised his parents an explanation. But as he neared the truth, he lost his composure and began to weep bitterly.

“I’m sorry Nana, Ada. I’ll never be the heir you wanted me to be.” Legolas cried, cold heartbreak given form as tears that pooled in his eyes. His mother and father looked as grief stricken as he felt, but they shook their heads at his words.

“No, Penneth. You are everything we ever dreamed you would be.” His Nana spoke gently, cupping his face and kissing his cheeks.

“Ion-nin, do not despair.” Thranduil held a supportive hand on Legolas’s shoulder.

“You have grown so much, my little Greenleaf. Look at all that you have accomplished!” The Queen urged her son lovingly.

“You are the most skillful archer our little kingdom has ever seen, and you are beloved by all our people. No prince has ever been so worthy of his people’s love.” She assured him, brushing his long hair out of his face.

“You are the youngest elf to join the royal guard since your grandfather started it. And who could forget the time you saved Tauriel and her squad from that Orc ambush?” Thranduil pitched in, smiling sadly at his son.

“Do not discount yourself Ion-nin, do not forget your worth.” The Queen took Legolas in a tight hug, hoping her embrace would warm her son’s waning form. The last of the prince’s tears fell away as he returned his mother’s embrace, burying his head into her flowing silver gown. Thranduil swept up from beside them, completing their huddle as a family. Legolas laid a hand on his Naneth’s distended belly, feeling the tiny heartbeat within.

“You are so loved, my little Greenleaf.”

…

In his Mother’s garden, Legolas watched his little brother dance around, bouncing on unstable legs. Legolas kept watch over him, and never failed to catch him when he lost his balance. Laegeûl, now the youngest elf in all middle earth, was a child of light and joy. He had the same crystal green eyes as his older brother, but he retained the fire within them from his mother. As was his namesake, Greenfire.

Legolas found himself somewhat enraptured by his younger brother, and he was ever by his side. Their Naneth and Adar sat on the garden bench, watching their children play together. Laegeûl tripped amidst a leaf pile and Legolas swept him up into his arms before the toddling child could fall into a puddle. He giggled gleefully and pulled at Legolas’s long hair, which was a paler shade than his. The Queen chuckled fondly at her sons, realizing that this was the happiest she had seen Legolas in centuries.

“He’s happy.” She whispered throatily, her eyes misty. Thranduil let out a sigh of relief and pulled his wife towards him, letting her drop her head onto his shoulder. There in the early spring, the royal family of Greenwood breathed easy. This was known as the happiest century of Eryn Galen for all who lived there.

Unfortunately, it only lasted a century.

…

Chapter Text

In the flurry of sheer panic, Laegeûl tripped on a stone and scraped his palms against the winter forest floor. Tears burned at his eyes as he got back up and continued running, leaves falling behind him to cover his tracks. The trees called for him, urging the little leaf to run for the palace. It wasn’t safe. But the palace was so far away, and Laegeûl’s composure was failing him.

So young, at 100 years old, he was only a small child. He could not run endlessly like the hunters or shoot perfectly like his muindor. The slingshot in his pocket was for practicing his aim and pranking Legolas, not fighting off Orcs and spiders.

It had been a hunting trip, nothing more. The winter was beautiful, his Adar’s favorite season. The Queen had taken Laegeûl to see how the hunters caught rabbits and stoats. Riding atop his Naneth’s white elk, he felt safe. And he was safe. Until one of the hunters fell silently, a black arrow shaft lodged in his chest. The Queen immediately yanked on the reigns of her steed and pulled an arrow from her hip quiver, letting it fly as soon as she found her target. The peaceful forest erupted with a sudden surge of Orcs and Laegeûl screamed.

He had never seen an Orc before, but he had heard stories. Many from his brother, less so from his mother and father who did not wish to scare him. But he was scared now.

“My Queen! You must return to the palace!” Cried a dark haired elf when he realized that their group was severely outnumbered. In Mirkwood, hunting parties and patrols were always rather large so that they would never be outnumbered. But now they faced the largest company of Orcs this far north of their borders. Never had such a band of Orcs encroached upon Eryn Galen so close to the palace as this. It was unheard of and it should have been impossible. But the sight before their eyes was real as it was terrible.

“I cannot leave you!!” The Queen cried defiantly as she shot arrow after arrow into the hearts of Orcs. If they had those, that is. The conflict could be heard in her voice, and she knew her son was in mortal danger by being here. But how could she abandon her warriors??

“The prince isn’t safe here, M’lady, you must bring reinforcements!!” The ellon urged desperately, his amber eyes pleading. The Queen inhaled deeply and made her decision.

“Are you not sons and daughters of the realm as my son is? I shall not leave you!” Her word was final and her voice was strong. She was so fiercely devoted to her people, she could not fathom their demise. Not without her by their side at least.

“Protect the Queen!” Several elves shouted and soon, there was a ring of hunters around the royals.

“Limhír! To me!” The Queen beckoned to a faron with ebony hair. The gwenn rushed forward, head held high with her knives at her side.

“Yes, my Queen.” She stood at attention after a curt bow. The Queen shot off another round of arrows into the tumultuous wood.

“Take the prince and make for the palace!” She shouted over the din of fighting. All around, Orcs and Elves shrieked and screamed as blood was shed. Laegeûl’s fearful eyes snapped up to his mother, his frame trembling.

“Naneth?” Came his petrified whisper. The Hunter his mother was addressing seemed lost for words, her dark eyes hesitant.

“Go now! Get my son to safety and alert the guard! We are besieged!” The Queen barked authoritatively, her emerald eyes alight with fire. The huntress nodded and quickly grabbed hold of the young prince, internally apologizing for treating the prince so roughly as the situation demanded. Laegeûl cried and squirmed in Limhír’s arms.

“No! No, Naneth!! Let me go!! Nana, please!!” Laegeûl wailed, reaching out for his mother as her Elk surged forward and he was swept away by unfamiliar arms.

The Queen looked back, tears unshed in her fiery eyes.

“Run little leaf, I love you.”

…

Thranduil had been in conference with the captains of his guard (Legolas now among them), when the doors to the palace were thrown open and the wind came shrieking in. The hollowed out chambers of stone howled as frost and fallen leaves were whisked inside. The heads of all present snapped up to see Laegeûl, bloodied and battered, standing on the threshold with pain in his eyes and fear in his heart. Legolas lurched forward, flying to his brother’s side.

“Muindor! Ada!” The littlest prince sobbed, fat tears rolling down his ruddy cheeks. Legolas had him in his arms immediately, wiping away the dirt on his chin.

“Honeg, what happened to you??” Legolas tried to calm his brother, but Laegeûl was nearly hyperventilating at this point. He was exhausted from running, in pain from various little cuts and bruises on his little body, and no doubt scared half to death by whatever it was that had happened.

“Where is your Mother?” Thranduil’s blood ran cold as he recalled his wife mentioning going on a hunt. She had taken Laegeûl with her!??

“She- Orcs! E-everywhere!! She couldn’t-!!” Laegeûl stammered with horror, but as soon as the word “Orcs” left his mouth, the entire room burst into movement. Thranduil barked out orders like war was being waged and suddenly a hoarde of warriors streamed into the throne room. More soldiers than the youngest prince ever seen filed into the room. Waepons of every caliber from the longest mace to the smallest knives passed him by, heavy metal grieves clanking noisily.

“Where were they, Honeg?” Legolas asked gently, taking Laegeûl’s trembling hands in his own.

“By- by the pond. The one that f-faces the north boarder.” He shook, gasping for breath. Legolas remained still, his gentle voice calm and soft. He was the eye of the storm for Laegeûl, remaining steadfast as ever. The older prince relayed this information to their Adar, who had been ready to storm the entire forest if it meant finding the Queen.

“How did you get hurt?” Legolas kept Laegeûl’s attention as sparkling spears of silver and bows of oak rushed past, armor and arrows rattling loudly in his ears. Laegeûl covered his ears and screwed his eyes shut, trying desperately to drown out the horrible noise. A shadow hovered over Laegeûl’s form as the sounds of marching carried on.

“Legolas, stay with Laegeûl. Protect the castle.” Thranduil commanded, mounting his elk steed and wrapping his fist around the reins. There was a deadly gleam in his eye.

“But Ada-“ Legolas began to protest, but his father would hear not a word of it.

“Tend to your brother and see that the palace is safe until I return with the Queen.” King Thranduil was adamant, his word final. With the flick of his hand, he and an entire company of armed soldiers swept out of the the hall, marching after Thranduil’s galloping elk.

Legolas slumped, watching the last of his Adar’s warriors file out into the frosty air. The twin doors shut with a great slam, and suddenly the princes were alone.

…

Silence had never been so loud as on that day.

“Come, Honeg-nin, let’s see to those scrapes. I’m sure Nuadu has something for it.” Legolas led Laegeûl by the hand up the winding stone staircase and through the palace halls. Laegeûl stumbled along, eyes wide and pupils sharp. He was no doubt in shock and when he turned around to look back at the throne room, a whimper escaped his throat.

“Laegeûl?” Legolas paused, crouching down to his brother’s level.

“Where’s Limhír?” The littlest prince’s voice was so small and afraid that it wavered. Legolas looked back at where Laegeûl’s eyes were pinned, finding no trace of Limhír.

“S-she was right behind me!!” Laegeûl was near hysterics as he cried, looking up at Legolas with despair. Legolas frowned but didn’t let his sadness show through. If Limhír had been behind the prince as they fled the Orcs, then she was no doubt already dead. Especially if the band of Orcs was as big as Laegeûl said.

“Don’t worry Honeg, Ada’s going to save everyone right now.” Legolas smiled reassuringly, putting his hands on Laegeûl’s shoulders. Laegeûl looked up at his brother like he was the strongest being in the universe.

“What about Naneth?” The little leaf whimpered, clinging to Legolas’s tunic. Legolas smiled and pulled the little prince into his arms as he stood and continued walking up the stairs.

“Naneth is the strongest elf in this forest, did you know?” He whispered playfully as if it were a secret. Laegeûl’s eyes widened again, not of horror or trauma this time, but of innocent wonder.

“Really!?” He breathed. Legolas nodded, walking down the hall to the healer’s room.

“Yes, but you can’t tell anybody because then Ada would get jealous.” Legolas tutted, nodding his head solemnly as though it were a serious matter.

“So Ada is the second strongest?” Laegeûl wondered aloud, wrapping his arms around Legolas’s neck. Legolas nodded and opened the door to Nestor’s room.

“Nuadu, have you got anything for scrapes?” Legolas asked the dark haired ellon, setting Laegeûl down on a bed. He tried to let go and move away but Laegeûl kept a firm hold on Legolas’s tunic.

“Who is the third strongest?” His little voice just barely reached Legolas’s ears. Legolas paused, thinking for a moment. Behind him, Nuadu was hurriedly preparing medical kits and checking his stockpile of Athelas for the inevitable influx of injured they were about to receive.

“I’d say Tauriel is the third strongest in our wood.” Legolas’s eyes flicked up and to the right in thought. She had been made a captain a couple hundred years before Legolas, and she was known for being extremely fast. That, combined with her twin knives (not to mention a dab hand at archery) and even sharper eyes, many would agree with Legolas in his statement. Laegeûl seemed to disagree however, as he shook his head vehemently and cried:

“But you saved her! She can’t be stronger than you!” His youthful face was distraught at the very notion and Legolas found himself surprised. Did it truly matter to him so much?

“Yes, but one doesn’t have to be stronger than someone to save them.” Legolas informed, shifting slightly to the left so that Nestor could wipe down Laegeûl’s wounds. The little prince winced as the cool cloth rubbed at his cuts and abrasions.

“Just like Adar is off to save Naneth right now.” Legolas smiled through his worry, putting on a brave face for his little brother.

“Prince Legolas, we’ve started receiving injured-“ one of Nuadu’s assistants murmured breathlessly, looking as though she’d just been punched in the gut and ran up a flight of stairs. Legolas stood immediately, the sight of a Hunter from the Queen’s company being dragged in with several arrows stuck in his shoulder was que enough for him to leave. He didn’t want Laegeûl to see the following carnage, and the healers would need all the space they got get.

Laegeûl staggered, trying to peer at the injured ellon beyond his brother’s shielding body. He got a glimpse of the scene, nothing more than a flash of sticky crimson blood clotting around poisoned arrows. It was enough, and Laegeûl felt his knees go weak. Legolas scooped him up once again, but this time kept his head cradled lower so that he could not see over his shoulder.

“Muindor” came the sniffle.

“Will Nana be okay?” Laegeûl needed to know, despite his absolute faith in his mother. Legolas remained silent for a moment, whisking his brother off to his quarters.

“We’ll see Nana again. No matter what happens.” Legolas chose his words carefully. He too, had complete faith in his mother, but this attack was far more serious than others they’d had in the past. Just as Legolas was about to open the door to his room and shuffle in, an urgent voice called out to him.

“Caun-nin! Legolas!” The prince’s ears twitched and he set his brother down.

“Tauriel.” Legolas breathed with relief to see her alright.

“What are you doing back?” He glanced over her shoulder, knowing it was foolish to hope that his Mother or Father would be there.

“We defeated the Orcs quickly once we got there, but all of the Queen’s company were injured. So, the King sent my company back to care for the wounded and protect the castle.” Tauriel explained with a flick of her long red hair.

“And.. what of the Queen?” Legolas leaned forward, eyes expectant and hopeful. Tauriel frowned.

“She’s g-“ Tauriel began, but caught sight of Laegeûl hugging Legolas’s leg and broke off.

“Going with the King to make sure the Orcs don’t come back. Thranduil will return once they’re done.” Tauriel lied, guilt creeping into her eyes. A stone of dread dropped into Legolas’s stomach. He knew the true meaning behind Tauriel’s words. The Queen was captured, and Thranduil was racing off to get her back. If his mother had been captured, then there was only one place he could think of that those Delorcion scum would take her. Dol Guldur, home of the Orcs and kingdom under the Witch King. Elves had been taken there before, but they never returned. Not as elves anyway, but as dark and twisted versions of what they once were, their feä broken and distorted.

Before he let his thoughts spiral any further, he recalled the urgent tone of Tauriel’s voice. She had come here to tell him something, she needed something from him.

“The King and Queen-“ were both away, and Legolas realized that the kingdom had never been this vulnerable before. Tauriel’s dark and serious expression told Legolas that she understood exactly how dire the situation was.

“Set a perimeter around the north side of our border. Inform the guards around the nearest villages to be on alert for Orc attacks. No one leaves the realm until the King… and Queen have returned.” Legolas shot a quick glance down at his Honneg and was met with wide green eyes full of tears. Best to keep up the ruse until Ada came home… if he came home.

“And the wounded?” Tauriel asked, stealing Legolas’s attention once again. He raised an eyebrow. What about the wounded? They were being treated by Nuadu and the palace healers, no?

“There are too many to fit in the healer’s wing and not enough trained to treat them.” Tauriel relayed, taking a step forward as Legolas had done before. She spoke in a hushed voice as though she did not want the other servants to hear the news. No need to cause undue panic (although it was very much warranted in this case).

“And the Athelas supply?” Legolas’s anxiety spiked. They were in the dead of winter. If they did not have enough Athelas to treat Orcish poisons-

“The stores are well stocked Legolas, the problem is the healers. There aren’t enough!” She reiterated, a strand of red hair falling in her face.

“We can take up more rooms of the castle- use the barracks! As for the healers, send for anyone in the nearest village who can do the job. Prioritize those who are poisoned by a Morgul blade.” Legolas rattled off his list of solutions, his eyes tracing the ceiling as he thought. Tauriel nodded, a proud smile slipping onto her lips.

“Yes, my Prince.” She intoned and turned to speed off towards the healing wing, but a hand in the crook of her elbow stopped her.

“Tauriel” Legolas called her name with all the peace he could muster, his pale eyes reflecting the same fire as the Queen’s.

“You have command of the Guard while I am away.” He spoke with an air finality that surprised even Tauriel, his oldest friend. Laegeûl gasped, his eyes growing ever larger at the thought of his brother slipping away. Tauriel stepped back, an uncertainty settling on her features.

“Where will you go?” She raised her chin, her eyes flicking back and forth with suspicion. Legolas paused, feeling Laegeûl tug at his leg.

“Nowhere yet.” Legolas replied, setting a hand on Laegeûl’s head. Tauriel nodded, slightly relieved that Legolas would not be going to Dol Guldur quite immediately.

“My Prince.” Tauriel bowed her head and sped off. She had much to do in place of the King, Queen, and eldest Prince; but his council had been invaluable. Legolas watched her go, hoping he had done the right thing. He was secretly happy that she took his orders and sought his advice despite being younger than her.

“Muindor?” Laegeûl pulled Legolas’s attention back down to where he stood, still trembling. Legolas snapped back to the present.

“Ah, let’s get you to bed.” Legolas smiled, opening his door and ushering his little brother inside.

…

The room was dark, but a soft candle flickered on the edge of Legolas’s desk. Laegeûl was tucked safely into the covers of Legolas’s generously sized bed. After so much chaos and confusion, the youngest prince was finally where he felt safest. The images he’d seen that day flashed behind his eyes, each one more unpleasant than the last.

“Why do they look like that, Legolas?” Laegeûl asked shakily, his little green eyes peeking out from under the covers. Legolas tilted his head to the side.

“Who?” Legolas inquired, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain the extent of the injuries sustained today.

“The yrch.” Little leaf whimpered, his fists tightening around the blanket. Ah. Legolas tipped his head back in regretful understanding.

“You mean to ask why they almost look like an elf?” Legolas clarified and his younger brother nodded afeardly. “Only dirty and ugly and evil, yes?” Once again, Laegeûl nodded, his eyes wide and shiny.

“We’ll that’s because they were elves once, long long ago.” Legolas’s answer did not seem to bring Laegeûl any comfort.

“It’s impossible to believe, isn’t it? An elf could never be so evil, right?” Legolas smiled his signature sad smile, the one he always wore when he didn’t want his family to worry.

“I’ll tell you how it happened, Honeg, if you promise to be brave.” Legolas laced down beside his brother, looking up at the ceiling. Laegeûl nodded so extremely that the pillows shook.

“I’m brave!” Laegeûl proclaimed, a proud look in his youthful eyes. Legolas turned his head and gave Laegeûl a long look, as though quantifying his courage.

“Yes, I can see that you are right!” Legolas laughed and patted his brother’s head.

“Very well, I will tell you the story.” Legolas smiled and settled himself for the story that would no doubt take a long time to tell.

…

“-and Galadriel’s light was so bright, that it washed away the evil, forever!” Legolas finished, his pale eyes alight with glee even at the retelling of the greatest war in history. Laegeûl, for his part, had been attentive throughout almost the entire story. The keyword being ‘almost’, as the little prince had begun dozing off towards the end. Laegeûl’s soft breathing filled the room, and Legolas knew that he was sound asleep; hopefully dreaming of Galadriel’s light and not the orcish horrors he had faced that day.

Legolas extricated himself carefully from the covers, making no noise as he slipped his boots back on, and made for the door. But before his hand could even brush the doorknob, a soft murmur gave him pause.

“Muindor?” Laegeûl’s sweet voice called sleepily. He was not fully awake, and his eyes were barely open.

“Yes, Honeg-nin?” Legolas answered all the same, rounding back to the bed and kneeling by his brother’s side.

“Could Galadriel.. kill the darkness..again?” He asked groggily, rubbing his eyes sluggishly. Legolas smiled.

“Yes, I think she might.” Legolas answered his weary brother, sweeping his flaxen hair behind a pointed ear.

“Mmm” came Laegeûl’s sleepy reply.

“Silo, penneth. Losto vae.” Legolas cooed and kissed his little brother on the forehead. ‘Good night’ Laegeûl would have replied, had he not already been asleep.

…

Legolas sprinted through the winding halls of stone, his boots making hardly a sound as the palace rooms flew passed in a blur. The sounds of clattering swords being dropped to the ground by injured soldiers rang in the young Prince’s ears. The injured had been shifted to the barracks, as he had instructed to Tauriel some time before. Legolas snagged his quiver and bow, taking with him twin knives just in case. All around him, servants and soldiers alike were far too busy to mind him, the Prince, running off scarcely armored into the wood.

Everyone, except Tauriel.

“Legolas” She hissed, catching him by the stables as he tacked his horse, Uraeus. The Prince hardly acknowledged her, knowing what she would say.

“Legolas, you can’t go out there.” Tauriel followed Legolas’s every step, her movements jerky.

“I can, and I must.” Legolas snapped, a stony ire kindling in his eyes. Tauriel sighed heavily.

“Legolas, we need you here. The Prince needs you here! We have sent our best to rescue the Queen!” Tauriel insisted, following Legolas as he grabbed a bridle from the hook and began to fit it around Uraeus’s face.

“But they don’t have me! I need to be there! My Naneth, the Queen-“

“Is dead.” A heavy voice called from behind, interrupting Legolas’s shouts of misplaced anger. Both elves whipped around to see Lord Thranduil atop his regal elk, carrying the Queen’s slender figure in his arms.

“..what..” Legolas sounded as though all breath had been knocked from his lungs, and the look on his face was enough to knock Tauriel’s from hers.

The King’s face was grimmer than ever it had been, long tracks wrought down his pale face. Behind him, most of his company and some of the Queen’s sat solemnly on horseback.

“Naneth..?” Legolas lurched forward, meeting his father in the middle as Thranduil slid off his steed and stepped forward. Legolas’s hands shook horribly as he gazed at his mother’s slack face. Her hair had been braided when she left that morning, but now it was loose and in great tangles.

“Naneth! Û, law! Ai, Valar, Len iallon!” Legolas cried, his lips trembling as he cupped his Nana’s face. Thranduil sank to his knees, silent tears slipping from his distant eyes. There was a fog that had settled before them, and his sight was clouded to all but his own grief. Legolas wept, and the sound broke the hearts of all who stood in the clearing. No eye remained dry upon the wretched sight of their glorious Queen, felled by darkness foul. She was so pale..

“Man agórer allen!?” Legolas’s eyes widened with horror at the sight of his mother’s throat slit open, her blood already drying.

“Nae, amarth faeg!” Legolas dropped his head into his hands, sobbing hopelessly. Tauriel dropped down to her knees as well and rested her hands on the Prince’s shoulder, her eyes screwed shut as bitter tears escaped them.

“Nínion anin gurth lîn, savo hîdh neñ gurth, bereth vuin.” Tauriel whispered into Legolas’s shoulder and he felt her words were far too calm. How could she be so composed, so reserved?? Ah but she had to be, didn’t she? She was a captain, and had no connection to the Queen such as Legolas did. Legolas was allowed a bit of disarray in the face of his Mother’s fate. The Prince breathed deeply, his breath shuddering in his weakened lungs. For the life of him, he could not manage to recompose himself, but he pushed his hair back and rose once more to his feet.

It is said that day, that the eldest prince of Mirkwood faded so rapidly that you could see his fiery green eyes turn a dull grey. And as he walked through the clearing, away from his fallen Mother, Tauriel watched it so, and shed tears on his behalf. For that was the day that they truly lost their Prince, for he never smiled again, and nor did he pretend to try.

…

Chapter Text

The next morning, there were invitations to send, and a Prince to inform of his Nana’s demise.

The guest list was rather small, only a handful of elven nobles and a smattering of the strange istari to speak of. Galadriel and Celeborn, who had visited the Greenwood naught but a century ago for a much merrier occasion, came with bowed heads and sympathetic eyes. It was to Legolas’s knowledge that Galadriel had lost her daughter, Celebrian, not long ago to a similar fate as the Queen’s. Lord Elrond of Rivendell had felt this loss as well, as had her sons and daughter.

Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen looked almost like triplets, if it weren’t for Arwen’s paler skin and Elrohir’s pale hair. They stood at each other’s sides all the time, their statures startlingly similar like three stone pillars. One at a time, they had approached Legolas and Laegeûl-who was glued to his side throughout the entire funeral- to deposit their well wishes and condolences. Legolas regarded each with a courteous bow and the emptiest of thank yous he had ever spoken. There was nothing more that he could give, and all were well aware of that fact.

To Laegeûl, all these people were foreign and frightening. He was a prince of 100 years, yes, but he was also childish and innocent in his mannerisms. He had retained that youthful spirit for longer than Legolas had, though many feared he would lose it now. The murder of one’s mother had a way of sobering you, reminding you that the world was beset by a foul darkness.

“I heard she ran herself through with an orc blade so that they couldn’t turn her.” Came a whisper from a passing servant holding a wine decanter. Laegeûl’s head snapped to trace the remark, but missed its owner.

“She was so beloved by her people, I hate to think how they mourn now.” Cried a noble softly, holding a hand to her heart.

“Well, she’ll never have to worry about orcs or spiders again, that’s for sure.” Elladan muttered under his breath, earning a slap from his sister.

Laegeûl shook his head, the whispers and comments of the ignorant swirling around in his burdened mind. Did they think they were being discrete? Did they fancy themselves ever so sentimental, with their saccharine smiles and treacly words. Laegeûl wanted nothing more than to scream and holler and storm off, but something held him back from such an infantile display. It was perhaps then that Laegeûl felt the weight of his position, and realized there was a level of responsibility that came with his title.

Legolas and Thranduil, in their robes of grey and silver, looked more stately than ever before. But with that came a solemn acknowledgment, that the gaunt lines of their faces and their dark, sunken eyes, would be Laegeûl’s to inherit someday. All their grief seemed to be correlated somehow to this kingdom, this palace, this family. The land was cursed and they had the gall to continue living in it.

Legolas offered his father a glass of wine at one point, holding the delicate goblet by its stem. But Thranduil simply stared at the burgundy liquid with mild disinterest.

“Do you know, there is nothing now that binds me to these lands.” Thranduil intoned, his ice blue eyes cold and far away. Legolas flinched internally, knowing this loss had sent his Adar adrift.

“Nothing that holds me to these wretched western shores.” The king spat with such distaste and hatred, that Legolas wondered if he would take the wine from his hand after all, only to throw it across the room and listen to it shatter. Legolas had half a mind to do so himself, but it would only serve to frighten Laegeûl more.

“Nothing-!” Thranduil grimaced, the illusion over his face faltering for a moment, letting slip a flash of carmine sinew and tendon. Elrond heard the raising stentorian voice of his friend and made haste toward the rather trapped looking princes.

“-but my sons.” His voice fell down to its previous undertone, reaching his hand out to clasp Legolas’s shoulder. A breath of relief that seemed punched from him escaped the Prince, and Elrond could see his shoulders round slightly.

Laegeûl drew closer and stood in the aperture between his Brother and Father’s towering frames, bold green eyes staring up at his remaining family. Legolas met them unwaveringly, his once identical irises now pale blue and unfamiliar. A furrow settled upon Laegeûl’s blond brow as his eyes locked with his older Brother’s.

“You said the darkness was dead.” Laegeûl’s voice was betrayed and venomous, his fists clenching by his sides. Legolas looked slightly less drawn up when Laegeûl spun on his heel and stormed away, making for his Naneth’s garden. Elrond watched the exchange with sympathy, remembering how his sons and daughter had scattered similarly when the Mother sailed to Valinor. Ah, but they didn’t stay away long.

“-the story of Galadriel and the first Orcs. I didn’t think it would.. backfire.” Legolas was in the middle of explaining himself to his bewildered father when Elrond arrived at their standing in the courtyard.

“Suil, Thranduil a Laegolas. Êl síla erin lû e-govaded ’wîn.” Elrond greeted the regal pair, inclining his head in a respectful bow.

“Mae govannen” Legolas and Thranduil replied individually, both reflecting the same bow. Elrond was struck silent by their double image for a moment, their pale eyes just the same and their disposition mirrored.

“You’ve grown much since I last saw you, dear prince.” Elrond’s smile was but the slightest raise of his brows and twitch of his lips, though his presence could not be perceived as anything but well meaning. Legolas frowned in the place of a polite smile and it oddly had the same effect. Perhaps it was because Legolas’s smiles had ever been a frown in disguise.

“Funny, for it feels I’ve shrank.” Legolas remarked with an impressive lack of emotion, though a twinge of sadness could of course be seen on his woefully stony face. Elrond tried to beat away his pity, reminding himself that sympathy was far kinder. But Legolas seemed to be carved from ice in the way that his warm eyes and voice were now frozen over. The beautiful black gloves upon Legolas’s hands were likely more than just decorative, Elrond noted despondently. He’d had concerning visions as of late, and was disappointed to see them proven true.

“You must tell me how you have managed like this, Mellon-nin.” Thranduil ignored his son’s cleverly bitter reply, effectively winning the Lord of Rivendell’s attention once more. His meaning was lost on him until Elrond recalled the similarities of their situations again.

“Ah, to be truthful I have not. I’ve been much occupied by shifting loyalties in the world of men and visions have left me little time for reflection.” Elrond admitted, his dark brows furrowing. Legolas shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though he were not meant to hear this conversation. He had never been included in his father’s dealings before, as he had not been old enough to take interest. But now it simply felt dull and out of place for him to remain so uselessly rooted to the spot. It would be rude to leave now, though, wouldn’t it?

