The guards at the main gates stood to attention and turned aside as the mighty, towering doors ground into action, and soon, Handir and Mithrandir, followed by the Company, strode into the Silvan camp. Before them, already waiting like stone statues amidst the ground fog, were Erthoron, Lorthil, Golloron and Narosen, and a little way behind, Amareth, who stood cloaked and quiet, her eyes cast to the ground.

Beyond the main tent, the rest of the Silvan people stood quietly in the early evening gloom, watching them, their every move, their sparkling eyes dancing over their clothing, their faces, their weapons and the elf that stood at the centre, partially obscured from sight. Finally, they looked at the scroll that Prince Handir held in his manicured hands.

The few noises there were, were muffled by the dampness and though it was late Spring, it seemed almost like a chill winter morning.

"Lords Erthoron and Lorthil," came Handir's powerful voice. "I am charged by my father King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great, to present to you, the rulings of the Permanent Council, in accordance with the petitions made by the Silvan Council, regarding the reinstatement of the Silvan Warlord."

Erthoron's face was solemn as he stepped forward, Lorthil at one side, and Narosén at the other.

Holding out his hand, Erthoron held Handir's blue eyes with his own, thinking perhaps to read the contents of the scroll behind them, but Handir let nothing slip, he simply held it out and watched as the Silvan leader took it softly and then nodded.

Breaking the seal of the House of Oropher with a soft crunch that seemed to echo far too loudly around them, he slowly unraveled the parchment and read.

Erthoron's forehead smoothed out and Lorthil's eyes sparkled, while Narosen's eyes glistened strangely and as one, the three Silvans' eyes shot back to Prince Handir, yet the prince no longer wore his mask of state, but a brilliant, joyful smile that shocked them all. They looked to Mithrandir of a sudden, as if to confirm what they had just read, and finding it, before swivelling on their heels and facing their people.

"He says 'aye'!!!!!!" shouted Erthoron.

The greatest cheer Handir had ever heard roared around the camp as weapons, brushes, vegetables and even cooking utensils flew into the air, and from afar, from the confines of the king's fortress, Thranduil looked at Glorfindel with unshed tears in his eyes.

"It is done, the past becomes the present, Lassiel rests peacefully upon Mandos' loving breast and Aglareb is perhaps healed in Valinor. I will see them both one day, and I will tell them this story, one that will pass into the annals of our collective history, the story of The Silvan...

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Legolas sat cross-legged upon the carpet inside the leaders' tent, wine and fruit laid before him, while Mithrandir stood leaning against his staff, shrewd eyes moving from Erthoron to Lorthil and then Golloron, only to finally linger on the very strange Narosén.

For the moment though, it was only Legolas and Amareth that spoke quietly, while the village leaders and Spirit Herders watched respectfully in fascination, for the young child that had left them not two cycles past, had changed so much. He no longer wore the greens and browns of the Silvan troop but the shining uniform of a Lieutenant, all leather and silk and armour, yet more than this it was his hair - his long, long hair that had grown at least three palms - it was not possible, not natural.

As Amareth spoke and the others watched, she tried and failed to hold her son's gaze, and her hand would stray to touch his knee or his hand, but her touch was never reciprocated.

"Legolas - I..."

"Do not, Amareth. I have heard the story as the king knows it - I know there are still many things I do not understand and that I will remedy soon, I hope. Yet there is one thing I do know," he said, and now, his eyes travelled over all those in the tent, save for Mithrandir.

"I know that I grew in ignorance, while all of you knew - all along - through the taunts and the bullying, the nightmares and the pain of rejection. For now, I cannot understand why you never reassured me at least, that my father was not a bad elf, that he had not committed some terrible crime, that I was not the son of an exile. With this, one thing, I would have grown content..." he sighed, before continuing, his tone a little softer this time. "I am not angry, my friends; I just need time to think, and to ask questions, to understand. Let me do this, Amareth, and then if I can, I will return to Lland Galadh, and perhaps we shall have pea soup once more," he smiled.

