Warning: Long chapter...be warned. This chapter is edited by Grammarly.

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Two weeks had passed in a blur for Aragorn and Legolas since the trial of Bonirun and Mortardur began. New sessions were conducted every other day, each one more intense than the last, as the Court delved deeper into the conspiracy that had nearly torn the royal family apart. The servants who helped dispose of their fellow servants who had aided in the plot now stood before the Council, their faces pale with fear. They recounted how they had been coerced, bribed, or threatened into aiding the sinister scheme against Prince Legolas. Their voices trembled as they unveiled the depths of the conspiracy, the cold calculation of those who had orchestrated it clear in every detail.

As each testimony unfolded, the accused Lords stepped forward, their polished words and carefully constructed arguments designed to cast doubt on the credibility of the witnesses. They suggested misunderstandings, misinterpretations, or even fear-driven fabrications as the cause of the accusations. The atmosphere grew increasingly tense, with each question from Aragorn and the Council sharp and probing, designed to uncover any inconsistencies or gaps in the accounts. The suspense heightened with every exchange, the accused desperately trying to counter the growing body of evidence with increasingly tenuous arguments.

The trial took a profound turn with the introduction of new testimonies and evidence. Lord Elrond and the Elven healer, Dior, presented their findings on the poison that had nearly claimed Legolas'slife by forcing him into early labour, as well as the tragic effect of the poison that ended Princess Míreth GGilrean'slife. Their words, filled with the authority of long years of wisdom, carried significant weight. Still, the accused were quick to challenge them, questioning the reliability of the Elven conclusions and suggesting alternative causes for the poisoning. The Hall buzzed with murmurs as these counterarguments were presented, the Council members watching closely as the case unfolded.

The administration of the drug *Lútha îdh* (Enchanted Repose) was easily proven by the testimony of the servants. However, the administration of the poison that killed Míreth proved more challenging to establish. Elrond had been responsible for administering the nutritional medicine he prepared for the Princess, and the accused Lords' lack of knowledge of Elven herbs and remedies cast a shadow of doubt over the reliability of the accusations.

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During those two weeks of trial sessions, Aragorn clung to the last vestiges of his sanity and patience. As a just and fair King, he maintained a veneer of impartiality and authority, but beneath the surface, his emotions churned. He was not just a ruler seeking justice for his Kingdom; he was a husband and father, fighting for the truth behind the events that had nearly destroyed his family. Each session brought a new wave of tension. Aragorn had to sit at the head of the Council, his gaze steady and his voice firm, but his emotions running rampages inside of him. The cracks in their case were becoming evident. While the servants' testimonies were compelling, they were not enough to secure the conviction he sought. Mortardur was a skilled speaker whose arguments were designed to plant seeds of doubt and shift blame.

Aragorn's nights were restless. He often lay awake long after Legolas had fallen into an uneasy sleep beside him, replaying the day's events in his mind. The weight of his responsibilities was suffocating. He feared the truth might slip through their fingers despite their best efforts, leaving the real perpetrators unpunished. His concern for Legolas, whose stoic exterior masked deep and abiding pain, compounded this fear. Aragorn knew his husband was struggling, but Legolas was too proud and resilient to let it show. The trial was proving to be an exhausting ordeal that demanded every ounce of Aragorn's strength and resolve.

On the other hand, Legolas endured the trial with a quiet, almost unearthly calm that belied the storm raging within him. Each session was a battle against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him—the grief for his lost daughter, the anger at the betrayal, and the cold, gnawing fear that justice might never be served. The slow progression of the trial was torturous. Legolas sat beside Aragorn, his face a mask of composure, his hands resting lightly on his lap. But inwardly, every testimony, every cross-examination felt like a knife twisting in an already open wound. He wanted to scream, to cry out for his daughter, for the life she had been denied, but he remained silent, his expression betraying nothing of the turmoil inside him. The servants' testimonies were the hardest for Legolas to bear. Hearing them recount how they had been coerced into participating in the plot against him and his family only deepened his sense of betrayal. He knew many of them had acted out of fear, but it did little to soothe the pain of knowing that so many had been complicit in the conspiracy. Legolas often found himself standing by the window at night, staring out into the darkness, his thoughts consumed by memories of Míreth. The trial had reopened wounds that had barely begun to heal, and he struggled with the desire for vengeance, knowing that it could consume him if he let it. Yet, he also knew that his presence at the trial was crucial—not just for the outcome, but for himself. He needed to see this through, to face the men responsible for his daughter's death and ensure they were held accountable.

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At this point, Aragorn and Faramir had yet to bring Orophin before the Council and introduce his role in the conspiracy. Despite his growing unease, the only answer he received whenever he asked was, "It isn't time yet."

One day, when there wasn't any session, Legolas decided he needed answers. He walked to his husband's office, determined to get a satisfying explanation. As he approached the door, he heard low voices from inside. The door was slightly ajar, and he instinctively slowed his steps, recognizing the voices within. He hesitated but was drawn to the conversation.

"...he still refuses to cooperate," Galadriel's voice was calm but laced with concern. "I'm sorry, Elessar. Celeborn and I have tried convincing him to testify against his fellow conspirators, but Orophin is adamant in his refusal."

Aragorn sighed heavily.

"I know," he replied. "I frankly didn't expect him to cooperate. Threats of harsh punishment will not work on him, either. I thought we had solid proof against the two men and wouldn't need his testimony. But Mortardur has proven a worthy opponent, using his and Bonirun's lack of knowledge of Elven herbs to sow doubts in the Councillors' minds. Now, without Orophin's testimony against them, we may be unable to prove their involvement in an active act of treason."

Legolas stiffened at the words, his heart sinking. The delay in Orophin's testimony was not because they were waiting for the right moment but because Orophin refused to speak. The implications weighed heavily on him—without Orophin's cooperation, the trial could falter, and the true scope of the conspiracy might never be fully exposed. His heart pounded as he considered his next move. He could no longer stand by and allow this uncertainty to persist. The memory of Míreth's tiny, lifeless body flashed before his eyes, a reminder of the pain and loss that still haunted him. Orophin had a hand in that, and now his silence threatened to deny them justice. Summoning his resolve, Legolas pushed the door wider and stepped into the room. Both Galadriel and Aragorn looked up, startled by his sudden entrance.

"Legolas," Aragorn began, his voice filled with concern as he noticed his husband's tense expression.

But Legolas did not allow him to continue.

"I'm sorry for intruding, but I heard everything," he said, his voice steady but laced with emotion. "You want Orophin to confess his role in the conspiracy against Mortardur and Bonirun, but he is refusing to cooperate, and you have kept this from me."

Aragorn's face tightened, and he glanced briefly at Galadriel before meeting Legolas's gaze.