“But there are those that ground me yet.” Elrond sent a surreptitious glance over his shoulder at his three trouble makers, one of whom had taken a generous swig of wine and now bore the sourest of expressions-such that it almost matched the room’s mood. Had Legolas not been so thoroughly emptied of emotions that day, he might have laughed at the indignant squawking of Elladan as Arwen confiscated his glass and drank it for her own, or the still scrunched up face of Elrohir as he tried to rid his tongue of the dry bitterness of wine. ‘Had they never drank wine before?’ Legolas wondered bewilderedly.

Thranduil nodded, not missing Elrond’s fond tone as he referred to his children.

“I’m glad they’ve been a comfort to you, Mellon.” The ghost of a smile graced Thranduil pale features.

“I’m sure they.. keep you on your toes.” The king narrowed his eyes with thinly veiled confusion as the children of Elrond continued their shenanigans, now roping poor Glorfindel into what looked to be a contest of balancing wine flutes atop one’s head. Elrond turned around, watching hopelessly as his sons dropped their glasses (but managed to catch them) while Arwen and Glorfindel pranced gracefully in small circles with a glass each balanced upon their heads. Thranduil almost laughed.

“I’m sorry.” Elrond said miserably, rubbing his temple at the sight. No one made any moves to stop them however, for the Lady Galadriel seemed invested in how this would end. Celeborn looked on forlornly at his grinning wife.

“..Adar, I’d like to see to Laegeûl. May I-“ Legolas tore his eyes from the spectacle, hoping now might be a good time to slip away.

“..yes, yes, please see to him. And be sure you make an appearance at dinner tonight.” Thranduil nodded and made momentary eye contact with the Prince, blue eyes meeting grey. It wasn’t until Legolas had fled, that Thranduil realized those were not the eyes of his son.

“I assume that started the day she passed.” Elrond commented on the stony eyes of his son, no longer that familiar green. Thranduil sighed heavily.

“I…hadn’t even noticed.” The King frowned, pale brows knitting with concern.

“I’m sorry.” Elrond said for the second time that day. “Your family has been through too much.”

A sharp laugh, more akin to a bark, tore from Thranduil’s throat. Elrond turned to meet his eyes expecting offense, but Thranduil had his face turned towards the sky, his eyes glassy.

“The day that Lord Elrond Peredhel tells me I have lost much is a day to be remembered indeed! Shall it be written into song, as all tragedies are?” Thranduil’s voice was sardonic, covering the obvious hurt that flared in his chest. Elrond frowned.

“It is not a contest.” The Lord of Rivendell muttered, recalling his many losses, pains, and desperate moments. His eyes locked with Galadriel’s from across the room and against his intentions, he smiled. She was his oldest friend by far, and family by marriage. The many battles, wars, and times of upheaval they had been through together could not be recounted in just one evening. And while much of it was not a happy tale by any means, they were still here together, with their children safe- if not present.

Thranduil was not so lucky.

“She will wait for you, and it will be a joyous reunion.” Elrond smiled, joining his friend in looking skyward. Thranduil sighed, closing his eyes and daring to imagine it. He knew it would come. Nothing could separate them for long.

“My worry is not for her, but for Legolas.” Elrond continued, poking the subject brusquely.

“He is the youngest elf I have ever known to fade. That is not his fate.” He seemed so sure, so adamant on his claim.

“Tell me then, Mellon-nin,” Thranduil’s voice was ice.

“What is?”

…

To think they would laugh, here of all places, now of all times! Steeped in grief and loss and all they could do was smile and play foolish games! All whilst Legolas was stuck!! Stuck in pain and rage grief that he could not release. It was eating him from the inside, he could feel his feä deteriorating rapidly now.

After storming around the palace for nearly an hour, trying only to clear his head, Legolas found himself unsatisfied and completely forgot about his previous objective. He marched off to the stables and readied his dark stallion once more. Uraeus was a good, noble steed who had served him well. And now he would carry him off into the woods, towards his retribution. It would be swift and painful and hopefully, he would be done before dinner.

…

His aim was simple. To hit back where he had been torn wide open. He bled all across the greenwood, his blood grief that the trees could no longer hear. They were deaf now to the cries of the wood elves, for they had been so twisted by the darkness that they remembered not how to speak or sing. Legolas heard them murmuring instead, their voices muffled and irritated.

His Naneth’s sword in hand, the Prince swept at spider legs as he galloped on, not even stopping to end their suffering quickly. No, why should he show such courtesy to beings of darkness that would sooner take his mother away than reflect his mercy. It was not until the sun had dipped low below misty hills over yonder sky that Legolas realized he was far beyond his kingdom’s border, and that he now stood in wild territory.

The trees there thrashed angrily at all who approached, friend or foe, and uttered more than just the irritated scoff.

“Gorth!” They cried, waving their bare limbs so that twigs snapped off and fell to the ground.

“Run! Get you gone from here!” The trees spat, even their roots rumbling from beneath the starved earth. Legolas was about to inquire as to why, when an Orcish snarl met his ears from behind.

Ah.

Legolas turned his head and let his eyes roam over the swath of ‘hidden’ orcs in the trees. Uraeus whinnied, pawing the dry dirt anxiously,

“There you are.” Legolas grinned, his mouth stretched wide into an unnatural grimace that passed for a vengeful smile.

“Come put your shriveled hearts on my steel!” Legolas yelled, swinging his sword in an arc over his head. The Orcs dropped down from the trees without further prompting, forming a circle around the young prince.

“Let’s see just how weak you truly are.” His whisper was dangerously low as he growled.

The sounds of silver steel hitting crude iron rang throughout the forest and surely someone heard them. But if they did, they did not come forward and Legolas was alone in his endeavors. He cut them down like blades of grass, black blood spurting from each new wound he fashioned. He earned a few of his own as well; the haphazard slash to his cheek here, an arrow that grazed his arm there. It was not until the bloodlust was over that Legolas would feel the sting of injury.

The crack of a whip sent him jolting forward, nearly impaling himself on the nearest blade. Legolas spun to face the whip wielding Delorcion, but was met with another lash, this time catching him in the face. Legolas screamed, not in pain but rage as his senses seemed to be dulled. His left eye swam with a red screen quickly flowing from the wound above as he twisted, avoiding the stab of a knife.

As savage as the Orcs were, Legolas had something more than mere darkness and blood to spur him on. He had loss, and rage, and grief chiefly among them. An endless thirst had awakened in him, and in the heat of this madness, he found it temporarily sated.

…

Dinner had not waited for the princes and Thranduil was almost certain they would join them later, at least for desert. Laegeûl loved the tarts the kitchen staff made this time of year, and hopefully it would serve to raise his spirits. Sure enough, the youngest prince returned to the dining hall just in time for dessert to be served. He entered the room looking lighter than he had before, his wavy blond hair let loose and flowing gently over his shoulders. Thranduil breathed easy at the sight. It was not like his youngest son to be dour for long. It was clear Laegeûl had had his fill of grief.

“Laegeûl, have you spoken with Legolas?” Thranduil asked once the prince had taken his seat. Laegeûl’s fair brows knitted together, his sweet face donning a look of consternation.

“I haven’t, Ada. I was looking for him on my way here, but I didn’t see him. I thought he’d be with you all?” He shook his head, looking around the room for any sign of his brother. There was never any telling where Legolas might be at any given moment, for he was a flighty creature of stealth. Laegeûl was convinced he hid just to scare him sometimes.

Thranduil frowned, his lips tugging thin. A concerned disquiet had settled over the banquet hall, it’s guest looking ready to jump up in search for the missing prince.

“He must be in his quarters..” Thranduil muttered under his breath, alas Laegeûl’s keen ears caught it and he swiftly replied:

“But he isn’t! I just checked.” Laegeûl pouted, wondering if perhaps he had upset his brother too much.

“What I said to him before-“ but Laegeûl was interrupted by the slam of an opening door, and all guests turned to look.

All gasped, though some quietly behind their hands, as Legolas strode confidently though, a slight stagger in his step. Laegeûl paled, yes, but Thranduil blanched, his eye twitching as he fought between outraged and concerned.

Legolas was certainly worse for wear, his hair disheveled and eyes half crazed. He nearly looked calm, save for the angry slash wounds on his cheeks and tight clench of his shoulders. As Legolas moved to take his seat, his back showed to be covered in lashes, small breeches in his tunic revealing welts that must have been wrought by a whip. Galadriel tipped her chin up, assessing the young prince.

“What has happened, Legolas?” Her voice was silk and it seemed to soothe even the most rage prone attendees (Thranduil) nerves. Legolas sat down gingerly in his place opposite Laegeûl, who was a proper shade of white. He winced imperceptibly when his back grazed the chair and he quickly righted thi by leaning slightly forward. He looked the epitome of discomfort, sitting in his hard oak chair with gashes all along his flank.

“I went out for a ride to clear my head,” he resisted the urge to look sharply at the Elrondion and their Noldor conspirator.

“-but found Orcs near the wastes.” The room stiffened at his mention of Orcs. Such a nasty word. Laegeûl, poor dear, looked shaky at the very word. Which was understandable considering his first experience with them had taken his Naneth away.

“What were you doing anywhere near the wastes?” Thranduil gritted his teeth, knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair. Elladan and Elrohir both raised their brows and just narrowly avoided sucking the air through their teeth. ‘Legolas is in for it’ everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing.

When Legolas remained silent, refusing to make eye contact with anyone at the table, much less his Adar, it only served to stoke the Elven King’s nerves all the more. His inevitable reaction was building like pressure beneath a geyser; its scalding hot contents were bound to spill any moment. Elrond decided he didn’t want to witness such a moment. (Again)

“I’m sure Prince Legolas will have plenty of time to explain himself once he’s been given proper medical attention.” Elrond said helpfully, doing his best ‘unaffected but mildly concerned’ impression as his worry for Legolas expanded tenfold. This was not like the happily dutiful prince he’d known not so long ago.

“Glorfindel, would you mind escorting Legolas to the healer’s chambers?” Elrond turned his head to the Lord of the house of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, his cerulean eyes flicking up to meet his.

“Of cou-“

“I’m perfectly capable of walking there myself.” Legolas abruptly interrupted the Noldor elf, standing from his chair and walking swiftly out of the great room. And if he passed with a more pronounced limp than before, no one said a word. Nor did they want to, for care of his dignity.

Glorfindel looked bewildered and possibly impressed at the Prince of Mirkwood’s stubbornness. Though really he should be accustomed to it by now, thanks to the sons of Elrond.

“…Shall we send someone after him then? To ensure he doesn’t faint in the halls, I mean.” Arwen, ever the pragmatic Evenstar, said with half lidded eyes of exasperation. She was all too familiar with the antics of a grief stricken, dramatic young ellon. She had two brothers after all.

“Arwen!” Elrond hissed at a whisper, half mortified at his daughter’s brazenness. Celeborn looked like he wanted to laugh at his granddaughter’s words, but he knew better than to provoke Thranduil.

‘At least that was the bulk of it, and out of the way’, Glorfindel thought with relief. Surely there would be no more trouble in the realm of Greenwood during their visit.

“Aran-nin! An Orc camp was spotted just south of the wastes, but they’ve-“ Galion stood at attention suddenly, an auburn haired elleth just having whispered information to the captain.

“All been killed? Yes, it seems young Legolas was quite productive during his outing.” Galadriel interrupted, her face warm with mirth. Thranduil found absolutely no humor in this, and the arms of his chair looked prepared to splinter under his intense grip.

“I dare say that was his aim all along, dear.” Celeborn so brilliantly theorized and Thranduil had to suppress his rising rage once more, for the sake of dignity and politeness. Such was completely unfair for one so engulfed in the throes of fatherly concern and protective rage as he was. Though outwardly it simply appeared he wanted to kill someone slowly with nothing but his bare hands.

“Ada” a silvery voice shook from below, and Thranduil’s vision snapped to his younger (far more reasonable, as of late) son, who shivered in his seat.

“Is he- will Legolas be alright? He said the Orcs- he won’t.. he won’t go away, will he?” Laegeûl asked with terrible earnest fear, his green eyes brimming with tears.

Ah. Thranduil’s expression softened, remembering he had multiple sons that he had a duty to. Laegeûl needed him, and Legolas needed a healer. Both situations would be taken care of seperately, and addressed appropriately. Right now, Thranduil needed to make sure his youngest son didn’t break down into tears in front of his guests.

…

“Tauriel, for the last time, I am perfectly fine.” Legolas groaned in exasperation as the elleth in question led him to his quarters. She wouldn’t hear a word of it of course, having more than an ounce of sense in her head, unlike some.

“Your wounds say otherwise, Caun-nin.” She spoke the last word as though it were a belittlement, and not a title. It sounded more like ‘little brother’ than prince, which Legolas detested.

“They have been tended to.” Legolas insisted, shaking his head dismally.

“Yes! And now, you shall rest and recover your strength.” And with that she opened the door to Legolas’s room and beckoned him in with a shoeing motion of her hand. Legolas frowned, his amusement at Tauriel’s care growing thin.

“Tauriel.” He intoned scoldingly. But the captain merely returned his expression to him, her brows set low on her hazel eyes.

In the end he really couldn’t fight what she said, or at least he didn’t want to. ‘Let her think she has a way with me’, Legolas thought, stubbornly ignoring the fact that she very much did.

“Your brother will be in to check on you soon.” Tauriel sent him a sidelong glance as Legolas trudged through his door and towards his room. His back stiffened (painfully) at the remembrance of his little brother.

“Laegeûl! I was meant to check on him!” Legolas started back for his door, intent on finding the princeling, but Tauriel blocked his exit.

“Yes, and you have him such a scare just now. Honestly, Legolas, I don’t know what you were thinking!” Tauriel hissed disapprovingly, shaking her head and closing her eyes. She truly seemed disappointed in him, Legolas realized. Well that wouldn’t do.

“..I wasn’t.” He admitted, leaning against the inside of the door frame. Tauriel hummed, tilting her head to the side. A waterfall of beautiful auburn hair cascaded over her shoulder as she did so, the gentle curls at the end swaying gently.

“We’ll at least you're honest.” She smiled softly, that easy humor slipping back into her features. It had been a while since he’d seen it. Legolas almost wanted to smile in return to it, but the tight grip of his gloves reminded him why he couldn’t. He was far too broken for smiles now. He frowned sadly at the thought, turning away from the door and making for his bed.

Tauriel’s smile fell. Not even she could make him smile anymore?

“Yes, well, I’ll send your brother after you once he’s ready. Rest well, Cuan-nin.” She sounded rather grieved at parting, though she spoke not of it. Legolas was sure she never would, even if any chance of his passing affections were reciprocated. It simply wasn’t possible. Not since he knew that his One was dead.

“Thank you.” He mumbled for what it was worth, though she wouldn’t hear him as she’d already slipped away

Chapter Text

Enduring an age without the care of a Queen, Mirkwood, as it had thusly been dubbed, wilted and rotted from the inside. The argon trees become unrecognizably knarrled, and the weeping willows never ceased their cries. Elk became sparse and spiders took their place, now more often feeding on unfortunate elves than wayward rabbits. It’s people were strong, but in a weary, broken way. Fighting now for all they had left: a rotting kingdom, and a fading monarchy.

Legolas found that he fit, so seamlessly, into the despair that occupied his once joyous wood. He flitted around the trees like a dying leaf, falling slowly to the autumn floor. His eyes were dull, no longer shining with moonlight and stars, and he became as dutiful as he was numb. He felt he was less of a person, and more an extension of his father’s rule.

The darkness that enroached on Mirkwood’s land had become a prevailing, and pervasive force in many a corner of the world. Frequent correspondence with the Lord of Rivendale and the Marchwarden of Lothlorein confirmed such, though Lothlorein remained a stronghold. It was no wonder, what with the presence of Galadriel and her Nenya, a power that would hold darkness at bay for decades more, at least. Thranduil could not say the same for his faltering kingdom.

Elrond had begun sending aid as Mirkwood grew more sickly by the year, though Thranduil always protested. He was grateful, though he could not admit it, but the thought that elves from other lands saw fit to pity the once mighty Eryn Galen was horrific enough.

The caste in the caves had been expanded, and now included a large prison. Among the softly dripping stalagmites was housed Mirkwood’s first incarcerated, a pitiful being of lowly stature and flighty demeanor. He held no known name other than that which he uttered wretchedly to himself at length, speaking in miserable prose of child’s tongue. He held more clothing on his person than dignity, which is to say very little at all, and was an abhorred sight to behold. But by request of Mithrandir, he was given cell and sustinance each day. The night guards, the poor elves relegated to the duty, shivered at the creature’s insane babbling and crying throughout the night, as if mourning for something or someone as wretched as he.

Legolas kept his distance, and ensured dear Laegeûl did as well. The youngest prince was likely the most heavily guarded and protected individual in the realm of Mirkwood entirely. One rarely saw him outside of the confines of the castle, and when they did, it was not without considerable gaurd on either side.

Laegeûl, of apt and voracious curiosity, had become enamored with scroll and pen at a young age. They were fiercely intelligent, with his father’s wit and his mother’s passion. In time, they seemed to forget his grief as ages passed, and found other, more constructive outlets. Legolas and Thranduil were only relieved that he felt not the call of a warrior, rather that of a scholar or scribe. It was not yet known to the young prince what he wished to become, but there was much time for that. One could hope.

One morning, Laegeûl awoke slumped over his desk, a scroll stuck to his cheek and a spilled bottle of ink dangerously close to the tip of his nose. The princling yawned and stretched, sloughing his robes from the previous night and changing into fresher linens and a silk shirt. The morning was crisp and chilled, which meant the caves were cold and damp. It was early spring, and all was quiet in the underground palace. Laegeûl was ever fond of mornings, the quiet and softness of light bringing a soft smile to their young face when not much else could.

There were, unfortunately, very few reasons left to smile in Mirkwood, as it was truly a dour kingdom. The elves did their best to cling to happiness through ceremonies of star and solstice, but even that was fleeting. Everything was fleeting when you were an elf. But Laegeûl would be content living forever if he only had his Adar and Muindor by his side. His father was rarely far from it, but Legolas.. he was difficult to keep track of.

Laegeûl lamented the amount of time his elder brother spent on patrol as they descended the stone steps of the palace. Down to the lower levels to relieve the night guards of their shifts, Laegeûl maintained their stormy expression even as he met the poor guards, waving them away similarly in the way his father might. The next shift was meant to begin now, but it seemed the elves appointed for the duty were not punctual as they usually were. Laegeûl pitied them, though he knew not why.

The elfling was not made privy to whom it was being so closely guarded within these confines. They wondered at length who could be so dangerous, yet important, that they would be kept here under constant supervision. It is only natural then, that Laegeûl startled badly when he heard the low mournful cries for the first time.

A wail- so desolate and pained that is wrenched at Laegeûl’s very heart. Surely the sole charge of Mirkwood was not being treated with cruelty? But to produce a sound such as that…

Laegeûl rounded the corner with urgency, his pale hair flicking over his shoulder. He ran near silently through the winding caverns until he came to the very furthest cell to the entrance, and found little more than a lump of flesh behind bars. Laegeûl blanched when he realized that it was a person, and they were shivering. It was so cold! Why did they have only a loincloth covering their person?! The person whimpered with their bony back facing the prince. Laegeûl knew they must have done something terrible to be imprisoned here, but..

“Hello? Are you alright?” Laegeûl felt hesitant at conversing with a prisoner of his Father’s, but it wouldn’t sit well with them to ignore this being. The creature - for Laegeûl was quite sure the person was no man, elf, nor dwarf - startled and jumped to face him on all fours. Laegeûl reeled with the appearance of the creature, paler than the scales on a fish and gaunt as a winter bare twig. He - Laegeûl ventured to assume - had large, bulging really, blue eyes that popped from his skull. It looked like he might have had hair at one point, for all that was left was but a few strands. And his teeth! Oh his teeth! Laegeûl found himself pitying this creature even more just by his appearance.

“Who is this? Come to torture poor Golem some more? Oh, you meanie elves!!” The- er, Golem cried, slapping his large, veiny hands over his ears in dismay. Laegeûl took a step back, horror flashing in his eyes. Surely Golem hadn’t been tortured all this time?? Ada would never allow it!

“Valar, no. I’ll not harm you, I promise.” Laegeûl tried to sound as genuine as his voice would allow. Golem glared at him suspiciously, his huge eyes squinting.

“We have heard this before, yes! Sneaky elves! Always lying!” The poor thing retorted, his mouth twisted into a snarl. Laegeûl felt horrible for him. How had he become so malnourished and bedraggled in the first place??

“I will not lie to you.” Laegeûl shook his head vehemently. “Aren’t you cold? Why haven’t you been given a coat?” Mortals got cold easily, and Laegeûl was fairly certain Golem was a mortal. He just.. wasn’t sure what kind.

Golem whined pitifully, bringing his hands to clasp around his string-like biceps.

“Elves are so mean to us, we are left in the cold! It bites us!!” Golem wailed and Laegeûl jumped, his throat tightening. He was fishing for pity, but Laegeûl did t know that. Something about this entire situation was just wrong and it unsettled them deeply.

“I’ll fetch you a coat, don’t worry!” Laegeûl consoled the creature, scampering off with a sense of purpose.

Sure enough, he returned not long later with a thick fur coat folded neatly in his arms. He slipped the article through the bars of the prison cell, and watched with a sense of satisfaction as Golem pulled it over his scrawny frame.

“Oh! It is less cold now, much!” Golem rasped, smiling toothlessly at the young prince. Laegeûl slumped with some relief. Now that he was not so pitiable, Laegeûl could ask some proper questions.

“Tell me, Golem, why are you kept here?” Laegeûl probed, taking a careful seat in front of Gollem’s cell. Thoroughly buried in furs, Golem wrinkled his nose at the prince.

“Nasty elves takes all we has, all we owns! And then! Then they hits us, and hides us all alone!” Golem slapped his fist on the ground, his voice becoming high and mournful.

“Surely not! My father would never do such a thing unless it was deserved!” Laegeûl reasoned, running a hand through his wavy hair nervously. That couldn’t be true. But here was someone who, until today, Laegeûl had known nothing about. What else was his Adar hiding from him?

…

From then on, Laegeûl found time to slip away, usually in the mornings, to visit Golem in the caverns. He sometimes brought an apple, or a bit of bread; a book, or even a scroll and pen. For what good it did him! It became abundantly clear that if he had ever known before, Golem had forgotten how to write and read. He was completely illiterate. And despite his poetic waxing of fish and their delights, he had an extreme aversion to any food that was not raw, freshly killed, animal.

Laegeûl had, at length, tried to uncover what race Golem was of. It was clear he had never been an Elf, and he certainly did not resemble an orc so much as an imp. He had the stature of a Dwarf (if he ever stood straight that is, alas he had terrible esteem for his posture), but not the hair nor the features. Laegeûl was left with Man, and that too, was unsatisfactory. Perhaps.. he was a half breed of some sort? A one of a kind being? Or maybe his kind was all but extinct, and Laegeûl was just too young to ever have seen one.

The prince had tried asking Golem himself these questions, but they never got more of an answer than his name repeated roughly. The questions bounced against his skull, but Laegeûl supposed they may never have an answer. Eventually, the young scribe moved on to other topics of discussion with the understimulated hostage now in his care. In their humble opinion (the opinion of a Prince was not a humble one), Laegeûl was convinced that Golem needed more enrichment. He had yet to discover what his crime was, other than apparently owning something very important. Which meant he was probably being studied and observed, rather than punished.

On the topic of enrichment, Laegeûl once asked Golem what his favorite season was. Mortals always had one, and it was usually spring or summer, though there were many who favored the fall harvest. But it was to his utter horror and disbelief that Gollem had, allegedly, not been outside in some years.

“Nasty elves, locking us away and hiding us for years! Keeping us from precious! Precious!!” Golem muttered, his utterances insane and fearful. Laegeûl had yet to find out who precious was, but there was no time for that now!! He hadn’t seen the sun, or the trees, or the grass, or the sky, or the moon, or the mountains, in years?? Years?!! Laegeûl blanched at the thought.

“Some sun will do you good.” Laegeûl decided firmly. There was no debating it. He was going to sneak Golem out for a short yard break. He would bring him back once they were done, honest!

…

He really had meant to bring him back, but now he would be lucky if he ever step foot inside his castle once more alive.

Laegeûl had led Golem to a favorite tree of his in the orchard. Golem had crawled into the fronds of the tree and clung to them like an aphid on a leaf.

“Dark orcses comingg.” He growled strangely. Laegeûl stiffened at the apparent warning, green eyes darting back and forth. Sure enough, Laegeûl could hear the telltale cries of the trees, their roots picking up the presence of orcs before he could.

‘No!’ Laegeûl thought panickedly, frozen to the spot as he realized there was nothing he could do.

‘Climb the tree!!’ The older brother in his head screamed, and Laegeûl did just that, clambering up the side of a beech and tucking himself in the leaves. Of all the days to sneak out without a guard! He hadn’t told anyone where he was going! What were they supposed to do?? He wasn’t a warrior, they had no formal combat training and no weapons!!

“Legolas” Laegeûl whispered, wishing he were half as strong as his older brother.

Orcs burst through the clearing, seven of them, slashing madly at the tree’s branches. Leageûl could feel their cries and he had to bite back a shout. How could they do such a thing?? Laegeûl knew his Naneth had been killed by orcs, but he remembered little of the experience. He had been young, and it was painful to try and recall. But as the orcs stalked closer, Laegeûl remembered the savage faces and burning yellow eyes the day he was whisked away from his mother. Limhír had been found dead not far from the palace where she had protected the prince until she’d been shot. Laegeûl didn’t understand until years later that the sudden urgency to her voice was a product of her pain. He still felt guilty for her death, and wished there were some way she could have been rescued.

“Jiak ukee naj-ri.” Came the warped and twisted speech from one of the orcs. Laegeûl wanted to unhear it and purge it from his ear drums. A language so evil he was sure his lips would bleed if they tried to speak it. He was glad they did not know what the orc had said.

A shriek from a few trees over alerted Laegeûl to Gollem’s sudden capture, as he was being wrestled down by the ankle. The leader of the orc group had his fingers wrapped bruisingly around the scrawny appendage, and mercilessly yanked Golem to the ground. Laegeûl jolted. He was his charge, they were meant to protect him! Even if he was wretched and slimy and strange, he was meant to be back in Mirkwood, safe! Laegeûl’s apprehension mounted as Golem cried and writhed in the orc's grasp, flinching away from the leader’s raised hand.

“No!” Laegeûl drpped from the tree and shouted when they realized the orc meant to strike him. Which was incredibly stupid.

‘Why did I do that why did I do that whydididotha-‘ his thoughts screamed as his green eyes widened in fear. All heads turned in his direction, and Laegeûl felt their stomach drop. Today was decidedly not his day, though it may be their last. The orcs were upon him immediately, and Golem urged them on.

“Yes! Kill the nasty elf, not us!!” He screeched and Laegeûl paled. No no no! An orc with a horribly mangled, knarled face scratched Laegeûl’s cheek with its filthy claws. The young prince staggered back and let out a scream when a crude blade was buried in his stomach. The orcs laughed cruelly, yanking out the short blade and licking the blood from its tip.

“This one won’t last long after that! We leave before others come. Grab the welp and tie him up!” Laegeûl barely registered the speech as he had dropped to their knees, clutching their stomach. His vision swam with tears, blurring his sight and leaving him even more vulnerable than before. A swift kick to the head sent Laegeûl crashing to the ground, his temple smashing against the root of a tree. His favorite tree in the whole orchard.

The laughter of orcs and screeching of Golem bled from his ears, quickly receding over the hill. Laegeûl gasped, curling in on their wound and shivering violently. They were dying, surely he was dying. The wound burned like fire, the severed flesh jagged and angry as blood poured forth. So much blood. It was warm and sticky, a thicker substance than he had expected. He had never bled this much. Not even close. Laegeûl rolled closer to the roots of their tree, laying his head on the rough bark. It was like laying their head across the lap of a loved on, letting the breeze card its fingers through his hair.

‘I’m sorry, little leaf.’ Their tree brushed his soul with theirs, sorrow and regret in their unspoken words. Laegeûl wheezed in response, unable to move their lips for more.

‘What is death like?’ Laegeûl asked the tree through their spirit. The trees knew.

‘Like falling asleep. Your mother shall wake you.’ The tree replied, their soul smiling. Laegeûl liked that answer.

‘Greenleaf comes for you.’ The tree said suddenly, their sadness replaced by hope. Laegeûl sniffled, raising their hand weakly to wipe their mouth. Blood stained his fingers.

“Legolas.” The prince whispered, eyes fluttering shut. They smiled.

‘It’s too late.’

…

Legolas had been hunting, Tauriel and Aglar close behind. They did not hunt for game, but for spiders. They had gotten bold, taking over more of the forest in recent months than they ever dared to before. Legolas, among many others, would not have it. Their attempts to beat the arachnids back were reinvigorated, a fervor awoken in many of his brethren.