"All I ever did, Legolas, was for you - for Lassiel and for you. Whatever you find, know this," she said as she slowly stood, tears trapped behind her honey-coloured eyes. He had upset her and Mithrandir wondered if he was not being selfish with the poor woman. Her love for him was clear, could he not just hold to that? But he did not seem able. He did stand and smile at her, though, somewhat wanly.

"I do not doubt that, Amareth, I doubt only the wisdom of the decisions you made. I cannot help that, not until I fill the gaps that are missing. Have patience, give me the time I need."

"I just need to know that..."

"Don't" said Legolas, raising his voice now, an edge to it that had not been there before. "You have no idea, I wager; no idea how much it hurt to find out who my father was, that I had two brothers and one sister, that all around me, people would stare at me because they recognised me when I was ignorant of who it was I resembled so much. I could go on but I will not for I think you understand only too well. I am not the same child that left you two years ago. I am utterly changed..."

Amareth stared wide-eyed at him, at his beautiful, shining face, his strange hair and his strong body. He was, indeed, changed and she closed her eyes in misery, before nodding her understanding.

"I will leave you then," she said somewhat shakily. "You have much to talk of," she said, nodding and then turning to leave, but Legolas' hand shot out and caught her arm.

"Just, give me time," he said, his eyes urging her to see the sincerity in his words.

She simply nodded once more, and moved to leave but Legolas pulled her back. "You should stay, there is something you must hear."

"It can wait," she said timidly, and then left.

"She has suffered much, Legolas," said Erthoron, but Legolas cut him off.

"So have I," he said and the Silvan leader startled for a moment. "Forgive me, then" he said, clearly surprised at Legolas' tone of voice.

"I will say the same to you as I did to Amareth. I am not the same elf that you used to know and believe me, I have many, many questions to ask you, and only four days in which to do so."

"And we have questions for you, Legolas, perhaps just as many," said Lorthil.

"I doubt that," muttered Legolas. Although he had arrived in the camp with a clear mind, now, however, his frustrations were getting the better of him, and his way of dealing with that, was to be, perhaps, overly curt.

Turning to Narosén who stood in the shadows, he spoke and in his tone was a hint of accusation.

"How did you know?" asked Legolas simply, and Mithrandir suddenly stood taller.

"I did not know," came Narosén's answer, his heavy Silvan accent colouring his Sindarin. "I suspected. I am a Spirit Herder, a Listener, surely you are not surprised?" he asked slowly, enigmatically.

"You could have said something..." said Legolas somewhat tartly.

"Yes, I could have - and you would have laughed at me - Legolas," he said, "you were still terrified of yourself, of your own nascent ability; had I told you you were anything more than a Listener, you would not have - listened," he said, cocking his head to one side.

"The trees told you?" asked Legolas.

"They whispered and they gossiped, but it was later, one night in the forest, there was a disturbance, both I and Golloron felt it. A pulse of energy so strong it was painful. We knew it was something important, an awakening of sorts, yours, we believe."

"So you do not know exactly what happened?" asked Mithrandir.

"No. Will you tell us?" asked Narosén, his eyes alight as Golloron stepped forward together with the village leaders.

Legolas simply nodded at Mithrandir and the wizard stepped forward, watching as the candle light reflected off Narosen's eyes, and then bounced back at him, as if he were a cat.

"Legolas - is not a listener, Narosén, in that you were right. He is a Protege..."

Narosén pulled back, as if he had been struck, and then his head whipped around to face Legolas, who looked back at him cooly.

"Yavanna! It is Yavanna who has sent you to us," he smiled, as he walked up to Legolas, and kissed him upon the forehead. "Blessed child."

"Well," gasped Erthoron as he raked his hand through his chestnut locks and Lorthil simply stood agape.

