Harsh footsteps echoed through the stone corridor and two guards shared a concerned glance at each other, before resuming their rigid, unmoving positions. Solid oak slammed into stone and then there was silence save for the soft patter of dust settling once more.

Rinion leaned heavily upon a table, his breathing erratic and his mind in utter turmoil.

'A child was conceived...'

How dare he .. push his mother away, banish her in all but word, for what alternative had been left to her?

With a strangled moan, Rinion's hand closed around an ornate vase and hurtled it across the room, smashing it into small pieces, before whirling around and setting his hands on all that lay upon his bookshelves, pulling it all away, smashing it all to pieces, just like his father had done with Rinion's life.

Break it, break it all, shouted his mind as his eyes searched and his hands reached. Smash, break, tear it all apart....

Rinion sat with his legs sprawled out before him, panting and sweating, everything in utter disarray around him. He wanted to scream, to roar his ire to the skies and although he had broken everything that could be broken, still it was not enough and his jaw clenched furiously.

How could he have done the one thing - the one thing that would push her away; show his devotion in the clearest and most unequivocal way to another, one that was not her. For if he knew anything at all about his mother, it was that she loved the king beyond all reason.

His face hardened until it was chiselled ice and his eyes seemed lighter, the irises almost gone. Anger had invaded his soul.

'I loved you once...'

'I love you still...'

You love me but you sent her away, his mind screamed, as if his father could hear him; you sent her away as surely as if you had decreed it. Is the love a father feels for a child secondary, less powerful than the love of his soul mate? Is it? Is the love of a mother undermined by the love she feels for her spouse? he asked himself desperately.

You sacrificed your soul mate, father, for love of king and land, just as surely as you sacrificed the happiness of your own children.

How could you? How could she?

Rinion pulled his knees up and circled them with his arms and there, he lay his head and passed the day, his mind unable to release itself from the endless loop of incomprehension. Who should he blame for this mess his life had become? His father? His mother?

It had always been his father, damn him, and yet now, as soon as he had allowed his mind to ponder the question, the seed of doubt had wormed its way into his soul and he no longer knew.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Elrond glided into his office, Erestor and Prince Handir at his side.

"The rhetoric of it, Prince, is what will lend strength to your words, instil them upon those that listen to you, just as semiotics will back them up. For instance..."

"Glorfindel. You are - studying," said Elrond, and both councillors stopped short, their conversation summarily ending as they searched for the object of Elrond's disbelieving words.

Sure enough, Glorfindel sat amidst a pile of books, not unlike the way Elrond had found Legolas just days before. The commander's curt nod and ensuing silence was testimony to just how engrossed he was in his studies.

Elrond approached the table, while Erestor and Handir sat nearby, quietly continuing their own debate.

"Anything I can help you with?" asked Elrond as his eyes glanced over the books with interest.

"Qalma liltie ..." murmured the commander as he worked.

"Qalma liltie," repeated Elrond, searching his mind. "Fell dance... ah," he said in sudden understanding. "You wish to learn it?" asked Elrond incredulously.

"Already know it," muttered Glorfindel as he skipped through the pages of the book before him.

Elrond's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline at the dismissive claim, for to dance the Qalma liltie was a skill unheard of in this age.

"Then why are you researching it?" asked the lord in utter incomprehension.

"Moves I have forgotten..."

"Glorfindel, for the love of the Valar will you look at me for a moment," whispered Elrond in mounting irritation. "What is going on?" he asked.

Glorfindel breathed deeply and sat back, his blue eyes meeting Elrond's sparkling grey irises.

"There is another. After all these centuries, there is another who may know it..."

"You speak of the child? Of Legolas?"

"Yes, yes I do, Elrond. I do not know if he knows the entire routine, but there are moves that he performs in the stances that suggest he has some knowledge of it. We began short sword training yesterday and he was incapable of it. And do you know why?" asked Glorfindel, sitting forward now.

"No - why?" asked Elrond, his head slanting marginally to one side.

"Because he fights with two swords, one in each hand."

"That was still relatively common in the second age, Glorfindel. It does not mean he knows the Qalma Liltie," said Elrond carefully.

"No, no it does not. But there is something in the way he moves, something measured and so precise; there is a discipline to each move that sets him apart from the rest. I have asked him to join me here to discuss it, for I will not do so in public."

