Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in posting this update. I am writing several stories at once, and long ago wrote the climax and end to this tale before I had even fully hashed out the beginning. Please feel free to shoot me a message to discuss any remaining hashing, or consider leaving a review. (It helps to know folks are reading and actively engaged in the telling—especially when I have several other story-irons in the fire that are fighting one another, as well as a demanding job—since, in my imagination, this tale has already been satisfactorily resolved. I am ashamed to admit how easy it is for me to lose steam!)

Additionally, I would like to note an error in Chapter Two. Amonhir says: "I did not mean to imply that I expect [Legolas] to singlehandedly storm a legion of Morgoth and have the rest of us thus slaughtered," and it should very definitely read instead "storm a legion of Sauron."

Anyway, later this month—in the next chapter—our characters will finally enter the woods, and we will, quite literally, stumble into the last half of their story.

Disclaimer: Do not own.

Chapter Four: Conflict, or a Brief Intermission

"Emissaries they were from Lords of the West, the Valar, who still took counsel for the governance of Middle-earth, and when the shadow of Sauron began first to stir again took this means of resisting him. … And this the Valar did, desiring to amend the errors of old, especially that they had attempted to guard and seclude the Eldar by their own might and glory fully revealed; whereas now their emissaries were forbidden to reveal themselves in forms of majesty, or to seek to rule the wills of Men and Elves by open display of power, but coming in shapes weak and humble were bidden to advise and persuade Men and Elves to good, and to seek to unite in love and understanding all those whom Sauron, should he come again, would endeavour to dominate and corrupt."

–a note on the Wizards, (from Unfinished Tales, Part Four, Chapter Two: The Istari)

Mithrandir did not bring as much information to Thranduil's folk as they would have liked, but he called the evil at Dol Goldur the Necromancer, and so the elves at least gave name to that growing darkness.

Legolas and Ithildim alone seemed unfazed by the lack of information returned to their questions, and they delivered their scouting reports dutifully and without hesitation when called upon, remaining calm and competent even when met with critical questions from Thranduil or excoriations by a defense advisor. They were perhaps too young, Amonhir thought, to understand the danger inherent to such lack of preparedness as Mithrandir's quest would require of them; Legolas and Ithildim had seldom been involved in missions that their improvisation could not salvage.

Lostariel, on the otherhand, was particularly displeased with the meager information Mithrandir was able to provide. When Thranduil shooed Legolas and Ithildim out of the room without even a facsimile of patience and then dismissed all advisors but Thelion with abruptness, it became clear that Thranduil too would have words with Mithrandir—words that he would not want noted by his council's secretary in the Greenwood's records.

Lostariel saw Legolas glance over his shoulder to his brother and cock his head as he and Ithildim pushed open the great door to exit. If Lostariel had not spent so much time with Legolas in the field and in training, she would not know what the look meant; but she had spent that time with him, and she did know—it was a warning.

Lumornon met Legolas' eyes—which squinted slightly as he glanced from his brother to his father, who seemed to vibrate from crown to boot though his face was impassive—and then Lumornon nodded. Legolas ducked his head respectfully and turned back to the door, which was now fully open, and he and Ithildim disappeared around the frame like mists off the river.

Lostariel knew that look was also a request for Lumornon to steady their father and king with Lumornon's notoriously even keel and deliberate sensibility. She looked at Lumornon assessingly to measure his intent and thus plan her own approach before the conversation began.

Lumornon's eyes were downcast as she observed, looking over some of the letters Mithrandir had earlier passed around, but then he looked up unexpectedly and smiled at her. Lostariel raised her eyebrows, and then he dropped his smile and looked back at her evenly, every bit the crown prince. A moment later he cut a glance to Thranduil and then looked back to Lostariel, before rolling his eyes and shrugging, and in that moment he looked so much to her like Legolas, despite all their marked differences, that she almost frowned in surprise.

Thelion looked on disapprovingly; Lumornon looked away from the Marchwarden and cleared his throat.

