CHAPTER ONE

I remember the first time I saw him. He was huge to my young eyes, as tall and broad as the Lonely Mountain that towers over Mirkwood, taller even than Father with his pointed, drooping hat that seemed to scrape the ceiling of our underground corridors, and a great waterfall of a cloak about his shoulders. And he was loud. His step was loud amid our silent footfalls, his boot-heels clattering on the stone as he moved. His clothing rustled as ours did not, and his staff tapped against the stone as he walked. And he laughed, a great, deep rumbling growl of laughter. He was altogether very strange, and quite frightening to me. So of course I had to get closer to see this strange creature that much better.

I had no business being there, and well I knew it; small elves were not to intrude upon the business of their elders, or their fathers, and most certainly not upon the king's. But I stayed anyway, intrigued by this novelty in our otherwise well-ordered, predictable world in Mirkwood.

I sidled through the corridors, small and unnoticed in the shadows yet risking detection as I crept along behind my father and his guest and the others of our household that he seemed to draw to him. It seemed that I was not the only one wishing to see the stranger better, though I was the only one determined to stay hidden. The adults who lived in Mirkwood always moved freely about my father's realm, while I clung to the shadows and hoped to not be noticed, or at least not to gain unwanted notice too soon.

The stranger was even more outlandish on closer inspection than at first glimpse. His clothing was strange too, rough and gray and coarsely woven as it was. I judged that I wasn’t tall enough to come much above his boots.

Was this creature a cave troll? I had heard cave trolls spoken of, and it was said that they were large and gray. But this being was clearly welcomed by my fahter, so it must not be a cave troll. Perplexed, I bit my lip and leaned a little closer, hoping to hear something that might enlighten me.

He turned suddenly toward my corner of shadow and looked at me. At *me*. Hidden as I was, he still saw me. My heart pounded over being caught out, but his attention brought the greatest surprise of all: he had hair on his face.

I had never seen such a thing. No elf looks thus, but he wore a great bird's nest tangle of a thing, a briar patch, a… I didn't know what to think of it. This thing was as the moss that grows upon the oldest of trees. And above it were two bright, blue eyes that saw through shadow to uninvited little guests.

Was he an Ent, perhaps? I had heard my father's courtiers sing of Ents as well, tall and old and shaggy. Whatever he may have been, his eyes locked into mine and for a long, silent moment we stared at each other in equal astonishment.

I thought that perhaps it would be safer to leave the gathering then, before my father followed his guest's gaze and discovered me behind the tapestry. Slowly, I sidled away with my back pressed to the wall, hoping to gain the corner to the next corridor before the stranger gave me away.

He was kind enough to remain silent during my retreat, and I dared a glance back over my shoulder as I slipped around the corner. The eyes peering from above the dark thicket were still following me. Those eyes held curiosity, and... and they looked kind, as though they smiled.

~ ~ ~

The little one was small and far too thin, even by little elf standards, and his hair was a massive tangle of dirty brown with long, thin strands falling into his eyes. At first glimpse, I assumed that he was a servant's child, crept up from the kitchen and no doubt eager to set eyes on the Istari, new-come to his world and only just exploring Mirkwood.

I felt his presence before I saw him. Felt a bright, amazed curiosity steadily reaching out toward me from the tapestry. As that is not normally the mood of dead cloth, I focused my own curiosity upon it only to spy a pair of very small, well-worn leather boots peeking out from beneath its edge.

The child was good at sneaking, very good, as if he'd had plenty of practice at it. The tapestry did not so much as tremble as he crept along, step by step, behind it. I followed his progress until he peered around its edge and stared at me.

The moment we locked gazes, I could sense the keen intelligence and inquisitiveness behind those huge eyes, their color muddied by the hair guarding their gaze. He studied me intently -- a unique thing all in itself, as I was finding that even in my rustic, homespun appearance many elves seemed hesitant to meet my gaze. A newcomer to this little one's world, I was certain he'd never seen anything like me before.

His eyes widened suddenly, and I felt rather than heard his breath catch as our gazes locked. A flash of fear crossed his delicate face. He tensed and his dirty fingers clung to the edge of the tapestry.

His gaze flashed briefly from me to the king. Was Thranduil the focus of his fear then? It seemed so to me, as the little elf then abandoned the tapestry to begin skulking back along the cold stone wall. His goal was obviously the corner of the room, where he could easily gain the freedom of the open stone corridor.

Why in the world would a servant's child fear the king?