"I wanted to protect you from the stress, meleth nîn. You've been through so much already."

Legolas shook his head, stepping further into the room.

"I appreciate your concern, Elessar," he said. "But I must be involved. Míreth was my daughter. I cannot stand by while this trial hangs in the balance because of Orophin's silence."

Galadriel, ever wise, stepped forward.

"Legolas, we understand the depth of your pain, but you must tread carefully. Orophin's refusal to speak is rooted in his own torment and bitterness. Facing him may not yield the result you desire."

Legolas met her gaze, his blue eyes burning with determination.

"I know. But I also know that Orophin was involved in Míreth's death. I think...I think I need to confront him myself. I know how to make him talk."

Aragorn frowned, his protective instincts flaring.

"Are you sure that's wise? I don't want you to be hurt further."

Legolas's expression softened as he looked at Aragorn.

"I don't know if it's wise, Aragorn, but I must try. If there's any chance that I can reach him, I have to take it. For Míreth's sake."

There was a moment of silence as Aragorn and Galadriel exchanged a glance. Finally, Aragorn sighed, knowing there was no dissuading Legolas when he had made up his mind.

"Very well," he said, his voice gentle. "But you won't go alone. I'll be nearby, just in case."

"No," Legolas said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I need to confront him alone."

Aragorn's worry deepened.

"Legolas, what are you planning to do?"

Legolas's gaze was distant, his blue eyes clouded with a mixture of pain and resolve.

"What I should have done a long time ago," he replied, his voice soft but determined.

Before Aragorn could respond, Legolas turned and left the room, leaving an air of finality lingering in the silence. As he walked through the corridors, Legolas's mind was set. His path was difficult, but he felt he could no longer avoid it. This confrontation was not just about the trial—it was about facing the ghosts of his past and the unresolved pain that had haunted him since Míreth's death. He had to know the truth, and he had to confront Orophin, no matter the cost.

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Legolas stood alone in the quiet of his chambers, his thoughts a tangled web of grief and resolve. It had been a little less than a year since Míreth's death, and the wound was still raw, a constant ache in his heart. The loss of Haldir, too, felt as fresh as the day it had happened, the pain of his absence a shadow that lingered over every moment. As the trial unfolded and Orophin's refusal to cooperate became clear, Legolas found himself standing at a crossroads. He knew that revealing the truth about Míreth's parentage could shatter the last remnants of Orophin's defiance. Still, it would also mean exposing his deepest, most private pain, regardless of the brave face he had pulled in front of Aragorn and Galadriel. The thought of speaking that truth aloud, of sharing the secret that had been so carefully guarded, filled him with dread. But as much as it hurt, Legolas knew he couldn't allow his own pain to stand in the way of justice. With a heavy heart, he made his decision. He would do it—for Míreth, Haldir, and the justice their memories deserved. The truth might break him, but it was a burden he was willing to bear if it meant righting the wrongs that had been done.

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Legolas stood outside the cell, his heart pounding. The decision to come here was not easy, but it was necessary. He needed to confront Orophin with the truth despite the pain it would cause him.

"Your Highness, are you alright?" Faramir, who was accompanying him, asked, his voice tinged with concern.

The Steward had been surprised when Legolas requested a meeting with Orophin, the very Elf who had kidnapped him. The firm resolve in Legolas's eyes had left no room for objection. His surprise tenfolded when the King backed up this request. Yet now, standing before the cell, it seemed that Legolas's resolve might be wavering.

"I'm fine," Legolas replied quietly. "Open the door."

"Would you like me to stay with you, Your Highness?" Faramir asked, hesitating.

"No, I'll be fine."

"But—"

"Faramir, I'm fine," Legolas interrupted, his tone firm. "Open the door."

Orophin looked up as Legolas entered, his expression a mix of wariness and defiance. The once-proud Elf was a shadow of his former self, the weight of his actions evident in the lines of his face and the darkness in his eyes. He wasn't anything like the Marchwarden Legolas remembered him to be.

'Your Highness,' Orophin greeted him, his voice rough and strained. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, perhaps, but it was buried deep beneath layers of anger and resentment. 'To what do I owe this visit? Are you here to ask me to be a witness against that human Lord?'

'No,' Legolas said, his voice calm but strained. 'I came to tell you something that you deserve to know. Something that might help you understand the full weight of what you've done.'

Orophin narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

'What could you possibly say that I don't already know? I know what I did and why I did it.'

Legolas stepped closer, his heart aching with every word.

'Míreth, my daughter...you, like everyone else, think she was my and Aragorn's child. But that isn't true. She was my and Haldir's daughter.'

Orophin's eyes widened, and his face blanched.

'You lie,' he whispered, his voice trembling before it hardened. 'You lie!' he yelled, his anger flaring.

The cell door opened, and two guards rushed in, followed by Faramir.

"Your Highness!" they shouted.

"I'm fine!" Legolas said calmly. "Leave us!"

"But Your Highness—"

"I said leave us! And do not enter, no matter what you hear!"

The guards exchanged hesitant glances before turning to Faramir, who sighed in defeat, nodded, and led them out of the cell.

Legolas waited until the door closed behind them before he turned back to Orophin. 'I have no reason to lie to you,' he said, his voice cold. 'Míreth was Haldir's daughter.'

'You think you can manipulate me with lies?' Orophin spat, his anger barely masking his fear. 'I know what you're trying to do. You want me to confess, to betray those I stood with. But I won't fall for your tricks.'

Legolas's eyes filled with sorrow, but he remained resolute.

'I'm not lying, Orophin. Míreth was Haldir's daughter. She was born out of the love we shared, a love that you, more than anyone, should have understood.'

Orophin shook his head violently, the chains around his wrists clattering as he moved.

'No. No! This is just another one of your lies. You're trying to make me feel guilty, to break me. But I won't believe you. You and Haldir weren't bonded. There was no way the fertility spell could have been cast on you without a formal bond!'

'I don't need a fertility spell to bear children,' Legolas said, his voice quiet but firm. 'As a Woodland Elf, I can bear children without magic. Míreth was conceived the night before the battle of Helm's Deep,' unshed tears began to gather in Legolas's eyes as he spoke. 'I didn't know I was with child until after the war. But because my people's ability to bear children was a secret, I was forced into marrying Aragorn, who claimed the child as his own to protect her. Lord Elrond, Lord Celeborn, Lord Glorfindel, and my father knew of this and were the ones who arranged everything. You can ask them if you don't believe me.' Legolas paused and took a deep breath, struggling to maintain control over the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. 'I wish I didn't have to say these words. But it's the truth. Míreth was Haldir's child. And you—' His voice faltered, the pain almost too much to bear. 'You killed her. You took away the last piece of him that I had left.'