When the last of the defense advisors had finally collected their notes and filed out of the room, and the door swung shut behind them, Thranduil pushed his chair back and stood from his seat. His light red robe fell open to reveal the simple white tunic and grey leggings hidden beneath, and for a moment Thranduil said nothing; he simply stood and stared squarely down at the wizard seated beside him. The Elvenking finally passed a hand over his face before dropping both hands to his hips and glowering at Mithrandir.

"Confound it, Mithrandir! This is an abuse of trust!" Thranduil exclaimed. "You have no more idea of what is happening in my father's old halls than I, and you had me commit my Marchwarden and her choice of warriors to your folly mission prematurely, ere I was enlightened to the directionless nature of your request!"

Mithrandir crossed his arms in front of him and considered Thranduil's ire.

"Mayhap this is an accurate assessment, mayhap not," the wizard said. "But I will still go into Dol Goldur alone, and need only your elves to get me there."

"And what of Radagast the Brown, so nearby Dol Goldur at his Rhosgobel," Thanduil countered. "Why not him? You are well-known to one another."

"Well-known indeed!" Mithrandir laughed, but then dropped his voice and continued absently. "But Radagast is too gentle for this task, though we may in fact convene with him on our return trip. For now, though, he trusts too much his trees, and is too caught up in the woods' newest despair."

Lumornon predicted his father's reaction before Thranduil had even begun to reply, and so he sat back with some relish to watch. Legolas expected Lumornon to mediate the situation and temper his father's obviously displeasure, and Lumornon was indeed a fine diplomat. But Lumornon was first and foremost a son and a brother, and so Lumornon expected first to observe some harmless amusement between his father and the wizard—preferably at his younger brother's expense—ere it came truly to blows.

"And my youngest son is not too gentle for this task?" the Elvenking rejoined, as expected. "He has barely quit building forts in the forest himself—he and Ithildim still play among the trees' branches of an evening. They are wood-elves, Mithrandir! To go so far south with so little reconnaissance? They are too young and single-minded themselves!"

Lostariel frowned and opened her mouth to address the Elvenking's misled comment, for she had had Legolas and Ithildim under her command for the last five centuries, but then closed it again. Instead, Lostariel crossed her hands over her chest and glanced to Lumornon, who was considering his father with his head tilted to one side, with his hands folded neatly across the pile of letters in front of him, and with a ghost of a smile on his lips. Amonhir shifted in his own seat and his brows lowered, for he too was a wood-elf—though nearly the same age as Thranduil—and he did not appreciate his King's thoughtless allusion to Silvan disposition. Besides, Amonhir knew though Legolas and Ithildim were young and eager and perhaps yet naïve, that the two friends were anything but gentle, except perhaps in their shared humor.

Mithrandir was silent for several long moments and looked Thranduil for a long time eye to eye.

"You have become more wary of your sons' actions since your family was sundered," Mithrandir finally stated.

The Elvenking looked affronted, and he drew a startlingly long and shallow breath.

"And thus you continue to underestimate these elves' abilities, for they were born into this darkness and know it well. Besides, I need only to get close enough to the fortress to assess the darkness, not mount a full-fledged attack against the Necromancer," Mithrandir continued. "No harm, therefore, will come to your young warriors—that I foresee—outside of their own foolishness."

Mithrandir directed his next question to Amonhir and Lostariel. "Your warriors are capable, are they not, Captains?"

"Aye, Mithrandir," they both said, not looking at their king.

Thranduil cut his eyes toward his head Marchwarden and her second, and then turned from Mithrandir in a sweep of flapping red robes. He stalked the length of the room before turning sharply on the balls of his feet at the far end of the table. The Elvenking placed his hands on its peak, and his long fingers gripped the table's hinges.

"And now you dare call my son a fool," Thranduil hissed quietly, his golden hair falling from behind his crown's hold to swing about his face.

Lumornon rose from his seat and strode to his father's side. He slipped a hand beneath his father's hair to clench the the Elvenking's shoulder, and he felt the spasm of taught and burdened muscles jerk beneath the touch.

"I only imply that youthfulness may illicit foolishness, Thranduil,"said Mithrandir, "and acknowledge the tendency to fervor that Greenleaf no doubt inherits by your example."