The boy's gaze found mine one last time before he slipped entirely out of sight around that corner. I frowned at the empty space where he'd been standing, my curiosity fully aroused, before returning my attention to the king’s commentary.

~~~

I should have stayed away. Far away. Father had important guests in the hall that afternoon, and the place was abuzz like a bothered hive. It was definitely no place for small elves.

When Father had guests, his temper was ever uncertain, and it was best to be elsewhere. But my curiosity would lead me down paths best avoided then, even when I knew what the price for my curiosity would likely be. Today was no exception, for I wanted to see the guest creature again. I wanted to look at those eyes again, eyes that seemed old and wise and that dared to smile at unwelcome little elves. So I crept up through my shadow paths once more, edging toward the hall where my father and the guest and the others of our household sat at table.

A fire had been lit in the Great Hall, and low voices blended in conversation. I felt a thrill of excitement when I heard the unfamiliar rumble of *his* voice amid the lighter voices of those of the house. I even heard the great growl of his laughter echoing with my father's laugh. It was altogether too tempting.

I dared to sneak closer and yet closer still, to peer around the doorframe with one eye at the crack between hinge and wall.

He sat next to my father and Lhunil. The pointy hat apparently came off, and its absence revealed grey-washed hair as long and wild atop his head as that which covered his cheeks. But for all of his strange looks, he smiled and he drank and he spoke with the elves just as they did.

Man, I finally decided.

I drew back to consider this thought. This must be a man, though I had never heard of my father inviting one of the lake village into our home. Men were tradesmen and servants, not equals. So maybe he was not a man. But if not a man, then what was he?

"And who is this?"

I gasped and felt the rush of adrenaline as a blow to my stomach. To my embarrassment, I fell over backward and landed sitting on the hard, cold stone to stare up at him. I had been so absorbed with pondering the question of his existence that I had failed to notice him move.

He was huge. He towered over me, as tall as the ceiling. Truly, he was the biggest creature I had ever encountered in my short years.

"Hello, little one," he said softly, his voice somehow less rumbly as he addressed me.

I couldn't speak, couldn't make my tongue work, couldn't make anything move in my sudden surge of fear. I could only stare.

Slowly, this great creature stooped down and lowered himself to one knee so that the great hairy mass on his face was down on a level with my eyes. His movement released me somehow and I scrambled to my feet, only to find myself trapped against the corner where the wall bent in to the great hall doors.

Trapped.

I could hear movement within the hall. My father's voice was sharp behind the creature as he questioned those about him.

"I don't believe we've met," the creature rumbled softly. "They call me Mithrandir. What do they call you?"

Kind as his eyes were, I had no wish to further this conversation and tried to slide past him. Eyes could lie. Voices could lie. Moods could change with a heartbeat, as I knew very well, and I was unsure of this stranger's intent. I needed to leave. Coming here had been a grievous error.

"Legolas!"

My father’s voice was sharp and angry, and I gasped at the sound. His delivery left no doubt what his mood was, and it heralded an unpleasant evening to come. A new fear touched me, and my eyes turned toward that sharp voice through the habit of many years learning. My father stood within the doorway to the hall, his expression dark, his stormy eyes fixed on me.

A slight movement caught my attention, and my gaze whipped back to the creature still kneeling in front of me. The creature whose hand was in motion toward me.

I shied away from it on reflex. Hands reaching for me could sometimes be kind, but more often they were not. My body had learned to evade being touched whenever possible. This hand moved swiftly and it was huge, easily the size of my face. My reflexes took no chances. His hand missed me, grazing past my shoulder as I twisted back and away.

But that hand did not retreat. It hovered there between us, and the eyes above it were startled, and then... almost sad, I should say, if I'd had more time to study them.

But time I did not have.

"LEGOLAS!" My father's command: louder now, harsher and definitely angry.

My stomach knotted in panic. I took the only road open to me. I abandoned stealth and shadow for speed. I fled, ducking under the stranger's arm and leaving the huge hand reaching after me as though to protest to my departure, though seemingly not to stay it as he allowed my escape.

I knew that my bolting would not end the confrontation; in fact, it would only worsen it once I was found and brought before my father. Running was a crime to be added to the others that would no doubt be presented to me in his chambers tonight.

In my blind flight and consideration of the disastrous encounters I'd just left, as well as the evening encounters to come, I collided roughly with another in the corridor and staggered back a pace before I could restrain my stride. A startled cry and a complaint came from the owner of the legs I had run into, full tilt.

Galion. It had to be Galion, my father's personal aide. His voice followed me, raised in shrill annoyance and rebuke. My hitting him would be yet another crime set before my father, I had no doubt. But that was later, and later was always preferable to now where my father was concerned. His temper was well-known among the elves of Mirkwood, and I had heard guests from Rivendell and Lorien remark upon it as well. But they were not as well-acquainted with it as was I.

Later was always preferable.

If I could reach the lower levels, I could slip out past the east gate because I was still small enough to squeeze through the palings, and then I could gain the trees. If I could reach the trees, then I could spend the rest of the evening hiding in their leaves, in the quiet and cool and green of the forest. At least until they found me.

They always found me, sooner or later.

Fortune favored me this day, and I reached the gate. And the sunlight. And the forest.

The leaves were welcoming as the stone below was not. The stone was my father's world, but the trees seemed to be mine. I sat cradled in the arms of my friendly old oak tree and dreading the night, but my thoughts were always dragged back to the quiet, smiling eyes of the giant in my father's hall. He had been so different from Father.

I wished that I'd had the chance to speak to him. I wondered what he would have said, if Father hadn't come just then. He said his name was Mithrandir. I wonder if he likes little elves?

~~~

"Legolas!"

The king's angry roar startled the child, making him jump. Only his eyes turned toward the sound of that voice. The rest of his body tensed and drew back as if to ward off some blow he knew was coming.

But why? I wondered. No offense had been committed. The child had been merely standing in the corner behind the door when I knelt at its edge to begin a quiet conversation. He’d not intruded, not disturbed us in any way. In fact, he’d not yet made a sound. Yet Thranduil bellowed, and the boy looked terrified. Was this a child of the staff? Was he out of bounds coming to this level of the hall?

No, Thranduil had called the boy Legolas. I knew that to be the name of the king's youngest son, mentioned in passing and brushed over as inconsequential, too young to be of any importance. Thranduil’s firstborn son, I knew, had died alongside Orophir on the slopes of Mount Doom. I had met his remaining older brother earlier in the day: Luinil, heir to all that was Mirkwood, its problems as well as its beauty. He seemed a copy of his father.

Here before me now was the third prince, Legolas, which in his native tongue meant 'greenleaf': strong new life and a new hope, I thought. Born not long after the battle on the slopes of Mount Orodruin, in which the king's first heir had fallen. Did this new little life mean so little now to the father who had named him? And what of his mother? No one had mentioned her, and she clearly was not here. Had she died, or had she sailed over sea, in grief for her lost son or away from this strange elf her mate had become?

The boy was small for his age, with skinny limbs and a pinched face. His eyes seemed far too big for that face, and while his father and his brother cast the golden light so common in this branch of the Elven race, this child was dark. His light seemed almost muddied, even as his clothing was. Perhaps he'd taken after his mother.

Casting a glance over my shoulder, I saw Thranduil standing in the doorway. His expression was stormy, his fingers bunched into fists. His blue eyes had turned to ice, and it seemed that all of his loathing was focused on the little elf before me.

"LEGOLAS!" came the second snarl.

The boy whimpered softly. I reached for him, thinking only to reassure him, but he shied away from my hands. If anything, the terror in his eyes increased tenfold.

