Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or any characters associated with them; They belong to their rightful owner J.R.R. Tolkien. We just borrow them to play. *winks*
My Elvish sucks. Tolkien forgive me. *sobs*

A/N: AU Alert! This story is in no way meant to be canon. I do not know for fact and/or believe Thranduil received his scar (As only shown in the second Hobbit movie) during the Last Alliance. Also, there is no actual canon birthdate for Legolas. So in this, he is meant to be within his first hundred years, far from his majority. I personally don't think he was present or even born during the Last Alliance, but that's what alternate universes are for. ;) So please keep all of this in mind while reading this story. It is NOT meant to be canon. Just angst ridden. ;)

I'd like to say that I have no idea if anyone wrote about Thranduil's wound shown in the second Hobbit movie. I'm too lazy to search for it. This idea popped up while writing a scene for another story and I ran with it. :) And, this was meant to be a one shot, but it up and got itself chapters. So there will be three chapters, two full ones and one short epilogue. Hopefully y'all enjoy! So without further ado!

Wrath

Before the first blazes of dragonfire spread across the battlefield, there was just a moment of silence; a moment of awe at the sight of the great serpent's appearance that took hold of man and elf alike. Even the enemy they fought could not stop themselves from staring at the dragon their Master had summoned.

And then dragonfire burned into the earth, and the screams of man, elf, and orc alike erupted and filled the air of the battlefield. The scorching fire scarred the earth beyond repair, and the wings of the dragon roared overhead like thunder as it flew from one end of the battlefield to the other. It was deafening, devastating, and death.

The camps that were set up for the men and elves that fought against Sauron's armies were far off from the battlefield itself, safe from the dragon's wrathful fire. It was at one of these camps the wounded from the dragonfire were being brought to, and the stench of burnt hair and flesh and death was thick in the air around it.

Gil-galad was one of the few to get out almost entirely unscathed by the dragonfire. He rode his mount hard to get back to camp, where Elrond was doing all he could for those injured. "Elrond! Boe enni nestron!" He called, pulling on the reins to force his stallion to an abrupt stop near the tent Elrond was working in to save others.

The raven haired half-elf rushed out at the sound of Gil-galad's call, and the sight he was greeted with was of the other elf climbing down from his mount and pulling with him an unconscious elf. "Nan Belain! Thranduil! What has happened to him?" He asked, already moving to help Gil-galad carry the unconscious Sinda into the tent.

"The dragonfire splashed onto Thranduil as the beast flew by overhead us. It all burned the left half of his body before I could pull him back. Elrond, it got on his face." Gil-galad and Elrond quickly laid Thranduil down on a bed and it was then Elrond could first see the true damage wrought by the dragonfire. With Thranduil's long white golden hair falling away from his face, neither elf could hold back the cringe of pain at the damage now fully visible to them.

Thranduil's head was turned to the side, facing the right and revealing the damaged left half of his once flawless face. The skin had all but melted off of his left cheek. "I do not know if I can save him from death. It is bad." Elrond said, taking a knife and cutting away the unconscious elf's clothing after Gil-galad removed his damaged armor.

"I must get back to the battlefield, that fell creature still flies overhead of our men. We must bring it down somehow." Gil-galad looked at Elrond, and the half-elf nodded his understanding, not even looking up from what he was doing. He would have to work fervently to save the elf's life if there was a chance in doing so.

Gil-galad could do no more here, he was needed on the battlefield, and they both knew and understood it. He could only help by slaying the dragon before it could claim more lives.

Turning to leave the tent to get a fresh mount before he returned, Gil-galad stopped when Elrond called to him. "Dartho! Find Glorfindel, I will need his help to restrain Thranduil if and when he awakens! I fear the pain he will be in will drive him mad. And find Legolas! He needs to be here if his father passes. He has already lost his grandfather to this accursed evil."

