Narosén roared in laughter, deep and strangely addictive, but Legolas could not see the humour at all, and so he sat before the shaking Spirit Herder, an indignant frown upon his brow as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Forgive me, young Legolas. I do understand your worry, do not misjudge me, but nay - you are not losing your mind, child!"

"But how can you know that? I cannot even identify my own words when I speak them to myself, cannot even understand if those thoughts are mine or those of some other.... entity...." he said, waving his hand as if he had just commented on the fine weather. "'tis as though I were possessed!"

"Nay, stop, Legolas," he begged, fighting another wave of hysterics as he leaned forward to touch him lightly upon the knee. "I do not claim to have this gift but I know of another who does, and I know what she says. It would do you good to meet Agarel."

"Agarel?"

"Aye, a forester, the best we have. She lives half a day's trek to the East. Perhaps your captain would allow you the time to visit her. She would put your mind at ease, I am sure of it."

"I have already missed yesterday's patrol, I am loathe to take any more time for myself, but the idea is a tempting one."

"Captain Turion seems fond of you," said Narosén as he watched the boy closely.

"And I of him. He has been good to me. In truth both he and Lieutenant Lainion have been the best tutors I could ever have wished for."

And it was true, albeit it was the first time Legolas had said as much to anyone.

"It is not a frequent thing, I believe, to have two commanding officers that take your training and welfare so to heart - they see something in you," said the Spirit Herder, too casually perhaps, indeed Legolas afforded him a sideways glance before speaking.

"And I do not wish to disappoint them, Narosén. I just want to understand this. If I am to have it for the rest of my life, I need to understand it, control it," he said with a sour scowl.

"True. But for now, your patrol will not be back until dusk. Join us for lunch, our people are eager to meet you."

"Narosén, I am not a hero. I do not want this attention. However much I understand their hearts, I do not understand their minds. I saved those children because I could. Any other member of my patrol could have done the same. If there is fame to be had, let it be for the Western Patrol, not for me alone."

Legolas had said it almost as a plea, and Narosén had sensed no irritation in his tone, only incomprehension. He still did not understand, realised the Spirit Herder, and perhaps that was just as well. There would be time enough, he reminded himself.

"Nevertheless, join us. Indulge them?" asked the Silvan with a paternal smile, which was soon reflected on Legolas' face.

"Alright. The Valar forbid I refuse Silvan hospitality, Amareth's wrath would be memorable!" he exclaimed, the face of his aunt coming to his mind's eye.

"Amareth? You mother?" asked Narosén.

"Nay, my aunt. I lost my mother when I was just a babe."

Narosén's shrewd eyes held the striking green irises for long moments before he sat back and lowered his head.

"That name is familiar to me, but I cannot remember why. Perhaps I know her..." he trailed off.

"I doubt it. She has not left her village for all the years of my life, or so I believe. She never seemed interested in journeying abroad."

"And what of your father?" asked Narosén.

Silence followed his question and he furrowed his brow.

Legolas smiled ruefully then, and Narosén's intelligent eyes suddenly realised why. "You never knew him then?"

Legolas shook his head, before elucidating. "All I know is that he must have been a Sinda, but Amareth would never tell me of him. I have always believed he was some, exile, perhaps, that he had done something shameful for no one seems to have known him, or if they did, they would not tell me of him."

"It must have been hard," prompted Narosén.

"Yes. But it is no longer of any consequence. I am what I am. My father played no role in my childhood and so who can say he was ever my father?" he reasoned softly.

"You have a point, yes," conceded the wise Silvan. "But you must be curious. You must ask yourself what he was like, or is like, for he may still be alive. You must ask yourself why he never played a part in your life." Narosén was walking a fine line, he knew, but he would probably never get another opportunity to ask the boy.

"No," said Legolas after a while. "I am no longer concerned with that. I used to feel shame, anger, but those days are gone. I have accepted it," he said bravely, but Narosén had not missed the defensive look, the hardened jaw and the steely glint in his eye. This was dangerous ground, but what could he say? That the boy was deluding himself?

"Perhaps," he said simply, but his own expression was clear enough to Legolas, who simply held his gaze and nodded faintly. He had not been believed, but at least he had curbed any further, uncomfortable questioning, and Narosén decided that it was enough, for today. However, there was a nagging voice echoing around his mind.

Amareth, where had he heard that name before?

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Dusk was upon them when the patrol returned to the village, apparently hail and in good spirits. No sooner had Legolas spied them, and he was trotting towards Turion who led his elves into the village.

"What news, Captain?" he asked eagerly, a slight roughness still present in his voice.

"We have found the group responsible for the fire. Tomorrow, we hunt and neutralise," he said flatly.