My fingers grazed his shoulder as he twisted back and away. With my hand still hovering between us, I locked gazes with him once more and sensed the clawing panic within him. Panic to escape whatever punishment awaited him beyond his father's voice. He evaded my touch with an ease borne of long experience, and I was heartsick to realize that much more than a voice had probably been raised against this child.

/Run!/ I commanded, directing his senses to the opening beneath my arm.

His gaze shifted to my robe, and he needed no further encouragement. Legolas ducked beneath my arm and I rose to my feet, effectively blocking Thranduil's way while the boy fled down the narrow corridor.

"So that is your youngest son," I said with forced ease.

"It is." His reply dripped contempt.

Behind us, Galion's voice was raised in startled outcry, followed by shrill rage. Small footsteps pelted onward, as did the stream of Elvish invective from Thranduil's personal aide.

Galion joined us, moving silently to his king's side and fussing with his robes. His narrow face was even more sour-looking than usual when he pursed his lips.

"I apologize, my king, that he has escaped his minders once again. I will deal with them shortly, but really, something must be done about that child!"

"Something will be done with him," growled the king. "Bring him to me tonight before supper." Thranduil turned away from his aide, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to slow his anger before gesturing me to return to the hall with him. "For now, Mithrandir, you will join me at luncheon. We have much to discuss."

CHAPTER TWO

The day wound down eventually. Finally. I escaped the king's Great Hall on the pretense of preparing for the magnificent feast that was to be held in my honor that night. As the sun crept through the sky, tracing an infuriatingly slow path in its descent, my mind was not entirely on the matters of Mirkwood and the dangers creeping forth out of Mordor. No, my focus was back with the little elfling who had been all wide-eyed fear and cringing. It hurt for me to see someone so small in such pain, and the knowledge that more was intended for him before the feast tonight completely stripped away any appetite I might have for anything provided by Mirkwood’s king.

I had a few hours to myself, and I intended to make good use of them. Making good my escape, I traveled quickly upward through the stone corridors of the underground fortress. Instinct was telling me to seek what remained of the light and to seek the forest also, where rulers and their counselors might not go. I strode out through the lower levels and finally reached one of the exits to this underground fortress.

Without slowing my pace, I raised my hood against the rain that was falling. The east gate called to me, regardless it was barred. A shift of the hinge and a protest of metal and I was through it, unchallenged. I supposed that if a guest -- especially a wizard known to be a bit odd -- wanted to walk in the rain, no one would stop him. Indeed, I don’t think anyone even noticed my passing. [That is surely a very good thing,] I thought.

Pausing on the edge of the road, I surveyed the thick forest surrounding Thranduil's keep. It was big, while my quarry was small and frightened. This search could take much more time than I had to devote to it at the moment. [If I were a little elf, where would I go?] I asked the wind and the small creatures living in the trees. [Do you know where your friend is?]

Their minds met mine and cheerfully informed me. I stepped onto a path that I never would have known was there, had they not told me. Circling the outer wall, it was choked with overgrowth. I pushed slowly down it, and the path soon cleared somewhat to reveal a mighty oak, sheltering and protective. I could sense another life joined to the tree’s, nestled safe in her arms and deep within her heart.

Unfortunately, I was not the only one approaching the sanctuary. There must have been another gate and another path, one known and used by the king's minders, for Galion stalked up to the big oak from the other side. His expression was stern and irritated, his stance was rigid. Shaking off the rain, he reached up into the tree and yanked.

A shriek and a crash, and Legolas fell at Galion's feet.

"Your father wants you. Get up," Galion snarled, prodding the child with his toe.

The boy seemed dazed, but tried to comply. Sitting up, he began to stand, only to be caught by the arm and wrenched upright. Life returned to Legolas in a rush. Twisting away from the biting grip, he escaped the hand that held him and managed to take half a step in flight before the elf’s fingers closed in his hair and rocked him backward.

"I do not appreciate your running me down in the halls," Galion muttered into the boy's ear. "Even less to I appreciate being drawn out into the wet to search for a worthless little creature like you. How it is that your father sired such a dreadful child is quite beyond my understanding."

Closing his eyes, Legolas shivered and let the elf do as he would. Cold rain ran in rivulets into the child’s eyes as he endured.

"Go!" the elf growled, shoving the child forward. He staggered and recoiled from the contact, but Galion easily locked his hand around the thin upper arm of the child, yanking him forward. "Your father awaits you, and I would not have his anger turn my way because of you. Now walk, or must I encourage you?"

Legolas made a feeble effort to pull away, and his resistance was rewarded with a stinging slap that encompassed both his cheek and tender ear. He cried out, his free hand rising to cover the reddening ear, but Galior yanked him forward again and encouraged him to move faster with another slap to the lower back and a third across his small hips. The boy stumbled forward without further protests, being sped along with another yank. Raising his arm, Galion aimed his next blow at his victim’s small backside.

The last blow never fell, for Galion’s hand was suddenly engulfed in a powerful, painful, and quite invisible grip. It was now his turn to exclaim in pain and surprise.

"Enough," I growled, stepping from the concealing shadows and wrapping my very physical fingers around the elf’s other wrist.

He cried out as I squeezed sensitive tendons, forcing him to release Legolas. Recoiling, Galion looked affronted and rubbed his assaulted wrist.

Going down on my knees, I slid my hands over Legolas's narrow shoulders and firmly pulled him back against me before fixing my gaze on the aide above me. I made a bold statement out of drawing the child into the shelter of my cloak, daring his captor to make another grab for him. Conversely, it prevented the equally dismaying possibility that the child might take flight. Legolas’s small hand crept up to cover his ear again, but otherwise he made no protest.

"Master Wizard, you are a guest in this hall, but you overstep yourself now. I am to take this child inside. His father… King Thranduil wishes to have words with his son."

"You'll not be taking this child to his father tonight."

Galion gaped at me, incredulous. "But the king has ordered--"

"I heard what the king ordered. I understand what manner of words he wishes to share with the child, as well. Legolas will not be taken to him tonight."

"Master Wizard, it will not go well for me if I do not deliver the boy, and immediately!"

"Tell him the child cannot be found."