Nodding, Gil-galad turned and left Elrond to his work, sending a silent prayer to the Valar to spare Thranduil's life, if nothing more than for the young elf's sake. Legolas did not need to know the pain of losing his whole family to this accursed evil. He was still one of the youngest elves in this battle for Middle-earth.

Gil-galad had not failed Elrond in his request, for the first person he found was Glorfindel. He sent his lieutenant back to the camp with strict orders to do everything Elrond needed of him while he himself sought out Legolas and simultaneously searched and thought of how they would defeat the dragon and saving any he could.

Glorfindel's mount Asfaloth knew of his urgency and the stallion carried the golden haired elf back to the camp in record time still.

Just as Glorfindel dismounted in the camp after arriving, the loud scream of Thranduil erupted from the tent Elrond and Thranduil occupied. It pierced through the camp, sending elf and man alike looking wildly toward the healer's tent. No one could not ignore how the sound of the Sinda's piercing cry was horrendous in their ears. Even the horses neighed in their dismay at the Eldar's painful cry.

For Glorfindel it was heart wrenching and he stood almost frozen in place. Fear gripped his chest; even though he had been warned by Gil-galad it would be bad, to hear Thranduil of all elves give sounds such as that scream... He shuddered at the thought of how truly bad it was. Another scream resonated in his ears like the loud clap of thunder and sent a wave of nausea through him at the unbearable sound.

"Boe enni dulu!" Elrond's following call for aid finally brought Glorfindel out of his bewilderment. He quickly snapped to attention, and the golden haired elven lieutenant rushed into the tent. He had seen many things in his life, but he was not prepared for the sight that he beheld this moment.

Thranduil lay on a bed with Elrond trying to keep him still. He was having little luck, as Thranduil thrashed and writhed on the bed, delirious with pain. Elrond could not stop from pressing on one of the wounds on his left side and another pained scream ripped through the elf's mouth, momentarily paralyzing him in agonizing pain.

Seeing movement in the entrance of the tent, Elrond looked up with fierce grey eyes. "Glorfindel! Help me keep him still! I must clean his wounds and cut away the dead flesh before it can cause infection and he has just woken!"

Glorfindel steeled his nerves and rushed to Elrond's aid. He quickly took note of how bad Thranduil's injuries truly were. The elf's entire left side was burned, but from experience he knew that if they could cut the dead flesh and prevent infection he would survive such injuries, and with elven healing abilities they would not even scar.

It was the wound to the left half of his face that made him think there may be little chance in saving the Sinda's life. How in Arda will we save him from this wound? Shaking his head and ridding himself of these doubts, he quickly moved to Thranduil's feet, pressing his weight on both legs using his forearms and grasping what he could without harming him.

Elrond was then able to move to his head and and pin his shoulders down. The elf was thrashing so wildly the healer's hand jerked and pressed against one of the open lesions on Thranduil's left shoulder. He knew that pressing on his injured shoulder would cause another cry of pain, but still the sound itself sent a jolt through his system he was not prepared for.

"Thranduil! Listen to my voice! You must calm yourself if I have any hope in saving you!" Elrond spoke, his tone hard and clearly heard outside of the tent as he raised his voice in the hopes Thranduil would grasp onto his words. Looking at Glorfindel, Elrond shook his head. "Go prepare a sleeping draught! I cannot help him when he is maddened with pain like this!"

"BAW!" Thranduil suddenly wailed, a moment of clarity in his pain ridden mind allowing him to hear Elrond's words. "No sleeping draught, I will not wake from it! Iesten mellon do not give me that! I will not wake back up! I will die!" Thranduil's voice was desperate and it tore at Elrond and Glorfindel's hearts to hear the proud Sinda all but beg them.

"Then you must lie still. I cannot save your life if you continue to thrash like you are. I know it is painful, but if you do not want a sleeping draught you must lie still so that I may do what I can to help you." Elrond said, stroking his fingers through Thranduil's hair, a frown creasing his hard features as he looked down at the other elf.