Orophin's breath caught in his throat, the full impact of Legolas's words beginning to sink in. But still, he fought against it, clinging to his anger as a lifeline. His mind was refusing to believe Legolas's words.

'No,' he whispered, shaking his head. 'You're just trying to make me suffer. You want me to feel the same pain you do. But it's not true. It can't be.'

Legolas's voice softened, though the pain in it was unmistakable.

'As I said, I have no reason to lie to you, Orophin. What would I gain from this? Míreth is gone; nothing I say or do can bring her back. As for Lord Mortardur, killing Míreth is the least of his problems. He is being tried for plotting to undermine the King, not only for killing Míreth. You, on the other hand, deserve to know the truth. You deserve to understand the full extent of what you've done.'

Orophin stumbled back, collapsing against the wall of his cell. His hands trembled, his mind racing as he tried to process the revelation.

'If...if she was Haldir's daughter...' His voice was barely audible, filled with disbelief. 'Why didn't you tell me or Rûmil? Instead of marrying that human, you could've married one of us and let us raise Haldir's daughter!'

Legolas's gaze turned icy as he stared at the broken Elf before him.

'You two are the last people on this Earth I would entrust Haldir's daughter with,' he said coldly. 'Or have you forgotten that you two tried to force yourselves on me while I was still with your brother? If you have forgotten, Orophin, I haven't.'

Orophin's face crumpled, the reality of his actions crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He had been driven by anger, a twisted sense of loyalty and betrayal, but now...now he saw the full horror of what he had done.

'I...I didn't know,' he choked out, his voice breaking. 'I didn't know. I never would have...I never would have...'

'But you did,' Legolas said, his voice devoid of emotion. 'You killed her. But that doesn't mean you can't still make things right. Haldir wouldn't want you to destroy yourself over this. He would want you to find a way to honour her memory, to do what's right by aiding us in bringing those who wished her dead to justice. If you hadn't helped him, Lord Mortardur would've found another way to kill Míreth. You can help us bring him to justice and make them pay for their crimes.'

Orophin's tears flowed freely now, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

'I...I will help,' he whispered, his voice filled with a sorrow so deep it was almost unbearable. 'I'll do whatever I can...for them.'

Legolas nodded, though the pain in his heart was far from eased. He turned to leave the cell, but before he did, he whispered a final, anguished prayer to the memory of the daughter and the love he had lost. As the cell door closed behind him, Legolas knew that while the truth had finally been spoken, the wounds it had reopened would take far longer to heal.

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Elrond watched silently as Aragorn sat behind his desk, sifting through the stacks of papers before him. Despite the calm and focused demeanour Aragorn tried to project, the tension in the room was evident. Elrond could see the subtle signs of strain in Aragorn's posture—the tightness in his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw, and the way his fingers gripped the quill with just a bit more force than necessary. Something weighed heavily on the King's mind, and it was clear that Aragorn was far from the even-tempered man he usually was.

Galadriel had approached Elrond earlier, her serene voice tinged with concern as she recounted the events between Aragorn and Legolas. She sensed Aragorn's anger, a rare emotion for him, and feared that if left unchecked, it might lead him to a decision he would regret later. Elrond had agreed to speak with Aragorn, not just out of duty but out of a deep, paternal concern for the man he had raised. When Elrond entered the office, he found Aragorn seemingly engrossed in his work. The papers on the desk were a mixture of reports, decrees, and correspondences—important matters of state, no doubt. But Elrond knew Aragorn well enough to recognize that his attention was only partially on the task at hand. The weight of the recent trial, the responsibilities of leadership, and the personal turmoil with Legolas were clearly taking their toll. Respecting Aragorn's space, Elrond quietly sat, waiting for the right moment to speak. He knew that Aragorn would finish his current task soon, but the real reason for his visit wouldn't remain hidden for long.

After a few more minutes, Aragorn set his quill down with a sigh, rubbing his temples as if to ease the tension building in his head. He looked up and smiled flatly.

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting so long, Adar," he said. "How can I help you?"

"I've been told about what happened between you and Legolas," Elrond said, getting straight to the point. "Lady Galadriel mentioned that you've been upset because Legolas wanted to confront Orophin."

"I am trying to protect him," Aragorn replied, his agitation evident. "Spare him unnecessary pain."

Elrond sighed, gazing at his son with a sympathetic expression.

"Aragorn," he said quietly, "You carry a heavy burden, not just as a King but as a husband and a man who loves deeply. It is natural to want to protect those you care about, but sometimes, how we protect them can cause more harm than we intend. Remember that Legolas can decide for himself and defend himself from pain. Trying to shelter him from every possible harm or danger will not always have a positive outcome. Legolas is strong—stronger than you sometimes give him credit for. Why are you treating him like an invalid?"

"I'm not treating him like an invalid," Aragorn protested. "I'm just—"

The words died in the man's throat as he noticed the sharp look in Elrond's eyes. He hated it when his father gave him that knowing look that plainly said, "You can't fool me." He could feel Elrond's gaze piercing him until it seemed as if his very soul was laid bare.

Seeing the helpless look in his son's eyes, Elrond sighed before patting the space beside him, gesturing for the man to join him. Aragorn reluctantly stood and sat beside his father.

"All your life," Elrond began. "You've been shouldering the great expectations that others placed upon you. You carried out every obligation and task set before you with unprecedented courage and efficiency. You know your duties well and carry them without complaining or whiling away the hours. However, I fear you sometimes forget that you're a human too, Estel."

"What do you mean, Adar?" Aragorn asked.

"Estel, are you sure this focus on Legolas' well-being and safety isn't a way for you to run from something else?" Elrond asked carefully.

"Run from something else?" Aragorn repeated his father's question, not entirely understanding what his father meant. "What do you mean?"

Elrond took a deep breath.

"I've been thinking," he said, looking into the space before him. "I haven't seen you adequately mourn the death of Míreth or give yourself time to grasp everything happening around you entirely. The shock of the betrayal of the Lords in your Court must also have had its toll on you, Lady Gwîneth's death, your husband's kidnapping, and your injuries at Orophin's hands, not to mention the ongoing trial. All of this must have its weight upon your shoulders, yet you haven't spoken about this to anyone, silently carrying all these burdens upon your shoulders."

Aragorn's expression faltered as Elrond's words cut through the walls he had carefully constructed around his emotions. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to escape him, leaving only the raw, unfiltered truth reflected in his eyes as Elrond continued, his voice gentle but firm.