They had been hunting, their minds sharp and focused, until a gut wrenching scream echoed throughout the wood. It bounced off the wide trunks of trees, reverberating in the hunters sensitive ears. Legolas knew immediately who it was, and he flew into a panic unlike any before. He had never run so fast as that day, as he sped over root and rock to what he knew to be his brother’s cry. As he grew closer, the trees around him urged him on, wishing him swiftness in his approach. They bid him to get there faster, for little leaf was quickly slipping away.

Tauriel and Aglar were speeding after him, their knives and sword drawn. Breaking into a clearing, Legolas rushed to the foot of Laegeûl’s favorite tree in the orchard. A huge, and very old willow. Lying across its roots, was Laegeûl, their head turned limply to the side. Legolas dropped to his knees and scooped the younger prince into his arms. Cradling him, Legolas found a stab wound over his stomach, and a blugeoned temple.

“Legolas-“ a sob bubbled from Laegeûl’s bleeding lips. Legolas stood, holding his brother as he began to make way for the palace. It wasn’t far, but they needed to get there fast.

“Shh, honeg-nin, av-‘osto, I’m here.” Legolas soothed, wiping away the cold sweat on his brother’s forehead.

“Goheno nin.” Laegeûl choked heartbrokenly, heavy tears rolling down his cheeks. Their sobs were sharp and shallow; quietly shuddering from his damaged lungs. Legolas only shushed them again, pressing his lips to their forhead momentarily as he sprinted for the castle.

“What happened!?” Tauriel looked livid, her auburn brows burrowed into her concerned, hazel eyes.

“What do you think happened?” Legolas shook his head, his eyes stone cold.

“Orcs.” Aglar snarled, finishing Legolas’s train of conversation. That much was abundantly obvious, given the battered state of the trees where Laegeûl had been found.

“I know it was orcs!” Tauriel scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“I meant, why was he without their guard??” The elleth reclarified, her fingers still tightly gripped around the handles of her knives. For that question, Legolas was also at a loss. Laegeûl was rarely without a guard. The only time they were, was when they were inside the castle. If they were outside without a guard, then that meant he had snuck out.

Legolas didn’t care why. It didn’t matter.

“All that matters is that we get them home. Alive.” Legolas determined darkly, plunging forthright the path home. They would intersect with another patrol soon. They could send them off in the direction of the orcs.

‘Please live’ Legolas pleaded in his mind, hugging Laegeûl closer. They had stopped crying, Legolas realized.

They were unconscious.

‘Please live’ Legolas swallowed back tears and Laegeûl’s head lolled limply as they ran.

‘Please live’ Laegeûl looked so like his Naneth, their wavy hair loose and face streaked with blood. His fiery green eyes were slipped closed, and their face was deathly pale.

‘Pleasepleaseplease-‘

His breathing stopped, and Legolas stumbled.

…

They burst into the healers room with all the urgency in the kingdom.

“NUADU!!” Prince Legolas bellowed, his desperate tone demanding attention. The healer whipped around, immediately snatching a first aid kit. His dark eyes widened when he saw the youngest prince draped over Legolas’s arms, his form lifeless and dripping with crimson blood.

“On the bed, now!!” Nuadu flew into action as soon as Laegeûl was placed on the cot. His hands were a blur of movement; cutting open the princes shirt, applying pressure to stop the bleeding, cleaning the area, and sewing the tear back up. After all this, there was still more to do, and suddenly they were surrounded by things- buckets of water, bandages, needle and thread, ointments- that Nuadu needed.

He didn’t meantion the fact that Laegeûl hadn’t been breathing the entire time. He made no comment on his lack of pulse. They ignored his closed eyes, and slack frame. Because it didn’t need to be said. It was painfully obvious.

Laegeûl was dead.

Legolas screamed, an agonized, guttural sound that tore from his vocal chords. He dropped to his knees, head tilted back as he stared wide eyed at the ceiling. Tears streamed from either side of his face, his shoulders heaving with breath.

Tauriel returned, having left to fetch the king. Thranduil was through the doorway before she was, his long robe billowing behind him in the wake of his speed.

“Laegeûl..” he whispered, gobsmacked at the scene that lay before him.

On a cot, lay his youngest son, still as a stone and pale as the moon. No breath filled their chest; he was silent.

Legolas, beside Laegeûl’s cot, was on his knees, eyes wide and unseeing. He was covered in deep carmine blood from his waist all the way up to his neck. It stained his shirt so thoroughly, that Thranduil wondered if it was his own blood.

Nuadu, the head healer, was slumped in a chair, head hung low and looking at the desolate results of his labor. The entire room had an air of forlorn anguish.

Thranduil took a careful step forward; then another. He arrived at the foot of Laegeûl’s bed and looked down at the elfling.

“Ioneg-“ Thranduil’s throat clamped around the word, his voice strained and fragile.

“My beautiful, intelligent son. You were gifted with your Mother’s resemblance, and cursed with her fate.” Thranduil shook on the spot, his usually even face turning red. The king slipped his hand under Lageûl’s, hissing at how cold and limp it was. It was as if there was no blood at all in his fingertips.

“I can’t accept this.” Came the horrible realization that he had to. He had to. Laegeûl was gone.

No.

“This is not your fate, I know it!” Thranduil squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He looked powerful, almost like he had the power to change his son’s fate.

“Echuia! You cannot die! You-“ his strength crumbled when he studied Laegeûl’s bloodied face, his sweet features so peaceful in death. Death.

“Ioneg” Thranduil’s desperate question hung in the air and he dropped his head onto Laegeûl’s chest.

This was too much.

…

It was dark, until suddenly it wasn’t. It was like dawn, that lovely periwinkle color tickling the sky. Laegeûl breathed in, feeling the breath expand in his lungs. Was that his first breath? It felt like it.

Laegeûl opened their eyes, blinking slowly into the pale light. He was in a field, a meadow dotted with forget-me-nots and edelweiss flowers. The sky was lightening, but there seemed to be no sun. Maybe it was behind him-

Laegeûl sat up and turned around, squinting his eyes in preparation for the blinding rays of the sun. Instead, his eyes popped back open when he was met with the face of his Naneth.

“..you’re not the sun.” Laegeûl mumbled numbly, confused. The joy hadn’t registered yet. His Naneth laughed, having already been smiling warmly.

“No, my little leaf. I am not

Chapter Text

It took Laegeûl all of two seconds to break down into tears and throw his arms around his Naneth. She laughed joyously and held them close, spinning them around in a circle and kissing his cheeks.

“My son, my brave little leaf!” She tittered, kissing the top of Laegeûl’s fluffy head. It was so warm here, and Laegeûl found themself melting into their surroundings. It was safe, pleasant, and happy.

“I’ve missed you, Nana.” Laegeûl whispered, burying his head into their mother’s long pale robes. He shook with emotion, holding tight to her as though she might suddenly disappear. She smiled sadly, softly caressing the sides of Laegeûl’s face.

“I miss you too, penneth. And I wish you could stay, but you need to go back.” Laegeûl recoiled at her words, looking up at his Naneth with wide, scared eyes.

“Why?” Their voice was small and trembling. He didn’t want to go back, and Naneth was loath to send him away.

“They need you.” Her smile became watery and she held Laegeûl at length. “My boys.” She cooed ruefully. She wanted them home, here, with her. But she couldn’t keep them apart.

“It’s so cold there. Everyone is sad, and Legolas never smiles anymore. We miss you.” Laegeûl sniffled, rubbing their nose on their sleeve.

“It feels like all that happiness we had was just a dream. It’s so far away.” Laegeûl shook his head, a few rogue tears slipping from their lashes. Naneth kissed his cheek, her lips were warm and soft.

“They need you. Legolas needs you.” She repeated, smoothing down her son’s hair. She smiled. He had inherited her wavy, sometimes frizzy hair. It was golden like hers, whereas Legolas had been born with Thranduil’s straight, silver hair.

“I’ve been keeping watch. I’m with you always my son, but they need you. Your time has not yet come.” Naneth insisted, sweeping her hand over Laegeûl’s crinkled forhead. Their brows softened a bit- if only at her soothing touch, but it was enough.

“You’ll still be here when I come back?” Laegeûl asked meekly, their watery green eyes peering up into his mother’s gentle face.

“I’ll be waiting, little leaf.” Her voice was strong, and Laegeûl felt something stir within them. A warmth, a fire he had been missing all this time but never knew. They felt like they were glowing as a magnetic force seemed to tug on him. Naneth’s arms began to slide away, and Laegeûl held on tight, clutching at her fingertips. He felt almost panicked. He didn’t want to let go! But Naneth looked at them with her calm, strong smile and fiery eyes. He remembered those eyes. And suddenly they felt at ease.

Laegeûl would see her again.

“I love you, Laegeûl.” The last thing he saw was her smile, and a flash of white light.

And then everything was dark.

…

Thranduil stood above him, disappointment unhidden in his icy eyes. Legolas hadn’t moved from his spot on the ground and he seemed to have lost his mind. His eyes were white, staring up at the ceiling, unseeing and unmoving. Tauriel stood behind him, a caring hand on his shoulder. She had already tried to rouse him from his stupor, but to no avail.

“Get up Legolas.” Thranduil commanded, his tone cold. Legolas did not hear him.

“Get up.” He grit his teeth, shoulders trembling. Here was his eldest son, his only heir. And he was stuck on the floor, his senses gone numb. What had become of him? Thranduil thought lowly. He wasn’t injured, was he? Legolas still had not headed his instructions, and remained frozen in place.

“It is your duty” Thranduil let the rage of losing his youngest son fuel his words.

“-your responsibility” he slammed the tip of his sword to the ground, a resounding clang the result of such an action. Nuadu flinched and Tauriel grimaced. It was not her place to interfere, but oh how she wished she could.

“-to keep going. You must get up. You will get up, and you will keep living. Not because you want to, but because. You. Must.” Thranduil’s ire burned as he spoke the words he himself needed to hear. It was true, it was only the truth. He was doing the right thing. But his fury was debilitating, and he could do little more than snarl and wish things were different. He wished things were different. He wanted his son(s) back.

Recognition flashed in Legolas’s eyes for a split second, and something shifted. He took a steady breath, shoulders rising. Tauriel’s eyes widened, drawing closer to Legolas as it looked he might recover his senses.

“Ada.” And Thranduil was back in Legolas’s room, watching his strength fade as he realized what he had lost that day. His wife was beside him, gently stroking their son’s hair that stuck to his sweaty forhead. This had happened centuries ago, but Thranduil would never forget how small Legolas had seemed that day.

“I can’t stay here.” Legolas’s voice was thick with grief, his eyes stone grey pools of sorrow. Thranduil’s demeanor softened immediately.

“It is not your time yet.” He whispered harshly. He would walk with Legolas every step of the way, and hold his hand too even, if that is what it took to keep him in this world, with him. He would not be forsaken, or taken too soon.

Legolas smiled, his eyes creasing at the corners. Thranduil’s breath stilled. No one had seen Legolas smile since the death of his mother. Why did it… look so wrong? Why was his smile so-

“I can’t.“ Legolas eyed his Adar’s silver blade. He wished-

Thranduil had caught his line of sight, his icy blue eyes flicking down to his sword in horror. He knew exactly what Legolas was thinking. Tauriel gasped, stepping backwards and narrowly avoiding letting her hand fly to her mouth. Tears stung her eyes.

Heartbroken. That was the only word that could possibly describe it. Yet somehow it wasn’t strong enough. It didn’t encapsulate the sheer anguish and despair Thranduil felt then, standing before his dead and dying sons. Legolas laughed, devoid of real mirth or humor. It was sad and broken. All this loss, and for what? Legolas felt insane with grief. Nuadu sat straighter in his chair, brown eyes pin pricked in Legolas’s direction. Something had snapped.

Thranduil threw his sword as if the hilt had burned his hand, letting it clatter uselessly to the floor.

“It won’t take long now, I’ll fade into nothing” Legolas laughed bitterly, letting his head drop forward and his hair form a curtain around his face. Thranduil collapsed to his knees and drew his son up into an embrace - one that bore no comfort.

“Don’t you dare.” Thranduil growled, holding Legolas protectively against his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare.” Legolas closed his eyes, letting the grief wash over him. Maybe he just needed to stop feeling. Let go. It hurt too much to feel anyway.

Nuadu staggered back, then forward, his head spinning. A breath, just one single breath, caught his attention. Laegeûl.

Nuadu practically leapt from his chair, at the prince’s side immediately. He checked for a pulse, feeling Laegeûl’s wrist. It was cold, the poor child’s frame still clammy with death, but their pulse was there! Nuadu laughed, watching Laegeûl’s breath return to their lungs. It was impossible! He had been dead, Nuadu knew this. But here, he was alive, and their heart beat strong and true!!

“Aran-nin! Laegeûl lives!” Nuadu cried, still leaning over Laegeûl’s cot. Thrandiul turned his head, eyes scrutinous and red. Legolas too, had stood up, though he didn’t display any emotion as he followed his father to Laegeûl’s bedside. Tauriel crowded in beside her old friend, peering down at the youngest prince. ‘Could it be?’ She thought hopefully.

Their skin was slowly regaining its color, and he no longer looked quite so dead. Laegeûl indeed breathed, easily in fact, and looked peaceful in sleep. Thranduil looked like he would collapse again, this time not of his own volition. He clamped his hands down on the side of the cot to steady himself and bowed his head.

“Ci athae, Valar.” Thranduil whispered, the sound barely escaping his tight lips.

“Ci athae, Calathiel.” His voice broke, shattering like crystal as he took gentle hold of Laegeûl’s cold hands.

Tauriel and Nuadu laughed, sharing a relieved and confused embrace, proffering not to think about it. How had Laegeûl miraculously revived himself? No one knew, but they weren’t complaining!

Legolas watched, his eyes blank. Relief, joy, pain, grief, confusion, all were consumed by the void. The void that had settled inside him, put there by darkness. His will to live was restored, and his moment of weakness would not be repeated. But he wasn’t sure he could ever go back.

He had touched the darkness, and he could not find the light.

‘Laegeûl is alive, be happy. Your brother lives, it is not so dire as you thought.’ Legolas tried to convince himself. It didn’t work. He was, of course, relieved that Laegeûl still lived, but he couldn’t feel it in earnest. He was tired- exhausted- by a burden that weighed heavily upon his heart. He felt.. adrift.

Legolas stepped back after watching Laegeûl breathe for a moment longer. They were okay, and they didn’t need him. They had Ada and Nuadu. Legolas reasoned that he only needed a moment.

He slipped away, his hands trembling and his heart clenching. Why did it hurt? He felt like he was going to throw up and pass out. Legolas walked slowly along the corridors, absentmindedly making his way to his room. Everything felt like it was spinning. Was he falling? He paused, looking down. No, the ground was still there, beneath his feet.

Everything is fine. Laegeûl is okay. Ada doesn’t hate me. It’s all fine. It’s-

Legolas stopped, feeling cold tears drip from his eyes.

It’s not fine.

…

Golem’s escape and subsequent capture did not go unnoticed, and Laegeûl’s confession confirmed it. Many mistakes had been made, and not just on the prince’s side of things. Thranduil was quick to forgive his youngest son, and really it was not so surprising to anyone. Laegeûl had died for his mistakes, and was somehow gifted a second chance. It was clear they had learned a valuable lesson in emotional manipulation and betrayal. And they had more than paid for their mistakes, innocent and well meaning though they were.

Laegeûl told Legolas and Thranduil everything once he had awoken. Everything from the day he met Golem and took pity on him, to the day he met their mother in what they assumed to be the halls of Mandos. It was a turbulent story, one that held the attention of everyone Laegeûl deemed to tell.

The prince had become quite popular after that, many wanting to know what the halls of Mandos looked like. Laegeûl was only too happy to feed others’ curiosity and imagination.

Thranduil hadn’t lost sleep over the loss of Golem. However, it did pose a risk. Golem was obviously valued by the enemy for one reason or another, and that reason could be nothing but nefarious. Mithrandir would need to be notified of Golem’s escape, as would Elrond for-

Ah. A thought struck Thranduil like lightening. He could send Legolas to Rivendell as his messenger, and kill two birds with one stone. It was clear Legolas wasn’t doing well, and Thranduil hoped a change of scenery would help his son recover. Perhaps Elrond could help. He was a renowned healer after all.

Yes, he would send Legolas to Rivendell. Surely this decision of his would not be met with resistance!

“You’re sending me away??” Legolas asked incredulously when Thranduil relayed the news. He honestly looked a little hurt by the idea.

“But my place is here. You said that I must-“ Thranduil cringed and did not wish to hear his words repeated. Not those ones.

“I know what I said in the moment, but it has become clear to me that this darkness is going to continue to spread until it is purged at its root. With Elrond, I believe you can assist in doing just that.” Thranduil maintained his straight posture and placid features. Legolas raised a curious brow.

“How so?”

“There is a man I wish you to meet. His father was a good man, and he has the potential to become a great one.” Thranduil lifted his chin, looking out at his late wife’s garden. It was early spring, but snow still peppered the ground in clumps. Laegeûl loved the snow.

“What is his name?” Legolas hoped his father did not expect him to find this man based on descriptions alone.

“Aragorn, son of Arathorn.” Thranduil said slowly, listening for Legolas’s inevitable gasp of disbelief.

“Isildur’s heir? The rightful ruler of Gondor?” Legolas was surprised, he didn’t pretend otherwise. Thranduil nodded affirmatively.

“He is being cared for in Imladris by Lord Elrond for the time being. He goes by Estel, and pray you don’t speak his true name outside of these walls. His identity is one to be kept a secret, for his safety.” Thranduil elaborated, sweeping his robes around him and walking along the cobbled garden path. Legolas followed.

“You will ride at first light. This message is urgent.” Thranduil handed Legolas the full scroll, the paper heavier than it looked. Legolas looked down, feeling the rough texture with his fingertips.

“Yes Father.” Legolas agreed begrudgingly.

…

The very next morning, Legolas mounted his stallion and rode away for Rivendell. Without stopping, it would be a two day trip. Of course, Legolas wasn’t about to treat Uraeus so poorly, so it would take longer.

He wore the colors of Mirkwood that day, the sage and emerald green making him stand out among the browns and greys of the forest. A bow and quiver were slung over his shoulder and his hair was pulled into a long braid. Legolas had packed but the bare necessities, wishing to travel light and swift rather than be burdened by extra baggage. He took lambas with him, of course, as it was his favorite, though Thranduil never understood why.

There was no ceremony in his leaving, and Legolas preferred it that way. But his father had insisted on seeing him off, Laegeûl accompanying him. They went as far as the palace gates, walking in relative silence until they arrived, and suddenly it was time to say goodbye.

“I’ll send you letters, but you have to promise to reply.” Laegeûl insisted, his blond brows furrowed with frustration. He didn’t want Legolas to leave. He was, in fact, upset by it. But they knew it was necessary. Someone had to clean up Laegeûl’s mess, after all. The young prince hated that thought.

“Of course, honeg. I won't miss a single letter.” Legolas assured his nonplussed brother. This seemed to placate him for now. Laegeûl pet Uraeus’s flank gently, frowning and wishing he could hug his brother. But Legolas was firmly seated atop his steed, and he didn’t look like he wanted to come down for anything.

After a moment of lingering, Legolas shifted his posture and gently urged Uraeus to take a few steps forward. Thranduil thought he could watch him go silently, but as Legolas began to draw away, he found he could not.

“Legolas!” He called out, blue eyes flashing with emotion. Legolas turned on his horse, looking backwards. He pulled the rains and came to a slow stop. Thranduil inhaled, choosing his words carefully.

“Your mother loved you” he tried to sound as unaffected as possible, but Legolas could hear the waver in his voice. Laegeûl smiled brightly. He had told their Ada to say that.

“More than anything. More than life.” Thranduil’s eyes were misty as he watched Legolas bow his head, obviously rife with emotions that he dare not express. Legolas’s sharp inhale was heard as he looked back up, and could swear he saw his Naneth standing with Adar. But it was only Laegeûl, his green eyes alight with that same fire. Legolas wondered if he ever looked that way. He hoped Laegeûl never lost it.

“Namarië.” Legolas intoned softly, feeling his eyes burn slightly. He had to look away. Uraeus clopped on, and carried him away from Mirkwood and his family. The satchel at his side thumped at interval, the scroll inside reminding Legolas of his mission.

“Namarië” Thranduil tipped his head back and then, with a flick, turned on his heel and made for the palace. Somewhere unseen, Tauriel watched Legolas go, smiling sadly as she knew it was for the best. Laegeûl lingered far longer. They watched until Legolas disappeared among the trees, and even then he searched for his silvery hair among the brambles.

“Namarië, Muindor.” Laegeûl sniffed, his smile faltering. Legolas would come back someday. And he would be better. Laegeûl would just have to wait.

…

He ended up making camp as night drew near. Uraeus was tired and it was safer to travel in the light day anyhow. Legolas fed his faithful horse, petting him fondly for a bit before slumping back against the trunk of a tree. He felt the life radiating from its bark, and he could tell that the tree was very young. Less than fifty years old.

Legolas looked down at his hands, pulling at the fingers of his gloves and slipping them off. Transparency greeted him by the light of the fire he had set. Towards the centers of his palms his flesh opaque, but from then on was pale and empty. One could hardly tell they were there, if not for the physical sensation of his fingers remaining. Legolas sighed heavily, slipping the dark grey gloves back over his hands.

He wondered how long it would take; fading. Another thousand years? Or three?? No one could say. Perhaps Elrond would know? Ah, but he couldn’t ask. No one could know of this weakness, this failure. The dignity of his father commanded more respect than that of a pitifully fading son and decaying kingdom. It was a miracle Laegeûl survived, but Legolas doubted he would even even take up the mantle of King. After all, who was to say Mirkwood would last that long.

The night passed quietly, though the sounds of wargs in the distance kept Legolas alert. Uraeus whinnied, the whites of his large brown eyes visible.

“Shh mellon, îdh.” Legolas bid his horse, waiting for the arrows of orcs to pierce the silence. But they never came, and the howling of wargs passed.

On the second day of his journey, Legolas let his hair free, and traveled the length of an entire forest before nightfall. He encountered a party of orcs hidden in a crevice by a large hill, but they were easy to slaughter. Even with their crude spears and swords, Legolas outmaneuvered them with little difficulty. However, the distraction did pose as a setback in his trip. He lost valuable time that he could have been riding. Why he hadn’t simply run away was obvious, but it would have been quicker.

Legolas led his doubly exhausted horse to a brook babbling shallowly along smooth stones. He picked one up, turning it over in his bare fingers. It was so smooth that he could hardly see the grains of erosion, its surface speckled with grays and browns. It had likely sat in this creek for many years, slowly being washed of its jagged edges over time. Legolas wished for a moment that he could be like the little stone, so perfect and whole. He was tired of being rough and cracked.

He slipped the little river gem into his pocket, and occasionally would smooth his fingers over it in remembrance.

On the third day of his journey, the sun felt warmer and brighter. Spring was gentle, and its warmth was slow to take hold. But on days when the sky was unclouded, and the sun shone true, it almost felt like summer, a chill breeze all that grounded you to the season. Legolas inhaled deeply, the frosty winds nipping at his face as Uraeus galloped over the countryside.

The trees were changing form, and they sang different songs. They seemed happier than the trees of Mirkwood, for they were not yet so affected by the growing darkness. Their leaves were like needles among scaled branches and flakey bark. They held all their leaves high in the sky, even through winter and spring. Evergreen, they were called, and they had a way of making elves feel young. Evergreen trees did not fade or change like oak and maple trees did, and they remained tall and thin among their wider, shrubbier companions. Truly elven, they were.

Legolas had multiple reasons to appreciate Evergreen trees, but chiefly among them was that they surrounded Rivendell. This was the forest that made up their boarders. Legolas flicked the Uraeus’s reins and squinted his eyes through the dense foliage. He could see it! The wall that surrounded Rivendell! Despite the setbacks, he had made good time.

The golden guards upon the wall sighted him before he broke through the clearing and had descended the stairs to meet him, their spears in hand. Their grips on the spears slackened however, when they realized who Legolas was.

“Prince Legolas.” One of them bowed, their dark blond hair cropped just beneath their pointed helmet. Both guards let him in, naturally, one of them leading Uraeus to the stables to be fed. Legolas nodded his head courteously towards them, and started off towards Elrond’s home in the heart of Rivendell. Scroll in hand, Legolas took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. He hoped Elrond had not foreseen Golem’s escape already. Otherwise this entire trip was a waste.

Chapter Text

Legolas walked briskly through Rivendell’s open halls, sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves. It was a beautiful palace, pillars of granite and artfully chiseled arches forming the walls. Birdsong warbled overhead, a cardinal and his mate flittering about in the chill morning air. There were children playing games, dancing about with little toys clutched dearly in hands. Legolas remembered a time when Laegeûl was just as small. It hadn’t been so long ago.

As Legolas was walking, he met Elladan in the halls, the letter’s eyes widening in delight.

“Legolas! Mae govannen! When did you arrive?” The Peredhel asked brightly, his brown eyes like warm honey in the sun’s light. Legolas continued walking, letting Elladan fall in beside him.

“Only just. I have a message for your father from my King.” Legolas kept his eyes forward, his jaw set. He was so serious- Elladan thought comically. It made him want to straighten his own posture and walk with his chin raised. Ah, wood elves were always so stuffy. At least, the royals were.

“We’ll, if we’d known you were coming we would have greeted you at the gate. You paint us as terrible hosts, mellon!” Elladan laughed carefreely, slipping into that easy comradery they had once had as children. Legolas hardly remembered it, and if he did, the memory felt foreign. As if it belonged not to him, but some other, far happier Legolas of long past.

“It is urgent. There was no time to send a messenger to announce the messenger.” Legolas scoffed, resisting the itch to roll his eyes. That would be unnecessarily unkind. To his credit, Elladan sobered at Legolas’s utterance of ‘urgent’ and suddenly became the serious son of Elrond he was expected to be.

“My Father is in his study. I’ll lead you to him.” Elladan jerked his head in the direction of a corridor to the side of the main path. Legolas followed him, grateful that he would not have to wander until he stumbled upon the Lord of Imladris.

The door was before them suddenly, not as ornate as one would expect of Elrond. Then again, it was Elrond (he had never been one for frivolous decoratives). Elladan did not bother knocking, to Legolas’s abject horror. Through the door and into the wide, well lit room sat the one person he wanted to see, and another he did not.

Elrond looked to have been in council with his seneschal, maps and assorted bits of monotonous paperwork piled on his desk when Elladan threw the door open without warning.

“Father, Legolas has come all the way from Mirkwood to deliver you a message. He says it’s urgent.” Elladan stepped aside to let Legolas meet Elrond’s eyes. Legolas bowed politely to the lord of imladris, his grey eyes flicking down. He purposefully ignored Glorfindel’s presence.

“Legolas.” Elrond stood from his chair suddenly, looking taken aback. He tipped his head forward in a belatedly reciprocal bow.

“We heard no word of your traveling here. I take it this is more dire than the usual shortage of warriors?” Elrond asked, walking around his desk to meet Legolas. The wood elf waved him off, neglecting to entertain unimportant questions. Glorfindel raised a judgmental brow.

“Please, Lord Elrond, I bring news from Eryn Galen.” Legolas forced himself to say his realm’s formal name, and not the one everyone had taken to calling it in recent years. As he said this, he handed Elrond the scroll his father’s scribes had drafted. Elrond took it gently, unraveling it from either side. His eyes widened imperceptibly as he read it, brows furrowing with concern.

“Elladan.” Elrond’s eyes did not leave the scroll as he read, but trusted that his son would understand his intent.

“Yes Father.” Elladan nodded, bowed respectfully, and turned to leave. He closed the door with a soft click, and Legolas could hear his footsteps slowly fade away. Three remained, and they stood in silence for a moment, apprehension thick in the air. Glorfindel looked as though he was preparing himself for battle with his hardened expression and stormy eyes. If it was battle he was hoping for, then he would be sorely disappointed. Legolas almost smiled at the thought.

“He escaped.” Elrond murmured suspiciously as he read the scroll, returning to his seat and slowly lowering himself into the chair.

“Kidnapped by Orcs.” Legolas supplied, his eyes narrowing. He did not want the hardworking guards of Mirkwood to be painted as lazy. This was an oversight that he himself could have prevented- his father as well.

“We have reason to believe they were operating under orders. Whose, we’re not sure, but we have our suspicions.” Legolas frowned, giving Elrond a knowing look. Elrond’s frown deepened, the many evils that could have orchestrated this attack whirling about his mind. One stood out in particular.

“The Witch King? That is a bold accusation. One we have no way of testing.” Glorfindel read in between the lines, his expression grim as he held his chin in his fingers. Legolas nodded curtly, internally cringing at Glorfindel’s apparent need to disagree with him. It seemed that was something they shared.

“That is something we must consider.” Elrond concurred with Legolas, though he took Glorfindel’s words well into account. The former resident of Gondolin was not unfounded in his doubts, after all. The Witch King had, insofar, left well enough alone from elven lands. While it was true he commanded a vast majority of orcs under his iron fist, not all reported to him. It was likely the Witch King was to blame for this incident, but there were many questions that surrounded the circumstances.