Thranduil, through sheer willpower alone forced his body to lay as still as he could possibly manage. He knew despite the pain he would never again wake up if he drank a sleeping draught. But the pain was so fierce, even as he struggled to lay still, his body convulsed with spasms wracking him with pain. He could not lay motionless when his body was suffering spasms of agonizing pain.

With each spasm it felt as if his skin was being ripped off of his muscles and he could not suppress the convulsion that accompanied each one. And that just proved to add to his mounting pain. He wanted so desperately to go back into oblivion where he felt nothing, but he feared he would not wake and forced his mind to stay conscious through it.

Elrond could see Thranduil was using up his strength in trying to lay still so that the half-elf healer could work, so he would not waste time in arguing. He moved quickly, knowing that he could tend to the lesser wounds faster before he had to work on the damage on Thranduil's face. It would take a great deal of patience on that wound, and Elrond silently prayed to the Valar that the white golden haired Sinda would long pass out before he reached it.

"Glorfindel, help me roll him to his right side." He looked at his friend and the elven lieutenant nodded, moving to try and shift Thranduil's weight to his right. With Elrond by his chest and Glorfindel at his legs, the two elves carefully but quickly lifted Thranduil until he was lying on his right side.

The movement forced another cry of pain to filter out of the tent, Thranduil's chest heaving as pain coursed through what felt like every inch of his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, oblivious to the tears streaking the right half of his face and soaking into his sweat and blood soaked hair.

It broke both of Elrond and Glorfindel's hearts to hear the pained cries coming from Thranduil, but they worked diligently nonetheless to save his life. Glorfindel was not the healer that Elrond was, but he had helped the half-elf plenty of times and knew the basics of healing. He ran back and forth in the tent, grabbing water bowls, clean cloths, athelas and aloe vera leaves, and everything else Elrond requested.

Elrond began with the elf's left foot. His entire left side was burned, and Elrond worked to cut away the charred, dead skin while Glorfindel worked to both hold Thranduil's leg still and wipe clean the fluids that poured from the wounds. When Elrond would move up along Thranduil's leg, working with deft movements, Glorfindel wrapped the wounds with clean white cloths to protect the exposed lesions.

All the while, with each new cut, a wave of pain washed through Thranduil and his body spasmed, and despite his attempts to hold his tongue a pained cry escaped him each time his body did so. Still he refused to let his mind slip into blissful unconsciousness.

"Glorfindel, prepare some aloe vera juice and place it on the wounds that were not charred, it may ease him." Though I doubt it will ease him enough. Elrond silently thought, glancing quickly at his friend. The golden haired elf shared his look, and shared his thoughts. But he nodded and went to work, cutting the leaves and getting the juices from within.

Glorfindel did as he was asked and began spreading the soothing juices of the aloe vera leaves along exposed burns, trying his best to be gentle but there was truly no way of doing so with extensive burns like the ones Thranduil had received.

As Elrond worked his way to the more severe wounds up Thranduil's body as quickly and efficiently as he could manage, Thranduil's convulsions of pain became more pronounced, jerking his body hard and away from Elrond's hands. Even the aloe vera juice Glorfindel had quickly applied did not seem to help.

Elrond was a natural healer with deft hands, but even he could not work fast enough. He could not let his worry for the elf's pain interfere with his work in cleaning the wounds. As he began to clean the area around Thranduil's midsection where larger, more severe burn wounds began to appear, a strangled, pained scream tore from the elf as tender flesh was cut and cleaned.

"Ada!" Legolas had just arrived after receiving word from Gil-galad of his father's injuries when his ears rang with the sound of his father's scream. His heart seized at the sound, his blue-grey eyes wide with sudden fright. His mount Elbehad did not even come to a stop before he leapt from the stallion's back and rushed toward the tent.

"Daro hon! Do not let Legolas see this!" Elrond quickly said, looking sharply up to Glorfindel. Before he had even managed to finish his sentence Glorfindel was moving to intercept Legolas before the young elven warrior could see the damage that had been done to his father by the dragon's fire.