"You are not invincible, Estel. You cannot simply push aside your pain and sorrow as if they are nothing. So you unconsciously try to channel them into something you can control—like protecting Legolas. But in doing so, you're not allowing yourself to grieve, to process the immense losses and the trials you've endured. You're bottling it all up, and it's affecting not only you but those around you."

Aragorn looked down, his hands clenching and unclenching as he absorbed Elrond's words. He had always been strong, always the one others relied on. To admit that he was struggling, that the weight of everything was bearing down on him, felt like a betrayal of that image.

"But how do I do that? I've spent so long trying to be the leader everyone expects me to be: the protector, the one who leads, the one who holds everything together. How do I let go of that?"

Elrond's smile was sad but filled with a deep understanding.

"You do not have to let go of who you are, Aragorn. But you must allow yourself to be human. Allow yourself to feel, to lean on those who care for you. It is not a sign of weakness to share your burdens—it is a sign of trust."

Aragorn remained silent for a moment, absorbing Elrond's words. He knew they were true, but years of carrying the weight of others' expectations and striving to live up to his ancestors' legacy had made it difficult for him to accept help, even from those closest to him.

"I don't know how to let it out, Adar," he finally said, his voice strained. He met Elrond's gaze, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within. "If I let myself feel all of it... I'm afraid I won't be able to stop. There's so much—too much."

Elrond placed a reassuring hand on Aragorn's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"You don't have to carry it alone, Estel. You have those who love you and who want to help you bear this burden. Legolas, your friends, your family—we are all here for you. But you must first allow yourself to be vulnerable, to share that pain. Only then can you truly begin to heal."

Aragorn remained silent, reflecting on his father's words for a while before he finally spoke, his voice quieter and more reflective.

"I want to be there for Legolas, but I feel I'm failing him. And in trying to protect him, I've pushed him away."

"You have not failed him, Aragorn," Elrond said as he reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Aragorn's arm. "You have done what you thought was best out of love. But now, you must trust him to face the truth, just as you must trust yourself to share your burdens with those beside you. You've always relied on his strength in the past. Rely on him. Show him that you trust him with your feelings, too."

Aragorn looked down at Elrond's hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of the Elf-Lord's touch, the strength and wisdom that had guided him for so many years. He nodded slowly, the tension in his body beginning to ease as he let Elrond's words sink in. He had been so focused on protecting Legolas and doing his duty as King that he had forgotten to care for his own well-being. The realization was both humbling and frightening.

"I'll try," he whispered, looking up at his father with a mixture of resolve and uncertainty. "I'll try to let myself grieve...and to lean on those who care for me."

Elrond smiled softly, his eyes filled with pride and affection.

"That's all anyone can ask of you, Estel. Remember, you don't have to be strong all the time. Showing weakness could be a show of strength sometimes."

Aragorn took a deep breath, feeling a small but significant shift within him. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to acknowledge the pain he had been holding at bay. And in that moment, he knew he was not alone—he didn't have to face it all by himself.

"Thank you," Aragorn said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

Elrond pulled his son into a comforting embrace, holding him close as Aragorn finally let go of the tight control he had been clinging to. It was the first step toward healing, a step Aragorn knew he needed to take—not just for himself, but for Legolas, his family, and the future they were all striving to build together.

Suddenly, Aragorn's body tensed as he felt waves of raw sadness surge through his bond with Legolas. The intensity of the emotion caught him off guard, nearly knocking his breath out. It wasn't just a fleeting sorrow—it was deep, consuming, and filled with pain that tore at his heart.

Elrond, still holding him, immediately sensed the change in Aragorn's demeanour. He pulled back slightly, concerned, etching his features.

"Estel, what is it?" he asked, his voice gentle but urgent.

Aragorn didn't respond immediately, focusing entirely on his bond with Legolas. He could feel his husband's anguish as if it were his own, a sorrow so profound that it threatened to overwhelm him. Legolas was somewhere nearby, but he was hurting deeply.

"Legolas," Aragorn finally whispered, his voice strained. "He's... he's in pain. Something's happened."

Elrond's eyes widened slightly, understanding the significance of the bond Aragorn and Legolas shared.

"Go to him, Estel," he urged, releasing his hold on his son. "He needs you."

Aragorn didn't need to be told twice. He rose quickly, his heart pounding as he rushed out of the office, following the connection that would lead him to his husband. Their bond pulsed with every step, guiding Aragorn through the Palace's corridors.

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As the cell door closed behind him, Legolas felt the weight of what had just transpired pressing down on him, heavier than ever before. The corridors of the dungeon seemed to close in around him, the air thick with the lingering echoes of Orophin's grief-stricken sobs. He walked with measured steps, his face a mask of stoic calm, but inside, a storm raged, tearing at the walls he had so carefully constructed around his heart. He needed to be alone.

Legolas didn't return to his chambers or seek the comfort of Aragorn's arms. Instead, he slipped quietly out of the main halls and into the gardens, moving swiftly until he reached his private Elven garden. The moment he was sure he was alone, the composure he had fought so hard to maintain shattered. He fell to his knees on the soft grass, his body trembling as the sobs he had held back for so long finally broke free. The tears came in a torrent, hot and bitter, spilling down his cheeks as he buried his face in his hands.

He wept for Míreth, for the daughter he had lost because of a senseless act of cruelty. He wept for Haldir, for the love they had shared and the dreams they had dared to hope for. He wept for the love growing in his heart for Aragorn but could not acknowledge it out of his fear of losing it. The pain was almost unbearable, the grief so deep that it felt like it would swallow him whole. Legolas cried out softly into the night, his voice choked with anguish.

The trees around him, ancient and wise, seemed to whisper their condolences, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze, but nothing could ease the ache in his heart. He had kept so much hidden and carried so much pain alone, but here, in this garden, there was no need for pretence. The strong, unyielding warrior could be vulnerable and mourn the losses that had cut him to the core.

Minutes passed, or perhaps hours—time had little meaning in the depths of his sorrow. He drew in a shaky breath, the cool night air filling his lungs. The grief would never truly leave him—it was a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his being. Suddenly, two warm, strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a sturdy, supportive chest. No words were said, but Legolas could feel his husband's free, unconditional support.

"I confronted Orophin..." he found himself saying between his sobs after a while. "I told him about Míreth...and it...it broke me, Estel. It broke me...I hated doing it! I hated seeing Orophin breaking over the fact that he had killed his niece. And I hated myself for feeling satisfied to see that broken look in his eyes!"

Aragorn held Legolas tightly, his heart breaking as he felt the waves of raw emotion crashing through their bond. He knew confronting Orophin would be difficult for Legolas, but hearing the anguish in his husband's voice, the pain of reliving Míreth's loss, and the guilt he felt for his own reactions brought a new level of sorrow to Aragorn's heart. He wished he could take that pain away, bear it himself, but he knew that all he could do was be there to offer his unwavering support.

