disclaimer: Not mine. Simple as that. Also, no money was made from the writing of this, just enjoyment (and frustration).

rating/warnings: Teen / Violence, some disturbing images

notes: So this is a story that has remained lurking in my head ever since I stopped writing it...three years ago now? Four? I wasn't sure if I was ever going to finish it or not, but I never really stopped thinking about it. I've recently been getting back into Tolkien (it was the fandom that drove me away, post-Hobbit, and I've finally healed from that I think), and while this wasn't the first thing I started writing, it was the second (if you don't count the one sentence I wrote of a new fic). My writing has also vastly improved since I last worked on this, though, and I'm not particularly happy with the story as it is right now, so I decided to go back and rewrite it. Thus the reason we're back at chapter 1.

Hopefully it doesn't sound too uptight and pretentious. I've been having some difficulties getting back into the (my?) Tolkien style of writing, so hopefully it sounds alright.

Anyway, all of that being said, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

The fourteenth day of the fifth month, year 1050, Third Age.

Eryn Galen was grey and silent, trees and undergrowth cast in silver mist and the skies hung heavy with stormy clouds. Leaves glittered a deep, bright green, and the ferns and the stiffly flowering underbrush that thrived in the shadows of the great trees gleamed in the sullen light. Everything was painted with hyper-realistic edges and vibrant colors beneath the coiling mists, the early morning's rain turning the world watercolor.

It is beautiful, Elrohir Elrondion thought, casting his gaze back and forth across the path that he and the line of horsemen were following. So why am I so ill at ease?

The path wound between the trees, zigging and zagging back and forth amid the huge trunks, leading ever upward toward the line of mountains marching resolute in the distance ahead. Their craggy peaks, infrequently visible through the foliage, were shrouded with the low-hung clouds, and were dark beneath the promised storm.

Elladan, Elrohir's twin brother, identical to him in every way but personality, rode just ahead of him, bow and quiver slung on his back over his cloak. He wore a blue tunic and a leather jerkin, brown pants and knee-high riding boots. A dagger and a purse hung on the belt slung above his hips. His dark hair was gathered in a loose braid down his back.

Elrohir kneed his gelding forward into a trot, drawing abreast of Elladan in a few seconds. Elladan glanced over at him, one eyebrow lifting in silent question and surprise. He looked very much like their father.

They had been riding in comfortable silence ever since breaking camp that morning—a comfortable silence that was laden down with the lingering afterimage of the rain that had fallen an hour after they had embarked on the road, and was loath to be broken. As it was, Elrohir surprised even himself when he said, "Does something feel...amiss to you, brother?"

Elladan's eyebrow lowered and he frowned. "Amiss in what way?" he asked.

Elorhir shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. Was he reading too much into the silence of the forest—silence that was surely begat by the rain of the morning, and of the rain promised for the afternoon?

"I do not know," Elrohir said. Then, "Perhaps the silence is simply grating on my nerves."

They rode on in silence for a few moments, before Elrohir broke it again, saying, "I don't know what it is, but something feels wrong."

"Wrong how?" Elladan asked.

Elrohir shook his head. "It feels like we are being watched," he said, the realization coming to him even as the words left his mouth. "Yes, that's it. It feels as if we are being watched."

Elladan glanced to either side of the path, searching the undergrowth and amid the boughs of the trees. Then he looked back at his brother, riding expectantly at his side. Elladan shook his head.

"I see and sense nothing," he said. "If you are truly worried, however, perhaps you should go speak with Legolas."

Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Galen, was the leader of the company of Elves trekking through the forest's trees. Seven days ago his father had sent him and two squads of the kingdom's finest archers and spearmen to meet the envoy from Rivendell at the forest's edge.

"It will be a good teaching experience for you," his father, Thranduil, had said when he had told Legolas that he would be leading the company. "It should be a simple and straightforward journey to the forest's edge and back. And I will be sending Celebint with you."

Celebint was one of the three Marshalls of Eryn Galen, the leaders of Thranduil's armed forces. Of the three, Celebint was the Marshall of Arms, meaning he was the commander of Thranduil's army, while Galadhion was the Marshall of his Guard and Golbrennil was the Marshall of his Huntsmen. Many of the kingdom's finest archers were both Huntsmen and part of Thranduil's army, though the Guard remained separate from both.

"Why are you sending me?" Legolas had asked his father.