"You were right, Narosén, and I was wise to listen," said Erthoron.

"What do you mean?" asked Legolas, turning to his village leader, the one he had known as an uncle all of his short life.

"Narosén first suggested it, that we strive to regain our Warlord, but he did so with you in mind - always. Tell us, Spirit Herder, would you still have suggested it, had you not met Legolas?" asked Erthoron rhetorically.

Narosén smiled. "No - never."

Legolas let out a mighty breath that puffed out his cheeks and Mithrandir smiled endearingly at him.

"The wheels of destiny and fate have been conspiring, Legolas, and you have been the centre of it all your life," he said, watching the Silvan carefully. "How does that make you feel?" asked the wizard.

Legolas stared at Mithrandir, the silence stretching on and he truly seemed at a loss for words.

"I dare not answer you now, my friend, for you may not like what you hear. Suffice it to say it is enough for today. I have had enough - truly."

Mithrandir's eyes softened and he turned to the Silvans. "You have heard of the events earlier today?" he asked.

"No," scowled Lorthil - but before they could continue, Amareth ran into the tent, her face a study of pure shock, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Is it true?" she shouted. "Tell me! Is it true!" she shouted again, her control on the brink of shattering.

"Amareth," said Legolas, turning to face her. "What is it?"

"Is it true?" she asked a little more calmly, "that he is dead? That Bandorion," she spat, "is dead?"

Legolas stiffened and then answered, as calmly as he was able. "Yes, it is true - and I killed him."

Amareth stared dumbly at her son until her eyes filled with tears that began to fall down her cheeks and she sunk to the floor upon her knees. Legolas knelt slowly, one hand reaching out to lift her chin and look at her, a silent question on his face.

One, shaking hand reached out and cupped his cheek, and the love in her eyes could not be denied.

"Thank you - thank the Valar that - Demon - is gone... you are finally safe."

"What?" asked Legolas, utterly perplexed.

"He killed your mother, Legolas. He killed Lassiel."

The others looked on as Legolas worked out the puzzle in his head. "I found that out this morning - but how did you know?" came the inevitable question from Legolas, one Mithrandir rather thought the boy already knew the answer to.

"Because I was there, and so were you..."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

He walked and he walked and no one dared to stop him, and soon he was alone, inside the forest for the first time in what seemed like an age to Legolas. His relief was almost instant and he sat against the trunk of a towering oak, closing his eyes and calming himself.

He had ran away, like a petulant child. They had called him back but he had torn away from them and left, for his mind was going to explode into a thousand pieces. He could take no more and the only way to avoid losing his composure, had been to leave.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his elbows on his knees and tilted his head back against the bark, feeling the tingle of the trees' life force.

He had discovered his mother had been murdered, by his uncle, who he had then killed before the horrified face of Barathon. He had found out everyone around him, everyone that had mattered to him in his childhood, had known who he was. Narosén had been the one to put forward the reinstatement of the Warlord only because he had met Legolas, quite by chance, and now this - Amareth had witnessed Lassiel's death, with himself as a babe in her arms. She had known all along who it had been and by her reaction - she seemed to have been terrified of him - had he threatened her, he wondered? Just like he had threatened Aglareb? And if so, what had he used as leverage?

"Yavanna - what more?" he pleaded softly to himself, but she did not answer.

'Peace, calm...'

The trees.

'Sleep, dream.'

'Sleep?' he asked himself. Oh but to forget for a few short minutes, to free his mind of its furious twisting and turning, block it all out and just feel the forest...

'Do it...'

He wanted to rip the uniform from his back, shed his boots and run free...

'Come...'

Slowly, his hands reached up to his braids and one by one, he pulled them out until his mass of pale hair tumbled down to his hips. Leaving his quiver and knives on the floor, he covered them with his cloak and then unclasped his breast plate. Then came his shirt and finally his boots and a soft, fresh breeze hit his bare chest and the damp earth beneath his feet seemed to hum, sending a subtle vibration up his spine and to the very tips of his toes and fingers.