Legolas' keen eyes seen the convulsing body of his father in front of Elrond, but with his father's back to him he could not see his face or what other damage there was. He seen the open, charred and seeping lesions along the left side of his torso and his wrapped left leg but everything else was a blur when Glorfindel then wrapped his arms around the younger elf and forcefully pushed him from the tent.

"Dartho! Do not come in here Legolas! You do not want to see your father like this, it will be too much for you to bear the sight of him!" Glorfindel said, pushing the younger elf from the tent completely.

Legolas struggled, pushing back with all his strength to free himself of Glorfindel's grasp to reach his father. "Release me! Let me go! I must see him!" He said quickly, but Glorfindel was stronger and he could not free himself of the older elf's grasp. His entire body froze when the sudden piercing cry of his father struck him like an arrow to the chest.

Legolas looked over Glorfindel's shoulder at the tent where his father lay dying. Tears sprang to his eyes and he clung to Glorfindel with all his strength. "He is dying." His voice cracked at the very words and his heart lurched. Suddenly the strength in his legs gave out, but Glorfindel held Legolas fast, holding him up.

"Elrond is doing all he can to save your father. You must have faith, mellon nín." It was hard for the older elf to say that when another agonized scream pierced through the camp from behind him.

"Glorfindel! I need you!" Elrond called from the tent. Thranduil's thrashing had intensified as his body continued to suffer spasms and convulsions of pain and Elrond needed his friend to hold the other elf down so that he could save him.

Again Legolas tried to free himself of Glorfindel's grasp, finding strength in his legs at Elrond's call. "I can help, iesten let me go and see to my father!" He begged, looking into the sharp eyes of Glorfindel.

Shaking his head, the older elf gripped Legolas' shoulders firmly. "No, mellon nín, I cannot in good faith let you in that tent and see your father. Stay out here. We will do all we can for Thranduil, but you must not enter that tent now. Look at me!" He gripped Legolas' chin and forced his gaze to meet his own. "Promise me Legolas, you will not come inside unless beckoned."

To the younger elf it was already too much to bear. And deep down he knew if he saw anymore of his father's injuries he would be of no help to them, stricken with sorrow and paralyzed with fear of losing his father. Still he hesitated when Thranduil screamed in agony just a few feet from him.

"Glorfindel!" Elrond shouted, unable to hold Thranduil down himself and mend his wounds at the same time.

Steeling himself, Legolas looked at Glorfindel and nodded. "I will wait out here. Iesten, Glorfindel, save my father. I cannot lose him." His eyes were misty with unshed tears but he saw clearly the determined look he received from Glorfindel's own eyes. With a nod, the older elf squeezed Legolas' shoulders a moment then turned and disappeared back into the tent where he was needed.

Legolas stood rooted to his spot, staring at the tent's flapping entrance. He caught glimpses of Elrond and Glorfindel standing inside over the bed where his father lay on his right side. He tore his eyes away at the sight of his father's wounds, open and seeping. He sent up a prayer to the Valar and to Eru Ilúvatar himself to spare his father's life.

Thranduil was all Legolas had in the world. He knew beyond a doubt that the grief of losing him now would be too much for the young elf. The old stories of elves dying of broken hearts and grief seemed all too real to Legolas now.

Elrond had barely been able to do anything without Glorfindel to help, Thranduil's writhing keeping him from cleaning the wounds cleanly and without causing anymore harm. He glanced to Glorfindel as the blonde elf reappeared beside him, a stony mask not showing the inner turmoil he was suffering placed on his fair face.

The raven haired elf sympathized with how his friend felt for the situation. But they both had to work through the sorrow their hearts were feeling to save Thranduil.