If he was to blame, then why had he, the Witch King, who was known for his shows of excessive force and brute military aggression, sent a band of only seven Orcs to do his bidding? If he was to blame, then why hadn’t more destruction been wrought? If he was to blame, what could he want with the former One Ring bearer who now retained less than a drop of sanity or original personality. Surely Golem had very little knowledge to impart on the ever knowing Witch King, let alone valuable knowledge.

“What of your hunters, Prince Legolas? Were any of them injured?” Elrond realized the report did not include such information as he reached the bottom. Immediately, he and Lord Glorfindel noticed a change in their guest. He back and shoulders stiffened, and his eyes hardened like stone walls rather than their usual pools of stormy ocean. Legolas swallowed and tried to blink away the burning feeling inside him.

“…no. None of our warriors or hunters were harmed in the attack.” Legolas gritted out through a tight jaw. Every single one of his muscles felt tense at the aggravated flashing of images from that day flashing upon his mind's eye. Elrond pretended this behavior was completely in character for Legolas. Glorfindel on the other hand…

“I am glad. It is disheartening to watch your numbers grow thinner. You, as well as Thranduil, know that you will always have an ally in Imladris.” Elrond ventured a small, polite smile. Legolas could manage little more than the slow nod of his head.

“I understand that this incident must have caused distress within your realm, but was it truly necessary to send a prince to deliver such news? Surely it is beneath someone of your stature?” Glorfindel did not pretend to understand Mirkwood’s reasoning behind this. He himself held no objections to the Prince being sent, aside from the obvious safety concerns. But it made little sense why a messenger could not have been sent, as was the purpose of their occupation.

Legolas felt his blood boil and his jaw clench, though still holding his expression neutral.

“Beneath me?” Legolas scoffed, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“So says the former Lord of his house, now servant to another’s. Do you find this task beneath you?” Came Legolas’s petulant retort, his lofty brow furrowed irritably. Glorfindel nearly staggered under the weight of such implications. Indeed, the tongue of a wood elf was as sharp as their arrows!

“Perhaps I am not as welcome as you previously stated, Lord Elrond.” ‘This was a mistake,’ he thought bitterly. Legolas turned to the lord of Imladris, his demeanor shifting back to his respectfully detached display in an instant. Glorfindel would be spluttering if not for his background in politics. Likely he’d been in Legolas’s situation before, but he could not recall a time when someone had become so obviously offended by his words.

Elrond shook his head, sensing Glorfindel had unknowingly struck a nerve. Legolas turned to leave, his long braid flicking over his shoulder.

“Nay Legolas, I assure you, your welcome is not rescinded. I bid you to stay, at least for the night.” Elrond determined to salvage the situation, letting the scroll in his hands snap shut. He had read Thranduil’s note about his desire to keep his son in Rivendell, and he had no intention of disrespecting his wish.

Legolas paused in the doorway, and turned partially towards the Noldor, his eyes sharp. He nodded curtly with a slight bow.

“Very well, Lord Elrond. I will not depart just yet.” Legolas agreed and was not a moment later gone from the doorway and several paces down the hall before the door slipped shut.

…

A whoosh of breath escaped Elrond as he dropped his head back. His face slackened, and he no longer resembled the uptight Peredhel lord, but the tired friend Glorfindel had come to know.

“Mirkwood elves..” he muttered, rubbing his temples frustratedly. Glorfindel laughed softly, relieved he was not the only one who found the prince’s behavior straining.

“Pray tell, what grudge do you hold against him?” Elrond sat a bit straighter, his dark brown eyes flicking up to meet Glorfindel’s amused expression. The fair ellon’s smile dropped at his Lord’s words however, and his brow furrowed.

“Grudge? I confess, mellon, I have no idea what you mean.” Glorfindel shook his head, his long hair swaying back and forth. Elrond sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We’ll clearly you had nothing but contradictions to offer him. Tell me, does a creature as young as he unsettle you so??” Elrond interrogated, his judgment sharp. Glorfindel stilled, a far off look crossing his eyes.

“…something about him is very.. disturbed, don’t you think?” Glorfindel’s voice was unusually timid, his tone wistful. Elrond tipped his head in consideration. Was it possible that Legolas reminded Glorfindel of someone from his past?

“I think it would be very odd if there was not.” Elrond observed, folding his hands together.

“You know only a portion of what he has lost, and he is, after all, an elf of Mirkwood. Theirs is not the happiest kingdom I know of.” The Lord of Rivendell added, his lips drawn into a thin line. Glorfindel hummed in agreement, remembering the solemn and rather dramatic wake of Calathiel.

“Still,” Elrond sighed, his breath drawing long.

“Legolas is not usually so disagreeable, and I concur with you that he did seem rather perturbed this afternoon.” Elrond noted, drumming his fingers on mahogany in consideration. Glorfindel nodded, recalling the carefree demeanor and easy laughter of the Mirkwood prince before his loss took hold. He seemed to be shrouded in some darkness, the very same that loomed over his home possibly. Legolas had been a happy child, but he was anything but now.

“Perhaps your apology will ease his mood.” Elrond stated casually, quitting his seat to place Mirkwood’s latest news on a nearby shelf. “I’ll have this sent to Erestor” he murmured to himself.

“Apology?” Glorfindel startled, one of his pale brows quirking upwards.

“Yes,” Elrond nodded, the slightest hint of a smile curling at his lips.

“I think you’ll find him more agreeable in future if you extend him this courtesy. He is likely to return the favor if you incite it.” Elrond spoke as though he knew exactly how Legolas would react, and Glorfindel did not doubt it. Elrond had his ways, visions among them, and was ever an elf of the people. He understood them in a way Glorfindel could not, under a magnifying lense truly.

Glorfindel nodded and inclined his head, more than a little hesitant to agree to such an apology. But it seemed he had no room for argument in this matter, and it was rather required if things were to move smoothly from here on.

“May I take my leave?” The Noldor asked respectfully, bending at the waist in a proper bow this time. Elrond sniffed humorously at the formality that they had long since passed in friendship.

“Yes, I have no further need of you this day. I bid you a good evening.” Elrond replied, a pleased smile gracing his features. He looked rather regal like that. Glorfindel smiled in return, one that did not slip even as he exited his Lord’s chambers.

On his walk, he pondered Legolas’s words and their meaning. He had been rather affronted by Glorfindel’s suggestions and remarks. But was it his words that had upset him, or simply that they belonged to him?

…

Legolas followed Elladan to meet his brothers, of which there were now two. They had found them near the stables, a young child staring up adoringly at Legolas’s chestnut horse.

“He has quite a lovely coat, does he not?” Legolas eyed Uraeus’s dappled brown hide, glowing almost amber under the sunlight. The child, who could not have been more than 500, looked back suddenly to see Legolas and Elladan approaching. To Legolas’s surprise, the child had round ears, not pointed ones. ‘A man!’ Legolas proclaimed inwardly.

“Ah, Legolas! We were just admiring your new horse. Estel is ever fond of them, you know.” Elrohir smiled cheekily, watching his little brother flush.

“It is true,” Elladan nodded, eyes sparkling with familiar mischief. “Our [little brother] has an affection for horses that rivals yours, mellon!” Elladan chuckled at Estel’s quickly reddening face. Legolas watched with quiet amusement.

“This is your brother? The one I’ve heard so much about?” Legolas asked with a lilt to his voice. He was tempted to kneel down on Estel’s level and peer curiously at the child, but how rude would that be? It would not reflect favorably on his character for the child that his Adar held in such high esteem.

Estel looked up at Legolas and his unfamiliarity angular face. How foreign he must look, Legolas realized. Estel was accustomed to the soft, noble faces of the Noldor. A cheerful bunch they could be, despite their difficult history.

“You’ve heard of me?” The human child gasped, his clear blue eyes sparkling. Ah, he was quite endearing, wasn’t he? Legolas nearly smiled.

“My father thinks very highly of you, penneth. You should know, the king of Mirkwood is not easily impressed.” Legolas nodded knowingly, his expression lighter than usually. Elladan noticed the shift. Estel looked suddenly bashful, looking down at his feet self consciously.

“Your horse is pretty.” He murmured quietly, the tips of his ears pink. Legolas felt the uncomfortable anger from before melt away.

“You may pet him if you like.” Legolas offered, watching the youngest Elrondion brighten at his words.

“Uraeus is fond of being pet on his nose.” Legolas watched Estel shuffle closer to his stallion, reaching out tentatively and brushing the horse’s soft nose with his knuckles. Estel laughed, a happy, bubbling noise, as Uraeus leaned his long snout into the affection.

“See now, he likes you.” Legolas huffed with laughter. Elladan and Elrohir’s eyes widened simultaneously, sharing a look of bewilderment at the seen. How long had it been since Legolas had laughed, even quietly as thus??

“I’ve heard about you too. Ada says you’re a good archer.” Estel said shyly as he pet Uraeus’s nose, smiling gently. Legolas was too surprised at his use of elvish tongue to answer.

“Dear brother! One does not refer to Legolas as a ‘good archer’!” Elrohir laughed, throwing his pale hair back. Elladan snickered.

“Nay indeed, for he is The archer!” Elladan joined his twin in laughter, watching Legolas flounder for a reply. Estel blushed once again.

“Gwadorr!!” Estel complained, hiding his face behind a curtain of his wavy brown hair. Legolas sighed, rolling his eyes fondly.

“Ai, do not tease him so. I am not some hero to be gawked at.” Legolas shook his head, quickly growing accustomed to the twins’ teasing once again. He could not say it was unwelcome.

“We mean little by it, you know. But I’m sure Estel would appreciate your hand in archery. He has had quite a time of learning it!” Elrohir chose to embarrass his younger brother again, grinning at his mortified expression.

Legolas agreed, eagerly in fact. It would be good to practice again, this time merely for sport.

“I should like to refill my quiver first. I ran into some unfriendly shades on my journey here and my stash is rather depleted.” Legolas let the twins and their little shadow lead him to the grassy range. On the way, Legolas couldn’t help but stare at the sheer multitude of leafy green trees and shrubs. Everything was alive and thriving, whereas Mirkwood was quite the opposite.

“Legolas?” Estel paused, looking back to see the prince standing still and staring up at a large Yew tree. Legolas shook his head.

“Coming.”

Chapter Text

In the days that followed, Legolas focused on adjusting to his surroundings.

‘Trees are green’ was a constant and a fact. It would take getting used to.
‘There are no spiders’ was another one. ‘Bizarre’ Legolas often thought.

After his long journey and a short trip to the range with the Elrondion, Legolas was shown to his chambers. The room was nice, though smaller than the one he had at home. It faced the north tower, which meant he could look out his window and see who approached Imladris at any time. Legolas took advantage of this, often sitting by the window and simply watching individuals go by while he avoided people.

People, being Lord Glorfindel. Legolas groaned at the thought. Anything but that cheerful fool!

The day after his arrival, Legolas had noticed the seneschal trying to start up conversations with him. He must have had some reason, but Legolas frankly did not care. So he avoided him whenever possible, and made sure only to meet with him when others were present. He wasn’t sure what the Noldor wanted, and he didn’t care either.

Eventually however, he would have to acknowledge Lord Glorfindel, the Balrog slayer. And that day was swiftly approaching.

…

It was the evening of his fifth night when Glorfindel was finally given his chance.

The sun was slowly dipping behind the mountains, bathing the trees in a glow of fire. Legolas had just eaten supper with Elrond and his sons, when he ran into Glorfindel in the halls. Legolas’s feet were suddenly welded to the ground and he could find no polite excuse to go racing off this time.

“Prince Legolas! Good evening.” Glorfindel exclaimed cheerfully, looking surprised at his sudden appearance. Legolas gave a quick half bow in return, something inside him seeming allergic to Glorfindel’s presence.

“I must say, you are one difficult elf to get ahold of. I assume you’ve been busy?” Glorfindel asked with a smile. He sounded so genuine, but it was hard to tell. Perhaps Glorfindel was just good at smiling?

“Yes, the sons of Elrond have had many uses of me. I’ve been teaching young Estel archery.” Legolas replied, supposing he might as well engage in small talk now. What a pain.

“That’s wonderful! I’m sure my Lord will be most eager to see Estel’s progress.” Glorfindel nodded agreeably. Legolas thought he could escape then, trying to slink off without Glorfindel’s notice. He was, of course, wrong.

“I do have something I would like to discuss with you, prince Legolas, if you would grant me the audience.” Glorfindel stood tall, almost an entire head taller than Legolas. His hair was bound in a bun atop his head, one that made him look even taller. Legolas nodded begrudgingly, wishing he could sigh as though heavily put upon by Glorfindel’s request.

The next thing he knew, Lord Glorfindel had led him to a balcony that overlooked the lake behind the castle. It was night now, though the moon was not yet in the sky. But the stars were starting to peek from behind their dark blue curtain, their pale light shimmering softly. Glorfindel looked out at the stars for a moment before turning to Legolas, his eyes alight with determination.

“I’ve led you here to apologize.” Glorfindel started, and Legolas nearly jumped with surprise, though it was not exactly unexpected.

“For my behavior when you first arrived, and for my uncouth comments. Forgive me, it was not my intention to offend you.” Glorfindel spoke pretty words, but Legolas wondered about the reason for his apology. The real reason.

“What was your intention then, if I may ask?” Legolas asked stiffly, not so ready to accept an apology. But perhaps he could be persuaded. Glorfindel frowned, a troubled look overtaking his features.

“There was.. something about you that seemed so disturbed. You are different from the prince I remember. I thought- worried- that something might have happened. Something that would have caused a prince such as yourself to toil and deliver such a message.” Glorfindel explained, his eyes remorseful.

“Was I wrong?” The Lord met Legolas’s eyes, and he realized that they were grey. Hadn’t his eyes been green before..?

Legolas was flabbergasted, feeling lost for words after such an explanation. Glorfindel had hit the nail right on the head, and now Legolas would have to tell him. The real reason Legolas had been sent here. The real reason he was so perturbed as of late. Legolas groaned internally, tightening his fists and feeling his leather gloves squeeze.

“No. You were not.” Legolas replied haltingly, averting his eyes. He turned to the balcony and looked at the stars’ reflections in the lake. They were rippling with the breeze as the night sky grew ever deeper. Glorfindel stepped to Legolas’s side, also observing the lake.

“..would it be presumptious of me to ask..?” He said tentatively. Legolas sighed, outwardly this time, and raised his head to the sky.

“It would. But I suppose there is no point in not telling you. After all, you are most likely to sympathize with such matters.” Legolas was loath to admit. He took a deep breath and let his eyes fall shut, willing himself not to imagine that day. Glorfindel looked on with patience and quiet concern.

“The day that Golem was kidnapped, my brother bore witness to the attack.” Legolas began, not quite ready to spit out the truth. He hadn’t yet fully processed it himself.

“I told Elrond that none of our warriors or hunters were killed that day, and I spoke the truth. I do not deal in falsehoods.” Legolas added sternly, flashing Glorfindel a warning look. The Lord seemed unfazed however, fully engrossed now into Legolas’s tale.

“I do not disbelieve it.” Glorfindel nodded his head graciously.

Legolas took another steadying breath, though it shuddered in his rising chest.

“But Laegeûl is not a warrior, nor a hunter. They are a scholar.” Legolas admitted, biting down on his lip immediately after the words had left his mouth. It took but a second to register before Glorfindel’s golden head jerked back in understanding of Legolas’s meaning. A chasm of dread opened up within Glorfindel as he realized-

“You mean your brother, the prince-“ Glorfindel leaned forward, his dark hands turning white with deathly grip on the balcony’s bannister.

“Was killed.” Legolas choked and threw his head up to the stars once more. Glorfindel could see the wet sheen of his eyes illuminated by the stars. His breathing was extremely controlled, but in an unnatural, heaving way. Glorfindel stared, horrified at the revelation. He had all but taunted Legolas’s arrival here, when he was in the midst of his grief! No wonder he had been so snappish! Glorfindel gasped.

“I am so sorry. Legolas I-“ Glorfindel tried to reach out, but the wood elf flinched away. Legolas shook himself awake, his senses returning.

“It is alright. Truly, it is fine.” Legolas tried to insist, but his words were weak and his tone feeble. Glorfindel didn’t know how to react to that other than defensively.

“It is not! Legolas, I’m sorry! I had no idea, I would not have-“ Glorfindel tried again, only to be silenced once more by the impatient prince.

“Lord Glorfindel, I assure you, all is well. My brother did not stay dead for long.” Legolas shook his head, pretending his words were not bizarre. Glorfindel visibly blanched.

“I- what??” Glorfindel was justifiably confused. He looked even more concerned than before. If the situation and conversation had not been so dour, Legolas might have laughed.

“They returned to us. He did not stay dead.” Legolas was not sure how else to clarify that his brother had died, but returned soon after. Glorfindel looked suddenly furious.

“Valar Legolas!! If he was gravely injured then you should have just said so! Why must you Wood Elves wax poetic about death! Ai!” Glorfindel cried, throwing up his hands. Legolas recoiled at the comment, his face flushing angrily.

A flash of rage Legolas felt at the Lord’s words. ‘Wood Elves’?? What did that have to do with Laegeûl’s death, or Glorfindel’s misunderstanding? Nothing! What did he mean by that?? Nothing good, surely!

“I held Laegeûl in my arms Glorfindel!” Legolas cried, his voice piercing the air with the agony he kept hidden. Glorfindel stilled, his throat bobbing.

“I held him as his hröa failed, his blood all over me! I held him as his fëa slipped away, I felt it! I felt his breath stop and his heart grow still! He was cold as ice and white as marble! He died, long enough for my father and myself to realize this and grieve for him!” Legolas spat, his eyes blazing with unshed tears. Glorfindel shrank back, his explosive frustration completely drained away. All that remained was tired frustration, and resigned grief.

“When Laegeûl came back to us.. they were quiet and confused. They spoke of Naneth in a field of flowers, more vibrant and beautiful than his memory could recall.” Legolas continued, his voice dropping low.

“This was not some drunken hallucination, Glorfindel. Nor some childish dream. My brother died. And it is only because they knew we needed them, at our late mother’s insistence, that he returned to us at all. I thought that if anyone would understand, it would be you.” Legolas could not keep the bitter bite out of his voice. Glorfindel was silent, seemingly rife with emotions.

“He returned from Aman..” Glorfindel murmured eventually, eyes glazed and far away. Legolas shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his gloved hands. It was getting late.

“I must apologize again, Legolas. Dying is somewhat of a.. sensitive topic for me. It seems I was letting that influence my treatment of you. I spoke poorly.” Glorfindel bowed his head, feeling genuine remorse for his words. Legolas hummed appreciatively, remaining still.

“It is difficult to move on from, isn’t it?” Legolas sighed, letting his shoulders round. Glorfindel nodded, giving Legolas a sad look.

“Yes, it is.” He agreed, following Legolas’s line of sight to a brightly shining star in the sky.

“You have lost much in your lifetime, my prince.” Glorfindel observed, though he knew only half of what he had lost. Legolas scoffed.

“Not nearly as much as you, my lord.” Legolas shook his head, a slightly amused look on his face. Glorfindel huffed with exasperation.

“Maybe. But I have had a long time to deal with it.” Glorfindel countered, pushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Legolas hummed, knowing Glorfindel was probably right.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to live as long as you have. To see if it makes a difference, that is.” Legolas teased lightly. He didn’t mean much by it, but the weight of his words hit him after it was too late to take them back. He would not live that long, re realized belatedly. A blunder on his part then, but one no one had to know. Glorfindel smiled sadly, nodding his head.

“Do you think you might smile then? It has been a long time since anyone has seen it.” Glorfindel asked, his question harmless, really. Legolas blushed, feeling suddenly embarrassed. He had not thought anyone noticed. Perhaps that was silly; a smile was a noticeable thing to lose after all.

“I remember when you were even younger than now, you had a very bright smile. And you wore it always. It went so nicely with your green-“ Glorfindel stopped, locking eyes with the prince beside him. Legolas looked more than uncomfortable now, his grey eyes darting away.

“Ah, I apologize. I only wonder what happened. But you do not owe me an explanation.” Glorfindel chuckled, shaking his head. Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, glad he would not have to disclose another secret this night.

“Another time, maybe.” Legolas stepped back, his voice wobbling. Glorfindel seemed to notice that Legolas was done conversing with him. It was late anyway.

“Then I bid you goodnight, prince.” Glorfindel nodded his head courteously, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Legolas reciprocated the farewell and turned on his heal to leave.

“Oh, and Glorfindel?” Legolas paused, realizing he had never accepted, nor denied Glorfindel’s apology.

“Yes?”

“You are forgiven. But only if you forgive me of my impatience, Lord Glorfindel.” Legolas shot over his shoulder, his expression light and neutral. Glorfindel smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“It is done.”

…

“Hold your elbow higher.” Legolas instructed, tapping Estel’s elbow with the butt of an arrow. Estel obeyed, though overzealously, his fist now level with his ear. Legolas hummed, helping Estel readjust once again.

“Good. This is the form you will want to strive for from now on.” Legolas noted Estel’s good posture and even stance.

Behind them, Elladan and Elrohir were watching with crossed arms, though not out of judgment. They were eager to see how Estel would do under Legolas’s careful tutelage. Legolas had never taught archery before, but he figured his expertise in actually wielding the bow would transfer to teaching. He was about to find out.

“Now pull it back.” Legolas instructed, watching Estel pull even harder on the bowstring. It stretched and stretched until taut, the durable string making a soft creaking noise.

“Now, lerya!” Legolas whispered, leaning in close to watch the arrow fly by. It zipped away, flying in a wide, fantastically high arch and.. completely missing the target. Estel slumped, his eyes sad as he watched his arrow stab the ground uselessly, just a yard away from the target’s base.

Triumphant whoops and hollers were heard from behind, both Elladan and Elrohir cheering their little brother on. Estel felt his face burn. Surely they were mocking him.

“Your brothers’ cheers are in earnest, Estel. That was very good for your first time!” Legolas knelt down and patted the young man on the shoulder, giving him a thumbs up. Estel’s frown deepened.

“But.. I didn’t hit the target.” Estel pouted, his blue eyes downturned.

“True enough. But I did not tell you to aim, and no one here is judging it.” Legolas reassured his new pupil. Estel paused, some of his embarrassment ebbing away.

“Shall we go again?” Legolas asked, a hopeful lilt to his voice. Estel bounced on the balls of his feet and smiled, bow clutched dearly in his small hands.

“Yes please!”

…

Estel’s training progressed well, and Elrond was pleased to see his son taking an interest.

Estel was a curious child, his wide eyes always locked onto something new. Legolas had effectively held his attention longer than anything else so far. The young man admired him, for both his grace and his strength. Many felt the same, though it was far more obvious in the mannerisms of a child.

For one thing, Estel’s Sindarin had improved greatly. His father had assigned him tutors for language so that he would know both Quenya and Sindarin, but Legolas had noticed some… inaccuracies in the curriculum.

“Mel~lon, mell lon, two syllables, like a river, Estel.” Legolas tutted, trying to salvage his young friend’s pronunciation. Estel nodded enthusiastically.

“Ohhh, Mellon!” Estel replied, his pronunciation greatly improved. Legolas sighed with relief and appreciation. ‘Thank goodness’ he thought lightly.

“You’re doing very well.” Legolas encouraged, watching Estel’s eyes brighten with pride.

“Thanks to you.” Estel said bashfully, fully aware of how abismal his Sindarin had been before. It wasn’t his fault really, as there was never a use for it in Imladris. Everyone spoke either Quenya or Westron.

“Ai, mind your tutors. They do a fine job with you. My instruction is only supplementary.” Legolas chided, though his expression was amused. Estel pulled a face, but nodded his head respectfully.

“Yes, mellon-nin.” Estel replied slyly, purposely mispronouncing the word. Legolas gasped dramatically, holding his hand over his chest and feigning offense.

“Baw Estel, baw!” Legolas cried indignantly, dropping his head into his hands as Estel giggled, all too pleased with himself. Behind his hands, Legolas’s lips tugged at the edges.

…

The early morning air was crisp and clear, summer quickly approaching. Summer was, coincidentally, Estel’s favorite season.

The range was bustling this morning with activity. Estel and Legolas were, once again, at the center of it all. The targets had been set up, this time farther away from the standing point, and many of Estel’s family members had come to watch. For today was the day of Estel’s archery exhibition; something Legolas had suggested.

Elrond was standing near the back with Erestor and Glorfindel by his side. Lindir, being one of Estel’s tutors, had also come to watch. Elladan and Elrohir were of course present, as was their mischief.

Legolas was speaking to Estel, giving him some final words of encouragement before the exhibition started.

“Show me your stance.” Legolas requested, watching as Estel notched an arrow in his bow, shifted his torso, and shuffled one of his feet forward. Legolas nodded with satisfaction.

“You’re ready.” Legolas was glad to see his training had helped. Estel too, was happy to-

“Háno!!” Elladan exclaimed exuberantly, patting Estel on the shoulder enthusiastically. Estel jumped, yelping as he released his arrow by mistake. It went soaring far into the trees, and Legolas heard it strike a root.

Estel whipped around, his face twisted with anger.

“Vá!! Elladan!! Now I’ve got to go all the way into the forest just to get that back!” Estel planted his hands on his hips. Elladan put his hands up and smiled nervously.

“Ah, I’m sorry háno, I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you heard us approaching, honest.” Elladan smiled, Elrohir snickering beside him. Legolas rolled his eyes. Estel mumbled something under his breath about not having the same pointy ears as everyone else.

“Don’t fret Estel, I’ll get it for you. Start without me!” Legolas called over his shoulder as he ran off to retrieve the arrow. He earned a few odd looks from the spectators, but he paid them no mind. He was glad for the chance to slip off into the woods.

The sun was low in the morning sky, but its warmth could be felt already as Legolas dove into the wooded landscape. The oak trees had regained their beautiful leaves over the spring, and were now at their fullest. They were so vibrantly green that they glowed when the sun’s rays passed through them. The earth was dappled by splotches of sunlight that managed to shine through the thick canopy.

Legolas ran, near silently, until he came upon the arrow. The arrowhead was lodged into a red root, the tree it belonged to thick and hardy.

“Ah, my apologies dear one.” Legolas bowed, removing the arrow carefully. He placed his hand over the nick in the bark, warm sap sticking to his brown leather gloves.

Legolas stuck the arrow in his own quiver so he would not stab himself with it as he ran. Ahead, Legolas could hear the sounds of soft clapping and murmured approval. Estel was doing well.

The trees were so beautiful here, but foreign at the same time. He was still unaccustomed to their songs and whispers. But he would learn, in time. As with anything, it would only take time. Legolas wondered how much of that he had.

Legolas broke through the foliage and found the sun beating down on him once again. He looked to his side, and saw the target Estel was using. There were two arrows firmly in the bullseye position.

‘Edregol vaer!’ Legolas thought proudly. But something nagged at his mind. Where was the third..? Legolas heard a whistling noise and his head snapped forward.

“Ah, there it is.” Legolas frowned. It was too late to dodge.

The arrow slammed into him and embedded itself into Legolas’s shoulder. He fell backwards upon impact, landing in the tall grass. He groaned, rolling onto his back. The arrow was sticking straight up, out of his shoulder. Lovely.

“FÓ LEGOLAS!!” Estel cried, sounding distraught. Ah, he couldn’t let Estel think he’d killed him, now could he?

Slowly, Legolas pushed himself up, staggering to his feet. A breathy laugh escaped him. He was aware of the sound of feet pounding the earth in his direction.

“Good shot Estel!” Legolas huffed, coughing into his fist.

“If I were an orc- I’d be dead!” He laughed, choking somewhat on air. It was fine, he was fine. It was only his shoulder after all.

To his surprise, it was Glorfindel that reached him first, though it took a moment for his face to register.

“Are you alright?!” The Noldor asked urgently. Legolas looked him dead in the eyes, then down at the arrow in his shoulder.

“Mm, I’m well. You?” Legolas snarked, feeling an odd rush of adrenaline. He hadn’t been this injured in years! Glorfindel frowned, apparently not finding this as amusing as Legolas did.

“Yes, you’re hilarious. Now come on, let’s get you inside.” Glorfindel sighed, propping himself under one Legolas’s good arm and helping him forward.

“Alright, but I can walk on my own, you know.” Legolas lied, limping due to the pain.

“I’m sure you can but I’d much rather not take any risks.” Glorfindel shook his head, keeping a firm hold on Legolas’s arm. Up ahead, Elrond and his sons were rushing forward.

“Woah Legolas! You came out of nowhere!” Elrohir exclaimed, appraising Legolas’s wound. The arrow was beginning to drip with blood.

“I’d say the arrow came out of nowhere, but that would be unfair to the one who shot it.” Elladan joked, elbowing his little brother playfully. Estel was pale as a lily, his eyes wide with fear. Legolas laughed at his ghastly expression and everyone around him stared with wide eyes.

