Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
A fanfiction by trufflelaw
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Ill-Fated Words
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Wind fluttered through the branches of the trees, and the horses stood waiting, tossing their heads and snorting in anticipation of the journey ahead. Their eighteen elven riders stood ready as well, waiting to depart. The weather was fair in the forests of the Greenwood today, but all of the woodland elves could feel the warmth of summer slipping from the breeze as autumn grew near. It was best that they made the journey now, before the forest decided to play one of its many tricks. King Thranduil knew this well, and it was for this reason that they departed a week early for the forests of Lorien, where a meeting of the elven council was being held this decade. He intended to make sure Greenwood the Great had a voice in matters of the council, no matter the state of affairs between the two of them.
But this reasoning had not swayed the Prince, who had far less patience for court matters such as these. "Adar, you cannot be serious about this," Legolas said in the same consternated voice he used when expressing his dislike of politics. He was a far better warrior than a diplomat, he insisted, and he should be out on patrol duty rather than being holed up in the palace for the duration of his father's absence. "The council meeting is not for nearly a fortnight!"
For his part, however, Thranduil simply ignored his son's protests. He tired of explaining the same thing to Legolas over and over again, and not a word ever reached the Prince's ears. "I will not stand to be late to such an event," said the king as he fastened his cloak about his shoulders, already on his way out. "And you, ion nin, will one day rule this kingdom. You must not shirk your duties now, for you will carry far more weight in the future."
Legolas frowned. He didn't like it when his father spoke of such things. "I doubt I will be King of Mirkwood within even a few millennia," he countered, following Thranduil down the stone corridor as they neared the exit, outside of which the eighteen riders of the king's escort were waiting. "If ever. You know my strengths lie in battle."
Thranduil's cloak fluttered about him as he mounted his white gelding swiftly, looking down at Legolas impassively from the saddle. "I care to hear no more of your complaints," he said in a tone that brooked no argument, blue eyes focused sternly on the one who stood like a chastised elfling before him. "I will return within a moon, Legolas. Until then, your responsibility lies with Mirkwood."
Legolas met his father's gaze only briefly before he dropped his head, staring downwards. "Yes, my lord," he murmured in reply, knowing that further protest was futile. Thranduil was notoriously stubborn when it came to any kind of decision. Once his mind was made, it was nigh-impossible to change.
Seeing that Legolas had no more words for him, Thranduil guided his horse further up the path, where he was flanked by two archers, and eight others rode in front while the other eight rode behind. He thought it unnecessary and slightly hassling that such a grand escort had to accompany him to Lorien, but the captain of the guard would not hear of the king riding alone outside their borders. It was too great of a risk to take, he said, especially with the threat of the shadow creeping across the land.
"To Lorien," Thranduil said to the archers with a nod, and the clack of hooves on stone marked the beginning of their journey, the procession quickly disappearing into the thick forests.
Legolas watched them go with a baleful stare, feeling a mixture of frustration and resentment now that he was left with the task of petty court matters in his father's absence. "It has been three thousand years, adar, and still you treat me like an elfling," he muttered under his breath.
The sudden touch of a hand on his shoulder startled the Prince, and he turned swiftly to meet the gaze of Raenor, the ever solemn-faced captain of the archers. "Does something trouble you, Prince Legolas?"
Raenor had an uncanny ability to read emotions, Legolas thought, and his powers of perception were appreciated, just maybe not at the moment. "It is nothing," sighed the prince, turning to glance at the woods. "I was merely thinking."
"King Thranduil is only doing what he thinks best," came Raenor's voice from behind him, carried by the gentle breeze that had picked up, stirring Legolas' long blond hair.
Legolas let out another quiet sigh. "I know, mellon nin, I know. But he cannot trust me to decide for myself where I can best serve our people?" The thought, which had been nagging at his mind for days, stung his pride. He hated that his father still treated him like a child even when he had proven himself time and time again. It didn't seem fair that no matter what he did, it was not enough.