He felt free, wild, ancient and so very, very alive. He threw his head back and began to run, shaking his hair behind him and revelling in the feel of it as it streamed out behind him in the dark night.

Where he went to he did not know, it did not matter, and of a sudden he laughed as he ran, a surge of joy crashing over him with such strength it made him cry.

'Run, run, fly free...'

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

"Lord Erthoron?" called Glorfindel, sticking his head around the flap lest it not be a good time to disturb the leaders.

"He is not here," came the heavily accented voice of Narosén, who sat in the dark.

"I am searching for Legolas, he said. Have you seen him?"

"No," came the Spirit Herder's reply as he stood and approached. "He left - he was, troubled."

"Of course he was," mumbled Glorfindel. "Who are you?" he asked quietly, for the elf was passing strange.

"I am Narosén, Spirit Herder of the Silvan people."

Glorfindel started for a moment, for he had heard of this elf.

"And you are...?"

"Glorfindel," he said simply.

"The reborn?" asked Narosén.

"Yes. Narosén, I must find Legolas."

"I will accompany you..."

"No, don't."

"You won't find him, Glorfindel of Gondolin. I can..."

The Noldo looked into the strange, reflective eyes and simply nodded, allowing the Silvan to lead him into the forest. This elf must be a listener, he realised, for he was not tracking as a scout would do, he simply jogged this way and that, his decorated braids flying around his head.

"Is he far?" asked Glorfindel from behind.

"Yes. Far. It will take us a while to reach him, but he runs no more..."

Glorfindel's eyebrows rose in surprise at the surety in his voice, but he was not going to doubt Narosén's words and so he ran behind the Silvan, until the midnight hour was upon them and the Spirit Herder slowed to a walk.

"He is there," he pointed up into the mighty bows of a beech tree but Glorfindel saw nothing, and so the two elves simply sat beneath the tree and waited for Legolas to acknowledge them.

Closer to the stars, Legolas lay over a thick branch, one knee bent and the other straight, his bare feet caressing the rough bark and revelling in the comfort the contact brought him. He knew they had come for him but for now, they would have to wait, for his mind had not finished ordering itself, ironing out his own, tempestuous feelings and emotions and until it had, he would not return.

The heart-wrenching story of his own mother, of her plight ran in circles in his head. Until now, she had been an anonymous player in his life, yet now, his father had brought her to life and the irresistible urge to know her had invaded his very spirit. And then Bandorion's twisted face came to him - he had killed him just as surely as his father had, Oropher's brother, the elf Legolas looked so much like. He closed his eyes as a wave of pity and sadness hit him with force and his eyes welled with tears. He remembered then, the desperation in Barathon's eyes as his own spear stood poised over his father's cruel heart. He had not wanted to do it, and yet now, with all that had been disclosed, he imagined himself plunging that spear into Bandorion's chest again, and again, and again...

Lassiel, child of the forest, whose only sin was to have loved one she should not have, to have courted danger with the most powerful of Sindarin families, to have conceived a child that mayhap she should not have - all for the love of the Woodland King...

'I will find you, mother...' he murmured to himself, for although he was still confused, this much he vowed.

Hours idled by and Legolas still thought, slower now for his eyes were half lidded, and his own thoughts became intertwined with his waking dreams.

The palest, purest skin he had ever seen, luminescent like no other, framed by a crown of auburn hair looked down upon him in unconditional love, with utter devotion, a crushing kind of protection, determination. Her slanted green eyes danced and glistened in pride, until a teardrop full of love fell onto him, infusing him with her soul, joining them eternally in a way he could not fathom. Her curved, red lips subtly stretched into a smile, but it was not a joyous one, it was the sad smile of an eternal goodbye...