"I will not!" Galion drew himself up and sniffed, wiped his face of the rain and glowered at Legolas, who turned his face and hid against me. "I know every nook and cranny in which the little brat hides. I can smell him out, and the king knows it. I’ve been forced to track him down and play nursemaid for far too long for him to evade me so easily."

"Then tell your king that I found his son first, and that Legolas is staying with me." My tone remained reasonable and calm, making the elf’s outrage seem quite undignified.

Galion sputtered and stared, but offered no further coherant arguments. Legolas trembled against me, whether from terror of his father or fear of me, I could not tell. The small fingers of one hand bunched in the rough material of my robe, while the other still guarded his stinging ear. I dared to rub his back in what I hoped was a comforting gesture, but Legolas only tensed. So I settled for cradling his small body against me and waited for Galion's response.

"This will not do, but on your head be it, Mithrandir," he grumbled. "I will not insult a guest with further arguments, but I will report this to my king. No doubt he will want to deal with your meddling in his business. You do your cause no service, wizard, nor will it spare that child what is due him." Glowering at Legolas one last time, Galion spun on his heels and stalked off through the leaves.

"It will be all right," I murmured, running the palm of my hand over the boy’s wet hair. He smelled of earth and rain and moved closer to me, twisting under my hand as if burrowing against me might make me stop touching him. I drew back slightly but did not relinquish my hold. "Have you eaten today?"

He stared at the ground, still shivering, but made no reply.

"Have you?" I asked cheerfully, as though the unpleasant scene from moments before had never happened. "Was that your stomach I heard growling?" I smiled and poked my forefinger gently at his small belly.

He considered matters a moment. Eventually, he shook his head. Fair enough.

"Then finding you some supper shall be the first order of our evening. Will you come with me to do that, little leaf?"

I plucked a small, damp oak leaf out of his hair. He tensed at the touch, then watched it drift to the forest floor. His eyes lifted warily to meet mine, but his chin did not come up, and he still kept one hand cupped over his abused ear. I could see the reddened tip through his fingers. The blow must have hurt badly.

"We'll go in through the kitchens," I reassured, smiling at him again, "so that you do not have to meet your father's courtiers. How does that sound?"

A nod. Other than that, Legolas didn't move.

The rain pattered harder around us, and I wondered if I should wrap the child up and carry him in a belated attempt to protect him from the rain. Given his skittishness and mistrust, it seemed a foolish notion, so that I decided not to even try it. Releasing him, I stood slowly, carefully. It wouldn't do to make any sudden moves and lose him now to the darkening forest.

"Will you show me the safest entrance, then?"

Whirling, he stared and backed away from me before heading off with what must have been his usual speed. Darting through the leaves and into the concealing shadows, he paused a few feet away and cast a glance over his shoulder. So he didn’t mean to lose me after all?

I followed at a more sedate pace, setting the vines and branches out of my way, smiling and indicating that I could keep up, after a fashion. I fully expected him to leave me behind, in which case I'd just have to ask the forest for help in finding him again. [We could be at this all night,] came the thought.

I hoped not.

A measure of trust must have been created between us, or perhaps Legolas just wanted his supper. In any event, he led me to an overgrown narrow gate, rusted closed and half off of its hinges. He was able to slip through it, but I was not.

I fingered my moustache and frowned at the sagging metal while Legolas waited in silent, still observation on the other side of the gate. He seemed to not notice the rain, just pushed impatiently at the wet hair falling into his eyes and staring at me as if he expected me to float over the obstruction. I gave the gate a tentative pull, but its resistance spoke of years in that position.

"Well, there’s nothing for it."

Heaving a great sigh, I set my sights on the low wall beside the gate. Grumbling and grousing, I gathered my robes and found toeholds in the old stone. Climbing up and then over, I found safe footing on solid ground once more, turned about, and found that the little elf was watching me with obvious amusement.

"You didn’t think I could do that, did you?"

A shrug. He pointed at my robes. I gathered that he felt climbing in long robes and a cloak was not a clever thing to do. If anything, his shy smile grew into a fleeting grin. The grin, I noted, was missing two front teeth. Replacements hadn't begun to grow in yet, which would make the little leaf about... yes, about twelve, I calculated, which would be the equivalent of about six years of age for a Man-child.

This little leaf was very young. He was also small for his age, but far from stupid. I had already sensed a keen intelligence behind those eyes and an iron will to survive. I now added a sense of humor to the list.

"Lead on." Stepping forward, I gestured and was gratified to see that Legolas did not cringe from my touch. Rather, he chose to walk a few paces before me, heading for the castle proper and a hint of light and warmth in the stones that turned out to be the kitchen.

My companion stopped at the edge of the preparation area, determined not to take one step further into that center of activity. I, however, as the guest of honor, had no such hesitations, and I swept my newfound friend into the kitchen with me. Uncomfortable as he might be with this situation, I would not let him out of my sight for a moment, lest it give someone the opportunity to reclaim him.

"I wish two trenchers of food be brought to my chamber, along with a jug of milk and some wine."

No one questioned my orders, but they did stare at the child accompanying me. Legolas all but shrank away from the sniffy cook and his assistants and tried to hide behind me. I filed that information away before lifting the edge of my cloak and casually draping it over him, which served to hide at least some of him. Perhaps it would serve to make him feel a little more secure. Leaning down, I whispered into his ear.

"Doesn't seem a very friendly place, does it? Come, we'll find somewhere more hospitable to eat."

Ushering him away from that hive of activity, I led him through the stone corridors to my chamber. He followed, but his steps seemed to drag slower and slower the closer we got, until by the time we reached the room he was trailing several steps behind me. Pushing open the heavy hewn door, I gestured him through it.

"They'll bring the food here, Legolas, and we'll be able to eat in peace. No one will come, no one will yell. No one will hurt you in here."

He stopped dead in the corridor and eyed the open door. His small shoulders tensed, and he looked from me to the room beyond. For a moment, I thought that he was going to bolt.

Busying myself with peeling off my heavy, damp cloak, I watched him anxiously from the corner of my eye. "The food smelled good back there, didn’t it? I expect that they’ll bring something nice. Warm, too. I’ve been traveling and eating bread and hard cheese for days, so something warm will be quite a treat for me."