Elrond nodded, his curiosity now thoroughly peaked. The Fell Dance was almost sacred to the warriors of old, to the Noldor and to a lesser extent the Sindar. Only the most skilled, the most disciplined of warriors undertook the art and even then, not all were allowed even to initiate it. It was not taught in the barracks, it was taught by masters who chose their disciples, once perhaps in a lifetime.

"May I stay?" he asked lightly. "I have questions of my own, Glorfindel. I will not disclose that of which you speak, you have my word."

Glorfindel held his lord's gaze, reading his intentions before nodding his consent and then turning back to his book. Turning, Elrond poured himself a sweet wine and cast his eyes over the rows of books sitting on the shelf before him, the ones Glorfindel had been browsing. Martial arts, all of them. Drawings upon drawings of stances, of moves and counter moves, of the different disciplines favoured in the different elven realms. Philosophy and meditation for warfare - even Elrond had not read some of these.

"You called for me, my Lord?" asked Legolas quietly, bowing before Elrond and then Glorfindel. Handir glanced over at his brother for a moment before turning back to Erestor.

"I did, Legolas." Only then did Glorfindel look up at his trainee, noticing his untidy hair and the loose white shirt he had thrown over his torso.

"You have been on the fields," he stated.

"Yes," was all Legolas said and so Glorfindel insisted.

"Doing what, precisely?" he asked, his eyes firmly anchored on the Silvan.

"Aerial work..." he said somewhat self-consciously.

"Aerial work," repeated Glorfindel from his seat.

"Yes, Sir."

"Well?" asked Glorfindel, somewhat irritated now at the boy, "can you - elaborate?"

After a short silence, Legolas explained as briefly as he could, a tactic Glorfindel saw for what it was.

"I use - aerial moves - in blade work and - hand to hand."

"What," said Glorfiindel curtly, "what manner - of aerial work?"

"Eh, well I, er."

"For the love of Elbereth, Legolas, out with it," said Elrond in frustration, garnering a frown from Legolas and a smirk from Glorfiindel.

"Legolas. Just say it - answer my question and leave your insecurities behind."

Legolas looked to the floor for a moment before facing the commander squarely and nodding.

"It is a strange mix of martial arts, one I have worked on for many years. By aerial work I mean acrobatics, used either to confuse or to avoid a blow, to deal with various simultaneous attackers or to dodge a sniper," he finished, again unable to meet Glorfindel's calculating stare.

"I intimidate you," was all Glorfiindel said.

"Yes."

"I like your honesty, Legolas. I will teach you - to be self-confident - it is not tantamount to arrogance..." he said, watching as Legolas' face told him he had hit his mark.

"We will address your training later but for now, I have a question for you. One you must answer with honesty. Only Elrond and I can hear and nothing will pass our lips.

Legolas frowned, and then nodded.

"Are you studying the Qalma Liltie?"

Stunned silence ensued. Legolas' extraordinary green eyes sparkled and widened as his mouth opened a little, his complexion blanching. He closed his eyes for a moment and then carefully answered.

"Yes," he said, closing his eyes once more, as if he expected to be shouted at.

Glorfindel watched him carefully, read his body language as his mind registered the answer he had been given.

"It is forbidden, Legolas, to study the Fell Dance without the guidance of a master..."

"I know," whispered Legolas in misery. "But I did not think I would ever find one, that the Dance had been lost to history. I did not see the harm in reviving something I will never be able to perform in public. I study it only for myself."

Silence again, and Glorfindel could see Legolas was uncomfortable. A wave of pity hit him then for this strong, beautiful warrior standing before him was expecting a reprimand. So very young, Glorfindel remembered then.

"Consider yourself duly chastised, Legolas. You have broken the ancient warror's code of conduct."

"Yes, my Lord," said Legolas in abject misery.

"And yet you are wrong," said Glorfindel, standing and approaching the miserable elf. "There is one who still remembers, one who danced it once, at the Court of Gondolin, and again - with Oropher King," he finally whispered, his eyes wide and challenging.

Elrond watched it all, intrigued at the play of emotions on both elves.

"How much do you want to learn it Legolas? How much will you sacrifice for the simple honour of becoming a master?"

Legolas' eyes were wide and disbelieving, and then Glorfindel watched in fascination as the beauteous features hardened and a look of such determination shone back at him. Gone was the self-conscious boy, for here, before him, was a warrior, in the purest sense of the word and it was only then, that Glorfiindel made his decision.

"I will teach you - if you dare..." he whispered fiercely into Legolas' face where he stayed, his eyes echoing his words.

"I dare, my Lord. I want this more than almost anything..."