His head jerked up from where it had sunk onto his own chest, his own, green eyes wide and watery as his mind came to the inevitable conclusion and a trembling smile split his face but his brow was furrowed. Joy, painful sadness, disbelief, crushing pity, curiosity .... for he had just seen the face of his mother, her last goodbye to him, her babe, lying in the arms of a mighty sentinel. She knew she would never see him again, it was her last smile to him, her last message.

Be strong, smile in the face of adversity. She loved him, she had loved him so much she had not even cried, for perhaps she realised that some time in the future, he would remember this moment, the last moment of his mother in the living world.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The sun had still not awoken, but it was slowly lightening the horizon and Legolas scurried further down the beech until he lay upon his belly over the lowest-hanging branch. He felt drowsy and spent and was not yet ready for whatever the day had in store for him.

His loose hair fell almost to the ground but he did not move, for he was too busy observing the sight that had met him upon his descent.

Glorfindel lay asleep on his side, Narosén's cloak draped over him, and the Spirit Herder sat cross-legged, his eyes closed but he was not asleep, Legolas knew.

"Good morning, my Lord," he said quietly, eyes still closed.

"You can be unnerving, Narosén," he murmured.

"As can you, Warlord," he returned, opening his bright blue eyes and resting them on Legolas' green ones. He seemed to startle for a moment, before regaining his composure, and Legolas frowned at him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Your eyes are bright," he said matter-of-factly and Legolas stiffened. "How bright?" he asked warily, wondering if it was happening again...

"Just, a little brighter than is usual - 'tis lovely though."

Legolas let out a relieved breath, and then turned his eyes to Glorfiindel, who was beginning to stir.

"The mighty Lord of Gondolin, Slayer of Balrogs ... smiled Legolas as would a young Silvan child and Narosén's eyes unexpectedly filled with tears he did not try to conceal.

"What is it?" asked Legolas, concerned.

"Nothing - just - joy - that you have found peace. You deserve that, and more," he said quietly, occupying this hands by rummaging in his bag.

Legolas stared at him, for this was a side to the enigmatic Narosen he had never seen - that compassionate, sensitive side that did not seem to go with his eccentric appearance or his strange voice. He decided then, that he liked the Spirit Herder, that in this, strange, Silvan mystic, he had an ally, a trusted advisor.

"Narosén," came the weak, somewhat sickly voice of Glorfindel. "Damn that Silvan poison you call a tonic..... he spat as he sat up and then groaned, taking a hand to his dishevelled hair, messing it up even more than it already had been.

Legolas opened his mouth and chuckled wildly, before looking disbelievingly at Narosén. "You did not warn him then?" he asked, and Narosén's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I could not resist," he smirked.

Glorfindel looked at him in something akin to horror and betrayal, as Legolas sat up, swinging his legs over the branch and launching himself to the floor with a soft thud and Narosén could not resist staring at his hair in wonder, and just a little jealousy.

"How did you get it so long?" he asked as he inspected it.

"Courtesy of my Lady, Narosén. But tell me for I am curious as to why I find an ancient warrior and a Spirit Herder sitting under my tree ..."

"Do not look at me, young Lord," smiled Narosén. I simply accompanied him," he pointed at Glorfindel.

Legolas turned questioningly to his friend. "Did I worry you?" he asked.

"Not me - your father. He asked me to find you, and I willingly accepted.

Legolas held his gaze as he walked. "My father..."

"He loves you, Legolas, more than even he is willing to admit or show - perhaps because he does not wish to upset his sons - but his desire to know you, is deep and undeniable."

Legolas looked to the ground and then away, unsure it seemed, of what to say to that.

"You are upset," said Glorfindel simply, watching as Narosén prepared tea.

"Legolas," began Glorfindel with a deep sigh. "Talk to me, for your confusion is almost tangible. Talk and iron it out with me, for once we are back in camp you will not be able and it will fester."