What a joyous sound for the prince of grief to make! And in such circumstances as injury! Perhaps he was mad after all?

“Goodness, Estel, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Legolas laughed, smiling softly down at Estel’s poor face. The human trembled terribly, his blue eyes filling with tears.

“I- I didn’t mean to-“ he shook, a few tears slipping from his cheeks. His older brothers became suddenly, fiercely, protective.

“Hey, don’t worry, he’s alright!” Elladan assured him, rubbing his shoulder gently.

“Yeah, old Las is tough as steel! He’ll be just fine!” Elrohir reinforced his twin’s words, smiling encouragingly. Estel still looked unconvinced.

“We can continue this inside. I’d like to remove that as soon as possible.” Elrond stated dryly, his healer side taking over. Glorfindel nodded, helping Legolas inside. Legolas hoped Estel wouldn’t beat himself up too much over this.

Chapter Text

Inside the healing ward, Legolas had a room to himself as Elrond prepared his tools. Glorfindel had helped Legolas to a bed, where he had deposited him. Legolas had thanked him and leaned back. He quickly sat back up when the slight pressure from the mattress made his wound burn all the more.

‘That can’t be good.’ Legolas thought nauseously and Elrond noticed his discomfort. The peredhel sighed.

“The arrow traveled deeper into your shoulder than I would have liked.” Elrond said, taking out a pair of shears. Glorfindel frowned with an inward wince, but Legolas huffed with pained laughter.

“I could say the same.” The prince grimaced.

“Its depth is such that it will be easier to push through to the other side, rather than pull it back out through the entry.” Elrond relayed regretfully, his eyes deep with sympathy. Legolas wilted, feeling suddenly sick and sullen.

“Ah, that.. does not sound fun.” Legolas admitted, his stomach churning. Glorfindel looked worried, his brows furrowed at Elrond’s decision. The Lord of Imladris stooped next to Legolas and snipped off the end of the arrow. Legolas hissed as it was jostled painfully.

“Glorfindel, if you intend to leave, I suggest you do it now.” Elrond returned the sheers to their compartment and threw away the butt of the arrow. Legolas took a steadying breath. Glorfindel shook his head, eyes dark and determined.

“I’ll help however I can.” Glorfindel gave Legolas a friendly smile, though it was more concerned than anything else. Elrond procured a small cloth and brought it to Legolas.

“Very well.” Elrond nodded, and was pleased to see that Glorfindel and Legolas were getting along as of late. ‘The apology must have worked’ he thought absently.

“You may want to bite down on this.” He advised, his dark brown eyes already swimming with remorse. He handed the cloth to Legolas, who looked down at it dismally. He took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

“Right. Let’s do this.” Legolas agreed and slipped the fabric into his mouth. He tried to focus on its rough texture against his tongue instead of Elrond leaning closer. He tried to focus on its taste instead of Elrond’s hands slowly moving towards what remained of the arrow shaft. The squeeze of his palm was enough for Legolas to look to his side. Glorfindel had taken hold of his hand and was squeezing it gently. He smiled, and Legolas smiled back.

Lightening pain erupted in his shoulder and Legolas screamed.

…

Estel was a mess, still being consoled by his brothers, when the horrible sound reached their ears. Legolas’s agonized shriek reverberated in Estel’s skull, causing more tears to fall from his widened eyes. Estel dropped his head into his hands.

“It's all my fault!” He cried as the last of Legolas’s screams died away, replaced by heavy breathing and the occasional groan of pain.

“Hey now, it was an accident, Estel. These things happen!” Elladan frowned, hugging his brother from the side. They were seated on the bench placed at the entrance to the healing ward. Estel shook his head vehemently, his brows furrowed with sorrow.

“Yeah, hey, remember the time Elladan nearly chopped off my arm while sparing??” Elrohir asked, poking Estel with his elbow. Estel shook his head, looking up at his older brothers.

“Wasn’t alive yet.” Estel sniffled, rubbing his face.

“Ah, that’s right. But it did happen, promise!” Elladan repeated, watching Estel stand to leave.

“Estel, wait up!” Elrohir called after him as he sped down the halls. Elrohir and Elladan groaned. It was turning into quite the chore to calm their brother down. Not that they blamed him for being upset.

…

Elrond held the arrowhead in his hand, the blood drying. He had wrapped Legolas’s shoulder tightly to staunch the bleeding and offer support. Legolas had slumped into Glorfindel’s side as soon as Elrond had finished removing the arrow, completely exhausted from the ordeal. Glorfindel allowed this, keeping a hand on Legolas’s good arm to steady him.

“He will recover on his own. All he needs now is rest.” Elrond wiped his brow and threw away the arrowhead. Glorfindel nodded, wondering how he was going to move Legolas without hurting him.

“Make sure he stays in bed. If I know Thranduil’s son, he will try to be up and about as soon as he is conscious.” Elrond advised, moving to the door with.

“Uh, of course-“ Glorfindel started, bewildered as to his role in all this.

“If he needs anything, or wakes up in distress, call me, but don’t leave him alone if you can manage it.” Elrond continued offering his advice. Glorfindel frowned.

“I- yes alright, but… why are you giving me this duty??” Glorfindel wondered aloud. It was unknown to him why Elrond saw fit to give him, someone Legolas didn’t even like, the responsibility of caring for him.

“You volunteered to care for him when you said you would help however you could. This is how you help.” Elrond responded, opening the door to the small room. Glorfindel ducked his head. He supposed he had offered that.

“I have matters to attend to, but I’ll return before long.” Elrond’s eyes darted out the door, his mind elsewhere. Without waiting for Glorfindel to respond, Elrond slipped out the door and closed it behind him with a soft click. Likely he was off to go find his youngest son.

Glorfindel sighed, looking at the sleeping elf beside him. It was rare that Legolas shifted into reverie, his eyes open but glazed. It seemed now was one of those times.

“What now?” Glorfindel whispered, feeling rather useless as he sat there on the bed staring at the opposite wall. “He needs rest” Elrond’s words echoed in his mind.

“Right.” Glorfindel nodded firmly, shifting to allow Legolas to lay back on the bed. He was careful not to touch his shoulder or jostle it in any way as he got off the bed. In the corner of the well lit room, was a chair that Glorfindel could sit in while he waited. Before that, he pulled the drapes over the wide window, bathing the room in a blissful dim light. It would be easier to rest that way, Glorfindel was sure.

Taking his seat, Glorfindel resolved to wait. Just how long was a mystery, but he was sure it wouldn’t be long.

…

“An apology is all that is owed, vinimo. Legolas is forgiving, and he does not blame you. I have spoken to him.” Elrond assured his son, Estel buried in his robes. The child’s breath hitched periodically, distressed tears escaping his pale eyes.

“I didn’t mean to! I-I hurt him so bad! I’m evil!” Estel sniffled, his small frame trembling. Elrond frowned, a look of surprise on his weathered face.

“Evil? Estel, where on Eä did you get that idea?” Elrond held his son’s face in his hands, wiping away stray tears. Estel met his gaze, eyes red and puffy.

“You told me Orcs are evil because they hurt people!” Estel cried, clenching his hands into fists. Elrond tipped his head to the side in sympathy.

“No Estel. Orcs are evil because they enjoy hurting people. They strive for it, and make it their sole purpose in life.” Elrond shook his head as he explained, his eyes full of warmth towards his son. The matter was yet more complicated and morbid than thus, but Elrond had not the mind to explain that now. It would do Estel no good anyway.

“What happened today was an accident, and you feel terrible for it, don’t you?” Elrond stressed the word ‘accident’ and tucked a dark strand of hair behind Estel’s round ear. Estel nodded vehemently, the last of his tears falling from his cheeks. Elrond smiled.

“Then chin up, Estel. Legolas is alright, and we can go apologize together later. For now, he needs rest and you need water.” Elrond helped Estel to his feet, holding his son’s hand gently. Estel sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he followed his father.

“Ada?” Estel piped, looking up at Elrond with wide eyes.

“Yes, vinimo?” Elrond met his watery blue eyes.

“Can I still be king one day?” He asked, a hint if fear in his young voice. Elrond chuckled, knowing his son did not yet fully grasp the weight of his future title.

“Yes, Estel. You will.”

…

Legolas awoke from tumultuous dreams, trying to roll onto his side but feeling immense pain. He stopped, blinking into the dim room. His right shoulder throbbed and pulsed with heat. He could feel the puncture beneath the wrappings. It felt tight and enflamed.

He groaned, his brow creasing.

A flicker of movement caught Legolas’s waking attention.

“You’re awake.” The figure in the corner of the room approached, something about them familiar. A name flitted through Legolas’s mind, one recognizable yet unknown to him. The figure’s face grew closer, their voice muffled by sleep.

“…Ecthelion?” Legolas whispered, his eyes unfocused. Glorfindel gasped quietly at Legolas’s words.

“Ha, not quite.” Glorfindel mumbled with bitter memory.

“Á cuita, Legolas. The world waits for you.” Glorfindel further roused his injured companion, watching the hazy film of rest slowly clear from Legolas’s blue eyes. The wood elf blinked slowly, his eyes landing on Glorfindel but lingering no longer than upon his surroundings.

He was in the healing ward, brought there by Elrond and Glorfindel. The walls were pale with gentle sunlight streaming through the drapes of burgundy pulled against the windows. It was day, but the sun was beginning to slip below the mountains of in the distance.

Legolas looked to his side, expecting to see a wide eyed child standing there with the expression of a saddened puppy. He was rather surprised when he found nothing there, and realized that Glorfindel was his only visitor.

“Where is Estel?” Legolas prompted his unlikely companion, forgetting for now any confusion between them. Glorfindel’s expression cleared and he tilted his head back, golden hair shifting over his shoulders.

“Ah, poor Estel. He’s taken leave of all company to cry over his misdeed, though his kin bids him not. He cannot be convinced of his innocence.” Glorfindel shook his head slowly, his blue eyes lidded. Legolas immediately began to shimmy to the bedside in an attempt to leave. Glorfindel jumped up just as Legolas’s bare feet touched the cool floor. He wondered for a moment why Legolas wore gloves but not shoes.

“Goodness Legolas, Elrond was right! Have you no concern for your own well-being?” Glorfindel cried full well knowing that he, nor any warrior he’d ever met (himself included), had naught. Legolas looked at him queerly as though he’d grown an extra head.

“I’m only getting up to stretch.” He said innocently, though he had other intentions. Glorfindel wasn’t convinced.

“I am not so inane to miss your true interest, dear prince. It is obvious whom you wish to search for.” Glorfindel smirked, his eyes narrowing.

“You’ve grown fond of him.” It wasn’t an accusation, but it felt like one. Legolas flushed once more.

“And how could I not? He reminds me of- of Laegeûl..” Legolas’s eyes suddenly dimmed and his gloved hands clenched. Glorfindel frowned, remembering the story Legolas had told him some nights ago. There was a careful silence then, one neither of them wanted to break.

It was best, for Legolas’s sake, that Laegeûl not be mentioned. Temporarily it would be, but the memories and images for now were too strong to not create a visceral reaction. One Glorfindel was keen to avoid in Legolas’s recovery especially.

“How did you know his name?” Glorfindel eventually turned to him again, his cerulean eyes sparkling with morbid curiosity. Legolas tilted his head in confusion. He asked the golden elf who he referred to, but Glorfindel only shook his head.

“When you awoke, you first called me a name that was not my own. Do you know whose it was?” Glorfindel was leaning forward, appraising Legolas with sharp eyes. The wood prince hummed, trying to remember his sleep induced ramblings. Alas, to no avail.

“I know not. My apologies, Lord Glorfindel, I can only hope it has not caused you distress..?” Legolas shook his head, a curious lilt to his voice. Now he too wanted to know what it was that had so unsettled the ellon. Glorfindel sighed, eyes trailing the floor.

“No, no offense I assure you. Only I thought I recognized the name and I hadn’t heard it in quite some time. But no matter! Tell me, how do you feel in regards to your injury?” Glorfindel discarded his previous inquiries with a bitter tang settling in his chest. Now he played his cheerful role once more, and Legolas, for the first time, saw through it.

“..As well as I mayest. I have suffered worse before and this shall not spell my undoing for certain. Though, I would appreciate that this does not occur again.” Legolas entertained Glorfindel’s attempt’s at redirection and sat back on the bed once more, his tone light.

“Nay, we’ll not make a habit of this!” Glorfindel laughed at Legolas’s dour expression. Legoless sighed, his eyes drifting to the door. He wondered about the whereabouts of his young friend. But more chiefly he wondered what it was that Glorfindel his from him behind smiling lips.

…

Laegeûl hefted the dwarf by the arm, shoving him into the open cell. The metal grate closed with a ‘clang’ and Laegeûl moved on, ignoring the dwarrows cries of protest. Tauriel and Galion also escorted dwarves to their cells, a dark look in their eyes. It had been a long time since dwarrow were allowed within their borders.

“-or nothing.” Tauriel snarked, flicking her hair over her shoulder and leaving the dwarf she had the displeasure of conversing with behind. Laegeûl rolled his eyes.

Dwarves. It had to be dwarves.

Chapter Text

Estel shifted nervously his weight from side to side, keeping his arms pinned stiffly to his sides. His neck was so straight it hurt, the little tendons bulging at the sides and pulling at his chin. He stood before Legolas’s door, a tentative and pathetically soft knock all he could muster amidst his stifling regret.

Elrond stood beside him, his selfsame air of confidence tempered not by his son’s inner turmoil. He rather smiled in the face of it, though impolite it may be on another’s behalf. Estel was yet young and unlearned in the ways of elven healing and forgiveness. And for such as Legolas, Elrond doubted the Wood elf had ever held it against Estel in even the literal sense of the incident.

Legolas was quite taken by human child after all, and cared for him like an older brother might. Perhaps he might be gifted the title in near future, considering that he may remain in Imladris until Estel’s maturity.

It was Legolas himself who answered Estel’s timid knock, his voice far more mellifluous than one so injured ought to be. Then again, he had ever been fairy minded before his darkness took hold. Perhaps it yet returned? Elrond blinked to wonder.

“Come in.” Legolas bade, and Estel spent little time in waiting to push the ornate door open. Inside, Legolas was yet abed, as much to the surprise of Lord Elrond; chief in his doubts about the Ellon’s sense of health. Beside Legolas was a rather pensive Glorfindel, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

Together, they were an odd pair. One so brightly cheerful of oft, now bent under furrowed brow. The other a living shadow of grief, a shell of pain; now beaming in a happy smile long thought lost. Elrond nearly staggered at the sight, but Estel rushed forward, eyes wide.

“Legolas! You’re okay!?” He exclaimed, for his mentor looked far more okay than any should in his situation. But Legolas only nodded brightly, a soft smile gracing his lips.

“Of course, Estel. Surely you did not think me a liar when I promised you such?” Legolas tilted his head, letting his long hair drape over his shoulder. Estel blanched.

“No! I didn’t think that!” Estel cried, shaking his head vehemently. Legolas exhaled in quiet laughter. What a sound he made, even now! Where had his eternal sorrow gone?

“I only thought- I wouldn’t have been okay if I got shot like that. I guess elves really are different, but I was still worried.” Estel frowned, gripping the edge of Legolas’s bed of convenience. The elf in question laughed behind his hand softly.

“Aw, you worried for me?” Legolas teased, and it was then that Estel knew he was well and truly fine. Legolas was just fine, and Estel had worried himself to tears for naught.

“I take it back! I didn’t care at all!” Estel huffed obstinately, pouting and crossing his arms over his chest. Legolas laughed loud and true, and Glorfindel’s smile broke through his gloom. It had been a long time since Legolas had laughed like that.

“How do you fare, Legolas?” Elrond stepped in, pulling forth a new roll of bandages. Legolas nearly frowned at the sight, his mirth fading.

“Just fine, thank you. It will heal in its own time, as we do in the green wood.” Legolas nodded, bowing his head slightly. Elrond sighed, still pulling the old bandages loose. Legolas hissed as the cool air kissed his gaping wound like fire made of ice. Elrond was quick to rewrap the offending injury, his hands flitting deftly over the exposed flesh.

While the Lord of Rivendell worked, Estel eyes Glorfindel curiously.

“What happened to you?” He asked brusquely, so used to the elf’s presence that he no longer felt bound by formality. Glorfindel’s eyes snapped up to meet Estel’s, and he found naught there but curiosity and innocence.

“Pardon?” He wasn’t quite sure what it was that Estel referred to, but the human looked upon him like he carried an ailment of physical perception.

“You’re not shiny anymore, Glorfindel.” Estel frowned, his eyes taking on that worried sheen. A startled laugh tore from Legolas’s curling lips, one he couldn’t seem to contain for sake of politeness. Even Elrond, dour as ever, could not help the slight tug at the corners of his mouth. His son could be so naïve on occasion.

Glorfindel had straightened his spine impossibly at Estel’s accusation, his eyes flashing with light.

“Shiny?!” He squawked indignantly, throwing Legolas into yet more laughter, which pulled painfully at his chest.

“He is not wrong, Mellon. You have lost your luminousity. Though, I am sure it will return.” Legolas shook his head, doing his best to control his movement. Each one brought a new pain. Elrond pulled away, finished with his work. He took pleased note of Legolas’s use of informal endearment. Whatever disagreement that had passed between them, had indeed, passed.

“I was not aware I had any.. shine to speak of.” Glorfindel intoned, drawing his head up to its highest posture. He looked like a rod of gold planted in that spot, regal and strange.

“Oh yes, you could be of the Quendi with that light of yours. You’re nearly old enough anyway.” Legolas teased, his eyes narrowing with mischief. Estel guffawed, though it was a small sound yet. Elrond clicked his tongue and turned away, shaking his head dismally as Legolas laid himself back against the bed. To his credit, some measure of mirth seemed to return to Glorfindel at his words.

“How wonderful then, that you are younger than every tree in this fair forest!” Glorfindel snarked back, eyes crinkled at the edges. Estel looked taken aback.

“Is that true??” He took Glorfindel’s words quite literally. Legolas rolled his eyes, still amused.

“I cannot ascertain the ages of every tree here, for theirs is a language yet hidden to me. Though, I am sure I will gain understanding in time, and even more sure am I that there is at least one tree here younger than I.” Legolas raised his chin, ignoring Glorfindel’s snort. Elrond smiled wryly.

“You would be, prince Legolas. You would.” Lord of Imladris sighed, smirking as he departed from the room before Legolas could protest.

There was absolutely no way that, at 1900, Legolas was younger than every tree in the young forest of Rivendell. Legolas could not prove this however, so he was absolutely subject to Glorfindel’s and Estel’s teasing. Elladan and Elrohir would, to Legolas’s dismay, join in later.

…

Tauriel stood on the rocky shore like a pillar of marble, smoothed stone in loving hand. Her hair whipped around her wildly in the fierce winds like the dragon’s fires now extinguished. Before her was love, and behind her was duty; neither could she forsake.

“Cuan-nin Laegeûl?” Her voice was steady and she did not turn to face the prince. No choice could she make without cleaving herself in twain.

Kili gazed up at her with such love and devotion as she had never seen. Laegeûl despised this, knowing a dwarf could never care for Tauriel as she deserved. But Legolas had instilled in him a great respect for the older Elleth, and they found he could not so easily berate nor dismiss her, despite his higher rank. Now she looked to them for a choice to be made, and if that choice dismayed her or crushed her wild spirit, Legolas would surely be irate.

Not only thus, but Tauriel was no longer welcome in Mirkwood. Banished for insubordination and fraternization with dwarves, the enemy. Already she had no place in their realm, so why force her unto his service now? It was clear hers was not the destiny of a wood elf.

It seemed then that the choice had been made for them, much without either elf’s input. There would be little reason in telling her to stay, and Laegeûl could not ignore the burning of Tauriel’s eyes when she looked at Kili.

“Glenna.” He was loath to allow it, but the lightness in Tauriel’s fair shoulders nearly made up for such a choice. Laegeûl hoped this would not be something either of them regretted.

“Le vilui, le fael.” Tauriel’s voice was wrought with emotion as Kili tugged her forward. She turned to Laegeûl, hazel eyes bright with love. Laegeûl nodded their head.

“He wants you to be happy.” And weather Laegeûl meant Legolas or Kili, it was unknown to Tauriel, though she suspected both. And regardless, Laegeûl spoke the truth.

The boat was tight for space, but Tauriel proved lithe and propelled the vessel forward more than she weighed in it. Beside her, Kili’s soft brown hair reached her forearm. He was leaned against her side with warmth ebbing between them, the tumultuous winds wisking away none of what they felt within. It was cold, and colder still as the approached the lonely mountain, but they felt it not.

Laegeûl watched from the coastline for a moment, Tauriel’s hair whipping behind her in the draft. They sighed, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

“Díheno nin, Muindor, I’ve sent her away.” Laegeûl whispered into the wind, closing their eyes as Legolas’s face came to his mind’s eye. They could not linger there. Adar needed him.

…

The following days were monotonous in that Legolas was confined to bed for his healing. A letter had been sent on his behalf to the king of Eryn Galen informing him of Legolas’s condition. Legolas had advised against it, claiming his father would only be made angry by the incident, but Elrond insisted it was necessary.

“Thranduil has been a good friend to me in years past. I would not forsake his trust so easily.’ Elrond shook his head as he handed the letter to a messenger. In exchange, the ellon handed Elrond a message from Mirkwood. It was the first of correspondence to be received since Legola’s venture in Rivendell.

Legolas was far more eager to read the letter than Elrond had expected, and he nearly chuckling when Legolas held the parchment close to his face, reading it with much furvur. But Legolas’s eyes fell and his shoulders sagged whilst he read, and it became apparent that some upsetting event had once again befallen Mirkwood.

“Legolas?” Elrond approached the prince’s bed, his arms folded in front of him. Legolas remained in his stupor, eyes still scanning the letter. It wasn’t until he had read the last word to its final syllable that he looked up into Elrond’s patient eyes.

“My father goes to war with the dwarves.” Legolas frowned, his lips curling in a dissatisfied snarl.

“Laegeûl goes with him.” There was a horror in his voice, slotted between the disbelieve and disgust. What could his father need of the dwarves?? What had they done now!?

“To war? When?” Elrond suddenly felt the urgency of the letter’s contents. This was unlike Thranduil. True, he was sharp tempered and heavy handed, but war was not something he was oft inclined to. He had his own battles to fight on many fronts, but directly seeking a new one?? This spoke of darkness and spelled naught but disaster.

“This letter is two days old. If I know my father, then he is already laying siege to that dragon infested mountain.” Legolas spat, his fingers crinkling the edges of the paper. Elrond paused, Erebor coming to mind. Smaug’s presence in the mountain made Thranduil’s involvement all the more bizarre. Whyfor face fire that already hath taken thy face?

“Then there is naught that we can do.” Elrond shook his head, his long hair swaying back and forth. Legolas’s eyes flashed with fury.

“I cannot allow this! My father knows not what he does! He will hear me-“ Legolas began to clamber out of bed, his long limbs stretching for the floor. Elrond jolted forward.

“No, Legolas. You must stay, you are not healed.” Elrond protested, frowning as he rounded the bed to Legolas’s side. The ellon in question threw his head back and stared up at the Peredhel lord with defiance.

“You are Lord of your realm, but I am not of it. I would harken to my kin’s aid amidst a thousand injuries and I would not falter! A strained shoulder shall not keep me now, and nor shall you.” Legolas’s eyes shone with fire and Elrond saw there the spirit of his mother peeking through. And he knew then that there would be no stopping Legolas. His frown deepened.

“I see I cannot dissuade you. Very well.” Elrond sighed, his eyes weary.

“But I will not send you alone. Elladan and Elrohir are skillful hunters of orcs. They will help you, and you will find their assistance invaluable.” Elrond did not make this concession lightly, for now his own sons he sent in the path of war.

“We do not go to war with Orcs in this battle.” Legolas reminded Elrond, holding Dwarves in somewhat higher esteem than Orcs. But only just. Elrond nodded solemnly.

“Maybe not, but one can never be so sure. Not now, in these days of quickly approaching darkness.” Elrond’s face was grim, his dark brows creasing.

“I ask only that they be returned to me unscathed.” Elrond’s hesitance gave way to sadness hiding behind his dark brown eyes. Legolas nodded firmly, a resolve of stone forming in his mind. He could not promise this, and Elrond knew it. But still he asked, because even among all his loss through the ages, the love of his children still rang stronger and more true. ‘Help Adar and honeg, come back safe’ his objectives were set.

Legolas drew himself up from the bed, standing with all the height he held within his withered frame. He took on the image of a tree long battered by the elements; tall and flexible in the face of devastation. Elrond saw Thranduil before him, young and confident, off to fight dragons in the north. He was the spitting image of his father.

“We ride at dawn.” Legolas stood. And Elrond watched.

…

Legolas tacked Uraeus, hefting the cumbersome saddle by its underside. Uraeus bared the weight well, but the curvature in his back grew deeper by the day. Legolas knew it would not be long before he would need a new horse. That day would be a sad one indeed, for Uraeus had served him well.

Legolas rubbed the side of Uraeus’s broad neck, feeling not the soft fur beneath his gloved hands. The steed brayed softly, ducking his head and leaning into the affection. Legolas smiled sadly, and his eyes had returned to stone.

“You’re leaving.” A small voice behind him echoed in the halls of the stables. Estel. Legolas turned, his expression neutral.

“I must. But I’ll not stay away forever. You’ll see me again before long.” Legolas assured the young prince. Estel’s eyes darted to the stiffness of Legolas’s left shoulder, which he had hidden with a dark green coat.

“Sometimes, Elladan and Elrohir go hunting for orcs. I’ve seen them return with less warriors than they left with. Are you sure you will return?” Legolas was struck dumb by Estel’s even tone and dark expression. He was young, but understood more than he was given credit for.

“Are you?” Legolas turned back to his horse, impolite as it was. Estel remained standing still and ridgid as a post.

“I hope so.” His youthful voice replied.

“Then that is all that matters.” Legolas hummed, gently tugging the bridle over Uraeus’s long snout. Behind him, the sound of softly pattering feet faded away and Legolas frowned. Estel was troubled by his leaving, but his departure would not last long. Legolas desired to remain in Imladris, to watch over Estel and help him become the man he was destined to be. He wanted to be a friend, if nothing else, for Estel to find refuge in when expectations ran high.

“He looks up to you. It’s no wonder he's so upset.” Glorfindel’s mellifluous voice sounded not far off. Legolas sighed, testing the stirrups. Glorfindel approached, holding an apple in his hand. He offered it to Uraeus, who munched the crisp fruit with much joy. Legolas sniffed with amusement.

“You’ll spoil my horse.” Legolas did not meet Glorfindel’s eyes, but kept his hands busy with the saddlebags.

“Yes, but he deserves it doesn’t he?” Glorfindel hummed, stroking Uraeus’s mane gently. Legolas agreed, but he remained quiet with his busy work. ‘Check the hooves’ a voice in his head instructed, and he bent to do so.

“There are servants for this work, Legolas. You ought to be resting.” Glorfindel watched as Legolas picked up Uraeus’ hoof and set it on his knee, pick in hand. It struck him then, that he had already cleaned his steed’s hooves not long ago, and he was only keeping himself distracted now with meaningless tasks. Still, he did not drop the ruse as he moved on to check the remainder of Uraeus’s hooves.

“Why don't you tell me what you think I ought to be doing.” Legolas said hollowly, finding at last a small bit of grime to scrape out of the frog. Glorfindel snorted, flicking his curly hair over his shoulder. ‘What cheek’ he thought with bitter amusement.

“Perhaps I shall! Your place is at rest, not on the battlefield Legolas! What madness prompts you to run off like this? And with the sons of Elrond no less?” The Gondolinian Lord vociferated, his deep eyes clear with concern. Legolas scoffed, but his face remained neutral.

“What you deem as madness, I call loyalty. To my kin and kingdom. I have no doubts you would rush to Gondolin’s aid a thousand times over, regardless of your injury. Do not expect of me less than what you display yourself.” Legolas’s voice was even and unnaturally calm, as though he held no conflict within him. Glorfindel grew ever exasperated by the quick wit and sharp tongue of the Mirkwood prince, but he could not deny the truth of his words.

“As for Elladan and Elrohir, they were volunteered to me by Lord Elrond himself.” Legolas stood from his crouched position and turned to grabs a mail skirt of Uraeus. Still he did not meet Glorfindel’s eyes, and it was a bitter stalemate.

“You say you do this for your kin, but if you and yours perish in this useless war, then what is to become of your kingdom? What would remain of your people then?” Glorfindel’s concern was true, and Legolas had considered it as well. But there was more risk that his brother would be hurt, because he was not trained in war. Why his father brought them along was beyond him!

“I go for my brother, for he stands on the edge of war without a sword to carry his will. As long as Laegeûl survives, it matters not what befalls me.” Legolas shook his head, a tinge of sadness to his voice. He dropped the chain mail over Uraeus’s flank, fastening it to the saddle. Glorfindel’s confusion grew in the face of Legolas’s comment, for how could the heir of a throne be inconsequential??