Between my casual manner and the promise of a warm meal, Legolas seemed to overcome some of his hesitation. He took a step forward, then another, and another until finally, with a bit of weaving and agitation, he gathered the courage to cross the threshold itself. Standing inside the room, he stared up at me with huge eyes.

[What does he think I'll do to him?] I wondered.

Sounds from the corridor indicated the arrival of the meal, along with those bearing it. That was enough to send the little elf skittering further into the room and behind the chair over which I’d draped the cloak.

The food arrived then, great trenchers of it, along with the requested libations. I thanked the servants who brought it, closed the door behind them, and barred it. When I turned back, it was to see that Legolas's eyes had gone huge. Stark fear shone in them, and he was now standing with his back firmly against the far wall.

It was obvious that he felt trapped. From the way his eyes kept flickering from me to the door and back, it was equally obvious that he wanted out. Turning to the door, I laid a hand on it and whispered to the wood. No small elven hands would be able to open it; it would remain closed until I removed the words of power binding it. No small little elf would be able to escape my watch-care in the night.

"The food smells good, don't you think?" Pulling a chair up to the table, I leaned down to retrieve two thick historical tomes borrowed from Thranduil's library. Placing them on the chair, I then found utensils to set beside a trencher, poured out a mug of milk and set it close by.

Pouring myself a mug of wine, I turned away from the table, lit a small fire, and settled into the chair before it. Pulling out my pipe, I prepared and lit it.

"I'll have dinner later, if that's all right with you," I offered softly. "If it pleases you to eat now, please feel free to do so."

He didn't move from his place against the wall, and I didn't offer any further conversation. Puffing quietly, I stared at the fire and stole glances at Legolas from the corner of my eye. At first, nothing happened. I smoked, he hovered in the shadows, and that was that. It was as I was contemplating refilling both pipe and mug that I heard, or rather sensed, some slight movement behind me.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as he sidled closer to the table, his gaze never leaving me. I drew on my now-empty pipe, and did not move. Snatching a bit of bread, he backed away and gauged my reaction to his daring. Draining the last drops of my wine, I stared at the fire.

"I wish you’d sit down and eat, child," I murmured. "That’s what the food is there for."

Suspicion warred with hunger for another long moment, and I took the time to refill my pipe. Legolas stayed by the table, caught in indecision.

I rose slowly, moved slowly, and reached even more slowly to the wine. I poured it into the mug carefully, returned the beaker to the table, and turned away. And then I turned back, startling him into a two-step retreat. Smiling, I pointed at the chair.

"Sit and eat, little leaf. That plate is for you."

I returned to my place by the fire. Eyes still on me, he climbed carefully up onto the chair.

He ate quickly and quietly behind me while I blew smoke-rings. Rings were simple and mastered long ago. Ships, however, took a bit of extra effort, and so I set to practicing them. All sounds of eating ceased behind me; he was surely watching me. So smoke-ships interested him, did they? Let us see what else an old wizard could come up with.

It took several failed attempts, but I soon had a winged dragon wafting toward the hearth, only to dissolve against the stones. A gasp sounded behind me, and I dared to turn my head.

"Dragonth!" he murmured. His missing front teeth made him lisp, and his bright eyes were entirely focused on the smoke-creature that was already fading quickly.

It was the first word I’d heard him speak, and I smiled with this success. "Have you ever seen a dragon, Legolas?"

A shake of the head, which sent long hair flying everywhere. He waited for me to resume puffing on my pipe before taking another bite of food.

"Let's see if I can't create another one for you then, hmm?"

I sent the next one out over the table, directly toward him. Scarcely breathing, Legolas watched it come. It seemed to head directly for his face, though I’d not intended it to, and the boy reached up as though to ward the creature off. The dragon flew through his fingers, dissolving into wisps of smoke upon contact. He stared in amazement as the smoke dissipated, then turned his astonished gaze upon his own small fingers that had banished the dragon.

I eyed the trencher before him and noted that he'd eaten a good portion. Falling into silence, I waited for time to pass and the surge of adrenaline to clear his small body. I continued with smoke rings and ships and other unidentifiable smoky failures, and eventually my patience was rewarded when he folded his arms against the table, lowered his head, and began nodding off. A few more minutes, and he stopped fighting sleep. He stopped raising his head to peer at me, as if to ensure that I hadn't moved, that I wasn't going to transform into a dragon myself and come at him, roaring loudly and breathing flame in addition to smoke.

His eyes closed, his breathing deepened. I rose carefully from the chair and moved over him. Murmuring another spell, I deepened his sleep, then lifted his thin body out of the chair. Laying the child on the bed, I gathered a towel and a basin, poured hot water into it from the kettle over the fire, and proceeded to clean him up as best I could with such limited means.

I swiped at the grime on his face, moving carefully over the faded handprint and the blue ghosting of a new bruise across his cheekbone. Removing his jerkin, I attempted to remove the dirt on his chest and arms. Over and over, I wiped at the stubborn smears, which refused all of my efforts to remove them. The dirt covered his small chest as smudges covered his arms. The smudges were darker at his wrists, and I sat down hard on the edge of the bed when I realized how wrong I'd been in my assumptions.

It wasn't dirt, it was bruising. My hands shook as rolled Legolas over gently, the better to examine his back. There were even more smudges and shadows there, disappearing into the ragged leggings that covered the rest of his small, vulnerable body. I removed his boots and wet leggings to find similar marks. I discovered that one of his thin arms held heat when I touched him to shift his position again. I backtracked to run my hand down it, then turned his arm between my hands to have a closer look.

Legolas whimpered and shifted in his sleep at the contact. Laying my hand across his narrow back, I soothed him deeper into slumber before reaching for a candle, the better to see in the gloom.

His wrists, back and arms had borne the brunt of the damage. The dark circles at his wrists spoke of old yankings as well as new – a few of which I'd personally witnessed. His left elbow was swollen. Running my fingers over muscle and bone, I felt the misalignment easily and swore softly in Dwarvish.