The burned elf lay on his right side still, and each touch to his left ribcage sent new waves of excruciating pain shooting through his body. As Elrond worked to clean the open lesions and Glorfindel wrapped what he could and held the white golden haired Sinda down, Thranduil cried out from agony. "Daro! Daro! Baw! Iesten!" He shouted, attempting to throw himself onto his back just to get away from Elrond.

"I must! You will die of infection if I cannot clean these wounds! Iesten, mellon nín, let me make a sleeping draught for you. It will ease you." Elrond said, looking at Thranduil and pressing his hand to an uninjured portion of his forehead.

"I will not wake back up, Elrond..." He said, staring blindly at the tent wall in front of him. He realized with dismay for the first time since waking up that he could not see out of his left eye. Another moment of painful clarity, but he pushed that to the back of his mind. He distinctly remembered his son's voice calling him. "Legolas..."

"He is outside, he is fine." Glorfindel said, trying to ease Thranduil's heart a little. He knew the elf cared for his son and if he was concerned for Legolas he would not be able to focus on his own situation, as dire as it was. Thranduil needed all his energy focused on himself, to keep himself alive.

"Do not let him see me like this." Thranduil suddenly said, jerking his head to look at Elrond and Glorfindel. The searing pain made his eyes roll back and he cried out, convulsing in pain at the movement.

"Do not move Thranduil!" Elrond raised his voice, holding the elf's head still. He inwardly winced at how a portion of Thranduil's skin along his left cheek seemed to rip apart at the sudden movement. "He will not see you until you are ready. Now please lie still, I am almost done." Elrond said, this time his voice softened just a bit.

"Ion nín..." It was obvious Thranduil's mind was wandering again, and Elrond took this time to do what he could to clean the wounds around his ribcage. Another pained scream tore from Thranduil.

As painful as it was, Elrond knew his face would be the worst. And what worse, Elrond did not think he would be able to save any of the skin. Too much had already been melted away by the dragonfire. While elves did not scar from wounds given by mortal means, magical means of injuries was another story.

Both Elrond and Glorfindel knew well that the horribly disfiguring wound to his face was too terrible, and having been brought on by dragonfire would mean permanent scarring. A scar for an elf was a painful thing to bear, but the damage to Thranduil's face and his no doubt lost eyesight in his left eye would devastate the proud Sinda.

If his wounds did not kill him, his grief may well yet do so.

As Legolas stood outside the tent, his heart seized each time he heard his father's agonizing cries. He finally had to sit down and clasp his hands firmly to hold himself together. He probably had never prayed so hard in his life as he did now. His shoulders shook with emotions that he continued to keep bottled up. He had not yet wept, but his eyes stung with the unshed tears.

He rocked back and forth, ignoring everyone and everything around him. The dragon could well land right in front of him and he would not have known, the world outside his father's screams having been swept away. Iesten do not take him from me, Eru. I cannot lose my father.

He closed his eyes to stop himself from crying. Iesten, Ada, do not leave me alone. You must survive this.

All his young life, Legolas had seen the proudness and strength of his Sindar heritage. But this war, the evil that Sauron wrought had taken so much from him. His mother, his grandfather... If this evil claimed his father, the only family he had left in all of Arda, his heart would surely be filled with so much sorrow he would either lose himself in that grief and be forever changed, or die of his grief and his line gone forever.

The very thought of Sauron ending the Sindar line of Oropher was an infuriating one and Legolas' hands clasped tighter together, his knuckles whitening from the strain.

When Elrond was finally done with all he could do on Thranduil's wounds up to his neck, he took a deep breath and looked at the damage done to his face. He had been working tirelessly since Gil-galad had brought Thranduil back from the battlefield to stop any infection and save his life, he had not yet been able to truly look over the damage done to the Sinda's face.

He still could not stop the cringe at the sight of the disfiguring wound. Thranduil was physically and emotionally drained, yet his body continued to have spasms of pure agony. It was draining him, and fast.