“But you are Thranduil’s heir!!” Glorfindel cried, begging Legolas to see reason! He flinched at Glorfindel’s explosive tone, his shoulders hiking up and stiffening.

“I am not!” Legolas whipped around, his stony eyes alight with pain as he bellowed in reply. The stable fell silent. Glorfindel looked on in silent horror as Legolas shrank back towards Uraeus and placed a steadying hand on his hide.

“I am but the mistaken first attempt, the arrow that did not hit its mark. I am the star that has since faded from the night sky and lost all its light.” Legolas spoke softly, his voice tarried and splintered. Glorfindel jolted forward, not believing what his ears were hearing.

Legolas held his gloved hands looking down dismally at them and wondered why. Why he was destined to be naught but a footnote in his family’s history. Why he was fading when he had so much to live for. Why he could be nothing but a disappointment no matter how he tried.

Glorfindel reached out, taking a gloved hand in his own.

“Then let me come with you. Let me help.” Glorfindel held Legolas’s eyes, grey meeting deep blue. Legolas stared back, brows furrowed.

“You are not the arrow, but the archer. And you have more shots yet to take. I would be the one who holds your quiver, if you would allow it.” Glorfindel spoke, his voice strong and genuine. Legolas’s brow smoothed as he saw the true intention behind Glorfindel’s previous frustration. He swallowed turning away and wrenching his hand from Glorfindel’s grasp.

“A party of four is hardly necessary for this venture.” Legolas’s voice rang with remorse hidden beneath indifference. Glorfindel shook his head.

“I have pledged fealty to Elrond’s house, and I would protect his sons from war if I could.” Glorfindel replied, inclining his head.

“I see.” Legolas said over his shoulder. “You wish to take their place.” The prince frowned for a moment before his head bobbed slightly.

“Very well.” Legolas whispered, almost disbelieving his own decision.

“Truly!?” Glorfindel brightened, his eyes wide. Legolas nodded slowly, his reasoning still forming in his troubled mind.

“Estel will benefit from having his brothers by his side. I do not wish to separate them.” Legolas looked out the stable doors, his eyes far away. It was late now, the sun almost completely eclipsed by the mountains over many a hill. Still, birdsong rang true as ever it had in Imladris since it’s founding.

“That may be for the best. Estel is easily attached to those around him.” Glorfindel nodded his agreement with Legolas, his posture shifting in his informality. It was something Legolas was beginning to get a feel for; Glorfindel’s odd sense of formality. Conversations he started with utmost respect and bald language, but as one spoke to him that mask slipped away.

Glorfindel was a merry soul, and he wished to be happy more than he felt the constraints of grief. In his many trials and tribulations, Glorfindel had learned that much of one’s own happiness came from within, and not from external factors. His was a disposition of craft, for he had forged it himself in the fires of pain and loss. But loss it did not so readily reflect, for all that knew Glorfindel spoke of his jolly face and round eyes.

“I can hardly see how he wouldn’t be. Estel is blessed to be so surrounded by those who love him. The leaving of such individuals would unsettle me also.” Legolas patted Uraeus on the nose once more before turning towards the stables mouth. Glorfindel followed, watching after the ellon curiously.

“I can imagine so.” Glorfindel said with such profound sympathy, that Legolas had no choice but to face him. Incredulity spread over his previously placid face, almost glaring at Glorfindel until he could ascertain the origin of his tone.

“..I think I’ll return to bed now Glorfindel, I bid you goodnight.” Legolas said haltingly, taking careful steps away until he had left the clearing and ascended a flight of stairs. Glorfindel remained, standing dumbly in the courtyard with heavy shoulders. He’d said the wrong thing, again. He sighed, and turned away.

Tomorrow waited for no elf, and Glorfindel shuddered to think what it would hold.

Chapter Text

“Return safely.” Both Elrond and Estel had spoken, their eyes so alike despite their obvious differences. Legolas had managed a small smile and bent down to pull Estel into a proper hug when the princling had thrown his arms around Legolas’s legs.

Glorfindel had been a sight to behold, his hair truly golden in the pale morning light. His armor was gold plated, but no where near as luminous as his hair. Many bystanders murmured in awe as he passed, as was ever his reception to a crowd. Legolas paid it no head, merely nodding to his companion as he took his place beside him.

Elladan and Elrohir had been miffed to give up their appointed assignments, but could say nothing against the word of Lord Glorfindel, mighty slayer of Balrogs. Legolas was sure Elrond was secretly happy to have his sons beside him, rather than locked in foreign war.

Departure was met with little fanfare, and the pair set off on Uraeus, the dark steed of night; and Asfaloth, the fair stallion of starlight.

Legolas took his bow, two knives, and a bundle of Lembas bread, for the journey was long. Glorfindel nearly sneered at the thought of eating such stale, tasteless food; therefore he certainly blanched when Legolas admitted he ate little else but thus. ‘Mirkwood strangeness, to be sure.’ Glorfindel shook his mane in dismay.

The first stint of their journey had led them to a great hill, which faced a valley of tall pines. In the depression of the green land, Legolas descried a vast stretch of charred land and trees, so burned that they were all but ash. A silent gasp passed through his lips and he stared at length, a great disquiet settling behind his sternum.

“No doubt that is the work of orcs. The dark machinations of their minds never cease to horrify. It is best we move on from here.” Glorfindel spoke with a voice of power, one Legolas was sure he had used to command armies.

“And do you hold the dwarves blameless, for the hand they have had in this?” Legolas inquired, pulling the reins to trot beside Asfaloth. Glorfindel’s lip twitched, but he said naught for a moment. He then shook his head.

“Their hands in this I cannot perceive, for what use do smiths have of ash for their forges? Nay, I would not appoint blame where I can see none. In all events, dwarves have never been my chief enemy, nor have they yours.” Glorfindel seemed hesitant to breach such a topic, for he sensed the hostility in memory it could raise. Ever had the domains of Elves and Dwarves clashed, and not just for dear Yavanna’s sake.

Legolas sniffed, turning away his head.

“They are now.” He spoke to the wind, the sounds swept away on its currents. Glorfindel, disagreed.

“It is darkness that pits the children of Arda against one another. I am not so eager to heed it. I have seen where such a path leads.” Glorfindel was wise, and Legolas appreciated this, but for the moment he could see no reason not to hold Dwarves accountable. Experience painted twain hearts in different shades, much unseen and unspoken.

They continued, and the journey grew laborious among cliffs and rocky hillsides. At one point, Legolas found he had to dismount and carefully lead Uraeus through jagged boulders like a thread through a needle. Glorfindel waited on the other side, his horse young and strong and sleek. Legolas supposed, though he loved Uraeus, a journey of such length would better have been traveled on lighter hooves. Another horse, though the thought made his queasy.

When finally they had cleared the glen and mountain, the forest Legolas knew as his home loomed before him. Glorfindel slowed Asfaloth’s canter to a passive trot and encouraged Legolas to take the lead.

“Lead us on, O prince of Greenwood.” Glorfindel’s wry smile flashed before the setting sun and Legolas nodded seriously. It was his home, true, but he did not wish to stop there. It was not yet his time to return.

…

It was a long, winding road to the heart of Eryn Galen. Wherefore Legolas devised to bypass it, and instead only skirt the very edges of his kingdom’s territory.

“Do you not wish to see your home?” Glorfindel wondered, his head ticked to the side in confusion. He did not understand the aversion to one’s own home that Legolas seemed to display.

“They bid me not to.” He replied simply, shaking his head slightly.

It had grown dark beneath the foreboding canopy of thinning leaves. The argon trees were great, the branches and bark knarrled and marred by darkness. Glorfindel had never seen trees take on such unsightly forms in the face of death. Here is where the Noldor finally understood the true meaning of the name Mirkwood.

“Who?” Glorfindel asked hesitantly, ducking his head under a low hanging branch as Asfaloth stepped over a protruding root. Legolas did not turn to adress him, but raised a hand from his reins and gesticulated towards the trees.

“They are quite convincing in their arguments.” Legolas noted, appraising a nearby oak that had grown since last he saw it. Glorfindel’s eyes widened.

“You can hear them??” Came his incredulity. Legolas laughed, the sound quiet at gently ringing.

“You cannot?” Was his smart reply. Glorfindel frowned.

“No, I confess, I cannot. I hear naught but wan whispers and sickly dark murmurings.” Glorfindel shook his head, a chink of sunlight streaming in from above and illuminating a cerulean iris.

“Yes that is the trees, though I have come to recognize their words and their voices. Each of them has name, which my family documents.” Legolas explained, his shoulders set. Glorfindel watched the stiffly swaying wood elf before him with much curiousity.

“Do you know all of them?” Glorfindel thought it would be impossible to know every single tree by name in a forest of such magnitude. But Legolas nodded his head, a bit of mirth returning to his frame.

“Yes. As do Laegeûl and my Adar.” Legolas confirmed, a smirk spreading on his face though Glorfindel could not see it. Asfaloth whinnied and Glorfindel patted their long neck appreciatively. He was quiet for a long moment, evidently thinking very hard about what Legolas had just revealed to him.

“Alright then.” Glorfindel declared and flicked his reins to ride beside Legolas.

“If you truly know every tree in this forest by name, then tell me what this aspen tree has named itself.” Glorfindel did not exactly disbelieve Legolas, but it was still difficult to wrap his head around. Legolas merely turned his head to Glorfindel, his eyes landing on the stout aspen tree for less than a second when he said:

“Ah, that is Mára. Her branches have lengthened since last I saw her.” Legolas paused, drawing closer to the tree. Her bark was a pale ashen grey with black knots all about her trunk and branches. She was dark, just like every tree in Mirkwood’s forest, but her bark remained soft to the touch. Legolas spread a palm gently against Mára’s trunk, feeling the soul beneath the wood. It pulsed gently like a heartbeat. Glorfindel was dumbfounded.

“Well, Mára is a lovely aspen, for a tree of Mirkwood.” Glorfindel complimented, though Mára hardly took it so. Her response kindled within and flowed through Legolas until he could hear her words.

“Mára says you are a lovely elf for a.. Mára I cannot tell him that!” Legolas laughed, throwing back his head and covering his mouth. Glorfindel startled, but smiled all the same.

“What has she said??” Glorfindel was interested to hear what kind of insult a tree would deem scathing. But Legolas shook his head and mounted Uraeus once more.

“Never you mind. We ought to be on our way, so say your goodbies.” Legolas flicked his reins and Uraeus trotted on, his dark head bobbing with every step. Glorfindel sighed, lingering by Mára’s side for just a moment more before bowing his head and following behind his guide.

“Goodbye Mára.” Legolas heard Glorfindel whisper as they left, an endeared smile tugging at his lips.

…

The ugly blast of a horn bellow tore through the night air as hooves galloped hurriedly over frozen reeds. The sound was thundering, the air filled with the unholy cries and yips of orcs. Legolas fired arrows, twisted in his sadle impossibly. Glorfindel, whose horse was faster in his youth, sprinted ahead, looking back over his shoulder any time Legolas drew too far behind. Glorfindel never went farther than Legolas could catch up, though Asfaloth could easily have left everyone in the dust.

Orcs hissed, brandishing their spears and swords like madmen. Their black arrows whistled high in the air, ever missing their marks. Uraeus was old, but he was swift yet, and the pounding of his hooves beat orcs away.

Legolas had no fear in the face of Orcish warriors, his face pale and hard like a statue. His eyes were stone, illuminated only by the fire of torches. His aim was quick and true, no orc escaping his keen sight. Glorfindel had half a mind to let him be and slaughter every one of their persuers. But just as Glorfindel thought the battle won and Legolas invincible, an arrow lodged itself in Uraeus’s broad neck, blood splattering on impact. Legolas screamed with rage, dropping into a roll as Uraeus collapsed in a heap.

Legolas shot arrow after arrow, multiple at once even. When the orcs drew too close, Legolas drew his knives, slashing with deadly grace the way he had seen Tauriel do. Her spirit felt close to him now, the stars shining brightly in the deep night.

Glorfindel had dove into the fray the second things had gone south, drawing his great sword and swinging it in powerful arcs. Many an orc were felled beneath his razor sharp blade. Legolas saw it flash red with the fire of torches, black blood dripping from it in rivers.

Legolas scrambled to crouch beside Uraeus, taking a stand for his fallen horse and slashing his knives wildly. Rage burned in his eyes, hotter than any flame that could be quenched by water. Uraeus brayed in agony.

The fighting and screams of Orcs died away as their numbers dwindled, felled by elvish hands. Any who remained fled into the forest, their screeches carrying far over hill and dale.

Glorfindel sighed and wiped his long blade, black viscus liquid staining cloth. He frowned, realizing some of the hideous substance had found its way into his hair amidst the chaos of battle. He would have to find time and place to wash it out before it dried.

‘Legolas’ the thought, far more urgent, struck him like an arrow.

Legolas was crouched, cradling Uraeus’s head in his arms. Glorfindel dashed to their side, hopping over quickly cooling corpses.

“Ni dem allen, Mellon nin.” Legolas whispered, petting Uraeus’s ears softly. The steed whined weakly, his large brown eyes growing hazy. Legolas spoke more in that birdsong language of the Laiquendi, burying his head into Uraeus’s mane. Glorfindel didn't need to know the language to understand his words’ meaning.

Uraeus, his faithful steed of twenty years, would die this night. From blood loss or poison, death was inevitable. Legolas was grieved to see him go, holding him close.

“Goheno nin.” Legolas sniffled, silver tears dropping onto Uraeus’ snout. He hummed a sweet, melancholy song as he smoothed Uraeus’s mane back in comforting sweeps.

The scene was truly heartbreaking, but it was something all dark-elves had to experience at least once in their lives. The loss of a mortal life, by blade or by age. They were so fragile and beautiful as they were, death was the gift of Ilúvatar. None could reverse or escape it.

Asfaloth breyed softly, dipping his head before Uraeus.

Legolas’s song suddenly stopped, a strangled sound his last abrupt note. Glorfindel looked up, his previously bowed head raising. Legolas let go of Uraeus’s head and disentangled himself from the pile. Uraeus’s head lolled limply on the floor and he stirred no more. No more twitching of ears or gentle whining. He lay still, deathly still. Legolas looked away.

“We should.. we need to keep going.” Legolas shook his head, moisture still clinging to his eyelashes. Glorfindel frowned, starting forward with Asfaloth beside him.

“In a moment.” Glorfindel’s voice was low and careful, placing a hand on Legolas’s shoulder.

“We can spare time, for this.” Glorfindel nodded toward Uraeus, removing the cumbersome mail and saddle.

That night, Uraeus was set upon a great pyre, as they had not so much time for a burial. They gathered wood from what was already fallen, and dared not take what the trees were not willing to give. Though Glorfindel was sure, for a horse so valiant and loyal, any tree would gladly have given a bough of their bounty.

Still, Legolas was somewhat comforted by the flames that engulfed his steed’s body. For just as elves were destined to one day be consumed by the fire of their Fëa, so too would Uraeus leave this plane. And though Legolas would not meet Uraeus in Valinor when his time came, he would always have his memory, and this fire. So it burned, and Legolas exhaled his burden, but not his grief. That he would hold for much longer still.

…

Thorin was going mad far faster than any of his company thought possible.

Once Kili and Fili stepped foot inside the fell halls of the once glorious kingdom, it became rather apparent the influence of gold held evil sway in their uncle’s heart. It was twisting his mind and muddling his thoughts. Balin had seen it all before with Thror, which made it all the harder to watch it happen yet again. Both kings he loved greatly, but both were so doomed by the dragon’s hoard.

Bilbo had tried - really tried - to help him see reason. And for a moment, in the midst of the goodly Hobbit’s efforts, Thorin indeed saw reason, and his madness lifted. But for what time, as only enough for his smile to be seen, and his suspicions redirected. Bilbo didnt know what else to do. What else could be done?

He and Tauriel, who remained with Kili all the while but hidden from Thorin, were in a unique position. For of all the company assembled, only they had no allegiance owed to Thorin as their king. To Bilbo he was a dear friend, one he had nearly died for and still would willingly do so. But to Tauriel, he was merely a mad king interfering in the lives of many. She had a stake in this, as did Bilbo.

And so, an accord was struck.

Bilbo, bearer of the Arkenstone he had so wisely withheld within the pocket of his waistcoat, bequeathed the precious stone to Tauriel. He bid her to ferry it down to the elves and offer it as a treaty; payment to be exchanged. It was risky, and Bilbo liked not the way he felt when he relinquished the birthright of his dearest friend to another, but it was much required.

War would come without their action, treacherous as it felt. Tauriel felt no particular remorse in this act, and only hoped her king would be reasonable even in the face of her recent banishment. Bilbo worried for her, though not nearly so much as Kili.

“I’ll go with you, so they know you haven’t just stolen it.” Kili insisted, holding Tauriel’s hand tightly. The elleth smiled but shook her head.

“I have a letter signed by Balin and Bilbo to prove that. Your presence would only incite discord.” Tauriel replied bluntly, though her voice was sweet. Kili’s face scrunched up in offense, but he could not deny he was notoriously bad at holding his tongue. This made him an ill candidate as an escort to Thranduil’s tents.

But Tauriel, sweet Tauriel, took pity on her saddened prince. She ran her thumb over his hand still tightly clutching hers.

“Besides, you are needed here with your kin and king. Bilbo will need your help to remain sane.” She joked, but there was truth behind her words. Kili frowned but nodded resolutely, his dark hair falling into his face.

Tauriel looked out over the rampart, the wide collapsed chasm blocking her chance of dropping into the river. But that was just as well. Climbing suited her just fine. Kili, however, handed her a large length of reinforced rope with the roll of his eyes. Elves certainly were dramatic.

“Just one more thing.” Kili stepped forward as Tauriel had begun lowering herself over the wall. She paused, her head still level above the stone. Kili looked down at her, so much warmth and care in his dark brown eyes. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her left cheek. Tauriel’s face tinged with blush even as Kili pulled away, a satisfied smile on his face.

“I’ll give you the real thing when you come back, yeah?” Kili grinned and Tauriel laughed, her hazel eyes alight with joy. Dwarves certainly were forward.

She would come back to him, there was no doubt in her mind. He was the one she wanted.

…

No one had heard her slip away. No one had seen her climbing down Erebor’s Great Wall. No one had heard her approach the camp of green elves and dale men.

There were torches everywhere and the ground was light as though it were day. Many humans still milled about, some even walking side by side with elven warriors. There were women and men and children and infants and elderly. All were camped here, desperate for a home to whether the approaching winter.

In the center of the makeshift camp was a tent so wide it had to be Thranduil’s, and already Tauriel had little patience. She did not have so much love of the king as she once had, especially after being banished.

Inside the tent, the baritone rumblings of two people string together, their voices low. Tauriel recognized th m both as Thranduil and Bard. She approached the tent, stepping out the shadows boldly before the gaurds. The two elves jolted at her sudden appearance, holding their spears tight in her direction. Tauriel scoffed.

“I seek audience with kings Thranduil and Bard.” She said coolly. She was calm as ever, her face betraying no emotion. The guards looked between themselves, uncertain.

“King Thranduil is in a meeting at the moment.” The first answered, their voice courteous and understanding.

“And he doesn’t treat with traitors.” Spat the second, their amber eyes blazing. Tauriel expected such a reaction but she did not flinch or shrink away. She drew herself up, raising her chin and further straightening her spine.

“I bring a message from the Dwarves of Erebor,” Tauriel brandished a scroll with the kings seal planted upon it.

“As well as the payment King Bard requires.” She motioned to her satchel, bulging with a treasure the two guards could only imagine.

Both guards immediately sobered and nodded, turning to allow her to pass. Tauriel would have smirked, but now was not the time. The tent flap flicked as Tauriel stepped through, ducking her head as she went. The voices she had heard before went silent and she knew both kings were staring at her. She steeled her nerves.

The tent was warm, despite the cold autumn air outside. The tent looked as furnished as a small home, and was the size of one too. There was a table in the center with what looked to be maps and attack plans, little pins sticking out of key locations. This war was becoming all the more impossible as Tauriel’s allegiancies were stretched thin in every direction.

“King Thranduil, King Bard.” Tauriel greeted them with a low bow, her long hair swaying from behind.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thranduil’s voice was reproachful, his eyes narrowed sharply. Bard, however, looked pleased to see her again. Tauriel knew her reception would be chilly at best, but Bard’s expression gave her hope.

“I bring a message from Erebor.” Tauriel said simply, setting the parcel down on the tables for either king to inspect. It was Thranduil who reached it first, cracking open the king’s seal with little care. His eyes scanned the words with a speed that spoke of endless practice. Tauriel turned to Bard.

“I bring also, payment for you and your people.” Tauriel pulled the large gem from her bag and held it out to the new king. His eyes widened like saucers as he took the gem in hand, rolling it in his fingers.

“This cant be-“ he started, voice uncertain.

“The Arkenstone.” Thranduil finished, voice light with wonder. Bard held the gem with both hands, his mind reeling. He could provide for every single family, down to the last hungery child and sickly elder with this payment. He could save them all.

“That stone is worth a kings ransom. How have you come to have it?” Thranduil turned back to Tauriel, facing her with some measure of respect gleaming in his eyes.

“It was given to me by Bilbo Baggins, who took it as his fourteenth share of the treasure.” Tauriel relayed, meeting the eyes of her king. Bard mouthed the words ‘Bilbo’ and ‘fourteenth share’ with recognition. He remembered the Hobbit.

“Bilbo Baggins. That is the name of the Shireling who infiltrated my dungeons and liberated thirteen prisoners, is it not?” Thranduil interigated, his expression cold. Tauriel nearly winced.

“…yes.” Tauriel replied hesitantly, her eyes flicking down to the floor. Bard looked impressed, and a little amused too.

“Bilbo retains that he gave you his word, King Bard, and he sends his deepest apologies for his part in what happened to Laketown.” Tauriel bowed her head in Bard’s direction. Bard nodded his thanks.

“This letter.. do they intend to go through with it?” Thranduil asked, his expression skeptical. Tauriel straightened, meeting the eyes of her King.

“They do.” She answered, her eyes glowing amber in the torchlight. Thranduil looked thoughtful for a moment, his expression flickering between understanding and obstinance.

“Vey well.” He answered eventually, passing the letter to Bard. Thranduil then fixed Tauriel with his gaze, a measure of gratitude shining there.

“Rest here for tonight.” He offered, and Tauriel accepted with a relieved exhale. She had done her part. Perhaps war could be avoided after all.

…

Without his horse, Legolas would have been content to run, but Glorfindel insisted that it would have taken far too much time. Which is how Legolas found himself riding also on Asfaloth, his arms wrapped reluctantly around Glorfindel’s torso.

With every hoof beat, Legolas felt his shoulder throb. Like tiny bolts of lightning burning to life within him. He relized, that Uraeus’s slowness was not just due to his age, but Legolas’s pain as well. He had been subconsciously slowing his pace so as not to aggravate his injury.

Had Glorfindel known? It would explain why he had been so patient with him throughout their journey. Legolas could feel his wound healing, quite rapidly in fact. But not nearly fast enough to spare him the pain.

The ride went faster now with only the swift hooves of a young stallion to carry them forward. Legolas felt his heart sting at the very notion of riding another horse so soon after Uraeus’s passing, but he had a duty to uphold and a war to stop. All this for Laegeûl, he would do a thousand times over if it meant keeping him safe.

“We’ll reach Erebor within the hour!” Glorfindel called over the beating of hooves. Legolas nodded curtly, his eyes becoming unfocused as he stared at the back of Glorfindel’s head. There wasn’t much else to do but drift off in a daze as they rode towards the lonely mountain.

“Be ready with your arrows! We know not what scene we’ll behold once we got there!” Glorfindel called once again and Legolas felt the need to retort ‘you do not need to tell me!’, but he held his tongue. Instead, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and notched it in his bow. He did not pull it taut or stretch the bow string, but he was ready if need be.

Chapter Text

The hill was quiet, save for the buzzing of voices far away. The hill, with cliff like slope, lead down into Dale. Once a great kingdom of men who lived so closely beside dwarves that they inherited some of their hardiness; now, however, it was but ruins. As was the mountain beside it, looking still abandoned in its dilapidated state of crumble. Statues had been collapsed by the front gate of Erebor, likely to keep anyone from getting in. A stupid idea, considering that Erebor had no supplies to sustain the occupants for more than a week. Dwarves were sturdy, yes, but even they needed food.

Legolas brightened and stashed away his arrow when he looked down to see a camp of familiar elves. The men mixed in were of no concern to Legolas, as he knew his father had plenty of dealings with men anyway. These ones looked far more bedraggled and starved than Legolas was used to however, and it was not exactly a
heartening sight. But at least, he thought momentarily, that they were not currently locked in war.

“We made it in time.” Legolas whispered, causing Glorfindel to smile.

“Was there ever any doubt, good prince?” Glorfindel laughed as Asfaloth cantered down the hillside. ‘Yes’ Legolas wanted to reply smartly, but he shook his head instead.

“Ho! riders!” Called a guard as soon as he saw the approaching horse. Glorfindel flicked the reins and they slowed to a trot down the hill. They came to an abrupt halt at the bottom, nearly spraying the man with a screen of sleet and mud. Asfaloth brayed tersely, tapping his hooves into the soft earth. Legolas dismounted immediately, ignoring both the flabbergasted guard and the pain in his shoulder.

“Wait-! Who-?” The human looked between the elf speeding away and the magnificent steed he had dismounted from. Glorfindel was suddenly behind the man, a hand on his shoulder.

“Adan, Mae govannen! We come from Imladris at Lord Elrond’s word.” Glorfindel reassured, his bright smile silencing the guard.

Legolas didn’t bother waiting and marched his way towards his fathers tent. He looked for the largest one, and found it in the center of what remained of Dale. It was guarded by two elves, who immediately blanched when they saw him.

“Prince Legolas!” A dark haired ellon exclaimed, pulling their spear close to their body to allow Legolas to pass. He nodded momentarily at the guard and swept the tent flap open as he entered. Legolas stood boldly in the tent’s entrance, his eyes dark and defiant.

Thranduil looked to be in the conference of who Legolas assumed to be the leader of the men, and Tauriel. Seeing Tauriel there threw him for a loop, his eyes widening, but he recovered soon after. The same could not be said for his father, who stood stock still at his son’s arrival.

“Legolas?” He jolted forward, reaching Legolas’s shoulders and grasping them tightly. Legolas nearly screamed.

“What are you doing here!? I received word that you were injured.” Thranduil held Legolas’s intense gaze with his own concerned stare. Legolas huffed almost with amusement at the irony of his father being so concerned for his injury, yet currently squeezing it painfully.

“Yes Adar, my shoulder is injured.” Legolas replied through gritted teeth if only to get Thranduil to let go. Which he did. Immediately. Thranduil’s eyes were drawn to Legolas’s left shoulder which seemed to be giving his son trouble.

“Then what on Arda are you doing here??” Thranduil’s tone became familiar ice as he looked at Legolas with fatherly fury. Legolas shrugged it off.

“I am here to tell you that this is madness.” Legolas’s voice remained level but his gloved hands clenching tightly. Thranduil reared back, his blue eyes wide. Tauriel and Bard looked between themselves, one concerned and the other exasperated. Tauriel was used to this sort of interaction, but now really wasn’t the time. They were about to treaty with the dwarves for Aüle’s sake!

“There’s-“ Legolas parted his lips to continue, but he was cut short by an older, far more powerful voice.

“An army of Orcs coming this way! Will no one hear reason?” Mithrandir burst forward, drawing a surprised gasp from all inside the tent. Behind the grey wizard, Glorfindel ducked also into the slowly crowding tent, his eyes instantly finding Legolas.

“Orcs? A convenient distraction from our current prerogative more likely.” Thranduil waved away the words of Mithrandir, dismissing them as untruthful so readily. Legolas’s stare hardened towards his father. How could he ignore both his son AND Mithrandir!? Legolas hadn’t known about the orcs, but that made his objective all the more important. Laegeûl must not participate in this war.

“He speaks the truth, King Thranduil. He has the Lady’s word.” Glorfindel held up a letter signed by Galadriel herself. Thranduil stared at the article, his eyes sharpening.

“Orcs.” He repeated, crossing his arms and scowling as he thought.

“We are prepared to assail any enemy in numbers and in strength. But you, I’ll not have in harm’s way.” Thranduil turned to Legolas, pointing at him as though it were an accusation. Legolas inhaled sharply, clearly frustrated at his father’s behavior.

“You’ll not send me from your sight until I know Laegeûl is safe!” Legolas proclaimed, standing his ground firmly. Glorfindel came up behind him as though to embolden his purpose.

“Laegeûl is not the one injured.” Thranduil’s voice was steely as he eyed his son’s shoulder.

“He will be if you allow them to fight in this war! He has no training! No amount of idealism will keep them alive!” Legolas returned his father’s sharp gaze and it seemed as though sparks crackled to life between them. Glorfindel looked on, wondering which of the two incredibly stubborn powers would win this stalemate.