"You did what you had to, meleth nîn," he whispered, his voice filled with love and reassurance. "You faced the truth, as painful as it was. No one could blame you for your feelings—no one. You are grieving, and that grief is complicated. But it does not make you a lesser person. It does not make you unworthy or uncompassionate."

Legolas clung to Aragorn, his sobs gradually subsiding, though the ache in his chest remained. The warmth of Aragorn's embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, was a small comfort, a reminder that he was not alone in this. But even as Aragorn's words sought to soothe him, Legolas could not shake the heaviness that had settled deep within his soul.

"I never wanted to be the cause of more pain," Legolas murmured. "I wanted justice, but instead, I feel like I've only added to the suffering. I wanted to protect Míreth's memory, to honour Haldir, but now I wonder if I've just tarnished them by making Orophin suffer."

Aragorn leaned back slightly, just enough to look into Legolas's eyes.

"You honoured them by speaking the truth, Legolas. You honoured them by confronting the darkness that took them from you, even if it hurt you to do so. Orophin's suffering is not your doing—it is the consequence of his own actions. You didn't ask for this pain or wish it upon anyone. All you did was reveal the truth."

Legolas's gaze wavered, and he shook his head slowly.

"But I did feel satisfaction when I saw him break, Estel, as if I wanted him to feel the weight of what he had done, to feel the depth of the loss he caused. And now...I hate myself for feeling that way. I'm afraid to be consumed by this anger."

Aragorn cupped Legolas's face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing away the lingering tears.

"You are not consumed by anger, Legolas. You are grieving. And in grief, it is natural to feel anger, even to wish for some form of retribution. It doesn't make you any less of the person I love, any less of the compassionate, noble soul you are. It makes you no less than any other who has faced such loss."

Legolas closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Aragorn's words wash over him. He leaned into the touch, finding solace in the familiar presence of the man who had stood by his side through every trial. The storm within him had not passed, but it had lessened, the weight on his heart slightly eased by Aragorn's understanding.

"I don't know how to move forward from this," Legolas admitted quietly. "How do I live with this pain? How do I find peace when it feels like everything inside me is broken?"

Aragorn pressed a gentle kiss to Legolas's forehead, his voice soft but firm.

"We will find a way together—one step at a time. You don't have to face this alone, meleth nîn. We will rebuild, we will heal. And even though it will take time, I promise you, we will find peace again."

Legolas nodded slowly, taking comfort in Aragorn's words, though the path ahead still seemed uncertain. He knew that this was not something that would be easily overcome, that the pain would linger, perhaps forever. But in Aragorn's arms, he felt a flicker of hope—a small, fragile thing, but enough to keep him going and from falling into despair.

As they sat together in the quiet garden, the night's cool breeze gently rustling the leaves around them, Legolas allowed himself to lean into Aragorn's strength, to let his husband bear some of the weight he had carried alone for so long. The journey ahead would be long and complex, but with Aragorn by his side, he knew he could face whatever came next.

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Two days later, a new session of the trial began. Heavy tension reigned over the place as Faramir announced the introduction of a new conspirator into the trial.

Legolas clutched the armrest, feeling his body tense as he, Aragorn, and the Councillors waited for the session to begin. He took several breaths, trying to calm the agitation bubbling inside him. Since his confrontation with Orophin, he had tried not to think about this moment, but now it had arrived, and Legolas found himself on the verge of breaking down. Suddenly, a warm, calloused hand was placed over his. Looking up, he met the warm eyes of Aragorn, who smiled encouragingly at him. He smiled back, feeling his soul calming down. Legolas felt the warmth of Aragorn's hand seep through his skin, anchoring him to the present. Despite the chaos swirling in his mind, that simple touch reminded him of their strength—the strength he desperately needed.

Lord Elrond and the healer Dior were also present at today's session to offer their counsel if needed.

As the accused were brought into the Hall, everyone straightened in their seats, and Faramir announced the start of the session.

"My Lords of the Council," the Steward said. "A new conspirator will be introduced to you." He signalled for the guards at the door, who opened it.

Two guards entered, holding between them a tall person with sharp features, long silver hair, and proud, pointed ears sticking out between the silver tassels. The figure's skin was tan and lacked the inner glow that radiated from the Elves. The chains around his wrists and ankles rattled with every step, echoing ominously in the Hall as the guards led him to join the accused. Orophin's sharp features were set in a mask of cold indifference, and his silver hair, though tousled from captivity, still gleamed with an unsettling lustre. Even in chains, there was an arrogance in the way he carried himself, a defiance that spoke of his pride and disdain for the race he was among.

"State your name, realm, and status," Faramir said as the new conspirator stood.

"My name is Orophin. I'm an Elf from Lothlórien, and I was a Marchwarden," Orophin said. "I'm also known as Shadow for Lord Mortardur." He side-glanced at the Lord, who refused to look at him.

"What brought you to Gondor?" Faramir asked.

"I came here with one purpose," Orophin replied. "to kidnap Prince Legolas."

"Why?" Faramir asked.

"Prince Legolas is an Elven Prince," the Elf replied. "He deserves more than binding his life to a mortal. I wanted to kidnap him and have him for myself."

Mutters and whispers rippled through the Council at the Elf's bold and audacious confession. Thinking that the Elven Prince didn't deserve to be bound to a mortal was something they could swallow, but the ease with which the Elf confessed his lust for the Prince shocked them to no end. The Councilors shifted uncomfortably in their seats, some exchanging uneasy glances while others whispered heatedly to their neighbours, struggling to process the Elf's audacity.

"What happened when you arrived in Gondor?" Faramir asked.

"I waited for a while," Orophin said. "Silently observing the Prince and those around him to find an opportunity to snatch him away. However, too many people were around him for me to carry out my plan. So, I decided to find an ally to help me. Lord Mortardur seemed a suitable option since he disliked the presence of the Prince in Minas Tirith. So, I approached him and offered my services."

"Can you point at him in this Hall?" Faramir asked.

Orophin raised one hand as far as the chains allowed him and pointed at Mortardur.

All eyes turned to Mortardur, who sat rigidly on his seat, his eyes hooded by his bangs. He hadn't expected Shadow to be caught and brought to the trial or that the Elf would cooperate and confess to their collaboration. Sewing seeds of doubt over a few servants was one thing that could be easily done, but being confronted with a significant figure in the conspiracy, such as Shadow, was something he hadn't anticipated. Mortardur clenched his fists beneath the table, his mind racing for a way to distance himself from the unravelling conspiracy. His heart pounded with the fear that each word from Orophin's lips was a nail in the coffin of his future and life.