"I - I know, I just, it is too much, too fast. I did not want to kill Bandorion, Glorfindel and yet I knew that I must. I do not feel guilty for that but still I feel - inadequate."

"You will always remember that, not only because you took and elven life but because it was that of your great uncle," began Glorfindel, glancing for a moment at Narosén who he knew was listening attentively.

"That decision, Legolas, is what makes commanders great. To do such a thing required courage beyond the norm. You could have stayed your hand because he was family, you could have stayed your hand so as not to hurt Barathon in the same way you, had been hurt - you could have done all those things, and I would have called you selfish..."

Legolas finally made eye contact with Glorfiindel as he listened to his mentor's reasoning.

"Those reasons for not killing him were to do with you, no one else. A commander, a king, makes his decisions with respect to the collective good - that is the lot of a good king, Legolas. Imagine," he continued, leaning forward a little. "Imagine a rope that hangs threadbare over a precipice. An elf desperately holds on, his babe clinging to his back, screaming in fright and further down, at the end of the tether, is your own son. Who to save.... do you hang over the edge and hold your hand out to your son?, risk the rope finally breaking and taking the elf and his babe to their deaths? Or do you save those that you can, without risk? As a commander - not a father, as a king - what do you do?"

Glorfindel's eyes were bright and challenging and Legolas understood exactly what his tutor was showing him. He was showing him why Thranduil had done what he had, why Oropher had sacrificed the happiness of his own son - for the greater good.

"My answer is that I would save those I can, in spite of what may join me to the other- yet I cannot imagine what I would actually do should I ever be in that situation - to sacrifice your own son..." he whispered with a deep frown.

"Yes," said Glorfindel quietly, sadly, the light of wisdom shining back at the one he considered a son. "So you see," he said as he placed a hand on Legolas' knee, "for Oropher to forbid Thranduil to marry his love would have been nothing short of devastating, for in that decision, lay the knife that cut their relationship almost to the bone and even then, Oropher stood for his people - a true king for his own heart was only as precious as the rest of his people - no more, no less."

"I do not think I could ever do that," whispered Legolas.

"No, perhaps not - but then you are not king. But as a commander, Legolas, you may be faced with many similar decisions. Who to save upon the battle field - your friend or the warrior closest to you? It is as simple and yet as complex as that."

Legolas nodded his understanding for his mind, indeed, understood it. His heart, however, could not quite fathom it.

"You are young and have yet to make such decisions, but when you do, they will change you, and you will be stronger," said Glorfindel, and Legolas could see the experience in his eye.

"You must have made some very hard decisions..." he ventured, his eyes watching his mentor carefully.

His only answer though, was a wan smile and a subtle nod, and then he held out his hands to Narosén, accepting the cup of steaming tea the Spirit Herder was serving.

"What then, of Amareth?" asked Narosén. "Should we then include her in this equation? She protected her sister and her unborn babe for months, and then witnessed her sister's murder, taking her new born child to safety. Yet there was nowhere safe for him. Lassiel was known to all and had they learned she had a child, with the reputation she had been burdened with - there was nowhere safe. Had she told you of your heritage, as a child, would you have understood the importance of not disclosing that information - to anyone? To never trust a living soul with the identity of your father ?"

Narosén paused as he sipped his own tea, his eyes far away as he remembered those days.

"And then, when you grew and your features became more defined, her anxiety grew - with each day that passed and you excelled in warfare her fear - became obsession. She has lived with this burden for seven hundred and forty-four years, Legolas. 'Tis a mighty sacrifice I would say."

Legolas' eyes were wide and round, for he had seen, through the eyes of Narosén, Amareth's sacrifice, finally understood why he had been blinded from the truth. Of course Bandorion's shadow would always be there to haunt her for should he have learned the whereabouts of the child, Legolas, in hindsight, did not doubt that he would have been slain.

"I have been selfish..." he whispered.