“The only way you may survive this attack is by banding together with the dwarves and the men! You’ll not endure this aggression alone!” Gandalf insisted, his hackles raised like an angry old cat. Verily, Mithrandir’s great beard swept about him in wisps that could be the bristling fur of a hissing cat. His rage was less so true anger, and more fear. Fear for the outcome and what could be wrought from such a loss as this. It was unknown to him the next steps of the enemy, but this he knew: it would span the death and misery of all were it come to pass.

Thranduil looked less than impressed by Gandalf’s outburst, his eyes half lidded with disinterest.

No one liked the idea of working with the dwarves, save for Bard, Gandalf, Glorfindel, Tauriel, and- okay so Legolas and Thranduil did not like the idea of working with the dwarves. But the King’s counsel was that which held the most sway, and any decision made on his behalf would be final and followed without question. Which meant someone was going to have to convince Thranduil to work with the dwarves. Otherwise the fate Gandalf spoke of, which none disbelieved except Thranduil, would come swiftly to pass.

Tauriel found Legolas’s eyes and held them, her gaze piercing and pleading. She wanted him to understand something. He didn’t know why, but Legolas could see she had a personal stake in this war. Something made her eyes wild and determined like that, and Legolas was wiser than to get caught in it.

He realized that the job of persuading Thranduil into cooperation lie to him, as he was the only elf who could possibly get a word in otherwise. Legolas frowned but prepared his argument. It would work, he was sure of. He only wished there were some other, less petty, way.

“Adar-“ Legolas inhaled, his eyes softening.

“You need not convince me, Legolas. It has already been decided.” Thranduil tipped his head to hold Legols’s gaze, watching his son’s stony expression waver. Thranduil motioned to Tauriel, holding the signed peace treaty between the elves of greenwood and the dwarves of Erebor; and to Bard who stood to the side, his eyes betraying his refrain to interact in the conversation. Bard at least seemed to acknowledge that Thranduil had not forsaken their partnership, and stood loyally by his side. Legolas however, not keen on being interrupted, scrunched his nose for a moment before replying.

“And your decision?”Came his bold inquiry, one of his pale brows raised.

“This mountain stands between Mordor and Eryn Galen. I would not so quickly abandon it. Orcs have ever been our chief enemy, and I have not forgotten what they have stolen from us.” Thranduil’s eyes cooled and the atmosphere shifted from confrontational icy calm.

Legolas felt a chill prickle down his back.

“As it stands, an alliance will strengthen both of our people against the growing threat of the west. If past grudges can be laid to rest and current kings can.. coexist, then war will be a privilege save only for our combined foes.” Thranduil finished stoically, now waiting only for his son’s response. The tent had gone quiet and Legolas looked so horribly lost in the face of the realization that his father had already made peace with the dwarves.

His trip had been for nothing.

“I must say, I am pleasantly surprised at this change Thranduil. Though the lady did tell me I would not meet much resistance from you, I could hardly believe it.” Gandalf’s mood seemed to have improved rapidly and he laughed good naturedly. Bard and Tauriel looked relieved now that Legolas had realized he would meet no opposition in his father. But all the same..

Legolas felt the dread seep through his mind all the way to the tips of his gloved fingers.

“We came all this way.” He whispered in a way that none in the room missed. Glorfindel and Thranduil among the first to grow concerned.

“Legolas?” Thranduil noticed his son’s desolation from the way his shoulders drooped. Glorfindel heard it in his voice. And Tauriel saw it in his eyes.

“We came all this way for naught. I lost- for nothing.” Legolas swallowed thickly and suddenly his neck straightened and his eyes dulled. Glorfindel inhaled sharply, taking a quick step forward before Thranduil gave him a sharp warning glance. He stilled.

“Leave us.” Thranduil ordered suddenly, his voice perilously frigid. Tauriel complied immediately, looking back at Legolas with a longing expression, for she longed to comfort him. Bard followed after her, keeping his eyes straight ahead and telling himself never to get involved too deeply with Thranduil’s kin, as they all seemed to be more emotionally turbulent than little Tilda. Then followed Gandalf, with a short bow, and finally Glorfindel. The last looked more than reluctant to go, but seeing no room for argument he did so with a last worried glance at his companion. Thranduil said nothing of it, but took dual note of the lord’s apparent attachment to his son.

…

Finally they were alone, the tent walls rippling in the howling winter winds. Legolas stood solitary before his father’s table, his fists clenched and trembling. Thranduil moved slowly toward him, never reaching out or acting swiftly. His son was ever so ridgid, but brittle in his strength. In that way he was almost fragile, if one so steadfast could indeed be called such.

“What did you lose, penneth?” Legolas flinched at the term, some measure of feeling returning to his eyes. It was sorrow, of course, paired with unmistakable grief.

“Uraeus.” Legolas breathed in reply, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. Thranduil sighed, shifting his weight back onto his heels.

“Ai, Ioneg-“ He tried for condolences, but Legolas would have none of them.

“It doesn't matter now. He was old for a mortal horse, and it was no- no great loss regardless.” Legolas choked on his confession, not believing his own words. Thranduil knew this.

“I’ve not known my son to tell lies.” Thranduil’s tone was less judgemental than it was sad. He knew very little of his son these days.

“It matters not, Adar. I wish only to see Laegeûl now.” Legolas brushed passed his father, raising a hand to open the flap. Thranduil sighed silently, watching his son go.

‘Very well.” He nodded, following Legolas into the open air.

It was midday now, though the overcast foliage of clouds would have you believe otherwise. The dilapidated homes nearby had tarps and planks thrown over them, the people inside them huddling around a small fire for warmth. There must had been a thousand campfires that night, each one blazing sadly without a hearth or pit to house it. If all went well, these people would have homes soon.

“You should know that Laegeûl and Tauriel are the chief reasons I have even considered this alliance.” Thranduil attempted to converse naturally with his son, only to find a neutral expression already painted on his face. ‘Ah, it almost looks real’ Thranduil marveled at his son’s control over his expression. He looked so similar to him now.

“Truly?” Legolas forced his brows and voice to rise in surprise. He kept pace even as his father stepped forward to walk beside him, the pair striding forward with what looked like confidence to the outside eye.

“The pair of them disappeared after I ordered that no one was to leave the kingdom. I’ve since learned that they’ve been working with the dwarves to end this conflict all along.” Thranduil’s lips twisted into a frown, keeping his eyes forward as he and Legolas walked on. Legolas shook his head, unable to believe Laegeûl would behave in such a way.

“If not for Laegeûl’s.. entanglement in this strange affair, I’d have pulled my forces as soon as the Dalemen were given aid.” Thranduil clicked his tongue, expression sour.

“Entanglement?” Legolas echoed, alarm suddenly currying in his mind. “What has befallen Laegeûl??” He needed to know. Thranduil looked displeased, but not so direly as an injury or captivity might imply. This gave Legolas little comfort.

“He has made… a friend.”

…

“It will work, I’m sure of it.” Tauriel promised, soothing her prince’s fears yet again.

Laegeûl was pacing outside their tent, his eyes darting this way and that as they let their thoughts spiral dangerously. Legolas had just arrived and was speaking with Ada, but Laegeûl had reason to think that their father’s speech may turn Legolas against him. Not purposefully of course, but Ada had no particular appreciation for dwarves, and neither had Laegeûl but a week ago.

“But Ada-“ Laegeûl frowned, their eyes dark for once. He worried for Legolas, as well as the Dwarrow behind their halls of stone and the approaching of war.

“He is reasonable, be at peace cuan-nin.” Tauriel’s intensely calm expression almost gave Laegeûl extra hope. But then he remembered one key detail that Tauriel seemed to be ignoring.

“He banished you.” Laegeûl deadpanned, crossing their arms over his chest. Tauriel sighed and as she did, it looked as though all of her breath left her.

“Thank you for reminding me.” Her voice harbored the smallest hint of a bite, but she remained professional as ever. Laegeûl frowned, sympathy written all over their face.

“I’m so sorry Tauriel. As soon as this is all over, I’ll make sure you’re formally un-banished!” Laegeûl promised that which they thought was within their power to achieve. Tauriel doubted this was possible, but appreciated the gesture anyway.

“If anything, prince Legolas will be glad to see you again.” Tauriel tried again to sooth Laegeûl’s nerves. This attempt worked considerably better, and the prince brightened a bit.

“I hope he wont hate me after all this.” Laegeûl held his hand to his chin. Tauriel laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I assure you, my prince, that is impossible for Legolas.” Her smile was genuine as she recalled just how much Legolas cared for his younger brother. Laegeûl hoped she was right.

“Even if I’m friends with a dwarf?” Leageûl pouted, looking up at Tauriel for her wisdom. The elleth nodded, her features soft yet confident.

“Even then.”

…

Thorin leered down at the gathering crowd of Mirkwood elves at the base of the mountain. There sat Thranduil atop his great horned steed, his pale head held high and his hair whipping in the wind. He looked unbearably pretentious in his kingly attire. The only thing taller than the king’s stature was his brow, Thorin snorted at the thought.

Their armor was golden and glinting in the early morning sun. If they were not their invaders, Thorin might have found their dainty armor beautiful.

Behind him, stood all members of his party with either a sword or axe in hand. Thorin himself held a bow behind the Chemin De Ronde wall, more ready to shoot any whose mouth ran too proudly (Thranduil). The madness in his mind told him that every one of his company members were eager to betray and overthrow him, no doubt to get at his gold. But Bilbo told him it wasn’t so, and that they would follow him into death if he asked them. How true his words were, though Thorin couldn’t understand at the time.

“Thorin! How glad I am to see that Erebor is free once again!” The voice of Gandalf carried over the wind and up to ramparts. Thorin’s men all seemed relieved at the wizard’s sudden appearance, but Thorin bristled.

“No thanks to your meddling!” Thorin shot back, surprising only Bilbo, Ori, and Kíli. All others were well accustomed to Thorin’s temper, current sickness aside.

“Come now, you have your mountain, do you not?” Gandalf shook his head, leaning on his tall staff and allowing a wry smile to slip beneath his long grey beard. Thorin scowled, feeling as though his rule were still incomplete and of illegitimate claim despite his bloodline.

The Arkenstone remained mysteriously absent.

“And what do you need of it? Have you come to demand we fork over what is rightfully ours to the weak!?” Thorin shouted back, his lips curled in a menacing snarl. Gandalf, from his place far below the cliff side, sighed and stood a little straighter.

“I come only to warn you Thorin.”

“Warn? You mean to threaten me as though you can extort even a single coin from these halls, my halls!” Thorin spat back, and Bilbo frowned, taking a careful step away from his dearest friend. Gandalf’s expression did not change, but the wind around him seemed to whip a little more violently than before.

“Nay, Thorin. I speak of Orcs; an entire army from Gundabad marches for Erebor!” Gandalf stood firmly as he delivered the grim news. The dwarves around Thorin shifted with uncertainty, ultimately looking to their King for an answer. If orcs were approaching to assail them as well, then they’d never stand a chance against the elves and men, Thorin thought darkly. Not without Dain’s help that is. But who could say when he and his legions would arrive??

“They will arrive on your doorstep within the hour, Thorin! This is no time for warmongering!” Gandalf cried out, his elder voice yet sharp and clear. Thorin’s blood boiled.

“We are liberators of our home and lords of the mountain! Yet he who leads an army against my people would DARE accuse US of warmongering! Pah!!” Thorin scoffed aloud, his face contorted in an awful grimace- a facsimile of the gentle smile Bilbo had once known.

Gandalf paused, locking eyes with that horribly brave and terribly rash burglar he had hired. Bilbo looked down so sadly at him, his very heart torn at Thorin’s actions. Oh how much worse it would become! Gandalf lamented that there was naught other choice but the wild card they had been gifted by Tauriel. What discord anew would it sew in another’s hands.

The hand of Mithrandir rose above his pointed hat and held within his spindly pale fingers a thing of awful beauty and power. Such influence Gandalf held aloft, white crystal malice singing sweetly to Thorin’s ears even from such a distance. Thorin staggered back, along with many others of his company; save Bilbo and Balin, who remained unshocked but not unshook.

“The Arkenstone!!” Kili gasped, his fingers tightening around his sword.

…

An embrace was not the last thing Legolas had expected, nor wanted. Not when it came to Laegeûl; he whom would be embraced forever by favor and affection. Legolas would have it no other way, in fact.

Laegeûl, in their excitement, had momentarily forgotten the war, and his little friend’s danger in it. Instead, he reveled in the presence of their brother, something about him changed. Perhaps it was only their imagination, but Legolas hadn’t looked so open before he left Eryn Galen. His eyes were wider now, despite the heaviness to them.

Usually, Legolas would react poorly to any mention of his deteriorating appearance - despite the fact that no one other than his father knew he truly was fading. But on this morning he made an exception, for how could he scold Laegeûl now??

He could not. Not with his brother’s kindly face beaming up at him so innocently.

“Muindor, díheno nin.” Laegeûl folded into the embrace, the top of their head reaching just below Legolas’s shoulders. Legolas bowed his head to reciprocate the hug, feeling a sigh of relief finally pull from his chest. It had been a long time coming.

“I ‘ûr nîn be hen, ni ‘lassui.” Legolas whispered, and he held no bitterness in his heart towards Laegeûl.

“Will you fight beside me?” Laegeûl’s voice grew hopeful in their brother’s presence. Legolas frowned and stepped back from the embrace. His face twisted into a confused, and almost disgusted expression.

“No.” Legolas’s heart crumbled at his own denial. Laegeûl’s smile fell.

…

“No??” Laegeûl’s voice rang with betrayal, having believed that Legolas would be his staunchest ally. Legolas’s eyes fluttered to a close, his heart beating ever faster.

“I will not allow you to march to your doom. I will not help you be slaughtered.” He said grimly. Laegeûl sluttered, taking a step back.

“I- Legolas, I have trained!! You do not need to worry so!” Laegeûl insisted, feelin they were entirely ready for the approaching war. Legolas would have laughed if the situation were any less dire.

“For how long have you trained, Lageûl?” Legolas knew it could not have been been long, and no matter his answer, it wouldn’t be enough.

“Since you left!” Laegeûl cried, feeling suddenly defensive over their abilities and causes.

“That is but one season, Laegeûl! An insignificant amount of time!” Legolas scoffed, looking down crossly at his younger brother. Laegeûl bristled.

“I have learned much!!” Laegeûl insisted, tipping their chin up and Legolas and scrunching their nose. Alas, Legolas saw only his little brother, the precious prince of eternal youth. And he could not accept any progress made or prowess earned.

“Whatever meager skill you have gained, it means naught if you go to war now! You squander your potential and march to your death. Death, honeg!!” Legolas spat, his hair flying wildly about. Laegeûl took a half step backwards, their eyes wide with betrayal.

A horrible beat of silence followed. Legolas began to wonder…had he gone too far? A gnawing guilt filled his belly and Legolas’s harsh expression softened.

“Honeg-nin-“ Legolas started, brows furrowing, but was interrupted again.

“I risk more by remaining on the sidelines than I do by marching into battle! There are those that I would not see sundered from this mortal plane just yet! There are those I hold dear!” Laegeûl rounded on his brother, eyes blazing with fire. Legolas frowned, remembering the conversation he’d had with his father.

‘Laegeûl has made a friend.’ Thranduil had said, his eyes distant and discontent.

“Which is more than you can say, heartless brother! One wonders if you still have a heart, or if you cut it out yourself!!” Laegeûl growled and turned on their heel, not allowing his brother to get a word in edgewise. Legolas watched them go, storming across the clearing with clenched fists.

A horn blared amidst the camp’s preparations and all heads turned to the sky. Dread kindled in Legolas’s body. Zero hour was upon them, and he had been unable to convince Laegeûl to flee.

Chapter Text

“-JUST SODDING OFF!!!”

…

The Orcs, in all their unholy bloodlust soon overran the valley, the icy land teeming with their detestable stench and presence. For every man, elf, and dwarf, there were three orcs apiece and a mountain troll to beat. Goblins too could be found scampering among their ranks and sowing discord wherever they went. Bats the size of eagles swooped down on the unified armies, sinking teeth and claws into the unprotected necks of men. A child was even lifted into the air, kicking and screaming as they hung from the beast’s jaws. The horrible bat was shot down by elven bow, but whether the child survived or not went unknown.

Glorfindel had chopped down many an Orc already when the second horn sounded and the fighting changed directions. He had been backing Mithrandir and King Thranduil, but now he knew not whence the wizard went. Still, he kept his eyes trained on the silvery sheen of Thranduil’s armor and cut down all who approached.

Gondolin had once been such a magnificent kingdom, that it was known especially for their triumphant and frequent conquest led against the forces of Morgoth. Glorfindel had lived through those days with all his kin as captain of the guard. His dearest friend Ecthelion had excelled in the felling of such foul creatures, and together they’d led many a successful raid.

But all glory came to an end. And it ended in flames.

Glorfindel’s head shot up at the scent of smoke coming from Dale. Fires had been lit along the walls and crumbling pillars by large catapults set now on the ridge opposite of the mountain. Any who dared attack the machinery was quickly bludgeoned to death by the clubs of trolls and orca alike. Glorfindel gritted his teeth.

“Glorfindel!” Thranduil’s voice pierced through the raging clatter of battle and Glorfindel turned around. An Orc made to slash his face but Glorfindel bashed it easily to the side. He met Thranduil’s gaze and felt suddenly perceived from every angle by the King, his eyes scrutinous..

“Where is Legolas??” He called, waving his great sword elegantly through the fray with elegance. Glorfindel’s stomach flipped and his eyes widened.

Indeed, where was Legolas??

…

Find Laegeûl, keep them safe. Find Laegeûl, keep them safe. Find Laegeûl, keep him safe. Find Laegeûl, keep them safe. Find-

It was all that ran through Legolas’s mind. Constantly, on loop.

Every time he passed an elven corpse he jumped. Every swath of blonde hair, every shrill scream set Legolas further on edge. He could not find him. Laegeûl was playing a dangerous game, one he was not likely to survive, and Legolas was desperate to find him.

A flash of fiery hair caught Legolas’s keen eyes and he saw Tauriel leaping through a crumbling portion of the mountainside spire. Legolas raced after her, praying she had seen Laegeûl. Not only that, but she was being pursued by a large gundabad Orc. Legolas pulled an arrow from his quiver and shot down any Orc that got too close to Tauriel, but he could not get a clear shot of the largest one, as it was too close to Tauriel. He needed to get closer.

Legolas flicked back his hair and began to climb up the spire, crumbling rock peeling from the surface as he grasped fistfuls of it. Behind him, orcs groped at his boots, trying to pull him down. Legolas kicked them effectively in the face and listened to the satisfying crunch of bone. They fell away like tender meat from the rib, tumbling down the mountainside to their doom.

…

“Tilda!!” Laegeûl shot down another Orc, ducking away from its falling corpse.

Laegeûl, the youngest prince of Mirkwood, was desperate beyond words to find their friend. Tilda, daughter of Bard and now rightful princess of Dale, was gone from his sight and they knew not whether she be alive or dead. She could not defend herself against an Orc hoard- much less swing a sword- and the Orcs had broken through to the Dalemen’s innermost strongholds.

The women had poured out from the last one, swords and lances of old in their hands with the great roar of Queens at their arrival. Laegeûl had witnessed many an orc speared by the women of Dale insofar, but he had yet to catch a glimpse of Bard’s children.

Then- Laegeûl thought they saw- yes!! Bain, Bard’s son, waving a silver sword in front of him, Sigrid and young Tilda just behind. Laegeûl’s heart skipped a beat when they saw the massive mountain troll, hideous and bumbling, heading straight for them with an evil eye fixed on the mortal children. Tilda screamed, shrill and terrified like nothing Laegeûl had ever heard.

The prince jumped, leaping over corpse and orc to get to them before the Troll did. On feathered feet did Laegeûl fly, quickly grasping Astv arrows in their quiver as they dashed onward. Three shots he fired before they reached the Troll, two lolling sideways and sticking in the Troll’s back, but one making its target and impaling the creature’s thick neck.

The Troll bellowed, choking and stumbling forward. Laegeûl crouched and sprinted under its massive legs to stand afront the children. He took up Bain’s sword, willingly given from fingers numb with horror, and slashed a gaping wound across the foul monster’s pot belly.

The Troll roared dumbly and reared back, already taking its last heaving, rattling breaths as it keened backward, and fell into a cart. Standing there’d beside the cart, with wide eyes and a drawn sword, was Bard.

“Da!!” All three children cried with a mixture of relief and fear, rushing forward and barreling into their stricken father. He held each of their faces at one point, smoothing away dirt and sweat and simply looking them over.

‘Alive. Safe, and alive’ his mind echoed with a cacophony of relieved astonishment and gratitude flooding his heart and threatening to pause its heavy beating.

“You-“ Bard looked up suddenly, eyes slightly blurry with emotion but focused enough on Laegeûl’s fair face. Laegeûl straightened, their shoulders rolling back with an air of professionalism. Bard blinked hard and shook his head.

“-saved them. I couldn’t make it to them in time, and you saved them.” Bard’s eyes shone with incredible gratitude. Laegeûl smiled, catching Tilda’s own wide brown eyes. She too wore a proud smile on her youthful face, though it was shaken from her previous scare.

“Thank you.” Bard bowed quickly, his voice rife with emotion. His children around him bowed too, Tilda nodding in eager agreement.

Laegeûl blushed at the recognition, unsure of how to respond to such a display. Still, they dipped their head respectfully in turn, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Just then, another Orc came screaming into view with arms raised. Laegeûl dodged its mace and ran it through with an arrow clutched in his fist. Laegeûl huffed, remembering then that they were in the middle of war.

“It’s not safe here!! King Bard, lead them to a safe house, I’ll cover you!!” Laegeûl cried vociferously over the din of dying soldiers and lackeys all around. Bard looked as though he wanted to protest at being killed ‘king’ but found it best not to argue and nodded curtly.

And so it went that Laegeûl earned their first experience in war, guarding the king of Dale and his precious children throughout the mountainside. To this day, Laegeûl is considered a hero of Dale, and is hailed in the legends of their people.

…

“Kili!!” Tauriel was tired of looking, and her patience was loosing a battle with her worry. Kili was too important to lose, she understood that now. She had to keep him safe.

If only she could find him first!!

The sounds of fighting and laborious grunting echoed off the broken walls of the spire. Tauriel’s pointed ears twitched in the sound’s true direction, and she set her feet upon that path. Up, up, up the crumbling stone walls and stairwells, through corpses fresh and their living companions. Anything, if it meant getting closer to Kili.

Tauriel was a force unstoppable; fueled by love and rage, her face was grim like that of an Amazonian warrior. She held hear head high and flinched not at the onslaught of orca in her path. She cut them down like reeds in the wind.

They were in her way, and she was not stopping.

“Kili!!” She bellowed again, her voice powerful. This time, she received a definite answer.

“Tauriel?” His voice called just one more flight above, strained and tight. He needed help.

Tauriel ram faster, slashed harder, and jumped higher to arrive before him, only for her heart to seize.

Bolg held the Dwarf aloft, white fist constricting his airway. Kili kicked and squirmed, his face twisted up in frustration. He looked more annoyed and pained, but still Tauriel felt her gains flood with Rage.

She screeched like a mighty eagle and flew at Bolg, her twin knives talons that pierced the unsuspecting Bolg’s arm and chest. The large Orc hurled Kili from his grasp, spitting and gasping for air, and howled angrily at his injury. Tauriel jumped back, readying her knives for another strike.

Bolg spat at her, though it only reached her foot, and sneered with curled lips.

“Wretched she elf! I’ll tear your ears from your skull!!” Bolg roared, holding his bone axe menacingly. Tauriel snarled in return, eyes flicking to Kili who was hefting himself off the ground.

“I shall cut out your tongue before you can try!!” Tauriel jumped forward, her arms outstretched with a deadly blade in each hand. Bolg reared back, dodging both of her keen slashes. Kili narrowed his eyes and flung himself onto Bolg’s back, linking his arm’s around the Orc’s wide neck and pulling back with all his strength.

Bolg choked, and for a moment, Tauriel had her opening. She bolted forward, knives pointed for the stomach, when Bolg grinned deviously and his yellow eyes glinted evilly.

From behind, Bolg yanked Kili’s hair and ripped him away. He threw the Dwarf in front of him, laughing as he hoped to watch Tauriel accidentally gut the object of her protection. She gasped and rolled to the side, tucking her knives in so as to miss Kili. And that she did, but now she stood on the very edge of the spire with little more than a meter to spare. Bolg laughed, as this too served his purpose.

Kili yelled out his warning, but very little could be done. Bolg pushed Tauriel to the very edge, casting Kili aside with his head cracking on a stair. Tauriel cried out, watching Kili crumple to the floor.

Bolg bore down on her with all of his terrible strength, aided exponentially by his weight. Tauriel strained, her jaw grit as she fought to remain standing. Bolg’s ugly maw stretched wider in an awful facsimile of a smile, which was in all truthfulness a grimace. Tauriel screamed, feeling desperation take hold and hopelessness creep upon her. But Kili needed her, she couldn’t fail.

Bolg pressed harder, but she couldn’t fail. Bolg pushed her more, but she could fail. Bolg snarled louder and laughed horribly but she couldn’t fail. Kili needed her so she. Couldn’t. Fail.

With a final, heaving scream of effort, Tauriel smashed her heel into Bolg’s shin, ducked down, and barreled into his legs. Bolg yelped, tipped, and flipped over the edge of the spire, and plummeted down to who knows where. Death, Tauriel hoped.

“Kili!” She cried after taking not even a minute of rest for herself, dashing forward and dropping to his side. She held his face and tapped his cheek rapidly, hoping to rouse him from unconsciousness. After a few moments, her Dwarf groaned and turned his head to side. He rested his cheek in the warmth of her and and slowly blinked open his eyes.

“`Auriel?” He slurred groggily, gazing up at her as though she were the moon, sun, and stars. She laughed, relief and love and joy overwhelming her.

“You’re alright!” She cried with joyful disbelief. Kili recovered from his dumbness with a shake of his head.

“Course I’m alright! We Durins have thick skulls!” He proclaimed proudly, brown eyes shining. Tauriel relaxed when she saw him return to his senses, running a gentle hand over his forehead .

“I’m so glad.” She sighed, and pulled Kili into a spontaneous and passionate kiss. Kili (mentally pumping his fist and running victory laps) leaned into the kiss and held Tauriel’s beautiful face in his rough hands. And she preferred it that way.

…

Bolg had to land somewhere; unfortunately, he survived the fall.

A large stone bridge stretched over a wide chasm between the mountain and the spire. Already, chunks of cobblestone were wearing away and plummeting down into the valley. It is there that Legolas faced the Orc he had been aiming for all this time. Bolg, white as bone and terrible to look at, stood with a snarling smile and his wicked sword drawn. His fangs were yellowed and crooked, jutting out of his slobbering jaws like an ill bred mut. To face him was to face ugliness itself, and many had been felled by him in his rancid years of treachery.

Legolas released the tension in his shoulders, rolled his neck, and notched an arrow.

His first shot was dodged, and the second, and the third. At close quarters, arrows were easy to dodge and too fragile to do any damage. Bolg caught the fourth arrow in his hand and crushed it into splinters. Legolas frowned, but realized he couldn’t rely on his bow anymore.

The twin knives he carried in his quiver were drawn, and Legolas dropped into proper stance. Bolg seemed to hesitate at the sight of knives and Legolas grinned widely. That could only mean he’d met Tauriel and not had a good time. It was she that taught Legolas to wield knives in the first place, so he hoped he could do her proud and give Bolg yet another reason to fear the blades.

Bolg crashed forward the idiot he was, no plan in his mind but to maime and tear. Perhaps that had worked for him in the past, but it would take more than such meager tactics to defeat an Elf of Legolas’s skill.

Right and left, Legolas slashed at the hastily moving Orc. He soon noticed that Bolg was slower, and quickly discovered why.

Two knife wounds, one to the arm and another to the chest, oozed black blood and were inflamed terribly. Along with the injury he sustained from his fall, Bolg was not at his best. In fact, he was struggling even to keep up with Legolas’s strikes. He couldn’t allow this, and employed his best trick to save himself.

He dropped to one knee, shoulders heaving as he panted with exhaustion. Legolas’s eyes gleamed with opportunity and he swept forward, his knives outstretched. Bolg grinned with his head bowed, a secret knife concealed within his ist. Legolas would see it until it was too late. Just a bit closer and he would be dead!

A sudden, booming cry caughtLegolas’s ear.

“Legolas!! Watch out!!” Legolas recognized the voice immediately and threw himself to the side. Bolg scowled, his trap revealed. Legolas recovered swiftly, however, drawing up his knives and-!

‘SHLINK!!’ The knives slid into the flesh of Bolg’s unprotected neck and he screamed bloody murder. Legolas lept back, watching Bolg slump forward with a shuddering thud and a thorough splatter of thick blood.

Legolas whipped around, his eyes zeroing in on the person who had warned him. And of course, it was none other than Glorfindel, his long golden hair flowing in the winter winds. Legolas stared for a moment, grey eyes meeting blue, until he nodded and bowed with gratitude. Glorfindel did the same to be polite, but watched Legolas longer even as he turned away to continue searching for Laegeûl.