Raenor's stormy gaze stared into the forest over Legolas' shoulder, fixated on a nondescript point in the distance. "He trusts your judgment, Legolas. If he did not, how could he trust you to command the kingdom he has spent many long centuries protecting?"
The Prince's eyes shifted right, where Raenor had come to stand next to him. "He trusts me to assume the part of a dutiful prince, playing at words in court while he is away." Raenor's words had truth to them, but Legolas could not help but be bitter. It felt like a slap in the face, especially after he had worked so hard to please his father. Thranduil could be infuriatingly difficult to please, and even more so to talk to. After centuries of trying to impress his father, Legolas had expected something… more.
"Because you are the Prince," said Raenor simply, his gaze meeting Legolas' own. "It is your duty, even if you like it not."
"I know it is my duty," Legolas said testily, turning his gaze back to the forest, his eyes restlessly scanning the fluttering leaves. "But my duty also lies with my people, to protect them from the threats we face out there." He extended his arm in a broad, sweeping gesture that indicated the dense forests of Mirkwood. "I could do much more if I were on patrol duty like I should be."
"You sound like a petulant child," Raenor said in a reproachful tone, the elf's stormy gray eyes fixated sternly on Legolas. "Like an elfling who has been denied some frivolous whim." While he was Legolas' friend, and he did not like chastising him, the Prince needed to see his own folly. "There is nothing you can do to change it now, so do what you must: represent our kingdom, and your father, with grace."
Legolas turned to Raenor with a frown, feeling betrayed. "When did I say I would not?" he said, trying to deflect the chastising tone.
Raenor sighed. "It was merely advice, penneth," he said, having given up on making Legolas see sense. It would come to the Prince once his frustration had mellowed, but not before. How alike are father and son... Raenor had known Thranduil in his younger days; the two of them had been soldiers in Mirkwood's army when Oropher still ruled, and Legolas was most definitely his father's son. He had known Legolas from the time the Prince had been born.
"I do not need it," retorted Legolas, still entrenched in his frustration. If he was to keep watch over the kingdom, then he would do it all himself. After all, that was what his father did every day. Perhaps this would prove to stubborn Thranduil that his son was no longer an irresponsible elfling.
"Then you will excuse me if I take my leave," said Raenor as he shook his head, turning back toward the palace, where he had intended to visit the healing halls in order to check on one of their wounded archers. The breeze made his cloak flap as he turned away, a sigh that echoed his own. Have caution, my Prince, he advised silently. Danger lies in far more than just the forest.
~oOo~
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A mere five days into his father's absence, Legolas felt like his nerves were already fraying. He didn't know how anyone could do this day in and day out, at least not without going mad! The Prince groaned and put his head in his hands, unable to concentrate further on the stack of papers in front of him. He slumped at his desk, wanting nothing more than to just walk away from it all. "Is this why you were so eager to leave, adar?" he muttered under his breath, only half-joking. He sighed and set down his quill, leaving it in the inkwell as he rubbed his tired eyes. It was only noon, yet Legolas felt like he had not slept at all. He glanced down at the pages of trade agreements in front of him, renewals of wine trading contracts with Esgaroth, and sighed again. Why did the damn things have to be so long? It could have been summarized in far fewer words, Legolas thought. But he had to read them all, just to make sure they were not being cheated by a stray phrase. Loopholes were damn inconvenient things.
After skimming over the last paragraphs, Legolas scrawled a signature at the bottom, unable to force himself to read further. No harm would come of it, he was sure. The men of Esgaroth were honest people, for the most part, and had never once tried to cheat them. The Prince then laid down his quill with a sigh, rubbing his temples as he felt a headache coming on. "Valar help me," he muttered to himself. He had to keep this up for another week, at the least.
There was a knock on the door, just as Legolas' thoughts had begun to drift toward the forest and the open window in his office. He glanced up, grateful for the distraction. "You may enter," he called, and the doors opened to reveal a familiar face. He smiled, relaxing his diplomatic façade. "Lainathiel. What are you doing here?"