And still, Thranduil was conscious, though barely. His willpower was strong. He refused to lose himself in oblivion, his heart telling him if he was to go unconscious he would never again wake to see his son. That thought alone drove him to fight the darkness that was trying to swallow him each time a wave of pain washed through his body.

"Glorfindel, hold his head steady." Elrond instructed, glancing at his friend with a nod.

The blonde elf stood at the head of the bed, gently but firmly holding Thranduil's head down. The hiss of pain and jerk of his body testified to them that he still had great pain from the lesions around his face. The elven lieutenant gently brushed aside the burnt strands of white gold hair around the wounds while whispering words of soothing comfort.

The whole while Elrond closely looked over the wound. So much of the skin was gone. He would heal slowly from this, and struggle even after healing to become accustomed to it. Turning, he again washed his hands in a bowl before he placed everything he would need within arm's reach.

He then leaned down to Thranduil's ear. "You must remain still. There is no room for err. I will do what I can for you, but you must lie still for this." Elrond said, stroking the Sinda's white golden hair.

Thranduil braced himself for what was to come, realizing that as much as everything else had hurt so much in the past hours -though he had no real way of knowing how much time had passed, an Age could have passed and he wouldn't have been able to tell in his delirium of pain- he knew his face was worse.

Knowing what he had been through on the lesser wounds, he knew what was to come next no doubt would be worse off tenfold. "Do what you must, mellon nín..." He said through gritted teeth. Tears soaked into the bed from where his head lay and his chest heaved while he tried to keep himself calm, but he was so exhausted and his nerves were frayed.

Elrond exchanged a glance with Glorfindel. They both nodded to one another, knowing what must be done in order to save the woodland elf's life. With this knowledge, Elrond began cleaning the damaged area of Thranduil's face.

The ensuing screams that followed were indeed worse by tenfold.

Unable to handle the sounds his father was making, Legolas pressed his hands to his sensitive ears and rocked himself more forcefully, his unshed tears finally running down his cheeks. It was taking every bit of his strength and will to not go running to his father's side and instead stay put where he sat outside the tent.

Elbehad had wandered over to his master and was a constant presence, the animal doing all he could for his weeping master. The stallion could well tell what was happening, and shared in Legolas' grief.

Thranduil struggled with renewed ferocity but Glorfindel kept his head still and steady while Elrond did what he could for the elf's face. In truth, there was little he could do. Most of the flesh had been melted away by the dragonfire, and what remained was left in ruin. He did all he could to mend the woodland elf's face, but with so much damage, he found himself focusing solely on trying to prevent infection instead of trying to save any skin.

At this point, it would make little difference.

With each cut of dead, charred skin, Thranduil's begging screams to stop tore at Elrond and Glorfindel's hearts, ripped pieces of the others' hearts around the camp, and utterly shattered Legolas' own weary heart. A few elves, even a couple of men tried to console the young elf, but nothing they did seemed to register to him, and nothing they said seemed to reach his ears.

All he heard was his father's screams of excruciating agony.

TBC

A/N: There you have it, the first chapter of Wrath and Ruin. Hopefully I captured the angst I was aiming for, because the images were clear in my head. X3 Now, will Thranduil survive his injuries and the grief that comes with such a wound? Guess you'll have to find out in the next chapter! Reviews are, of course, appreciated and motivating.
Namárië for now!

If my Sindarin is wrong, do not be rude about it. Please either politely correct me, or kindly tell me what does not exist and I will replace it with English/edit the scene. Thanks

• Boe enni nestron!: "I need a healer!"

• Nan Belain!: "By the Valar!"

• Dartho: "Wait"

• Boe enni dulu!: "I need help!"

• Baw!: "No/Don't!"

• Iesten: "Please"

• Mellon: "Friend"

• Ada: "Dad/Daddy"

• Daro hon!: "Halt/Stop him!"

• Mellon nín: "My friend"

• Daro!: "Halt/Stop!"

• Ion nín: "My son"

• Namárië: "Farewell" (Quenya)