"What about Lord Bonirun? Do you know him?" Faramir's voice cut through the heavy silence that shrouded the Hall for a while.

Orophin shook his head.

"No," he replied. "But Mortardur mentioned once that he had Lords who would help us get rid of the Prince Consort."

"What was Lord Mortardur's reply to your offer of collaboration?" Faramir asked.

"He accepted," Orophin replied. "And offered me vital information about the Prince's routine and eating habits."

"Why did you need to know about the Prince's eating habits?"

"To find a way to kill the child he carried," Orophin's cold tone sent shivers down the spines of all present. "I couldn't allow the fruit of this marriage to live, so I gave the Lord an Elven midwife's brew to induce labour."

"What is it called?"

"*Lútha îdh*," Orophin replied. "Lord Elrond and the Elven healer are familiar with it, I'm sure."

Another murmuring wave filled the Hall as Orophin's words hung in the air. The gravity of his actions slowly dawned on the Council, and the murmurs grew louder as each confession sank in.

"What happened after the birth of Princess Míreth?" Faramir asked.

"After the child was born, I waited for her to die due to the large doses of the drug in her blood, but Lord Elrond was preparing a nutritional potion to help her body counter it. So, I climbed to his chambers regularly and poisoned the potion he was preparing."

"How did you know what potion he prepared for the Princess?"

Orophin glared at Faramir, feeling insulted at the mere question, but Faramir wasn't fazed.

"I'm a high-ranking Marchwarden," he spat. "It's part of my training to know the herbs and potions that affect Elves and Men alike!"

"Was Lord Mortardur aware of this?"

"Of course, he was the one who told me where Lord Elrond's chambers were."

A deafening silence filled the Hall as Orophin's words sunk into their minds and souls. Hearing all these confessions and their implications for the Court and the Kingdom was shocking, and Faramir himself had a hard time swallowing what had been said.

"D-do—you have proof of what you're saying?" he forced himself to speak.

"The bag that had been confiscated from me when I was captured contained vials of the two poisons."

Faramir told one of the guards to bring the bag forward. Bringing the bag, Elrond and Dior were asked to identify the two poisons and show them to the Lords of Council.

"How about Lord Ravonor, King Thranduil's messenger?" he asked. "Did you have a hand in his murder?"

"Yes, I killed him," Orophin said.

"Why?"

Orophin shrugged.

"It appeared to be a good idea then," the Elf replied indifferently. "I thought killing him would create a rift between Gondor and Mirkwood."

"Did Lord Mortardur know about this?" Faramir asked.

"No," Orophin replied. "I did it by myself."

"What about Prince Legolas's kidnapping?" Faramir asked. "Did Lord Mortardur have any hand in it?"

"Yes, through his wife, he planted the idea of a trip outside the city, then he offered me the aid of his men and shelter in his Estate in Pelargir," Orophin replied. "In the same bag, you can find the Passage Slip he gave me and the correspondence he sent me, assuring me that his men were on the way to meet me near Emyn Arnen. But they didn't come, so I had to act. I planned to create a diversion to isolate Prince Legolas from his escort so I could kidnap him. Lord Mortardur's men were to be that diversion. But I had to resort to other tactics since they failed to meet me at the appointed place on time."

"What other tactics?" Faramir asked.

"I allied myself with some Orcs roaming that area."

Loud gasps filled the Hall at the answer, and Faramir felt a cold shiver running down his spine. He remembered the conversation between Elrohir and Mallorn when they first discovered Legolas's weapons. Elrohir's assumption was correct. The Orc attack was staged to distract them.

Elrond's features hardened upon hearing Orophin admit that he had allied himself with the Orcs to kidnap Legolas. He was fully aware of such news's impact on Celeborn and Galadriel.

"How did you do that?" Faramir asked.

"It was easy to tempt those mindless beasts with food to do whatever I wanted," the Elf replied with a sickening smirk. "The four Hobbits and the human child got their mouths running. I only needed them to distract the party so I could kidnap Legolas. I didn't care if they succeeded in getting their promised meal or had been slain by the soldiers accompanying the party."

Everyone present felt their stomachs churn, not only at the mere idea but at how easy and calm the Elf's tone was while he said it.

"Then what happened?" Faramir asked.

Apparent disdain appeared on Orophin's face.

"I managed to kidnap Legolas and was heading to Pelargir when King Elessar and his men followed me and detained me."

The Hall remained deathly silent as Orophin's words echoed in the air. The weight of his confessions hung heavily over everyone present, suffocating in its intensity. Each word, each revelation, was like a dagger plunged deeper into the heart of the room, leaving behind a trail of cold dread.

Legolas felt his heart pounding in his chest; each beat was a painful reminder of the horror and betrayal that had unfolded before him. His breath came in short, shallow bursts as he struggled to keep his composure. Every fibre of his being screamed to react, to do something, but he knew he needed to remain still, composed, and focused. Aragorn's hand still rested over his, a steady anchor in the storm raging within him, but even that comfort could only do so much against the tidal wave of emotions crashing against him.

Aragorn himself was a picture of tightly controlled fury. Though firm and reassuring on Legolas's hand, his hand was tense, the knuckles white as he fought to maintain his composure. The calm facade he presented to the Council belied the roiling anger and disgust churning within him. Orophin's confessions, delivered with such cold detachment, tore at his resolve to remain impartial. As each revelation unfolded, he felt his control slip, the rage threatening to overwhelm him.

Faramir, standing before the Council, was equally shaken. He had steeled himself for the trial and prepared to face the worst, but even he found it difficult to process the depth of Orophin's betrayal. The cold indifference in the Elf's voice as he recounted his actions sent chills down his spine. Yet, he had to push through, ask the necessary questions, and uncover the full extent of the conspiracy. It was his duty, no matter how distasteful or painful it was. Faramir took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"Lord Mortardur, what is your defence to what Orophin said?" he asked.

Mortardur rose to his feet, but his usual confidence was absent. He glanced around the room, avoiding direct contact with any of the Council members. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained as though grasping for the right words.

