A/N: Hello everyone! I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and I would love to know what you thought of it. Thanks :)

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"Tell me everything you know ...," said the king, his keen eyes boring into those of Aradan, sparkling with a depth that only time and suffering can cause.

Aradan's agile mind spun furiously. He would not lie to his king, his friend, but neither could he reveal more than strictly necessary, not until Handir's caravan was safely at the borders.

"All I know, my Lord, is that the Silvans are whispering."

"Whispering?" asked the king a little sarcastically, "whispering of what?"

"I am not sure, as yet. It is not something that has transcended to the court proper, my Lord, but there is movement of some kind."

"The trees proclaim a Lord!" exclaimed the king, as if Aradan had not yet realised the import of what he had heard.

"Then they know more than I do, my Lord." Aradan's voice had come out more aggressively than he had wanted it to, a testimony to the stress he suffered, for the time for truth was almost upon them. He did know of what they spoke, although proclaiming Legolas as a Lord was, indeed, something he could never have imagined; he desperately needed news from Lainion and Handir, but that would take days to get back to him, there would be no help from whatever they could tell him.

Thranduil held his gaze for a while, before turning abruptly and facing the window once more in a flurry of silken robes.

"Forgive me, Thranduil. As soon as I have something to tell you, I will."

"It is something of import, Aradan, there can be no mistake about that."

"Do you perceive a threat, my Lord?"

"They do not perceive it as such, no. They rejoice..." he said with a frown and Aradan could see the puzzlement, his struggle to understand the cryptic message from the trees. It was the first event for centuries that had managed to wrench any kind of reaction from the frozen king, an emotional reaction that told Aradan in no uncertain terms that he was still alive.

"I will ride out tomorrow if you wish it, my Lord, ride into the nearby Silvan villages and speak to my contacts, see what I can ascertain."

"I will come with you," was the king's answer, and Aradan hid his sudden alarm. The king had not ridden out of the fortress for many years. He needed to proceed with caution, for Thranduil was nothing if not intuitive.

"If that is your wish, Thranduil, your company would be most welcome," he said carefully. "And, I believe, our people will be glad of your presence amongst them once more - it has been too long since the Silvan people had contact with their king."

While the prospect of riding with Thranduil made him beyond nervous, it was secondary to the joy he felt at the reaction the king was showing. He was alive once more and although Thranduil was still unaware of the nature of the trees' disturbance, it told Aradan one very important thing; the king was still strong, still commanding. He would need that strength now, thought the councillor, for the extraordinary things that were to come. Only two more days, he thought and his stomach lurched in dread and trepidation.

But then, it occurred to him that this, unexpected development was not a bad thing, in fact it was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise.

"I will arrange a small escort for us, then. It will be like the times of old, when you and I travelled abroad - do you remember, Thranduil? Do you still remember the joy of those days?"

Turning from the hypnotic view of the Evergreen Wood, Thranduil approached his friend. "Yes I remember, Aradan. I remember everything, my friend."

And Aradan did not doubt the king's words. He never had.

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Celegon, Commander General, was a Sindar warrior lord who had followed King Oropher into the lands of the Silvan and claimed them as his domain. To Lord Celegon's mind, Oropher had been the paradigm of a Sindarin king; strong willed, a fine pikeman and an excellent strategist.

Oropher had also been an extraordinarily fair elf, indeed he had had his share of the many admirers he had boasted. Celegon smiled at the memory of the fiery, unpredictable king; arrogant and regal, strong and commanding, incorrigible lover and ruthless commander - a mischievous child when in the company of his friends. How he missed him and he wondered if, sometime in the distant future, he would see that extraordinary elf once more.

They had been riding for two days now and so far, there had been no sign of the enemy. True, their warriors had been clearing the path for weeks now, and they seemed to have done an admirable job.

The autumn chill was complemented perfectly with a blue sky and a brilliant sun that warmed their backs as they rode. It was invigorating weather and Celegon hoped it would stay that way. It was, perhaps, wishful thinking though, for they would take another ten days to reach Imladris, that if the enemy left them to their own devices; and there was still Caradhras which lay ominously between them and the lands of the Noldor.

Together with Celegon at the fore rode his trusted lieutenant Galadan - fierce in battle and loyal of heart. To his other side rode Silor, an experienced Sindarin warrior who aspired to the grade of Lieutenant. They three were, perhaps, the oldest of all the elves on this journey, Celegon mused sadly. So much battle meant that the average Greenwood warrior was much, much younger than in the other elven realms; so few of them remembered the old days, the days of splendour.