"Because you are nearing a millennia old," Thranduil had replied evenly, "and it is high time that you become a commander as well as a warrior and Huntsman."

They had been seated in Thranduil's study, wood-paneled and beautifully carved, with a massive desk on the far end and a fireplace to the left. A couch and two armchairs stood in front of the hearth, while bookshelves filled the alcove to the right. A fire was burning, lighting the room with a ruddy glow, and Legolas had been seated across the desk from his father.

"I am also speaking with Celebint about making you a squad captain—though that discussion can wait until your return with Lord Elrond."

Legolas had bowed his head. "As my lord commands," he had said, trying to hide the spike of excitement that had speared from his heart and into his lungs, throat, fingers. While happy as a Huntsman—an elite group of hunters and wardens who guarded the forest from dark creatures who would threaten the palace and the Elven settlements—he had been itching for a few years now to be more than just a simple warrior. He was, after all, the Crown Prince of the kingdom.

This, it seemed, was his chance to prove to his father that he was ready for such responsibility.

Legolas now rode at the head of the column, behind only Adelforod, the scout that had been sent with the company. Legolas's mighty hunting bow was strapped to his back beside a quiver of turkey-fletched arrows, and a sword hung on his hip opposite a purse holding flint and his bowstring. His white mare pranced beneath him, asking him to give her her head to run; Legolas reined her in, keeping her to a slow, steady walk that matched the rest of the company.

He had met the Rivendell envoy at the edge of the forest one day past. They were seated, resting their horses and eating an early lunch, when Legolas and his Elves arrived. Lord Elrond, clad in simple tunic, jerkin, breeches, and riding boots, distinguished only by the thin silver circlet on his brow, rose and bowed formally to Legolas as he dismounted.

"Well met, Thranduilion," Lord Elrond had said, smiling warmly then and stepping forward to clasp Legolas's arm in greeting.

"Well met, my lord," Legolas had replied, feeling odd. Never before had Lord Elrond bowed to him, as he would to an equal whose realm he was in. "I trust your journey was good," Legolas added, pushing away the strangeness of the moment.

"It was uneventful," Lord Elrond had said. "So yes, it was good—though long. We will be happy to be able to rest safely and warmly in beds."

"I'm afraid you have another four days until then," Legolas had said remorsefully.

Lord Elrond laughed. "I know," he said. "But please, do not begrudge this old Elf his dreams."

The journey had continued to be uneventful as they climbed steadily northward toward the Mountains of Eryn Galen. They traveled mostly in silence, though Legolas had taken the time to reacquaint himself with Lord Elrond's twin sons, who were both dear friends of his. He had not seen them in nearly fifty years, and there was much about their lives they had not been able to convey in letters.

"And how is Arwen?" Legolas had asked as the sun began to set. He had been riding between the twins, and they were nearing their first campsite. It had been a poorly-kept secret that Legolas had been besotted with Arwen the moment he had laid eyes on her, back when they were both still children. Though his feelings for her had since waned, he still cared for the young Elf maiden dearly, and was always asking after her welfare.

"Arwen is well," Elladan said. "She sends her love to you and to your father. She wanted to come along as well, but our mother persuaded her to remain in Imladris with her. Something about "Time to spend with my daughter", I think."

Legolas had grinned. "Send my love to her and to your mother as well," he had said.

"We will," Elrohir had promised.

Now Legolas turned at the sound of hooves striking a quick tempo against the hard-packed dirt of the path. He turned in his saddle to see the twins riding up the line, one after the other, their faces grim, their brows drawn low over their stormy silver eyes. They fell in with him, Elrohir beside him, Elladan half a pace behind, and drew their geldings to a walk to match stride with his mare.

"Hello," Legolas said, uncertain as to what had drawn the twins to him.

Elladan smiled in return, but Elrohir did not. The younger twin simply looked at him with a somber expression. Legolas cocked his eyebrows in silent question.

"Does the forest feel...strange to you?" Elrohir asked in answer.

"Strange how?" Legolas asked.

"Like we're being watched," Elrohir said.

Legolas shrugged, feeling a strange sense of relief. Judging by the twins' faces, he had expected something far more dire. "The forest has eyes of its own," he said simply. "It always has, and it always will. You grow accustomed to it."

Elrohir's frown deepened. "I have been here before," he said, sounding half accusatory. "I have never felt something like this before."