It was easy enough to reset the bones. Gathering the child into my arms, I turned his thumb toward his torso and slowly folded his arm toward his shoulder and felt the soft click of the joint reseating itself. My power could set the rest of this to rights as well, could heal his injuries overnight, almost, but what of the morrow? What of the next time his father or Galion, or only the Valar knew whom, got their hands on Legolas? As horrified as I was at his treatment today, I knew that his tomorrow would be much worse, and worse for days beyond that because of my interference this night.

Anger surged within me, as well as determination. [There will be no next time.]

I could not put wet clothing back on the boy, so I tucked him warm beneath the covers and hung the garments at the fire to dry. By then, my course was decided and my path was set. I had planned to stay a few weeks at Mirkwood, acquainting myself with the king and his court. I needed to continue familiarizing myself with the problems that needed addressed in this corner of Middle Earth.

I was ever conscious of the threat that seemed to be growing in Mordor and knew all too well that darkness was creeping closer to Thranduil's borders. There was the not insignificant threat of Dol Goldur, well within these borders, and I’d yet to get a comprehensive report on the goings-on there. There was much for me to do, and I was in Middle Earth to serve the many, not the few, and certainly not the very particular needs of one very small prince.

None of that mattered anymore. Not this night. Not when I was sitting in Thranduil’s palace, had enjoyed his hospitality, and had realized that he was physically abusing his youngest son. I didn't bother to ask the gods why; there was no why, there was only the need to remove Legolas from this place and these people.

This, I would do -- tonight, if possible. Where I would take him, I didn't yet know. Only one thing was certain; the power of the Istari would be brought to bear to keep Legolas safe, and no one would ever lay hands on him like that again. From now until the end of his days, this elf would have me to look after him.

CHAPTER THREE

Along with a few other vices, Thranduil loved three things: good food, good drink, and much gambling. The banquet was an interminable effort in self-discipline and patience for me, sickened as I was by the knowledge that I now bore, but I put my knowledge and my time to good use.

Thranduil satisfied his gluttony by the end of the banquet that night, and by the beginning of our games of chance he was deep enough into his cups to satisfy his second weakness. As his guest, I joined him willingly in his games of chance, but for some reason fate seemed against my winning that night. I lost three times to every win, and my host found the company of a wizard who was unable to control simple throwing dice to be a matter of great hilarity. I did win a few tosses, but by the end of our games Thranduil had bet and won innumerable times.

The last time, he bet and lost.

What he lost was Legolas. At the end of the night and before witnesses, the king had lost his youngest son to me. He surrendered Legolas willingly, without complaint or regret, much to the astonishment of the witnesses still gathered around the Great Hall.

"What you want with him, I don't know," the drunken king slurred. "He's a little ghost, like his mother. Eyes and silence, that's all you'll ever get out of him. Eyes and silence...."

Thranduil's head sank onto his chest. He begun snoring, and Galion stepped up to remove the dice from his hands and glower at me.

"Do you need help getting him to chambers?" I inquired politely.

"No."

So be it. I watched them attend their slumbering king and gave a gracious nod to excuse myself to all present. I was free to return to my chamber and did so, only to hear small whimpers of fear and distress coming through the darkness behind the door. Hurrying into the room, I discovered that Legolas was caught in the throes of some dark dream. He'd kicked off the covers, was thrashing about in the bed, and could not awaken.

Gathering him to me, I lifted him from sleep. "Hush, little leaf, it's all right. You're safe."

His small body stiffened in my arms. His bony elbow dug into my ribs as he writhed against me. "Nooooooooooooo! Father, nooo!"

The tears came hot and fast, dampening my beard as I cradled him closer to me. "It’s just a dream, Legolas. Your father isn't here, he can't hurt you. No one will hurt you again, I promise you that."

~~~

The dream had been so real that it hurt. My father, all darkness and noise, had been bearing down on me while Galion cuffed my ears. It was only when my fingers became entangled in Mithrandir's beard that I finally realized that it wasn't Galion holding me down. The pain I was feeling was only a phantom, pulled from my apprehension but no less real for all of that. Still, though my fear might be and illusion, I know that what had happened before when I was awake would likely happen again.

Something broke inside of me, then. Trapped between my father's rage and the wizard's kindness, I rolled into the prickled roughness of his embrace and hid my face against his beard. Hopelessness mocked the taste of gentleness and caring he’d given me earlier in the day, making my life even more bitter. Still, I clung to him, to the moment’s sanctuary he offered against the pain.

His large hands held me close. He smoothed my hair back over and over. And he promised that no one would hurt me again. They were just empty words that night, holding no meaning to me past the warm body I was held against. He wrapped me in his cloak, and I was somewhat aware of him carrying carried me from the bed and settling us both in the chair before the fire.

I was past caring what he did with me. I could only cry then and my tears, once loosed, were beyond my control and would not stop at my bidding. I believed that he was kind and that he would not hurt me, but I also knew that he would leave Mirkwood and I would stay. That knowledge hurt as much as any blow ever had.

He hummed and rocked as he held me. No one had ever done that before -- neither the humming or the rocking. I couldn't remember ever being held like this, either. I didn't want to lift my head away from him because if I did so he might stop rocking, so I kept my face solidly buried in his beard. It made me sneeze and he chuckled, then moved it up and out of the way so that I was sheltered beneath it for a time. He smelled different from any elf, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Galion had called him a wizard, and so I knew him for what he smelled like and how gently he touched me, if not for what he could do. I dug my fingers into his robes and wanted to stay where we were forever.

He was warmth and peace, unlike anyone I'd ever met before, and he seemed to care about little elves. He had stood against the mean ones and sent them away; those all-powerful shadows in my life had retreated at his word. But for me, he seemed to have endless time and gentleness.

I didn’t want to sleep; I wanted this moment of safety, of being held, to last forever, but I fell asleep to his rocking, somewhat conscious of his snoring. I don't know how long we shared the chair, but my sense of the light woke me at dawn, and by then I was back in his bed. And he was seated in a chair at the table, watching me.

"Good morning, little leaf," he rumbled, leaning over to hand me a mug of milk and a slice of bread once I'd struggled from the layers of bedding he'd wrapped around me. "The sun has barely cleared the horizon, but we have much to discuss this morning. If you are ready?"

I took the food and nodded. My stomach was rumbling and I ate greedily, spreading crumbs across the comforter and trying to catch the honey before it dripped onto the bedclothes. I watched for any signs of outrage at the mess I was making, but Mithrandir didn't seem to notice, much less mind.

"I am leaving Mirkwood today, Legolas, and your father will let you go with me if you wish it."

I stopped chewing and stared at him. He looked calmly back at me, his blue eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

"Do you want to come with me?"

"W-where?" I breathed.

"To the House of Elrond, in Rivendell. We will go together, and I promise that if you come with me, no one will hurt you again." His eyes were kindly and determined. I sensed that he meant what he said, and that he somehow had the ability to make it so.

Impulsively, with just a little fear, I nodded, then licked at the trickle of honey that had crept unnoticed down my palm just before it made a dive for the sheets.

"You will come with me?"

Would I come with him? My heart knew instantly that I would follow him anywhere. I nodded again, the remains of my bread totally forgotten at the prospect of being allowed to stay with him.

He smiled then, a wide smile that made his beard shift and his eyes twinkle. A huge hand swallowed my knee, and he squeezed slightly. "That is well, little leaf."