"I came to see if the Prince would join me on a quick ride," replied the elleth with a mischievous smile. Her dark chestnut hair was neatly braided in the back, and the warrior plaits above her ears made her youthful face look mature beyond her few centuries. She and Legolas had become friends due to their shared experiences on border patrols, and he appreciated her bright, fiery enthusiasm and her frank, sometimes sarcastic wit, even if she could be a bit overzealous with it sometimes.
Legolas looked at her with a wry smile. "I wish I could," he said truthfully. "But I have far more papers to read than I have eyes, so it is slow going."
Lainathiel merely laughed. "Can't you give it a rest, Legolas? You've got that same grumpy look that King Thranduil gets when he's had enough."
Legolas could not help but chuckle. "Am I truly so reminiscent of a dragon with the belly flux?" he joked, already feeling the weight of stress lessen on his shoulders.
"Terrifyingly so," Lainathiel grinned, her brown eyes glimmering with teasing amusement. "Come. You might enjoy a respite from all this dullness."
Legolas chuckled again as he stood, stretching the stiffness from his back. "Perhaps you are right. I will be of no use to the kingdom if I fall asleep at my desk." He decided that he would go, if only because it would break the monotony of such a dull task. Besides, what could a little ride hurt? He was hardly abandoning his duties, merely postponing them.
"Good," Lainathiel smiled, swiftly turning and heading for the main gate with Legolas right behind. "The day is beautiful beneath the trees, my Prince, and you are missing it."
"Ai, you do not think I know?" Legolas chuckled as they followed the winding path to the stables, which despite their dusty atmosphere were a welcome respite from the stuffiness of his office. He greeted his mount with soft words and a gentle pat between her ears, smiling as he saddled her, tightening the girth straps with an ease given by centuries of practice and muscle memory. "I think this has been the longest week of my life."
Lainathiel gave a laugh as she saddled her own horse, a gray gelding with a silver mane. "That is certainly a feat," she said in amusement, and even the horses gave a snort as the two elves led them from the stables. The day was warm if one stood under the sun, though it was cool beneath the forest's thick canopy, the trees whispering to one another as the breeze rustled their leaves. "But you can forget it here, for a little while."
Legolas mounted his horse with a smile, the chestnut mare tossing her head in anticipation. "Valar knows I need to," he said with a glance at his companion, who was already trotting forward on her gray gelding.
"We all knew that," the elleth laughed, and her smile was knowing as she glanced over her shoulder at Legolas.
The Prince merely grinned and tapped his heels to the mare's sides, trotting forward to ride beside Lainathiel on the winding forest path. Already Legolas felt his nerves calm as he was surrounded by the soothing greens and browns of the forest, where he was always most at ease. Of course, this did not mean that he let his guard down; the forests of the Greenwood, though it was better known now as Mirkwood, were still dangerous, filled with giant spiders and orcs that came from the sinister Dol Goldur. But Legolas had spent his whole life in these woods, centuries of learning its vastness and its secrets. The forest stretched for hundreds of miles, though few ventured far from the elven stronghold in the north of the forest, except on patrols or missions beyond their borders.
One could wander for weeks in the woodland realm without ever seeing the same tree or plant or bird twice, and it was notoriously easy to get lost, even for an elf, if their attention was to wander. But the attention of elves did not often wander, and the number of their people lost to the misfortunes of the forest was small. A gentle breeze whistled through the trees, like the forest itself heaving a content little sigh that ruffled Legolas' hair, the touch cool upon his skin.
The Prince kept a watchful eye out for anything that could be nearby, whether it be spiders or orcs or other riders, but so far the woods had been peaceful. Summer was fading, but today it seemed to strive to make its presence known before the chill of autumn set in. What changes the new season would bring, Legolas did not know, but he could not help the feeling of foreboding that came with the thought of winter. The shadow grows stronger, he thought silently, his expression suddenly grim. We cannot deny it any longer. Even the presence of Dol Guldur grows oppressive. The woodland elves had been, for the most part, unaffected by the growing evil so far, but Legolas knew that it could not last. Mirkwood elves could not afford to turn a blind eye as evil brewed within their lands.