He nodded and then searched out Lainion who brought up the rear, slapping his fellow warriors upon the shoulders in fond welcome as they passed him. Soon he stood before his lieutenant, reading his eyes for a brief moment before smiling widely. "My braids have come undone..." he said drolly, flicking at his long hair in irritation.

Lainion gave him a rare smile, before smirking. "I had thought the village lasses would have done that for you..." he joked as he reached back for his bow, releasing the taut string.

"If I had let them," snorted Legolas, holding out his hand to take Lainion's pack from him.

Handing it over, Lainion rolled his stiff shoulder as they all walked towards the Village Hall.

"Set up camp," ordered Turion before turning to Lainion and Legolas who stood at his side.

"Briefing will be in one hour. Food and then rest. We set out early tomorrow morning, you too, Legolas."

Lainion nodded and then turned to Legolas, who was sporting a look of utter relief. He had been worried he would be left behind once more.

Lainion signalled with his head towards their nascent camp fire, his silent order to join the patrol and help with their chores was instantly understood, and Legolas trotted off towards Faunion and Angion, hitching a bucket and making his way to the stream.

Turion caught his lieutenant's gaze from afar and the captain nodded. It was time, time to finish up here and move out. It was time to write to Handir and Aradan, for they would be back in a month - that was all they had to do, and the wheels of fate would be set into motion.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

They had said fond goodbyes, with many promises of passing this way again. Saroden too, had stood before Legolas and bowed from the waist, his wife and child mimicking the solemn gesture.

"Remember, Hwindohtar. Remember my promise, for the Silvans do not pledge service lightly..."

Legolas was overwhelmed with the Silvan Forester's softly spoken words. He had no idea how to respond and so he did not and simply bowed back. "I am glad to have been of service to my Silvan kin," he said somewhat meekly, before turning to leave with the Western patrol, amid the respectful silence of the villagers, and the knowing gazes of Lorthil and Narosén, who each lifted one hand in silent farewell.

From there, they had trekked silently for two days, and on this, the third day, the darkness was beginning to weigh them down. Legolas could feel Angion and Faunion casting frequent glances in his direction, and Lainion too, would approach him and slap him upon the shoulder silently.

It was strange, thought Legolas. He had been told of the effects of darkness upon those that had not previously experienced it, told to be wary of its toxic effects upon his mind and body, and yet so far, all he could honestly say he felt was a heaviness that sat on his chest, a heaviness that other than its weight, affected him not.

He supposed he should count himself lucky, and as the hours rolled by in silence, Legolas found his confidence bolstered, and as his step grew stronger, that of his fellow warriors grew weaker, more wary. He watched them, their hunched shoulders and furrowed brows, their unfocussed eyes and heavy limbs. There was a shroud of strangeness about them, as if they had drunk too much wine, yet not enough to lose their footing.

His own brow furrowed, not from the darkness, but from his own thoughts, and his head turned to Turion for a moment, realising he had been watched.

A slight cock of the Captain's head and Legolas was by his side as they walked.

"It does not affect you?" asked Turion rhetorically.

"No, I do not think so. I feel its presence but it does not weigh me down, Captain."

"It is not what I had expected," said the Sinda.

"Nay, nor I. I had thought that this strange - connection - with the trees would make me vulnerable and yet - it seems things are turning out to the contrary..." he said softly.

"Well, that will be an important point to mention in your performance report. Your future commanders will want to know of this. It will make you a popular choice for the Southernmost patrols."

"'Tis what I wanted, Captain. It is where the battle is fiercest, and hence where I wish to be."

"Do not claim victory yet, Legolas. This is but a taste of the enemy. Do not lose your natural wariness of it, for it may play you foul when least you expect it."

Legolas held his captain's gaze for a moment, before nodding and falling silent once more.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

"This is it," said Aradan as he lifted his eyes from the parchment and screwed it up, before tossing it on the flames of his study. "One month, that is all we have."

"Now we must find out my brother's agenda and orchestrate this so that they may return home discreetly, without Rinion seeking out The Silvan. Have you spoken to Commander Huron?" asked Handir from where he sat beside the window.

"Yes. There is a window three weeks hence, a tour he is on the list for. A two-week stint to the East should do it."

"Two weeks to return home, swear him in and leave for Imladris. It seems an impossible task."

"Look at it as a challenge, Handir. It will be delicate, stressful no doubt, but it must be done. There is no other way and even then, the chances of something going wrong are high. This will be a test to both of us," said Councillor Aradan as he turned and contemplated the Evergreen forest that rolled majestically before him, disappearing into the distant horizon.

"Have you thought on how you will tell him? Tell my father of his Silvan son and with it, confirm the death of his chosen?" said the second prince, a hint of aggressiveness in his tone.