"Almost?" asked Glorfiindel with a frown.

"I want to be a Captain..." he said with a shy smile, and the gravity of the moment was finally lost as Glorfindel's features softened and he smiled.

"Aye, there is that," he said. "We continue with our training and after lunch, you and I will start out on this road. There will not be enough time to complete your training, but perhaps we can find a way. There is no rush Legolas, let us take things as they come."

"It is more than I could ever have dreamt of, my Lord," said Legolas quietly, solemnly, and then he bowed low. "Thank you, for giving me this chance - I will not disappoint you," he said, and Glorfiindel believed him.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Thranduil sat in silence as he sipped on his wine, his eyes unfocussed and Aradan watched him, debating whether or not to interrupt his moment of quiet introspection. He seemed miserable and yet even that, mused the councillor, was a vast improvement when compared to the block of solid ice the king had been but a few scant weeks earlier.

Of course he knew the object of the king's thoughts; Rinion. He had spoken to his eldest son and by the looks of things, it had not gone well. There was no surprise in that, of course, for Aradan knew the Crown Prince well. He was volatile, an elf of war rather than diplomacy, and if one combined all these qualities, well the result was simply - Rinion, he concluded lamely to himself.

"It went ill then," he said quietly, his eyes now anchored on the king as he drank.

It took a moment for the king to gather himself. Straightening his posture and focussing his eyes, Thranduil looked over to Aradan.

"As well as I expected it to. At least," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I have not lost my ability to impose respect," he finished with a humourless laugh.

"That is in your blood, Thranduil, you have quite an ability I will say that," said Aradan for it was true. The king had inherited it from his father - that envious ability to convey emotion through speech and semiotics. He had seen Thranduil quieten raving humans with but a wave of his hand and a quiet word.

"Was he much adverse to the boy then?"

"What? No, well, I do not know for the conversation did not progress well. We were stuck on the queen finding out about Lassiel's pregnancy - we got no further," said Thranduil, his eyes momentarily losing focus once more as he remembered the hurtful words his son had uttered.

"He blames you for it all, incapable of blaming his mother for her departure. It is easier because you are here," ventured Aradan, watching the king for a reaction to his risky analysis.

"And is he not right, Aradan? We took a drastic decision. To create a child we knew would grow without a father."

"True, but we had no way of knowing Lassiel's final fate - it was highly unlikely."

"Unlikely, but not impossible," said the king. "We underestimated the enemy within."

"Indeed, but what was the alternative, Thranduil? Death? It is about the better of two evils, nothing more, nothing less.

"And yet we were all victims, Aradan," mused the king quietly. "It solved nothing. Lassiel did not make it to Aman, the child grew an orphan, my children turned against me for my faithlessness and my queen suffered with my deception to the point of leaving her own children..."

"Well, breathed Aradan, "when you put it like that, yes. But we did not have the benefit of foresight, Thranduil. It was the right thing to do at the time. Given the same circumstances my council would have been identical."

To that, Thranduil said nothing and Aradan was unsure as to whether he had calmed his friend or not.

The door opened then, and Rinion entered, bowing to the king before helping himself to the wine upon a side table.

"Am I free to leave the fortress today, my King?" asked the Crown Prince , his tone a little sarcastic.

"No. We have a conversation to finish."

"I do not want to hear it."

"I did not ask you," said the king curtly. "It is not an option, Rinion, but an obligation."

"I am uninterested in the lives of Silvan peasants."

Thranduil stood slowly and turned to his son. "Silvan peasants?" he asked quietly, dangerously.

"If you prefer Forest Dwellers..."

"Look at me, Rinion. You refer to our people with disdain. Tell me, what is it, to be Crown Prince? What do you believe is your duty to your land?"

Rinion turned to face his father and spoke.

"To defend them, give them the best life they can possibly have."

"And by 'them', you include the Silvan Peasants?"

"Yes, them, too."

"You talk as would a commander, albeit a racist one. A prince is not only a commander but a politician. You must learn it is not all about serving in the field, Rinion. It is about loving the people of this land, serving them, sacrificing yourself if necessary, so that we are all as prosperous as we can be."

"And you sacrificed yourself when you indulged in the love of another woman?"

"Oh yes - just that. You see, loving that woman was not a choice I made - you may understand that one day, when your heart sets its mind on a mate, in spite of yourself."

Rinion frowned, but to his credit he did not interrupt and so the king continued.