Lostariel raised an eyebrow at Amonhir as he grinned, and Thelion sniffed loudly—had he been any less skilled in diplomacy he might even have laughed. Though he maybe did not realize it himself, Thranduil did not need Thelion to mediate his interactions with Mithrandir—Thelion thought it best the Elvenking meddle through matters with the Istar himself.

Mithrandir continued as if he had not noticed the subtle movements around the table.

"Legolas and Ithildim are soldiers in the King's Army, and they will follow their Captain's wishes, just as any soldier of yours would, and so," he said with a shrug, "you will have to allow it, though I cannot command you. Your people love their forest, and their free wills go with them in defending it."

Lumornon pulled out the chair beside his father and pushed him into it gently by the shoulder. Thranduil allowed his son to do so, and absentmindedly folded his hands in front of him, his eyes for a moment distant. Lumornon bent to his king and father's shoulder and spoke into his ear.

"Highlight your wisdom by your actions, my King," Lumornon said quietly.

The Elvenking looked up for a moment at his eldest son. Eventually, Thranduil threw up his hands and then let a fist fall onto the slanted table.

"A plague on the stiff necks of wizards!" said Thranduil and looked squarely at Mithrandir. "You will bring back my company alive, or I will send you into the West myself."

Mithrandir chuckled.

"And if this Necromancer is born of something darker than sorcery," the Elvenking continued, as he shrugged off his oldest son's hand, "then you will rue leading my son so close to its evil. I will not lose another of my kin to the hands of Sauron's servants."

The room was silent for a moment, until Mithrandir stood and pushed back his chair, allowing its deep and screeching echo to reverberate around the room.

"Like I said, King Thranduil:" Mithrandir reminded, "the only harm that will befall your young warriors will be their own youthful doing, for I am not leading a charge."

Lumornon could feel the Elvenking relax beside him. Thranduil considered Mithrandir silently and evenly and the wizard held his gaze. Then he looked at Amonhir, Lostariel, and Thelion for several moments each before turning his attention back to Mithrandir.

The Elvenking crossed his long legs under the table and draped his hands onto the arms of the chair, so that his fingers dangled from the wrist loosely. Thranduil once again commanded the situation, and he looked at Mithrandir anew, and then he smiled.

"Well, great wizard," said the Elvenking. "You shall have your quest and your guides. I expect you all to meet with the young ones before you leave to make preparations; they know the paths surprisingly well, for those so fresh. You may leave, after that, as early as daybreak tomorrow."

Mithrandir nodded.

"Good then, Oh Elvenking," he said, and he smiled broadly, and his eyebrows rose like stony mountains on his brow as he did so. "I will take my leave and meet with your Wardens in the morning."

Mithrandir looked at Lostariel for her consent, and she nodded.

"Lumornon," Thranduil said, "with me. We will speak with Legolas and Ithildim presently."

"And, so, I bid you goodnight!" Mithrandir exclaimed and rose from the table.

Then they all walked from the room in single file; Lostariel pulled Amonhir to her side by his upper arm and she led him toward her rooms to organize affairs for while they were away.

"Lumornon, my prince!" Lostariel called over her shoulder. "Would you consult with us before you retire? We will be in my rooms."

"Aye," Lumornon called back, trailing the Elvenking as they went to search for his younger brother and friend, and they turned a corner at the far end of the corridor.

Thelion stood for a moment outside the door, considering the two pairs travelling in opposite directions, and then swept away to Thranduil's study.

Mithrandir watched them all go their separate ways and then huffed. Wood-elves! Perhaps he should have consulted first the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien; Galadriel sensed more truly the origin of his persuasive advice, and seemingly deferred to him, thus, more readily.

But, it was done, and he had contracted Thranduil.

Mithrandir turned back into the council room and folded again all the letters and parchments, before slipping them into the canvas bag Legolas had delivered him earlier. He shook it so its contents condensed and the latch could be shut.

Mithrandir bent to grab his hat from where he had thrown it earlier on the floor, and then pulled it roughly down to his ears.

He would ensure that he, the captains, and the young warriors would leave by the next night.

Thank you for reading thus far, and sharing in this story with me.