"From your perspective, Legolas, the story is a bleak one, but from hers, it is tragic. She is finally free of her burden, Legolas. Free of the fear and anxiety thanks to you, for you killed the source of it. Let her rejoice now, that her sacrifice has brought us here, to this moment for without her, you would not be here, and neither would we."

Narosén grew quiet and Glorfindel watched Legolas as his mind analysed. It had been a productive night for his pupil had a sharp mind, it would not take him long to find his peace.

"I saw my mother this night," he whispered quietly and Narosén looked up at him.

"In my waking dream, in the tree - I saw her face look down on me and whisper a silent goodbye - she was beautiful..."

"Oh yes," said Narosén, smiling now. "She was the greatest beauty this wood has ever seen...

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Soon enough, Legolas had retrieved his belongings and the three elves walked into the Silvan camp, amidst the smiles and bows and salutes of the Silvan people, indeed Legolas was finding it hard to advance for the crowds were closing in on him, hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, his hair.

He smiled amidst his shock, for he could not understand it at all. For some reason he had become important to them, not just because he would be invested as their Warlord or because he was Thranduil's son, but on some deeper level. He sensed their respect, their love and their hope and he wondered what he had done to deserve such reverence.

Narosén saw it in his eyes, but there was no such puzzlement in his own eyes - he understood all too well what it was that was happening. Indeed Legolas was still young and too unsure of himself to see it. One quick glance at Glorfindel though, was enough to tell the Spirit Herder that he was not alone in his conclusions. He decided then, that he would speak to Legolas later, when they were alone - prepare him for what was to come, explain to him what it was that was happening to the Silvan people, what it was that Legolas himself had unleashed in them and that now, would not be buried.

Ducking inside the tent, Erthoron, Lorthil and Golloron startled, rising to their feet from where they had been sitting around the morning hearth.

"Legolas," said Erthoron, and Narosén cocked his head to the side. He knew that tone, for it spoke of embarrassment. They had been talking confidences and had been interrupted.

"Forgive us, Erthoron, said a half-naked Legolas, "are we interrupting?" he asked as he deposited his weapons and clothes in one corner.

"Yes," smiled Erthoron, but nothing you cannot hear. Come join us at the hearth, share tea with us," he said, before sinking to the floor once more.

Glorfindel nodded as he accepted the honey and mint tea that Golloron was pouring for everyone. His mouth was dry after imbibing too much of Narosén's cordial the night before - another tea would do no harm at all.

"We were speaking of the preparations, Legolas, for your investiture," began Lorthil.

"There is a ceremony then?" asked the Silvan, his eyes a little too round.

"Yes," began Lorthil. "The King has declared a celebration in four days' time, one that will see the great Feasting Halls of the fortress open to all, for the first time in many centuries. And," he added, "it is rumoured he will open the overhang - so that all can gaze upon the Evergreen Wood."

"What is the overhang?" asked Glorfiindel as he sipped on his tea.

"It is a mighty plateau that extends from the back of the fortress, similar to that of Minas Tirith. It has not been opened for many centuries, simply because there have been no celebrations, at least that we know of. It is a gesture, we believe, from the king; a statement of a new beginning."

"And the ceremony?" asked Glorfindel.

"We will perform it here, on the same day. Legolas, as our new Warlord, will lead us to the king, so that they may pay their respects to him and the Silvan people. It will be a joyous day for us all, Legolas, not just for the Silvan people."

"There are, certain traditions, Legolas, that we would like to uphold..." began Golloron somewhat hesitantly, and Narosén couldn't really blame him.

"What traditions?" asked Legolas.

"Well - the Warlord bears a mark - a mark of his station, here," he pointed at Legolas' now clothed chest, just over one breast.

"You will paint it?" he asked with a smirk, but then he nearly choked when Narosén put him right.

"What?!"

"Legolas, it will not hurt much..."

"I do not speak of the pain, Golloron, I can deal with that, but it will be - permanent?" he asked in disbelief, for he had never heard of anything like it.