"I was forbidden to marry her but my father understood the wiles of the heart. He could not ban me from loving her for that was never in my hands. Instead, he asked of me a boon. Take a suitable wife and I would be allowed to see Lassiel, discreetly."

Rinion scoffed audibly. "What woman would ever accept that, marry you under those terms?"

"Your mother, Rinion. Your mother did."

The Crown Prince looked away, unable to answer.

"Why did you conceive a child with her? To humiliate my mother? To force her away perhaps, so that Lassiel could finally be accepted as your queen, is that it?" asked Rinion angrily.

Thranduil stepped back and forced himself to think for a moment. Was that it? Was that why Rinion was so bitter? He thought his father had flaunted Lassiel's pregnancy to force his mother away?

"Never that," said Thranduil, showing his son his concern. "I would never have done that, Rinion, this I promise. Your mother was a loving woman - intelligent and noble - she had my utmost respect child - she still does."

Rinion looked away, and for the first time, Thranduil allowed himself to feel a spark of hope, however remote.

"Someone else was responsible for that. Our secret became known to the queen, and shortly after, Lassiel was - murdered."

Rinion spun round, his hair flying around his face as he searched his father's face.

"What? You are saying there is a murderer here? The same person that told my mother of the child?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, that is what I am saying."

Rinion breathed noisily through his nose and turned towards the window, where he remained for long minutes.

Thranduil knew this was the moment to make his move, and with a short nod from Aradan, he picked up Rinion's wine and stood at his son's shoulder at the windows. Before them sprawled the Evergreen wood, the secret wood and for a moment, Thranduil felt peace descend upon his soul.

With a glance at his son, he offered him his wine. Rinion held his father's gaze for a moment, before his eyes dropped to the goblet and he waited.

'Take it, take the glass, give me this one gesture, my son...'

The cool grey eyes lingered on the goblet and Thranduil knew then, knew that his son had understood the gesture for what it was.

After an agonising few moments, Rinion took the glass and glanced at his father before turning away once more.

"You think me a child, incapable of understanding the intricacies of rule; ignorant to the suffering of others. You think I cannot see what others do, only what my own mind perceives," murmured the prince.

Thranduil was taken aback for a moment, but this was about honesty and he would not lie.

"Yes. That is what I think," he said, before adding, "am I wrong?"

"In part, yes. I know my weaknesses, father, and I know my strengths. I know what I need, and what I did not get - from you," he said.

Again, Thranduil was surprised. Had he truly missed this?

"Speak freely, Rinion. Tell me what you needed that I did not provide for you," he coaxed, albeit he thought he already had an idea of what his son would say.

"This," he said as he turned to face his father squarely, and Thranduil admired his strength then.

"I missed this one conversation. The truth, from your lips."

"You were not exactly inviting, Rinion."

"No, but I have the excuse of youth and inexperience - you - do not..." he trailed off meaningfully.

"No, that I do not. But my sadness was akin to grief, Rinion. Do not underestimate its power. I was immersed in the depths of my own misery, fuelled by the rejection of my children. An endless circle that feeds itself with its own shortcomings...I knew my queen was safe, and I thought Lassiel was too. I would not fade but I was bereft - of everyone I had ever loved..."

"Then why now, when you have heard she is dead, why do you not fade?"

"Because in some way, I knew but could not accept. Something told me she was not alive and I preferred to retire from the real world and immerse myself in a fantasy where she was still alive."

"You were weak..." said Rinion flatly.

"If that is what you wish to call it, they aye, I was weak," he conceded.

Rinion studied his father before he spoke again, a trait Thranduil had never before seen in his son.

"I admire your honesty. I must think on what has been said, my Lord."

"Then think you must, Rinion. Come for dinner this evening, here, with Aradan and myself. There is still much to discuss," he said.

Rinion nodded and turned to leave, but he stopped mid-stride and turned once more.

"For what it is worth, my Lord," he said, "I do not despise the Silvan people. My words were meant to cut you, not them."

Thranduil held his son's earnest gaze and nodded, but to speak would be to open the conversation once more and that he did not want.

Alone now with his councillor, Thranduil watched as Aradan slowly approached him and the nearer he moved, the wider was his smile.

"It is a start, Thranduil. It is a good start..."

Only then, did Thranduil allow himself the shadow of a smile. "Yes - it is as though only now I am seeing my eldest son for who he has become. I have missed so much in my self-imposed isolation. I never saw how he had changed, how much he is capable of understanding. I have underestimated him."

"Yes," said Aradan thoughtfully, "just as he has done with you."