Behind them rode ten experienced warriors, clad in ceremonial uniforms as was befitting a royal caravan. Most of them were Sindarin, although there were two or three Silvan warriors too, Celegon reminded himself with a mental scowl. His scowl deepened though, when he thought on the four recently promoted warriors, all of them Silvan. Why he had allowed General Hûron to talk him into it he could not say. It was fair, he supposed, for the boys had to learn, but did they really have to be Silvan village boys?

At least, he convinced himself, one of them was reported to be an excellent warrior, already a master of the bow and grudgingly, Celegon allowed a fleeting moment of respect for the lad. It was a great deed to have a weapons grade so early in one's career and he briefly regretted not having insisted on meeting them before their departure.

In the middle of their caravan, rode Prince Handir. This prince was not a warrior and Celegon did not think this right at all. All Sindarin princes should be warriors, he thought. Theirs was the onus of protecting their people, of commanding them. It is what Crown Prince Rinion would, perhaps, one day do, if he could curb his wayward temper that is.

King Thranduil had allowed his children the freedom of choosing their paths, except for Rinion who he had, in all but words, commanded become a warrior. A wise move, for Handir had chosen the path of politics.

It was just as well, he said to himself, for the prince was of a much quieter nature than his fiery brother. Not meek, as such, but he had that intellectual air about him that Celegon could not quite understand. He was more like Thranduil was now, he supposed, where Rinion, with some notable exceptions, was more akin to his grandfather.

Whichever the case, it was Celegon's solemn duty to protect his prince, and that he would do unto the loss of his own life. The Commander General was a born warrior, just like his father, and his grand-father before him, just like his brother had been ....

The brief thought of his dead brother made him lose track of his thoughts and so he stopped, stopped thinking, for that memory was not welcome.

"Galadan, thirty minutes break. Set an honour guard for our Prince."

"My Lord," saluted Galadan, holding up his arm in a signal to the troop behind him to stop, before wheeling his horse around and issuing his orders.

"Oh good, my backside is completely numb," protested Ram en' Ondo, resisting the urge to rub the sore muscles.

"You are so heavy, I am sure your horse is in more need of a hot bath than you are."

"Shut it, Lindo, at least I have some meat on me - the girls like that you know..."

"Quiet!" shouted Silor as he strode past them and making them jump, wrenching some wicked snickers from the warriors around them. "Ram en', Idhren, go for water, and you, three hearths for the troop," he said to Legolas without stopping, without even establishing eye contact.

Soon, the troop sat at three different fires, and it was not chance that had divided them into their groups. The Sindarin warriors, the Silvan warriors and finally, the newly appointed warriors.

"They treat us like kitchen scullions," said Lindohtar with a scowl as he watched the Sinda over the brim of his hot tea.

"Aye, they do not trust us, that much is clear," added Legolas as he stirred his own hot brew.

"I cannot blame them for that," said Idhrenohtar. "It is for us to prove ourselves, no doubt."

"True," said Legolas. "But they make no effort to teach us. We are new to this and they are not. Our purpose on this mission is to learn, or so we have been told. I do not agree with their protocols so far."

"In a perfect world Legolas, yes you are right," answered Idhrenohtar. "But look at them. They are so caught up in their inborn prejudice to those of us who have always dwelled in Thranduil's woods - before they were his. They do not trust us, but more than this we are Silvan..." he emphasised before sipping from his tea.

From afar, the Sindarin warriors watched in interest as Lainion joined the new recruits. They whispered amongst themselves and Legolas thought them most rude. Lainion, however, was unphazed as he sat on the ground beside them.

"So, you are discussing the social complexities of the Greenwood?" he asked rhetorically, with a sly smile on his face.

"That we were," said Ram en' Ondo, shifting his weight on the floor.

"Get used to it," he said flatly. "Remember our first incursion into the South, Legolas? This is no different. Once they have fought together with you, it will become bearable if you comport yourselves well in battle."

"You sound as if you accept this attitude as natural," said Legolas softly.

"I do - it is," said Lainion.

"Perhaps you should not," said Legolas flatly, knowing he had potentially overstepped his boundaries.

Lainion however, simply held Legolas' gaze for a while before speaking once more. "You are an idealist, Legolas. It would take a lot to change this culture, it is ingrained on us all, although on some more than others."

Legolas did not answer him but he did nod his understanding, and the silence stretched on for a little longer than was strictly comfortable.