"You are troubled again," Lainathiel observed, and her voice broke through Legolas' trance of thought. But her own voice was unusually solemn, the light of mischievous cheer gone from her eyes. She, too, knew that the world became darker as Mordor's shadow grew.
"It is nothing we can change. We must be vigilant, but not afraid," replied the Prince, his blue eyes meeting the elleth's dark brown.
Lainathiel looked as though she was about to speak, but she suddenly stiffened, and her mount gave a low, nervous whinny. The forest had suddenly gone eerily silent, no wind or birdsong or even the whispers of the trees talking to each other. There was naught but an oppressive silence that somehow overshadowed the warm day with an eerie chill. She looked at Legolas with an expression of grave concern, her eyes dark.
Legolas felt it as well, the sudden dark aura that came over the forest, and the oppressive silence that followed close behind. He had a feeling of deep foreboding, his grip tightening on the reins as his stomach twisting with sudden dread. "Something has happened," he said quietly, though he hated to think of what it might be.
"Something terrible," continued Lainathiel in a low voice, staring at the path ahead with a grave expression. "The forest darkens in recoil to it."
Legolas felt a tug somewhere inside him as he stared at the now-ominous forest path in front of them. "Yes," he agreed. "But we cannot turn back. Something tells me we cannot."
"What can that possibly mean?" Lainathiel looked at him with an incredulous stare. "We must go back and warn the elves of the guard! Our patrols could be in great danger."
Legolas shook his head. "No," he said, feeling agitated as the feeling grew stronger, and he looked at Lainathiel. "We must see it for ourselves before we spread false terror among our people."
The elleth looked reluctant, dread creeping in the back of her mind, but she could not leave the Prince to do it alone. "Very well," she conceded, her gaze hard. "But we must do it quickly. I do not like this feeling."
"Neither do I," Legolas said as he spurred his mount onwards at a swift canter, with Lainathiel following close behind. "But I must trust my instincts." The feeling only grew stronger as they continued along the winding path, dappled with dark shadows of the forest canopy, and Legolas had to quiet his own racing thoughts. He had to remain calm, else the shadows of his own mind would overwhelm him.
Suddenly his horse would go no further, stopping abruptly with a loud, nervous whinny and tossing her head. Legolas started, nearly dislodged from the saddle by his own momentum. He patted the mare's neck soothingly, murmuring soft words to her while he looked around with wide eyes, trying to find the source of what had spooked her. Then it hit him: the metallic, copper smell of blood, thick and choking in the air, and Legolas had to restrain a noise of disgust.
By the look on her face, Lainathiel had smelled it as well, and she held her sleeve over her nose to block the metallic stink. "Yrch… There has been bloodshed nearby."
"I smell it as well," Legolas said, his expression only more concerned as he dismounted and ran, desperate to get to the source of this foreboding. Orc blood stank like rot, but the blood of elves and dwarves and men smelled metallic, and the thickness of such stench could only mean much death…
…when he arrived at the scene, Legolas stopped dead, and he could only stare in horror. There were bodies scattered all across the path, elven corpses, the dusty earth drenched in dark blood. Arrows feathered the trees, both orcish and elven, and the underbrush was trampled and broken on both sides of the path. Several horses lay dead, their bodies torn apart and devoured in the way that was characteristic of orcs, though there were orc bodies as well. The whole scene was drenched in blood, its overwhelming stench thick in the air, and it made Legolas' stomach turn just to look at it. He looked at it with wide, anguished eyes, feeling the ominous chill in his mind turn to complete horror.
"Ai, Valar, no…" the Prince whispered, stumbling to the side of a dead elf with an arrow through his throat, turning the body over to confirm his suspicions. He saw the Mirkwood insignia on the dead elf's armor and let out a choked moan of horror. This was the remains of the king's escort, all eighteen guards slaughtered. "No…!"