~~~

"We'll need a horse if we're to leave this morning," I told Legolas. "Mine is still favoring that tendon, and we don't want to push him. I'd expected to stay a bit longer than overnight and let him rest, but he can either follow behind or I'll collect him later."

I glanced down at my companion of the morning and found him marching stolidly at my side, evidently ignoring the discussion completely.

Discussion. How can you have a discussion when only one party speaks? I sighed, then caught my hand as it drifted toward that tangled hair once more. It was so hard not to touch him, knowing -- no, feeling how desperately he needed affection, but to touch him was likely to upset the delicate balance we’d achieved this morning. By all the Valar, I needed the child’s cooperation to depart quickly and quietly from his father’s realm.

I stopped on the path then, waiting for my new charge to notice my lack of forward progress. He came to a halt fairly quickly and I stopped down once more to try and meet his gaze, which was buried under the tangled hair.

"We’ll need a horse, little leaf. Do you know where they're kept?"

There was a definite spark of interest at that question. My guide nodded vigorously, then pushed irritably at the hair that fell in his face.

"Could you take me there?"

Again the nod, and Legolas backed three cautious steps away from me, watching intently. 'Follow me?' was the unspoken request. I rose to my feet and nodded. Seemingly reassured that I’d not get left behind, he turned and marched down a different, crowded path, leaving me to hike my robes over the foliage and lengthen my stride to catch up.

[He did try to warn me,] I reflected.

This was clearly an unofficial path, as it rapidly devolved into a narrow track worn through the close trees. I was left to stumble over unseen roots and duck low branches, while Legolas hesitated only to pat a tree trunk here and there in his passing, never so much as glancing over his shoulder to see if I was following.

[As though he needs to look back,] I groused to myself. I must make all the noise of an oliphant crashing through these branches.]

The secret path ended abruptly in an open field containing many fine horses as well as a stable. I started to step out onto the grass, to approach the stable, but two small hands grabbed my robe and pulled back on the material, hard.

I stopped instantly, startled. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

Legolas shook his head and hovered just at the edge of the treeline and watched intently. The horses in the field turned, one by one, to mark his position in the trees, and no few stepped forward to greet the young elf. Several nickers came in greeting, which seemed to cause a tall Elf to step from the stable and into the sunlight.

"There you are, little shadow," the horsemaster called. "Your friends always give you away."

I watched in surprise as my skittish charge suddenly took flight. Pelting across the grass, Legolas barreled headlong into the legs of the horsemaster, wrapped his arms about the tall elf’s thighs in a fierce hug. Laughing, the horsemaster stroked the tangled hair affectionately, but the friendly smile fell away as I stepped up behind Legolas.

"Master Wizard," came the formal greeting. All warmth had fled from those eyes as his gaze fearlessly matched mine. "Word has reached me of last night's activities."

"Has it, now?"

"Word also has it that you will be leaving here, and taking our prince with you."

'Yes," I replied as amiably as I could manage, "Legolas and I will be leaving. And we could use a mount, as mine is still weary from his long service. Is there a horse we might borrow, the prince and I?"

The horsemaster spared me another moment of obvious hostility, then bent down to speak to the child between us, who was looking anxiously from friend to benefactor as the tension escalated.

"Little shadow, your friends await your attention. Why don't you go and speak to them?" The elf gave Legolas a pat on the shoulder and sent him off toward the horses that were drifting toward them across the grass.

Still watching us, the child reluctantly backed away. But another wave from the horsemaster sent him running toward the gathering herd. Once the child's attention was focused away from us, the elf turned back to me with only the barest veneer of civility.

"Yes, I have certainly heard of last night's happenings in the hall. And though it is not my place to question such things, I would like to know what your intentions are toward our prince."

"*Your* prince?" I echoed, hoping that my voice didn't reflect the shock I felt at those words. I could feel my eyebrows climbing in surprise before I could stop them.

"Yes, Master Wizard. Our prince. There are those of us who care for him and do what we can for him," he advised almost defiantly. "We feel it is not right to hand him off to a stranger in such a fashion. And you not even an elf?"

The horsemaster glared at me with both his tone and his stance reflecting reflected aggressiveness -- no, protectiveness, I decided. [This is a good sign,] I decided. [Perhaps the little leaf’s life has not been all misery.]

"What are your intentions toward our prince?" the elf demanded. "What do you intend to do with him?"

"I am to tell you, lest your pitchfork find my liver, Master Elf?" I smiled to take the sting out of his words, hoping to move the conversation to less hostile ground. "Your concern reflects well upon you. You have a caring heart."

My words seemed to have little impact as the horsemaster continued to glare. I sighed and took a moment to think carefully before speaking my next words.