"Well, I must return to my Prince. Stay out of trouble, brothers, and do not antagonise them," he signalled with his head. "Patient, humble and intelligent is always your best bet, word of an Avarin lieutenant!" he said brightly with a smile, thus dissipating the strange tension that had settled upon them.

Smiling, Lainion left The Company and Idhreno leaned forward, his eyes boring into those of Legolas. "You walk a fine line, Legolas. Lainion is our superior."

"Yes. But he is not our commanding officer on this journey. I would never disrespect my commanding officer, or indeed any warrior of my king's army, but here, in the privacy of our hearth, he is Dimaethor of The Company."

It was a bold statement, and the silence that followed Legolas' words were testimony to that.

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Thranduil had dressed simply, but there was no hiding the quality of his garments. His silver blond hair shone in the midday sun and for the first time in many centuries, the king seemed alive, seemed to feel once more. Funny, mused Aradan, that it would be him to push that to the very limits of what his friend could withstand. Tomorrow, perhaps if all went well today.

He had not wanted to stop the king from riding out with him. His own suggestion had been a subterfuge at first, to buy himself some needed time, but when he thought about it, there was much merit to what they did now. It would be a gentler way of introducing the subject, a perfect way of showing the king what merits there could be, the advantages to be had of what would, otherwise, be a heart-wrenching reality.

Two guards rode behind them. There was no need for more, for they were travelling to the villages in the immediate area. There were no enemies where they were headed and it would do his friend good to be hailed, for the people to show their appreciation of him as their monarch, to show them they had not been forgotten by their Sindarin king.

And so the day passed, sometimes in pleasant silence and others, when Thranduil would ask and Aradan would answer. They spoke of the people, of their wants and desires, of their complaints, of the growing rift between Sindarin and Silvan cultures and about what, perhaps, could be done to stop the downward spiral.

Soon enough, it was time to turn back else they would not arrive at the stronghold before darkness fell, but Thranduil surprised him once more.

"No, let us spend the night under the stars, Aradan. Just this one night of peace..."

"My lord," began one of the warriors, but Thranduil held up his hand for silence. It had been decided, and much against the better judgement of the guards, king and advisor would spend the night as once they had, many many years ago.

Aradan could think of no better time than now, and so, with the excuse of fetching water, the advisor took his moment away from the king to forewarn the guards, not of what he would say, but that there would be moments of tension and that they were not to intervene. Needless to say they did not doubt Aradan's intentions and so, although puzzled at the councillor's words, they retreated into the trees. They would not intervene unless the king's life was in danger.

He could not believe his luck, but even so, his stomach flipped and his chest tightened for the enormity of what he would now do, would test even his ability as a master of the spoken word. But more than this it would test his heart, for Thranduil was dear to him - how paradoxical that he of all people, would now break it...

'Lainion, Handir, wherever you are. Luck, my friends - for the Greenwood...'

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"Here, clean these," said Silor, throwing the slippery fish at Legolas' feet before turning to Idhreno. "Can you cook, boy?" he said flatly.

"Yes, ir," said Idhreno evenly, his mounting irritation well hidden behind his mask of discipline.

"When they are ready, bring them to the tent for our prince and his escort."

"Yes, sir," said the Wise Warrior once more, bowing before turning to Legolas and helping him with the preparation.

"Something like this happened to me in the South, Idhreno," began Legolas. "I cleaned, skinned and boned the fish, steamed them over an infusion of tea, rosemary and dill, and then served the fragrant fillets over a bed of pureed roots and honey..."

Idhreno's eyes were wide as his tongue came out to lick at his lips.

"Well, what happened?"

"They were impressed," said Legolas cockily and Idhreno laughed. "Then let's do it! Ram en', find roots, rosemary, dill, tea - what else?" asked a now enthusiastic Idhreno.

"Honey, don't forget the honey - Lainion may be able to help with that, or our field healer," suggested Legolas, and in a flash, Ram en' was away with a purpose.

"Well," said Idhreno with a smile as they set to work on the fish. "If this doesn't work, nothing will!"

"It will take more than this, Idhreno, but it is a start; a statement of goodwill..."

"Aye," said Idhreno with a smile, and a respectful nod at his friend.

Sometime later, the Sindar troop watched in awe as Legolas, Idhreno, Ram en' and Lindo prepared four plates of steaming, fragrant fish. Their eyes twinkled in the dark and not a word escaped them as they watched and marvelled at the four young warriors with a flair for cooking they had rarely seen on the road. There was no mocking laughter, no snide whispering, only curiosity.