"Yes - permanent."

Legolas' eyes were wide, but he said nothing and so Golloron continued. "There are clothes to be made and protocols to be observed, indeed our people visit the fortress this morning, to liaise with Thranduil's people, with his artists, his cooks and musicians..."

"You make it sound so complicated," murmured Legolas.

"It is. This is a mighty thing for the forest Legolas, one we will speak of before then. We wish to be proud of this moment for it will be written in history. We would have this celebration the most recounted of them all, a legendary feast of celebration, with music and dancing the likes of which has not been seen ever under these boughs. We wish to show the Sindar what they have been missing, show them all the things we contribute to this society, show them our art, our dance, our song and our pride - our hearts..."

Legolas returned Golloron's heavy gaze with his own and the Spirit Herder's brow twitched. "Your eyes are bright this morning, Legolas."

Legolas paused, and then glanced in worry at Glorfindel, who simply shook his head. "No, not that, Legolas. It is simply that they seem deeper, there is more light behind them than is normal for you."

"What do you mean by 'not that?' Asked Golloron, his head cocked to one side.

"Well," began Glorfiindel with a somewhat furtive glance at Legolas. "When there is a particularly strong communication with the trees his eyes - light up - from the inside..."

Golloron's eyebrows rose but he said nothing.

"I too, have some requests, Golloron," said Legolas, desperate to change the subject. "Who should I speak to about these preparations?"

"Well," smiled Golloron, sharing one fleeting, conspiring glance at the others, "that would be Marhén."

"Marhén," repeated Legolas, watching them all suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Well," smiled Erthoron. "Marhén - is your second aunt..."

Legolas froze, "second aunt?" he asked stupidly.

"Lassiel and Amareth's maternal aunt, yes. She has come from the South-west, she has been waiting to meet you since you arrived."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

"I will stay for the celebrations of course, but after that, I must leave, Legolas..."

"I know," said Legolas as he stood before Glorfindel, watching him as he armed himself and then pulled his cloak on.

"At least now I have an excuse to return to Imladris. My father has entrusted me with becoming a spear master - Captain Dunorel will have to allow that at some point."

"Oh yes - and I shall tell our master to expect you. He will be pleased. And then of course, Elladan is here, and therein is my own excuse for visiting - I will make sure Elrond allows me to travel from time to time."

"I will not say goodbye to you, Glorfindel," said Legolas now, stepping closer to his mentor. "I cannot - "

"You must," said the Noldo. "It will not be forever, child, not even for long, but say goodbye you must."

Legolas' bottom lip moved of its own accord as he stepped closer. "I will not get another moment to tell you this, for my life has become - complicated - I am hardly ever alone now..."

"You must find that time, Legolas. Do not let others command it - find some for yourself, you will need it."

Legolas nodded his understanding, and then looked back into the warm blue eyes he had come to love so well. "How can I ever thank you," he whispered, "for your wisdom and your grace? For your example, your own sacrifice, for being to me a father I never had, until now..."

"I need no thanks, for the blessing of knowing you is recompense enough," he smiled proudly.

Legolas placed a palm of his hand over Glorfindel's heart, and then stepped closer and placed his own cheek over it, until a strong hand held the back of his head and he closed his eyes, revelling for just that instant, in the warmth of love.

Moments later, Glorfindel had gone, returned to the fortress to report to the king and Legolas was left standing alone for the first time since he had walked into the Silvan camp the night before.

Suddenly, it came to him so very clearly, a dark, hidden secret that had been freed from its murky confines and floated to the surface of his mind for the first time. He loved Amareth as he would have his own mother - and, to his utter shock, he loved his father - Thranduil was no longer the black beast he had lived with his entire life, but a shining king that had sacrificed so much so that he may live...

He would make them proud, he resolved, and he would love them, for however long he was allowed.

For now though, Amareth needed him, and he would leave her waiting no longer...