"My Lords of the Council," he began, his tone defensive, "I stand accused of serious crimes, but I must emphasize—I cannot be held responsible for the actions of others, much less those of an Elf like Shadow—I mean, Orophin." He paused, the words catching in his throat. "Yes, I...I did correspond with him, and...and yes, I provided him with some information. But these were never meant to be used in the manner he claims. His actions—his despicable actions—were entirely his own." Mortardur's voice wavered as he tried to shift the focus away from himself. "Orophin...Orophin is a rogue with his own twisted motives. He...he manipulated the situation to serve his own ends, and now he seeks to drag me down with him. But I ask you, how...how can I be held accountable for the choices of a rogue Elf? He was already lost to his dark desires before he ever stepped foot in Gondor?" He gestured vaguely toward Orophin, refusing to look at him directly. "This...this whole situation, it's been twisted by Orophin's lies and schemes. I only...I only sought to protect Gondor, to safeguard our Kingdom from potential threats. But I...I am not responsible for what he did. I...I did not order him to poison the child or to ally with Orcs. Those...those were his decisions, made without my knowledge or consent." Mortardur's gaze flicked nervously across the room as he continued, his words becoming more disjointed. "I...I admit that I...I may have been too trusting, too willing to believe that Orophin could be controlled. But...but that does not make me complicit in his crimes. I was...I was trying to prevent a greater disaster, not...not cause one." He swallowed hard, his voice growing quieter but still defensive. "Please, understand...I...I never intended for things to go this far. I was...I was only trying to manage a difficult situation, to keep it from spiralling out of control. But Orophin—he...he acted on his own, driven by his own madness. I...I cannot be blamed for the actions of a rogue Elf, for deeds that were never mine to command." Mortardur finally lowered his gaze, his posture slumping slightly as he finished. "I...I am not the monster here. Orophin acted alone in his cruelty. I...I was merely caught in his web, trying to do what I thought was best for Gondor. Please...do not condemn me for the actions of another."

"Lord Bonirun!" Aragorn's stern roar echoed through the Hall, causing everyone to flinch. His voice was sharp, leaving no room for evasion. "What is the official procedure for issuing a Passage slip to a foreign individual?"

Bonirun, visibly sweating, scrambled to his feet, his voice trembling.

"A-a formal pe-petition must be made to the Steward, Your Majesty. Once approved, I-I should receive a written authorization sealed with the official Seal of Gondor and the petition."

Aragorn's gaze was unyielding as he pressed further.

"Did you receive such a letter when you issued the slip for Lord Mortardur?"

Bonirun's face grew pale as he stammered, his sweat dripping profusely.

"N-no, Your Majesty," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I did-didn't receive any authorization. Lord Mortardur asked me to do it as...as a favour."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed as he turned his attention to Mortardur.

"What do you say to that, Lord Mortardur?" he asked, his tone cold and cutting. "You broke the trust bestowed upon you for the sake of someone you claim to have no relation with or even know his true name? Is this how you demonstrate your loyalty to Gondor?"

Mortardur's face flushed, his composure slipping further under Aragorn's relentless questioning. He shifted uncomfortably, his voice faltering as he tried to find a credible explanation.

"Your Majesty, I...I believed granting the passage slip was a minor issue, a formality that would not raise suspicions or cause harm. Shadow—I mean, Orophin—presented himself as someone who could be of use to Gondor and shared a common interest in...in ensuring stability." He paused, realizing the weakness of his justification, but pressed on nonetheless. "I...I admit, I did not know his true name then, but...but I thought it prudent to allow him some movement, gather more information, and keep him close where he could be watched. It...it was a calculated risk, one I thought would serve Gondor's interests in the long run." Mortardur's voice dropped as he added, "I never intended to put the Kingdom at risk. I...I misjudged the situation, but I acted out of a desire to protect, not to betray."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed, feeling his anger bubbling inside of him as he delivered the final blow.

"A calculated risk, you say? Granting free passage to a person whose true name you didn't even know—an act you call 'protecting Gondor'? No, Lord Mortardur. What you did was gamble with the safety of this Kingdom for your own misguided ambitions...an abuse of power and trust. And now, the blood of innocents is on your hands."

Mortardur's face drained of colour as Aragorn's words struck him like a blow. The full weight of his actions, laid bare before the entire Council, left him speechless. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. The gravity of Aragorn's accusation hung heavily in the air, and the Council members shifted uncomfortably, their earlier uncertainty replaced with apparent disdain.

Aragorn did not relent, his voice steady and unforgiving.

"You speak of loyalty and necessity, but your actions have shown nothing but deceit and cowardice. You chose to side with a rogue, to align yourself with someone whose intentions you knew nothing of, and for what? To protect Gondor? Or to serve your own ambitions at the expense of the Kingdom's safety?"

The room was silent, except for Aragorn's words' distant echo. Mortardur, once so sure of his ability to navigate the political intricacies of the Court, now stood exposed and vulnerable. The Council's eyes were upon him, no longer seeing a respected Lord but a man who had betrayed their trust.

"You claim to have acted for the good of Gondor," Aragorn continued. "Yet it was your actions that endangered it most. You provided passage to a person who conspired to murder a child and who sought to sow discord between Gondor and our allies. Your excuses hold no weight here. The truth is plain for all to see: you have betrayed this Kingdom and will answer for it."

With that, Aragorn became silent, leaving the once-proud Lord to face the full judgment of the Council, knowing that there was no defence left that could save him from his fate.

The Hall of Justice fell into a tense silence as all eyes turned to Mortardur, who had been trying to distance himself from the dark web of conspiracy. His attempts at evasion had grown increasingly desperate, but now, with the weight of Orophin's words pressing down upon him, the walls he had constructed around his guilt began to crumble. Unable to withstand the pressure any longer, Mortardur spoke, his shoulders sagging under the burden of the truth he could no longer deny.

"My Lords of the Council," he began, his voice faltering, "I cannot refute what has been said here today. The actions Orophin has confessed to were done with my knowledge and, in some cases, at my behest. I... I confess to my role in this terrible conspiracy. I acted out of misguided ambition, believing that I was protecting Gondor. But in truth, I have betrayed everything I was sworn to protect."

The words hung heavily in the air, a confession that confirmed the worst fears of those present. Aragorn's expression remained stern, but a flicker of something passed through his eyes—disappointment, perhaps, or sorrow for the Kingdom that had been wounded by one of its own. Mortardur's confession sealed his fate, leaving no room for doubt or further evasion. The Council now had all the evidence it needed to pass judgment.

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As the session was adjourned, Legolas remained seated, his mind numb from everything that had transpired. The storm within him had not abated, but now it was joined by a profound, aching exhaustion. He needed time to process, grieve, and gather the pieces of himself that had been shattered by the events of the past weeks.

Aragorn was at his side in an instant. His presence grounded Legolas, giving him something to hold on to in the swirling chaos of his thoughts. The warmth of Aragorn's hand on his shoulder, the gentle pressure of his fingers, was a silent reminder that Legolas was not alone.

"Come," Aragorn said softly, his voice filled with love and concern. "Let's go back to our chambers. You need rest."