Soon, the four boys stood, each with a plate in their hands, and made their way to the tent. The guard at the door raised his eyebrows, before turning to announce their presence. Gesturing for them to enter, they ducked and were soon before a makeshift table, in the centre of which was Prince Handir, flanked by Lord Celegon, Silor and Lainion, who visibly flinched when he caught sight of Legolas.

Placing the plates before the lords, the four friends stepped back and bowed formally. Three moved to leave the tent but hesitated when the fourth had frozen where he stood, his eyes latched onto the blue eyes of Prince Handir.

Lainion's heart raced as he tried and failed to catch Legolas' eyes. It was no good for they would not budge from those of his royal charge.

Luckily, it was Idhreno who pulled on Legolas' arm, snapping him out of the moment. It worked, and Legolas left with the rest, not before momentarily glancing at Lainion. Luck would have it though, that the commanders had not noticed, for they were too busy smelling the fine fare that had been served. Handir turned to Lainion, a warning in his eyes. '

Do it, and do it quickly...'

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"Legolas, Legolas!" hissed Idhrenohtar, "what is wrong with you? Your first ever meeting with royalty and....."

"Stop! Stop it, Idhreno, do not speak!" shouted Legolas and Idhrenohtar took a step backwards, for his friend had never spoken to him in that tone, not even when they had been children.

"What is wrong with you?" whispered Ram en' Ondo, Lindohtar standing just behind him. Indeed it was Lindohtar who placed a calming hand on Ram en' and Idhreno's shoulders.

"Peace, brothers. I rather think something of import has happened. Something we do not understand. Leave him be and calm yourselves."

"And what would you know?" growled Ram en' Ondo who, far from backing down, took a step towards the Bard Warrior.

"Sometimes, distance allows one to see things more clearly. I know nothing except what I can see, as plainly as I see you. Legolas?" he asked softly.

Glittering green eyes met Lindo's blue irises, a silent thank you in them and Lindo nodded.

"It was Prince Handir that I saw," he muttered, almost to himself.

"What?" asked Idhreno.

"On the night I was invested a novice warrior, I saw a Sindarin Lord from afar. Our eyes met and I rather thought it strange that a Lord should be present, one that looked a little like me. Yet in that tent, standing not four feet from him I see him clearly.... why .... why would a Prince of the Sindar seek me out..."

There was silence after that, for no one had an answer, yet neither did it seem so strange to them. Handir could have been in the neighbourhood, may have stopped to watch the ceremony.

"Perhaps you read too much in to this," said Ram en' now, "why has this perturbed you so?" he asked softly.

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment. "I do not know, Ram en'. Believe me I do not know but it unnerves me. I stood frozen before him and I cannot tell you why because I do not know."

Lainion cleared his throat and all four elves turned to meet him.

Lainion looked at them one by one, before ending with Legolas, who stared back at him with such intensity it made his heart skip a beat.

"Come," was all he said.

Soon, they all sat upon the banks of a nearby river where they would be free to speak. Lainion had secured their privacy for what he now had to do, something that would, he was sure, be the hardest thing he had ever done.

"I have something to say," began Lainion carefully, cringing almost at the pathetically inadequate words, but he pressed on.

"Idhreno, Ram en', Lindo, Hwindo. We are The Company, and as such, we face all adversities together. Now is such a time, when Legolas will need you to keep him focussed..."

They frowned, but said nothing, however the silence was broken by Legolas, whose breathing had become a little faster. He was terrified, realised Lainion, for something deep inside him had clicked when his eyes had fallen upon Prince Handir.

The others looked at Legolas and then back at Lainion, instinctively shuffling closer to their friend.

"Legolas. I know of your heritage and it is my duty to tell you now, to tell you all I know."

There, he had said it, there was no going back. Courage...

Idhreno hissed and Ram en' swore in Silvan. Lindo remained silent though.

"Legolas, would you hear what I have to tell you?" he asked slowly, his eyes searching for signs of how to proceed.

But Legolas simply sat there, his face blank, as if he did not understand the question. But his rapid breathing gave him away.

"Of course," he said lightly, too lightly.

"Legolas, do you want to know who your father is?"

"My father is dead," said Legolas with a short chuckle. "He is dead, Lainion."

Lainion understood this, for it was easier for Legolas to understand his father's absence by thinking him dead. The alternative was to face the fact that he had been unwanted, abandoned.

