"Why did you do that?" my son asked coldly. "You promised to set him free."

"And I did—I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders," I responded tensely, although frantically distracted by the confirmation of what I had most feared.

"There was more the orc could tell us."

"There was nothing more he could tell me." I walked past Legolas and headed for my chambers to process what I had just heard.

"What did he mean by 'the flames of war'?" Legolas called, striding to catch up to me.

"It means they intend to unleash a weapon so great it will destroy all before it. I want the watch doubled at our borders, all roads, all rivers. Nothing moves but I hear of it. No one enters this kingdom, and no one leaves it." I gave him and my staff a meaningful look.

Legolas turned to do my bidding, then hesitated. "My lord…what of Tauriel?"

"What of her?"

"She went into the forest with her bow and blade. She has not returned." His eye contact wavered slightly.

I'd seen all I needed to see. I stifled the expression of the indignation I felt at her decision.

"Then she has chosen her side. I may or may not let her back within the city after the worst of this crisis is over," I responded curtly, narrowing my eyes for emphasis.

A muscle clenched on Legolas's jawline—alas, he had inherited my quick temper. "I ask you to make only one exception to this rule, my king," he responded.

"What concern is the captain of my guard to you? Perhaps fighting on the side of these dwarves is what she believes to be best for the protection of the Wooded Realms. In which case, perhaps I will thank her personally when she returns. If she returns."

Again, an effort to speak respectfully. "I would appreciate a definite answer."

"You will not get one." I paused meaningfully. "And perhaps, young sir, you should ask yourself her true motive for deserting our kingdom," I finished, and turned once more to take my leave.

I felt a firm arm grip my arm and I stopped, stunned. "I see now why Mother died of a broken heart," Legolas stated in a low voice.

I whirled to face him, my features slack with shock. No one had ever dared make any insinuation of this kind to the King of Mirkwood. Shock quickly turned to rage, and I groped blindly for some kind of support, my hands finally finding a table-I bent over, gripping its sides, my knuckles turning white in the attempt not to murder my progeny where he stood.

I felt my lips curl upward in a snarl, and I trembled with the effort of restraint. "She died…" I could not recognize my own hoarse voice. "She had a strange, rare sickness…or perhaps a curse from one of my enemies…" My voice had a strange, wistful tone to it now, as I stared at the face that looked so much like hers. I could barely see him now…my eyes narrowed as if they tried to see something that was beyond the range of their focus.

I saw through the window and across the wide, treacherous river, and beyond even the woods opposite, a cool, shady garden in the center of our kingdom, a velvety lawn sweeping down to the river's edge, a bower of clematis and roses, with a carved stone seat half covered with moss. There sat a woman with great sad eyes fixed on the far-distant horizon. The setting sun was throwing a halo of gold all round her hair, her white hands were clasped idly on her lap.

She gazed out beyond the river, beyond the sunset, toward an unseen bourne of peace and happiness, and her lovely face had in it a look of utter hopelessness and of sublime self-abnegation. The air was still. It was late autumn, and all around her the russet leaves of beech and chestnut fell with a melancholy hush-sh-sh about her feet.

She was alone, and from time to time heavy tears gathered in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.

Suddenly a sigh escaped my tightly-pressed lips, and with a strange gesture, totally uncharacteristic of me, I passed my right hand across my eyes.

"You may be right, young one," I admitted wearily, standing upright. Legolas steadily returned my gaze, his expression almost neutral, although his hands were clenched into loose fists by his side.

I took a final step forward, and my tone of voice once again became business-like. "The gate of Mirkwood will close in two minutes," I affirmed. "You have a decision to make. The only definite answer I can give is that you will always be allowed back in."

Legolas studied me. His features relaxed as he did, and I realized he perceived that he had not lost this fight.

"Thank you, sire," he responded, and I watched him leave my halls for possibly the last time.