Legolas nodded wordlessly, allowing Aragorn to help him stand. The King's hand remained on his back as they walked, a steady, reassuring touch that guided him through the corridors, away from the weight of the trial and the memories it had unearthed. They made their way back to their chambers in silence, the Palace's halls echoing with the sounds of distant activity, but it was all a blur to Legolas. The only thing that felt real was Aragorn's presence beside him, the strength and comfort he provided with every step. His hand found the fabric of Aragorn's tunic, his fingers curling into it with quiet purpose as if to anchor himself to the one constant in his life, drawing comfort from the steady rhythm of Aragorn's presence beside him.

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Elrond studied the faces around him, the weight of Orophin's confessions still heavy in the air. Celeborn and Galadriel, usually pillars of wisdom and composure, looked deeply saddened, their disappointment palpable. The thought of one of their own, a once-respected Marchwarden, a brother of a war hero, allying with Orcs was almost too much to bear. Thranduil, by contrast, remained outwardly composed, his face a mask of neutrality. But Elrond, ever wise, could see the storm brewing beneath the surface. The King's body was tense, as though he was barely restraining himself from acting on the fury boiling within. Glorfindel, however, could not hide his anger. His entire body shook with barely contained rage, his fists clenching and unclenching as though they sought to wrap themselves around Orophin's throat.

'What should we do now?' Elrond asked, his voice carefully measured. 'How should we deal with Orophin?'

'Death!' Glorfindel spat the word with venom, his eyes flashing as the memory of Gwîneth's death, so senseless and brutal, consumed him. He could see her as her life got stolen by those foul creatures because of Orophin's treachery. 'After all that he has done, he deserves nothing less.'

'I agree with Glorfindel,' Thranduil said, his voice solemn but resolute. 'Orophin caused the deaths of three Mirkwood Elves, including my own granddaughter, and he tried to kidnap my son. Death is the only fitting punishment for his unforgivable crimes.'

Elrond glanced at Celeborn and Galadriel, sensing a different perspective from them. He could feel the tension between the desire for retribution and the wisdom of considering all aspects of the situation.

'I understand your pain, both of you,' Galadriel began, her voice soft yet firm, her gaze steady on the two aggrieved Elves. 'However, for Orophin, death bears little weight now.'

'How can you say that, my Lady?' Thranduil's voice rose, a rare display of his inner turmoil. 'He has taken the lives of three Elves, my kin among them!'

'I know,' Galadriel replied quietly, her tone a gentle counterpoint to Thranduil's anger. 'But for Orophin, life has become a fate worse than death. He has lost his Light and, with it, all connections to Valinor. He is no longer welcome in the Blessed Realm, nor will he be received in the Halls of Mandos.'

A heavy silence fell over the room as Galadriel's words settled in. Even though still seething, Glorfindel paused to consider what she had said.

'What then would you suggest, Lady Galadriel?' Elrond asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a touch of concern.

'Banishment, as Thranduil previously suggested,' she replied, her gaze sweeping over them all, lingering on Thranduil. 'To a place where his punishment will be both severe and lasting. Let him live with the weight of his choices, cut off from all he once held dear, in the darkness of Mordor.'

'Banishment?' Glorfindel's voice was laced with anger. 'You would let him live?'

'He is already living a death in life,' Galadriel said. 'He has lost everything that gave him purpose. In Mordor, he will find no solace, no peace. It is a sentence that will remind him daily of what he has lost and the consequences of his betrayal.'

Thranduil's eyes narrowed, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

'And you believe that is enough? That it will suffice for the lives he has taken?'

'It is a punishment that will endure,' Celeborn finally spoke, his voice grave. 'One that will ensure Orophin never again poses a threat to any of us. Letting him live in that barren wasteland, without the Light, without hope—he will suffer more than any swift death could bring. Banishemen to Mordor was your suggestion, Thranduil!' he remained.

Thranduil's expression softened slightly, though the pain in his eyes remained.

'And if he escapes? If he returns?'

'Then his life will be forfeit,' Elrond said, his tone final. 'He will have no place in this world, and his death will follow swiftly.' He paused a little before he spoke. 'What of Gondor? Orophin's crimes reach beyond our people. Aragorn also has a stake in this judgment,' he pointed out.

'Aragorn has shown great wisdom,' Galadriel said. 'If he agrees, Gondor can enforce this banishment. Gondorian soldiers can ensure that Orophin is cast into Mordor and remains cut off from all he once knew.'

The room fell silent once more, each Elf deep in thought. Finally, Thranduil exhaled, the tension in his body easing slightly.

'Very well. But know this—should Orophin find his way back into our lands, he will not live to see another day.'

'It is agreed, then,' Elrond said, sensing the consensus forming. 'We will present this decision to Aragorn. If he concurs, Orophin's fate will be sealed.'

Glorfindel nodded, his anger not fully abated but tempered by the collective wisdom of the Council. 'Let it be done.'

With that, the meeting drew to a close, and the decision was made. The weight of justice had shifted, and while the path forward was fraught with pain, it was one they would walk together, united in purpose.

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When they finally reached their chambers, Aragorn gently guided Legolas to the bed and helped him sit down. He then knelt before his husband, looking up at him with a tenderness that pierced Legolas' heart.

"You don't have to face this alone, meleth nîn," Aragorn said softly, his voice filled with a deep feeling that made Legolas's throat tighten. "I'm here, and I always will be. Let me help you carry this burden."

Legolas's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he reached out to touch Aragorn's face, his fingers brushing lightly against the King's cheek. The love and devotion he saw reflected in Aragorn's eyes were almost overwhelming, a beacon of light in the darkness threatening to consume him.

"Thank you," Legolas whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank you for always being there...for being my strength."

Aragorn took Legolas's hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

"You're my strength, too," he replied. "We'll get through this together, I promise."

Legolas nodded, the tears spilling over as he leaned forward. He slid down to the ground until he was nestled close to Aragorn, resting his forehead against his husband's shoulder. Aragorn's arms wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him into a warm, steady embrace. They stayed like that, Legolas breathing in the familiar scent of Aragorn, feeling the rise and fall of his chest—a grounding reminder of the love that held him steady through every storm.

"I don't know how I would have faced this without you," Legolas whispered, his voice soft but laced with quiet vulnerability.

Aragorn's hand moved gently up Legolas's back, fingers threading into his hair as he spoke in a voice equally as soft.

"You're strong, Legolas, and you're not alone, meleth nîn. You never will be. I'll always be here—for as long as you have me."

At those words, Legolas pulled back just enough to look into Aragorn's eyes, his hand moving to rest over Aragorn's heart. He could feel its steady beat beneath his palm, anchoring him in ways words never could. And with a small, grateful smile, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Aragorn's in a kiss that was gentle but brimming with the unspoken promises they shared, a bond that held them together even in the darkest moments.

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To Be Continued... 

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So what do you think?