"Let me assure you that I have only the young one's best intentions at heart. I intend to take him from this hall of madness and pain. I intend to take him to Imladris where he may be raised in a place of compassion and caring, where he can be free of fear and violence. Where they will care for his needs and his education. And if I know Lord Elrond, he will be delighted to have another young one in his care, as his boys are far too old to appreciate the company of their father any longer."

The stablemaster blinked, clearly startled by my words, and the quiet strength beneath them. "You -- you know, then?"

"I know. I witnessed… episodes yesterday. I have also seen further evidence of what’s been happening." Nodding toward Legolas, I my fingers tightly about my own wrist in mute illustration. "I managed to head off at least part of last night's violence toward him, but I cannot remain here, and I will not leave him here another night."

If an elf could be said to sag in relief, this one did. "Then you understand, and you act out of caring. Many will be glad to hear of his change in fate, but they were uncertain of you, Master Wizard. We meant no offence…."

"But you wondered what strange bargain had been struck with the selling of the princeling, and what strange desires an old wizard might harbor," I replied, half- offended and half-amused. "Again, your caring tells much of you. But should any need the assurance of my promise, I give my solemn word that I will watch after this one as though he were my own. His father gave him to me last night. Gave. Him. To. Me. To keep as my own until the end of days. I intend to hold Thranduil to that, no less than I intend to honor it. I accept my guardianship very seriously indeed."

"Then he will fare far better than he would here."

Our gazes met in solemn understanding before the horsemaster turned toward the field.

"Ah, he returns," he observed as my little elf trudged back across the grass toward us with several young horses trailing along behind him.

The horsemaster beckoned Legolas forward and the entire group straggled into a trot, with the small boy running ahead of carefully paced horses at his heels.

Legolas drew to a halt between us. The horses, filled with yearling mischief and curiosity, ranged alongside him to snuffle me – rather rudely, I thought. My hat was nipped and knocked forward over my eyes before it was snatched completely off of my head. A filly snorted into my beard while a third tugged at the hem of my robe.

"Here! Here now, give me that," I protested, definitely at a disadvantage as I tugging the hat from between equine teeth only to flap it at another animal fascinated by my beard. "Be off! Leave me be!"

The young horses snorted, more amused than alarmed it seemed, and wheeled to canter off back to their fellows at grass. To my astonishment, I heard a soft sound that was very distinctly a giggle coming from behind me.

"Oh-ho, so you think that was funny?"

Legolas’s amusement collapsed instantly, and he shrank behind the legs of the horsemaster. I sighed, saddened that the moment had been lost so quickly.

"Look what your friend did to my hat," I protested, putting a very undignified, petulant, un-wizardlike whine into my tone. Kneeling, I brandished the hat not too close to the child, then carefully pointed out the large arc of dents in its fabric.

Legolas hesitantly reached out to take the huge hat in his hands. First, he brushed at the dents, then scraped at them with a dirty fingernail until the impressions vanished. My hat was then returned to me with all solemnity. I inspected it very carefully, then nodded.

"Well, that's not so bad then," I allowed before restoring the hat to its rightful place. "Warn me if they’re coming back, will you?"

Again the solemn nod.

"Now, Legolas, your friend and I were discussing a suitable mount for our journey. Tell me, little leaf, can you ride?"

His eyes widened in surprise, but then the gaze was fized on the grass between the little elf’s feet, and a very firm headshake in the negative was his reply. Looking up to the horsemaster for confirmation, I was not surprised to find him smiling and nodding in the affirmative just as emphatically.

"Little leaf, it's quite acceptable for you tell me the truth when I ask you a question," I said gently. "I ask because I wish to know the answer, and I promise that I won't be angry with you over what you tell me. I will only be unhappy with you," I added, stressing the word, "if you tell me that you've done something which I have specifically told you not to do. Do you understand?"

Legolas’s answer was a noncommittal shrug of his narrow shoulders.

"I'll take that as a yes. So tell me again: can you ride a horse well enough to stay on top of it?"

A sidelong glance, watching, appraising…Then a deep breath as courage was gathered…and the faintest of nods.

"Good. I was hoping you could. That will make things all the easier. Now, which of these horses do you think might suit us for our journey? And which one might we be allowed to borrow?"

"Might I suggest your old friend, little shadow?" said the horsemaster.

Legolas spun, tangled hair flying, to face the elf. Hope was shining from those eyes now, the first hope I'd seen in them.

"She's an older mare," the elf advised me. "She is ignored, though still strong. She produces the finest of foals, but she will never be missed. She is a good mother who can be counted on to protect her foals." He nodded significantly toward Legolas. "All of them."

"She sounds like a fine choice, then. But can she carry the both of us to Imladris if she carries so many years?"

Legolas nodded, and the Horsemaster smiled. "She can. She is not so old as all that, though I don't think she'll see many more winters. She will get you there safely if you don't overtax her."

"A good choice all around, then."

"Why don't you go and tell her, Legolas?"

The prince darted off into the horses, finding a dark mare at the back of the assembled horses. She was an odd color, dark red-brown with gold in her mane and the white scattering of age hairs about her eyes and muzzle. Her belly carried the sag of many foals’ residence within, but her neck arched proudly and she carried herself with grace as she minced across the grass toward us. Carefully, she shortened her stride to match that of the child who led her with a hand to her shoulder.

"She belonged to the Prince's mother, Master Wizard, a final gift from both her mother and myself. She also carries one further gift for the prince."

"A foal?"

He nodded and smiled, "Though he knows it not. The foal should be a fine one, a further legacy from Mirkwood, so use her gently if you can."

"Ah, this is the one?" I asked as Legolas brought the horse to a halt before me.

The mare and I regarded each other for a long moment before I reached out to stroke a misplaced strand of mane back over her neck. She sniffed my beard suspiciously, then snorted. We were both wary of each other, but once our eyes had met and our hearts had been read, intentions were deciphered, and agreements were reached. She would carry me as the young one asked. Of her carrying him, I had no doubt.

"She agrees then? When will you be leaving Mirkwood?"

"As swiftly as we may," I replied. "As soon as I collect our things, if she can travel on such short notice."

"She will be ready for you upon your return, Master Wizard. And may the stars shine brightly upon your path to Rivendell."

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