"He is not dead, Legolas. He lives."

Legolas continued to stare back at him blankly, but the rest of the company clearly could not believe what Lainion was saying, for their eyes bulged and their nostrils flared, and they had moved to kneel now, for sitting upon the ground was proving too difficult for them, except for Legolas, who remained seated.

"Lainion, you don't understand," said Legolas, his voice so soft and sweet he sounded like a child once more, and Ram en' Ondo's eyes filled with unshed tears.

"He's dead, Lainion. I have no father..."

"Everyone has a father, Legolas, and yours is alive."

"This cannot..." began Legolas, but Lainion held up his hand before speaking once more, his eyes darting for a passing moment to the others, a silent plea for help in his eyes.

"Legolas, believe me, please. There is no mistake. I know, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, who your father is."

Silence, and Legolas shifted upon the ground so that he too, knelt upon his knees, his shaking hands resting lightly on his thighs. It was something, mused Lainion, a reaction at least and not the frozen disbelief of just moments before.

"You will tell me then," that voice again, so soft, so vulnerable and Lainion resisted the urge to embrace him, run his hand over his hair and kiss his forehead but he could not. Now was a time for strength - there would be comfort enough to be had later.

Silence now descended upon the small group of warriors and Lainion leaned forward until he could almost reach out and touch the child's face.

"Legolas, your father - your father is Thranduil, king of Greenwood the Great."

The silence that descended upon them was akin to nothing Lainion had ever experienced, for it was not natural. A strangled gasp escaped Ram en', but Idhreno and Lindo sat frozen in shock. Legolas, however, stared back at Lainion, his eyes bright and round; and then he chuckled.

"Legolas," said Lainion.

"Thranduil..." repeated Legolas, before chuckling again and Lainion liked it not.

"Legolas, your father is Thranduil."

The boy would have laughed once more, but Lainion suddenly cupped his cheek, startling him into silence.

"Child. You are Thranduil's son, a son he had with a Silvan woman, outside the sanctity of marriage."

The transformation was quick, but not quick enough to miss. Round, shaking green eyes turned down, slanting dangerously and his lovely features hardened until they were ridges of pure stone. He sat ramrod straight of a sudden, his next words spat into the cold air, dripping with contempt and wrath.

"How dare you..." he said quietly.

"I dare because it is true, and Prince Handir knows it. It is why he was there that day you became a novice. He too, could not believe what he had been told that very same day. His curiosity led him to seek you out."

"No," he said quietly, and Lainion wondered what it was he said 'no' to. To the fact itself, or the implications it brought with it.

"No!" he said louder now, his ire mounting and Ram en' placed a comforting hand on his arm. Legolas, however, yanked his arm free of it and then stood, swaying slightly as the others stood with him, their stances now those of warriors on full alert.

"He would not! Our king would not - not," he swayed dangerously and then yelled at Idhreno who tried to steady him.

"Leave me!" he shouted, and then fell awkwardly onto his backside. A tear escaped his furious eyes and he struggled to his feet once more.

"He would not do that. He is honourable, he..."

"Legolas. I have a long story to tell you, one that will help you to understand. But for now you must accept this one truth. It is true, child. Our king loved your mother beyond all rational thought and you are the consequence of that love, one that was never meant to be, could never be."

Lainion saw the moment the truth was finally granted access into his shocked mind, and watched in anguish as his charge struggled to accommodate it, for tears welled in his beautiful eyes and his face crumpled into a horrific mask of pure anger, grief, frustration and pity, self-pity. All those years of childish curiosity, and later, years of hatred and denial, followed by the partial acceptance of his illegitimacy and with it, his claims to no longer care who his father had been. It had all been strategy, a way to make his existence acceptable to his own mind. Lies, merciful lies because he did care, it was important; Lainion had always known that and it tore at his heart to shatter Legolas' made up world, in which family did not matter, in which his own pain was non-existent, in which his father had died and not simply abandoned him.

It was when Legolas raised his head once more, that Idhreno swore in Quenya and Ram en' gasped, stepping backwards in utter fright. Lainion and Lindo crouched into a fighting stance, their shock and horror frozen on their faces as their hands grasped the hilt of their knives.

There, standing before them, was Legolas, his green irises so bright a mist had formed before them, partially obscuring his eyes, but not enough, for they saw that he wept, and in spite of their fright and horror, they did not run, not even when the trees began to groan and creak, and a strange wind blew through their boughs ...