Legolas turned to Elladan. "And what of you, Elladan?" he asked. "Do you feel these eyes?"

Reluctantly, Elladan shook his head. Legolas knew he never liked to disagree with his brother—at least, not when when another was involved. He didn't mind arguing with Elrohir himself; in fact, Legolas suspected he quite enjoyed arguing with his brother at times.

"I don't feel anything," Elladan said. Quickly he added, "Though that doesn't mean I think Elrohir is wrong."

"No," Legolas said slowly. "It doesn't." He looked ahead to Adelforod and called, "Adelforod, scout the area ahead. I don't want any surprises."

Adelforod, a pale-haired, pale-eyed Elf a few hundred years older than Legolas, turned in his saddle and bowed at the waist. "As my prince commands," he said, then kicked his mare into a canter. He disappeared into the mist-strewn trees a moment later.

"Thank you," Elrohir said with a soft smile.

"Of course," Legolas replied. He trusted Elrohir—and Elrohir's instincts—both of which had saved him and Elladan more than once. He was not about to start ignoring his friend now.

Adelforod returned as the sun was setting and the Elves were setting up camp.

"My prince," he said, drawing near. His horse was ground-tied near the other horses, lathered with sweat but calm and cropping grass contentedly. "I bear news."

Legolas drew away from the others, retreating to the shadows cast by the fire already burning a half dozen paces from the road. Adelforod followed.

"What news?" Legolas asked.

"It is the river, my prince," Adelforod said.

"What of it?" Legolas asked.

"It runs dry."

Shock ran cold through Legolas's stomach, chest, heart. "How is this possible? The mountain rivers have never run dry for so long as I have been alive. And given the rain that has fallen these past three days, one would expect it to be overflowing its banks—not run dry."

Adelforod looked troubled. "Something else, my prince," he said hesitantly.

"What is it?" Legolas asked.

"The forest. It is silent. I heard not a single bird, nor saw a single fox or deer in all my travels today."

"You think that was because of more than the storm?"

It had rained again late in the afternoon, thunder and lightning accompanying the downpour. The Elves had drawn up their hoods and bent their heads forward against the driving winds, trudging on up the path that had turned to sucking mud. Even now the ground was soft and laden with water; sleep that night would be uncomfortable.

"I do not know, my prince," Adelforod said. "All I know is what I saw."

Legolas nodded and reached out, gripping Adelforod's shoulder. "Thank you," he said. "You did well."

Adelforod bowed. "Thank you, my prince," he said. "Now, if I may be dismissed, I should go tend to my mare."

Legolas nodded again. "You are dismissed."

He returned to the fire lost in troubled thought. Sitting on a log that had been drawn near to the fire to serve as seating, he put his chin in his hands and stared into the flames.

How had the river run dry? As he had told Adelforod, they should have been worrying about the opposite—about the road being washed out, about bridges being flooded. Not pondering why the river was barren.

"You look troubled, young Legolas."

Legolas jolted, surprised by the voice. Looking up, he saw Lord Elrond standing before him. Before he could even open his mouth to try to explain himself, Lord Elrond had seated himself on the log by Legolas's side.

"What ails you, Prince?" he asked.

Legolas shook his head. "It may be nothing," he said. "But then again, it may be something."

"What might this something be?"

"Please my lord, don't trouble yourself," Legolas said after a moment in which he weighed his options—confide in the Lord of Rivendell and receive his aid and advice, or deal with the problem on his own as a competent Prince and commander would.

Lord Elrond arched an eyebrow, and Legolas almost caved. But then he strengthened his resolve and stood. "Dinner should be ready shortly," he said, turning and looking toward the fire where two Elves were bent over a pot of stew. The hunters had shot three rabbits earlier in the day, and it was their meat simmering in the sauce. "Please, do not worry yourself about a thing."

Lord Elrond's other eyebrow joined the first, but then he rose. "As you say, Prince Legolas," he said, and smiled. Then he turned and disappeared around the other side of the fire, toward where his sons were seated.

After a few moments, Legolas joined them. The river would still be there in the morning, and he could do nothing about the silence of the forest. He would post an extra guard that night, but otherwise, there was nothing to be done. He would enjoy himself tonight, he decided—would spend his evening with good friends eating good food, and would get a good night's rest.

He would deal with his problems in the morning.

end notes: So what did you think? Uptight and pretentious? Worse than it used to be? Maybe kind of decent? Let me know!