The battle was not yet over, but it was clear which side had secured its victory.

Legolas raced back down into the valley, drawing his arrows once more. The Orcish forces were dwindling, and the Dalemen were growing emboldened with each they managed to kill. Legolas barely had to dodge anymore, for the men and dwarves were fierce in battle together.

Despite their teamwork, it was obvious both armies had taken heavy losses, as had the elves. Legolas still startled every time he saw blond hair among the slain Elven warriors. He even recognized some of their faces as he ran past, his heart twisting for them.

Legolas ran into a thin hallway and was surprised to find a company of Elves standing within it. There were Orcs standing in the roof tops of low houses where they threw swords and spears and arrows down at the Elves. Thranduil, with his glorious sword, slashed down any and all Orcs he could reach, but even so magnificent a blade had its limitations.

Jumping forward to help his kin, Legolas notched arrows at incredible speed, each one flying high and hitting its mark precisely. One by one, the Orcs fell to their deaths, though most were already dead before they hit the ground.

When the foray had ended, Legolas met Thranduil’s eyes. He stumbled forward a bit, his feet unsteady, but ultimately found his footing and strode forward confidently. Thranduil held his head high and looked so regal in battle that he hardly looked burdened by the bloodshed at all. Legolas knew it wasn’t true, however, and he knew that Thranduil mourned deeply for each warrior he lost, even if his face didn’t show it.

“Adar.” Legolas winced at how his voice sounded: hoarse and desperate. Thranduil accepted Legolas with open arms and beckoned him close. Legolas folded into the embrace, bowing his head against his father’s chest.

“Ionneg.” Thranduil returned, slowly running a hand down Legolas’s hair. He had done the same so long ago when Legolas was young and needed comfort. To Thranduil, Legolas was still young and would always be so. He was his son after all.

Legolas’s breath shuddered from his lungs and he struggled to gather the strength to say what he needed to.

“I can’t find Laegeûl anywhere, Ada.” Legolas’s voice was rife with worry and fear. Thranduil’s posture straightened and he took in a sharp breath. This was certainly cause for worry. Legolas broke away from the embrace with a flash and his twisted face looked up at him.

“I need to find him.” Legolas was icy serious and no one was going to get in the way of his mission. But he needed help. Obviously finding Laegeûl on his own was not working. Thranduil nodded, understanding his son’s frustration.

“I last saw him with Bard and his children. I am fairly certain they were heading for the great hall. Their sick and wounded are being held there.” Thranduil informed, noting how Legolas seemed to gain back much of his determination at this information.

“Hannon le, Adar.” Legolas bowed and quickly ran back to the center of ruined Dale. His father watched him go, with a strange mix of pride and sadness painting his expression.

If only his son could find a way to free himself from his affliction. Thranduil prayed that his fading would be far from the present.

…

“I’m sorry about your leg.” Tilda apologized sweetly, though she need not to. Hers was not the fault of Laegeûl’s injury.

In the tali end of the battle, as Laegeûl was guarding the children of Bard across Dale, his right leg had been struck by a foul arrow. The shaft was black and the head was tipped with what Laegeûl knew to be poison of dastardly magic. The wound pulsed with evil, and sustaining it was more painful than Laegeûl liked to admit. It took much of their strength simply not to cry out.

“Do not fret over me young Princess. I shall recover.” Laegeûl smiled, though strained, and petted Tilda’s wild russet hair with friendly affection. Tilda smiled, and she secretly loved being referred to as a princess, as was any young girl’s dream really.

Sigrid, Bain, and their father Bard, were among those who ran about the great hall (thankfully still intact despite the war) offering help to any and all who needed it. A great deal of medical help was needed, though there weren’t many who had such expertise in the area. Luckily, some of the Dwarves had volunteered their services, as they were of hardy folk who knew their way around an injury.

In that hall with walls of aged stone, the healers hardly flinched at the loss of limb and life that they faced. Not long after the fighting had died down, a few Elvish healers strode into the room and took up work without needing to be asked. Tilda was given the task of lugging around a bucket of water and wet cloths to the healers. They were used for various purposes, but mostly just to clean wounds and pardon parched patients.

It was soon discovered however, that any individuals injured via arrow could not be healed as the others could. The reason was unknown at first, but the Mirkwood Elves recognized the issue well.

Morgul poison.

“It cannot be healed without Athelas; Kingsfoil it is called in your tongue.” Laegeûl explained to Tilda, her brown eyes wide.

“Just like Kili..” she murmured, her doll clutched tightly to her chest. She stood abruptly and looked around, her wispy hair flowing this way and that.

“I’ll tell Da! I’m sure we can find some Kingsfoil!” She exclaimed, hopping away in search of her father.

“No dirweg, be safe!” Laegeûl called after her, chuckling with amusement to themself before pain made them cease. Not a moment later, the large wooden door to the hall flew open and let in a harsh winter draft. Many of the patients nearest the door grumbled unhappily.

There in the doorway, was Legolas, looking wild and frazzled. The door slammed shut behind him and the walls rattled. Legolas’s eyes were roaming the room, searching frantically for-

Their eyes locked and Legolas broke into a run.

“Laegeûl!!” His cry was breathless as he dropped to his knees and pulled Laegeûl into a tight hug. At first, Laegeûl was stiff with shock at their brother’s sudden affection, but it did not last long.

Hesitantly, Laegeûl drew his arms around their brother and rested their chin on his shoulder.

“Muindor?” Laegeûl tilted their head with slight confusion. He was glad to see Legolas, but their last parting had not been so friendly, so Laegeûl hadn’t exactly expected to be treated this way when they inevitably met again.

“Gi ah hairn, man agórer allen?!” Legolas fretted, pulling away to look down at his brother’s calf wrapped in bandages. Laegeûl sniffed, trying to seem nonchalant through the pain.

“Te tithen, I hardly feel it.” Leageûl lied, trying and failing to hide their wince of discomfort. Legolas’s frown deepened, almost mortal looking creases appearing on his face. Laegeûl sighed and admitted defeat. Legolas’s scrutiny was too advanced to be tricked regardless.

“Okay, okay, it is extremely painful.” Laegeûl admitted, slouching his posture. Legolas looked less exasperated and more sad then. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“Diheno nin.” Legolas sighed mourningly, bowing his head in dismay.

“What!??” Laegeûl all but jumped at their brother’s apology. It was one thing to apologize, but in the manner that Legolas employed, it was simply indecent for an elf of his stature.

‘Diheno nin’ was just another way to say ‘Giheno nin’ (forgive me). Legolas should have used the latter however, because Diheno indicated that he was below Laegeûl in his apology. The fact that Legolas made a point to utilize such phrasing, was either obscene, or extremely heartfelt. Laegeûl couldn’t decide which, but they felt unnerved by it nonetheless.

“I was cruel to you. I said things that no brother should speak, for I was blinded by my fear.” Legolas explained, surreptitiously taking hold of Laegeûl’s hand. He held it gently in his own and looked down as though avoiding Laegeûl’s eyes.

“I- but I was cruel too!” Laegeûl piped, their brows knit with regret.

“I called you heartless when everyone knows how deeply you love and grieve! I was boarish in my insults so please, don’t apologize! You were only worried after all..” Laegeûl’s strong voice petered out, looking down at their hand nervously. Legolas smiled.

“I still treated you as though you were helpless, and that is it’s own offense. But seeing as you’ve proved me wrong-“ Legolas tilted his head to glance down at Laegeûl’s injury. He had been injured, yes. But they didn’t get killed like Legolas said.

“-then let us consider the matter forgiven and forgotten.” He finished, looking up into Laegeûl’s green eyes with a smile. They nodded in agreement, squeezing Legolas’s hand a moment before they both let go.

“I’m going to help Bard find Athelas for these people, but I’ll return to you once I’ve finished.” Legolas stood and brushed off his tunic. Laegeûl smiled and waved to him as he left, feeling the pulsing pain in their leg spread further through their veins.

They didn’t have much longer now.

Chapter Text

Thranduil thanked the Valar that Athelas grew just about anywhere, regardless of the season. Even in the rocky, frost bitten soil of Erebor’s cliff side, the humble herb could still be found, it’s little green head and star like flowers poking from under the snow.

“Be still, honeg. Movement will make it worse.” Legolas warned as he wrapped Laegeûl’s calf tightly with the Athelas tincture and clean, dry bandages. Laegeûl put on their brave face for Legolas and Thranduil, his shoulders taught and clenched. But he could not deny the pain any more than Legolas could ignore the tight expression on his brother’s face.

Once the wound was treated and Laegeûl was given further care for the pain, they were able to lay back and simply breathe. Legolas remained by his side for as long as he could, until other matters required his attention. And when Legolas left, Tilda reappeared to babble about the castle and her father and a golden coin she’d found on the ground.

“Don’t let any dwarves see it.” Laegeûl teased, eliciting a laugh from Tilda. Then, a thought crossed her mind.

“I’m gonna give it to Kili!” She exclaimed, remembering how she once thought that dwarves could bring good luck. Maybe.. after everything that had happened, they still would. After all, she was a princess now.

…

Watching his son recover swiftly had been the easiest thing so far amidst the many impossible decisions Thranduil’d had to face recently. In war and peace alike, Thranduil found himself holding his breath, counting the beats that the silence stretched for. Peace would not last forever. It would not even last particularly long, either. Thranduil decided he wanted nothing to do with war from that point forward, unless it was truly necessary.

“How did you grow your hair so long?” Little Tilda wondered, curling a finger around a wavy strand of Laegeûl’s hair. Laegeûl smiled and allowed the action, trusting her not to yank the delicate strands away.

“I have never cut it.” He replied simply, brushing some of the flaxen hair over his shoulder. Tilda marveled at how long and shiny and wavy it was, wondering if ever her hair could be so pretty.

“It looks different from your papa’s.” She said absent mindedly, now working a small, messy braid into Laegeûl’s hair. Laegeûl smiled sadly, sending a glance to his father who watched them not far away. From his position, Thranduil could see that his son cared for Tilda like a little sister, answering her every question and letting her lay her head on his lap. Thranduil watched them speak like old friends, smiling an laughing so carefreely that Laegeûl looked younger than ever.

“It looks more like my mother’s, I am told, though it is hard to remember.” Laegeûl twirled a strand of wavy hair between his index finger and thumb, wondering if the texture was the same. They couldnt quite remember the finer details anymore. But it was okay, he would see her again in Valinor. Someday.

“Is your mum like mine?” Tilda peered up at him with her usual curiosity, though this time it was painted with sadness that Laegeûl was ever so remiss to see on her youthful face.

“Gone?” Sweet Tilda clarified, her eyes deep with a hidden knowledge of grief and goodbyes that children ought not possess. Laegeûl looked out at the hall then, their eyes unfocused on anything before him.

“From this world, yes. But she is always with me, and I know I’ll see her again someday.” Laegeûl let a smile creep onto their features, imagining the day when rejoining his Naneth in that field of flowers becomes a reality. Tilda liked the idea of that, and hoped mortal men had something similar in the afterlife waiting for them. She would really like to see her Mum again.

Though, she would miss her new elf friends.

…

After the upheaval of it all, Dale and Erebor were safe.

Thorin broke through his sickness and assumed the throne, every bit the noble king he had hoped to be, though he would never think so highly of himself. Not now. Luckily, he had Bilbo there to remind him every so often. And gladly did Bilbo do so!

Tauriel had found something many elves never did, and it had awoken a blazing star within her. Legolas and Laegeûl were happy for her, if not a bit confused and nonplussed about the whole…Dwarf thing?

She decided to stay with Kili and was given residence in Dale for her part in saving the crown Prince of Erebor. Bilbo had advocated on her behalf quite adamantly to Thorin when he showed resistance. Ultimately, Thorin could not say no to anything Bilbo said, truthfully.

Bard had in fact been crowned king of Dale after the first few months of restoration were underway. Both Dwarves and Elves were glad to see Dale restored, and Bard remained good friends with Thranduil throughout the rest of his mortal life. His children, Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda, were now genuine royalty.

Laegeûl had clapped and laughed so happily when Tilda came down the stairs one day clad in a lovely blue dress embroidered with silver threads. She, out of all her siblings, was by far the most excited to be royalty. And despite all his hesitancy towards kingship, Bard was at least happy to give his children this.

When the winter had passed and the survival of the men was no longer in question, the elves receded to their forest, and the dwarves to their mountain. Tilda had made Leageûl promise to visit, though ‘twas an easy feat indeed, for Laegeûl already cherished her friendship.

And then it was time for Legolas and Glorfindel to return to Imladris and say their goodbyes in turn.

“You still have to write to me.” Laegeûl remimded their older brother cheekily and Legolas laughed.

“I have not forgotten, honeg, peace.” He placated, and Laegeûl accepted it for the time being.

Thranduil and Glorfindel had participated in an odd starring match, Thranduil looking as though he might stab the lord with his pupils. Legolas tried not to pay attention to their strangeness, but he couldn’t help feeling that he was the cause of it somehow.

“No dirweg, ion nin.” Thranduil had hugged his son once again at his leaving, this separation coming with a lighter sense of contentment and not so much dread as the first time.

“I will Ada, le melin.” Legolas bowed to his father and brother as they mounted their steeds and led the company of Mirkwood elves back whence they came. He watched
them go, and wondered what would be left of Mirkwood by the time he was able to return.

Then it was his and Glorfindel’s turn to depart, but Legolas did not want to ride on Asfaloth again. Luckily, Bard approached Legolas that day with a kind offer.

“You brother saved the lives of my children, but no matter what I offered him, he would take no gift as thanks. So please, take this horse in his stead. She is young and will serve you well.” Bard explained, handing the leather reins gladly to Legolas. Legolas accepted the mare gratefully, already admiring her dappled brown and white coat.

“Thank you, good King of the lake, you are very generous.” Legolas bowed his head and suddenly Bard looked stifled, but he took it in stride. Being a king was still intimidating.

“My children are everything to me, Prince Legolas. So this gift barely touches the surface of my gratitude towards your family. If ever you need help, Dale shall be at your service.” Bard nodded his head in a sort of bow, but his eyes were so full of thankfulness and appreciation, that Legolas truly believed him. Legolas smiled.

“I am glad we were able to assist such a noble people, and my heart sings to know our kingdoms are united in friendship once again.” Legolas bid him in parting, feeling more hopeful than he had in a long while. A great victory had been won and the kingdoms of Elves, Men, and Dwarves were united once again.

…

Anna, Legolas’s gifted mare, was not so lean and lithe as he was accustomed to. Rather she was sturdy and strong, much like the inhabitants of the mountain from which she hailed. She preferred to trod and jump over obstacles in her path rather than dance around them, like Uraeus would have. In fact, nothing about her was similar to Uraeus at all.

For this reason, she was perfect.

Glorfindel watched Legolas on his new horse, the prince frequently leaning forward and rubbing the mare’s neck affectionately. It was endearing how Legolas cared for horses. Already, Glorfindel could tell his companion loved his new steed.

“Your heart sings, Legolas?” Glorfindel chuckled, watching Legolas fawn over Anna. He paused, giving Glorfindel an inquiring look.

“That is what you told Bard, is it not? Did you mean it?” Glorfindel let his horse lead the way, trusting he knew the path well. Legolas knew not why Glorfindel cared for such matters, but he would humor him.

“Words are often spoken, Glorfindel. Does it matter the emotions behind them, if the intention is there?” Legolas’s expression dropped, his voice sardonic.

“Yes.” Glorfindel replied earnestly. Legolas frowned, flicking Anna’s reins so that she would trot a little faster. This did nothing, as Asfaloth easily kept up with his long strides. Glorfindel decided he would try another tactic.

“You know, I have heard tales of the beauty of woodelven music; that green elves hardly ever stop singing. And yet, I do not think I have ever heard you sing a single note.” Glorfindel peered at Legolas through a curtain of golden hair, wondering just what it would take for the elf to open up to him.

Legolas paused, his mind suddenly skipping back through their travels to find- Glorfindel was right. Legolas had not sung in a very long time, though he hadn’t noticed it. He was constantly surrounded by melody, especially in Rivendale thanks to Lindor, but he hadn’t partaken in such activities for quite awhile. A shame really.

“I do not think you would find our songs particularly appealing, Lord Glorfindel.” Legolas knew very well that Thindarin music was considered a bit.. rustic to its Quenyan progenitor. Glorfindel looked taken aback for a moment, a golden brow quirked with confusion.

“Who is this Lord? I have not been a Lord in your eyes for quite some time, my prince. Are we not friends?” Glorfindel waited for Legolas to look his way, and then held his gaze intently when he did so. Legolas sighed eventually, giving way to Glorfindel’s kicked expression and tone.

“I- yes, I suppose we are friends.” Legolas admitted, his ears warming with a faint blush. Glorfindel grinned happily.

“Then let us speak as such! Come, it is a long road ahead!” Glorfindel proclaimed and Asfaloth broke out into a trot across the rolling hills before them. Legolas chuckled and so too urged Anna into a canter to meet Glorfindel’s speed.

It was a long way home.

…

Despite the many kilometers of distance between Erebor and Imladris, which promised to be a trip of lengthy duration, no friendly word was exchanged between the elven riders. In fact, Legolas seemed reluctant to say anything at all to the golden haired warrior. Had he said something uncouth? Glorfindel often wondered hoplessly if it were possible to truly befriend the prince of Mirkwood at all, whose moods were as varied and frequent as the changing of the seasons.

The soft clopping of their horses trodding over the beaten path was the only noise that buffered the silence between them. Glorfindel turned his eyes to the sky, noticing a faint smell of rain in the air. Legolas seemed to have noticed it as well, his nose turned upward.

“Anna may spook if lightning strikes. Perhaps we should find shelter for the night?” Glorfindel suggested. Legolas paused, then nodded, flicking Anna’s reins and pulling them off to the side. Asfaloth and Glorfindel followed suit, all four adventurers plodding further into the surrounding wood in search of shelter.

Against a hill overgrown with shrubs and lichens, Legolas spotted a cave hidden beneath foliage. Less so a cave than a depression in the rock for how shallow it was, but it was large enough to shelter the horses from the rains. Whilst they searched, winds had risen around them and whistled through the branches of trees. The rain had started as only a sprinkle, then a drizzle, then suddenly a downpour.

Their clothes were soaked, but they were sheltered from the deluge at last, a small fire kindling in the center of the cave. Legolas exhaled through his nose and sat down close to the fire. He despised wearing wet clothing and wanted nothing more than too slough it off, but he had nothing else dry to wear, for all in his pack was soaked also. So he laid out the small amount of clothing he’d packed and smoothed it down on the stone floor to dry. If he was lucky, they would be dry by morning.

Glorfindel removed his armor plate by plate, drops of moister falling from each piece. Legolas watched the shining metal form a pile on the floor as Glorfindel set them down, the flames dancing on their reflective surfaces. Beneath it all, Glorfindel’s attire was similarly soaked, though he did not seem to mind so much as Legolas. The prince could not fathom as to why, seeing how awfully uncomfortable it was.

Legolas was reminded, thanks to a terrible itching beneath his tunic, of the now drenched bandages over his old wound. It was high time to remove them, and Legolas was confident it had fully healed by now, but in so small a place- he only wondered if it was impolite to do so.

In the end he found he did not care so long as he could remove it. The itching, as well as the wetness, was driving him mad. Legolas carefully removed his gauntlets and vest, all the while leaving his gloves on. He removed then his tunic and undershirt. Both articles seemed plastered to him and did not want to release hold of his skin. Once he finally managed to pull them up over his head and lay them to the floor, a sharp inhale interrupted his progress.

Legolas turned his head to see Glorfindel swiftly averting his eyes, face flushing.

“Is something the matter?” Legolas quirked an amused brow at Glorfindel’s odd behavior. The Lord coughed awkwardly, turning his head away.

“If you had told me beforehand you.. well I would have given you some privacy.” Glorfindel blinked rapidly, the flush reaching his pointed ears. Legolas scoffed.

“I wish you luck in that Mellon, for finding space in so small a cave is nigh impossible.” Legolas shook his head, focusing now on the wet, peeling bandages over his left breast and shoulder. He picked at them, watching them unravel and fall away.

“Unless of course you should like to stand in the rain.” Legolas mumbled, grinning to himself with the mental image of Glorfindel standing in the pouring rain simply to avoid nakedness.

“Shameless..” Glorfindel muttered into his hand, still averting his eyes.

Temptation lay before him and he willed himself not to give in. He would not disrespect Legolas by looking at him in his state of undress.

But- what of his shoulder wound? Was it healed? Had it become infected? What if Legolas needed help redressing it? Glorfindel frowned, feeling his eyebrow twitch, and turned his head back towards Legolas.

The wound was healed completely, only a small white scar marking where the injury had once been. The skin was smooth once again, painted orange by the flickering of flames and shining from the rain. It was so.. bare. Glorfindel found himself staring, startled at his own inability to look away. Legolas didnt seem to notice, or if he did, he made no indication and simply inspected the scar for himself. Glorfindel swallowed, tearing his gaze away and watching the horses instead.

Legolas hummed, satisfied with the result of his healing and set the bandages down on the floor. Looking down, he saw his gloves. They were wet and heavy from the rain and would no doubt itch soon enough, but he couldn’t take them off. Not here, in front of Glorfindel. If only he were alone.

Legolas looked up nervously, seeing Glorfindel studying the horses with intense focus. His face and ears were still tinged with a deep flush and Legolas felt obliged to roll his eyes. Noldorin elves were so sensitive. Glorfindel wouldn’t have survived a single one of Thranduil’s parties, Legolas thought humorously.

At least, Glorfindel’s distraction gave Legolas free license to pull off his gloves. One at a time they went, rolling inside out as Legolas tugged them away. He set them down beside his clothing and did his best to avoid looking at his hands. He didn’t want to see them. Legolas unfurled his bedroll, which had remained dry thanks to its packing, and swiftly maneuvered himself into it.

Glorfindel did not see his hands. Nor would he ever see them if Legolas was careful.

“Rest well, Prince Legolas.” Glorfindel spoke quietly, watching the prince curl inward on himself. Legolas hummed appreciatively, tucking his face behind his arms.

“Who is this prince? Call me Legolas, Glorfindel. For we are friends.” Legolas murmured teasingly, his eyes glazing over as he slipped into reverie.

Glorfindel wanted smile, but it likely looked more like a frown. If he was Legolas’s friend, then he would like to know how to stop making him upset. He would also like to know how to calm the hammering of his heart at the sight of him.

…

In the morning, the storm had not passed, and Legolas had not yet awoken. Glorfindel hadn’t rested much throughout the night, for he truly didn’t need to. Legolas was younger, far younger, and more earthly than Glorfindel was, considering he was half silvan. It was only natural he required more rest, but Glorfindel couldn’t help find it interesting,.

Legolas’s Silvan features were so different from what Glorfindel was accustomed to. He was angular in build, whereas Noldorin elves were often softer bodied. Legolas’s ears were longer and sharper than Glorfindel’s, or any other elf he’d ever met for that matter.

Glorfindel’s mind wandered to Legolas’s once green eyes and why they were not any longer.

Had they simply changed naturally? His father had icy blue eyes, though there really wasn’t any grey within them, so it would be strange if that is where he inherited them from. Glorfindel tried to remember Oropher’s eyes, but found the shade too obscure to name. Alas, his curiosity went unsatisfied.

The prince stirred, rolling over on his blanket. Legolas’s eyes focused and he blinked in the pale light from outside. The nightmare he’d just had still echoed in his mind, his ears ringing with tantalizingly familiar screams and the bloody clang of swords. But outside the rain still obscured the sky and hammered down upon the plain. Only a soft, dim light from behind the clouds managed to peek through.

“Good morning Legolas. I’m afraid the storm hasn’t passed yet.” Glorfindel allowed himself a wry smile, secretly glad to stay within the small cave for a little while longer. He had lit another fire, as the winds were frigid as they were wet.

Legolas pinched his brows together, stormy eyes searching about his person for- ah, there they were! Legolas slipped his hands into a pair of freshly dried gloves so quickly Glorfindel could not even see his hands.

‘His hands must get cold easily.’ Glorfindel thought, noting the icy whether and its effect on the woodland prince. It was unusual, of course, for an elf to take such displeasure from cold. Most reveled in it, unless of course you were a half elf. But this was Legolas after all, only the most unusual elf Glorfindel had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Then again, an elf lord staring at the hands of his traveling companion was rather strange as well.

Glorfindel’s eyes shot up as he realized he’d been staring and caught Legolas’s gaze. His stomach dropped. He’d been caught at last.

Legolas looked away, feeling rather flighty suddenly. He had not the mind to explain his hands to Glorfindel, and the gloves were not coming off. But the curiosity of his friend was a frequent theme in their young friendship, and sooner or later, it would need to be addressed. Legolas sighed, tightening his fingers in defeat. Something had to be said.

Maybe he could not avoid this conversation, Legolas thought, but he could divert it.

“You wanted to know before, about my eyes.” Legolas began, seeking Glorfindel’s gaze. The lord, occupied with the gnawing guilt growing within him, only returned his stare because his curiosity had once again been piqued.

“Pardon?” Glorfindel sat a bit straighter, tilting his head to the side. Legolas rubbed his gloved hands together, not from the cold but of nervousness.

“My eyes. Not long ago, when you apologized to me. You wanted to ask about my eyes, but you stopped yourself.” Legolas hummed appreciatively, his yet unbound hair falling forward as he leaned inward toward the fire. It had gone out, but the embers were still warm. Glorfindel swallowed.

“Ah, that I did.” He remembered, a bit bashful for his behavior in the past. But it was simply that, the past. Nothing to be done about it now. Legolas smiled, though Glorfindel didn’t not know if it was bitter or fond. Perhaps both.

“They used to be green, I was surprised you remembered.” Legolas continued, his smile softening.

“My mother had such vibrant green eyes. Mine faded to grey the day she was- died.” Legolas’s voice halted halfway through, his throat clenching on the word ‘murdered’ despite the fact that it was true. It was the coldest, cruelest truth he’d ever had to face, and doubted anything could top it. The death of his brother came close, hampered only by the fact that it had not remained true for long. Legolas shuddered at the thought, and decided it best not to tempt fate.

Glorfindel’s face fell, a look of dismayed sorrow overtaking his noble features. Legolas’s smile had faltered, but still lingered at the corners of his mouth. How could he speak of such dire, painful things, and smile despite it? Glorfindel realized with a pang, that it was not long ago when it was believed the prince would never smile again. After so many decades of icy expressions never melting, what had changed?

“I remember.. the day I first met you, your eyes were so big and bright.” Glorfindel leaned back, his eyes trailing the ceiling as he reminisced fondly in an attempt the lighten the mood. Legolas peered up at him through his long hair.

“They were blue then, as most infants have. And your father- ha! Thranduil has never been one for big smiles, but when I tell you he was happy- he was positively beaming! I’d never seen him so.. so exhuberent! It was like he was glowing.” Glorfindel laughed and shook his head, waves of golden hair falling about his face. Legolas smiled, remembering the rare smiles his father shared with him. Very little made him smile nowadays, but Legolas seemed to be doing better at least. If he could retrieve his smile, then perhaps he could help his Adar do the same.

“Do you-“ Legolas swallowed, feeling hope bubble painfully in his chest. If he could smile again, then did that mean-?

Glorfindel looked expectantly at him, a gentle, patient expression painting his features. Legolas took a breath.

“Do you think my eyes could ever be green again?” Legolas’s voice wobbled and he squeezed the ends of his long blond hair in distress. His face was calm, but the emotions beneath it were anything but. Glorfindel watched tears yet unshed roll down the prince’s pale cheeks, his grey eyes turning blue in their sorrow.

Glorfindel shuffled forward, ignoring the heavy stabbing in his heart. He took hold of Legolas’s hands, trying to pass his warmth even through the gloves he wore. Legolas said nothing, only bowing his head as Glorfindel leaned forward.

“I cannot say what shall happen with any certainty that Elrond or Galadriel may offer, but hear this: If sorrow you are freed from, then why should not your hroä be freed also?” Glorfindel dipped his head and touched it against Legolas’s. The prince frowned, breathing evenly through his tears.

“What if the damage cannot be undone?” Legolas whispered hoarsely, screwing his eyes shut as though he could block out the thought. Glorfindel hummed, still maintaining contact with the wood elf.

“I see no damage, only grief; grief that can be healed.” Glorfindel kindly assured, for thre was no doubt within his own heart that such was true.

“How?” Legolas’s shoulders drooped and his ears burned with shame. What a sorry display he made of himself, though Glorfindel didnt seem to mind. In fact, he threw back his golden head and laughed, eyes twinkling with humor.

“Well, you are in luck Mellon-nin! Elrond is only the best healer in all of Arda, after all!” And with his tears, so too dried the rains, and the road was travelled by elven companions once again.

Once they had packed and quenched the last bit of heat from the fire pit, Legolas and Glorfindel had mounted their horses and rode away, growing ever closer to home.