Hearing Legolas' stricken cries, Lainathiel ran to him, prepared for the worst with her bow drawn and an arrow nocked. But she gasped when she saw, her own eyes wide with horror, and she lowered her bow immediately. "Legolas…! What has happened here…?"
Legolas forced himself to keep his voice steady, though his heart felt like an orcish arrow had been put through it. "My father's escort… This is all of them…"
Lainathiel put a hand over her mouth in horror, feeling her own heart constrict. "Valar, let it not be true…" She went from body to body, turning them over and finding each of them with a sword or arrow piercing them. She mourned for them, for they had been her friends and good people who loved their kingdom. But there was something conspicuously missing… "Legolas," she said quietly, coming to stand beside him. "King Thranduil is not among the dead. There are eighteen here, but not he."
Legolas looked up, realizing that what she said was true. "But if my father is not here… then where?" he whispered, more to himself than to Lainathiel.
Suddenly a broken, gurgling cry cut through the air, choked and clearly in pain, and Lainathiel let out a quiet gasp. Both she and Legolas rushed to the elf who had made the sound, kneeling beside him where he lay on the side of the forest path.
The grisly spear wound in his upper chest prevented him from moving at all, but he panted shallowly and raggedly, eyes barely open as the two elves came to him. "My Prince…" he croaked, lips stained with blood.
"Saeldhur…" Legolas breathed, feeling a pang of emotion as he recognized his friend, reaching out to touch his cheek. "Mellon nin, what happened here?"
Saeldhur coughed weakly, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. "Orc ambush…" he managed. "From both sides… They were many, and heavily armed. Forgive me, Prince Legolas…"
"There is nothing to forgive," Legolas whispered, feeling a wave of guilt in his heart that Saeldhur was apologizing in his last moments. "But please, we must know… where is my father?"
The dying elf's eyes fluttered, his strength fading. "Orcs… wanted him alive," he croaked. "He is alive… But to where he has been taken… I do not know…"
Legolas felt his stomach twist with dread. "No… It cannot be…"
Lainathiel glanced from Legolas to Saeldhur, her gaze deeply worried. "We must go back now," she insisted. "He needs a healer!"
Saeldhur shook his head weakly, his breaths growing steadily weaker. "No… I will not survive that long…" he panted. "Go now… I am finished."
"No, mellon nin, we will not leave you!" Legolas insisted desperately, but Saeldhur's eyes were already glazing over, and soon he breathed no more.
Legolas looked helplessly stricken, and he bowed his head in mournful silence. "…the orcs will pay for this," he vowed, his tone low.
"We must go," Lainathiel said quietly, touching Legolas' arm. "We must tell everyone what has happened." She was rattled by the sight of such a slaughter, just as he was, but the safety of their people took precedence over grieving.
Legolas nodded after a long moment, rising to his feet with a grave countenance. "Of course," he murmured, walking back to the horses. "We must tell our people of the danger, and tell the families of these elves of their passing."
Lainathiel watched the Prince for a moment before she mounted her horse, the gray gelding snorting impatiently beneath her. "Shall we send word to Lord Elrond and the others? They will be waiting for King Thranduil's arrival."
"Not yet," replied Legolas after a short silence, as he turned his horse back toward the direction of the elven stronghold. "We must deal with our own people first. The convening of the council is not for another week, and if we can muster up a search, we may yet find my father in time."
The elleth dipped her head in acknowledgement. "I pray that we shall." As the two of them rode hard to reach the elven stronghold before the sun dipped low, she could not help but feel that it would not be so easy. Valar help us.A/N: If you read this far, I'm impressed! Thanks for reading! I try to write chapters in advance, so updates will hopefully be consistent (once a week, on Mondays). Any comments are very much appreciated ^^
Elvish translations:
Adar- father
Mellon nin- my friend
Penneth- young one
Elleth- female elf