It did not surprise the councillor however, for Handir had taken this extremely well so far; there were bound to be moments when the boy would rebel against it all, allow his disdain and disapproval to get the better of his diplomatic skills.

"I have put some thought into it, aye. And you? For yours is, perhaps, the greater task. You must approach a complete stranger and tell him his half-brother is a prince, and his father a king. A difficult situation at the best of times and yet the added emotional weight will make your goal much harder to achieve.

Handir's face went sour at the mere thought and Aradan did not envy him at all. It was a monumental task which may very well turn out to be a complete disaster should the wrong words be employed, or should the heart take it upon itself to hurt and distance, rather than to simply obey the commands of its mind.

"I have thought long and hard on the matter, but I am still nowhere near a plausible tactic. I believe it will be best to wait for the moment to arise. I do not know him, do not know his moods, his mindset; How can I decide on a manner in which to tell him if I cannot foresee his reaction?"

"You cannot," said Aradan resolutely. "We should, perhaps, remember why we do this. Keep our reasons in the forefront of our minds. For The Greenwood, for the Evergreen wood," he said.

"Yes. For our people, for the return of a strong king," added Handir.

"And for Thranduil, for my friend," said Aradan, his eyes glassy, for his mind had taken him back to the past and the deep laughter of one he considered a brother, laughter that had not graced his ears for many centuries.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTTTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Screeches and screams, elven shouts and curses, grunts and shrieks, all mixed with the sound of scraping metal, the thud of arrowheads imbedding in flesh and the hollow thump of wood hitting bone.

On they fought under the darkened boughs of the Mirkwood, but this time it was different. The colours were there, the green and purple tinge, but his mind was sharp and in control, all of its skill centred on his body and his senses, in spite of the death and carnage, the suffering of his kin and of the trees. He felt none of this.

Duck, bend, flex, push, cut, slash and stab. Flip backwards, somersault forwards, side twist and parry; kill, kill, kill...

He could feel the precision of his movements, his mind anticipating every move from his opponents, killing them all before they could even approach his personal space. They were too slow and he was too fast.

Not even the long cut to his forearm had brought him out of his protected place. He had not felt it, it had not hurt, it was not important...

Sometime later, Legolas sat upon the slick ground, the damp, bloody mud seeping through his leggings, and in his arms the weight of a small bundle, clasped tightly to his chest. Soft, wisps of silken hair tickled his neck and his hand moved up to smooth it down; his eyes though, did not dare to look for although he knew what it was he protected in the cradle of his strong arms, his mind did not want to accept it, for to do so would be the end of his own lingering innocence.

"What have you there, Legolas?" came the soft voice behind him. "Will you show me?" it asked once more. Soft words spoken to calm and to sooth, a father to his son, a Captain to his novice.

Legolas looked down then, to the weight in his arms. A tiny pink ear, so pointed, so perfect, peaked out from the downy wisps of chestnut silk and his thumb caressed it lovingly. He pulled it to his chest once more, but the warmth was gone.

Turion sat beside him now, his eyes turning to Legolas, who stared blankly off into the distance.

"His light has gone, Legolas. His mother too, has perished."

"Why?" came the soft whisper, as if he spoke to the wind but his face changed not.

"That is the question, is it not? You ask yourself how this could ever be allowed to happen. Why the enemy should benefit from taking a life such as his - what is the purpose?"

He paused for a moment, drawing a long breath before continuing.

"The answer is as plain as it is simple, Legolas. That babe was no warrior, but he was a weapon. With his death the enemy weaves its madness amongst us; it debilitates us, takes from us all the good feelings and emotions and leaves us empty and wrathful. If you give in to this they will have won.

Legolas did not answer, but sat there for a while before, of his own accord, he slowly rose, the cold babe still in his arms, and together, they walked to their companions.

Dense smoke rose from the funeral pyres Angion, Faunion and Lainion had prepared, and now they stood and watched as their young novice approached the fires, and gently placed the still body of a child next to those that had been his kin. There were no words of solace, for there were none to be had and so they simply watched as he bent forward and placed a soft kiss upon the babe's head and then stood back in contemplative silence.

It was when he turned that the breath was stolen from their lungs. Legolas stood tall and strong amidst the smoke that surrounded him but did not obscure his form from their vision, shining brighter than he ever had. Head cocked to the sun his beauteous face was hard and angular, and his eyes held a new weight, as if the soul of the dead child had taken up residence inside them, lending him an air of melancholy and yet not so. Behind those stunning eyes of green was a new resolve, hard and unyielding. He was dangerous, unpredictable, powerful.

Legolas had entered the Mirkwood a novice, but the novice had gone, had dissipated into the blackness of the South and in his place, stood a warrior. It was time to go home.