This is a short one-shot that I wrote for thrndlwood based on her following request:
May I ask for describing the scene where Thranduil falls off his elk and fights alone and the whole squad is running to help him please? They are so protective. I love this scene. ❤
Disclaimer: I do not own Thranduil (unfortunately), nor any of the other characters from Tolkien's Middle-earth. I do not make any money with this, this is purely for entertainment.
The air was thick with the deafening clatter of metal and the thunderous rumbling of thousands of feet shook the earth in its foundations. A blur of shapes and colours and a cacophony of sounds raged through the valley as armies of Men, Elves and Dwarves clashed relentlessly against a mighty foe of Orcs. Men and beasts were locked in savage fighting, arrows sung, swords were swung and spears thrown, leaving behind only death and destruction in their wake.
And through the grey clouds of dust on a wave of fury rode Thranduil on his elk, charging through the ranks of the enemy. Black gleamed his regal armour beneath the dull cloud covered sky and his dark grey cloak billowed behind him like a banner of kings as he sped on. The sleek strands of his hair were rippling waves of silver in the wind and his piercing eyes of crystal blue shone with a cold fire bright as starlight.
The animal and his rider moved their bodies in unison in their determined onslaught against the foes of darkness. The elk's antlers tossed aside every single orc that had the misfortune of standing in his master's way while the Elvenking swung his swords with lethal precision, dealing deadly blows with either hand, sending heads flying everywhere as he pressed on. Faster he sped across the bridge leading into the city of Dale that lay under a fierce attack. Making haste to reach the crumbling walls that would soon be overrun with orcs. Sensing the urgency of his master the elk obediently broke into a wild gallop, cantering with effortless ease over dead bodies and broken boulders alike. Ever closer they drew to the city gates, more vile servants of Mordor crawling like vermin around them and threatening to cut down the Elvenking. But in a sweeping motion the elk impaled a full pack of them with his antlers, not allowing them anywhere near his master and as they passed through the gate Thranduil cut off all their ugly heads in one fierce strike.
But doom was at hand and evil greeted them with venomous revenge. A shower of hostile arrows rained down on Thranduil's loyal companion, piercing his chest and shoulders, penetrating the thick fur and digging deeply into his flesh, life leaving him as the blood trickled steadily through his many wounds. His hooves faltered and his strength left him, no longer would he bear his master and he could serve him no more. His duty had ended.
In one swift motion Thranduil rolled off the fallen animal and brought down to his knees he found himself alone and hopelessly surrounded. The ground soaked with blood of friend and foe, death and wanton destruction before his eyes filled him with anger and wrath. His heart was pounding in bitter agony over the slaying of his loyal servant. An animal that he had watched grow all its life in the forest of Mirkwood and that had been near and dear to him. Always steadfast and never wavering, ever faithfully devoted to him. Never would it return now to the glades with thick grass still damp after a fresh spring rain, the branches swaying softly above its wide antlers as it grazed leisurely in the clearings of the forest.
Seeing the Elvenking on the ground, for a moment still and motionless, the orcs swiftly closed in on him, seeing their chance and hoping for an easy kill. Thranduil took in the situation, his eyes narrowing and scanning the ring of enemies that pulled ever nearer like hungry spiders crawling eagerly towards their victim that had gotten tangled in their deceptive nets and for a moment hopelessness crept into his heart. His companion was gone, his army still outside the city walls and he was facing a pack of bloodthirsty orcs all by himself. But darkness would not be victorious, not today, not as long as he still had a single breath left inside him. He pulled himself together and focused on the one thing his heart cherished most in this world: his son Legolas. He would fight for him, never would he allow evil to take his son away from him. He had already lost his wife to the darkness, he would not also have his son follow the same path. He was her memory alive. Rather would he give his own life, before any harm came to his son. He would stand up and fight. Defeat those vile creatures singlehandedly if that was his only choice.
Thranduil steadied himself as he quickly regained balance on his knees and tightened his grip on both of his swords, finding his poise for the assault against his opponents, who would soon be attacking him mercilessly. All the muscles in his body tensed as he waited quietly for the right moment to strike. The fractions of seconds filled with images of dread, his father's death flashing before his inner eye as he was struck down in battle beside himself. The despair that had befallen him as young prince when he saw the light of life leaving his father's eyes threatened to flood his heart with darkness. But in the face of his own death despair and anger now turned into a fierce desire for retribution that rushed through his veins like fire, filling every pore with wrath that was as potent as is was deadly.
He rose from the ground in a twirling spin, with vigorous grace and the measured precision of a dancer. A dance of death though it was, following a merciless rhythm and the steady beat of deliberate slashes from his swords. It reared up into an enigmatic storm of fury as he struck down the unaware orcs that had stomped closer. Faster and faster he turned, skulls were cracked and bones were broken in Thranduil's furious onslaught. He dealt blows left and right, never stopping his motions as he waltzed through the ring of vile creatures, never giving them a chance of getting closer to him and countless bodies were slain and fell to the ground in thumping sounds before him. Wailing and screeching filled the air and gurgling noises were part of the score as Thranduil cut their throats and blood gushed all over their disoriented bodies. But soon the tide might turn as more and more orcs streamed in to join the battle, roaring with anger and Thranduil found himself outnumbered and driven into a corner by a sheer overwhelming amount of foes.
But he was determined to stand his ground even if it seemed hopeless. If this was going to be his last moment then he would fight until his last drop of blood was spent. He would not die in vain, it would be an honourable death defending all that was good in this world, never to allow the darkness to prevail. Closer they trampled and their scimitars swung through the air with malicious music, only one goal on their mind. Again and again they struck at him, Thranduil parrying off their attacks with unwavering precision as he stood his ground. Ever further they drove him into their middle, taking a mean delight in their ruthless assault. More blows rained down on him, but still Thranduil's strength did not wane. Barbarous and pitiless they closed in on him, their hideous faces distorted to spiteful grimaces in their vile laughter as they thought him soon defeated. They raised their scimitars, a dozen of them darkening the sky above Thranduil's head and with what he thought was going to be his last strike he thrust his swords in a desperate blow into their bodies, cutting them open with his lethal blades.
An then suddenly between the filthy armour of the orcs there was a swooshing of cloaks and flickers of gold and brown gleamed in the dull daylight and amidst the wave of dust elegant swords of finest metal danced through the air and in this darkest hour of despair Thranduil saw the dim light of hope when his warriors had finally caught up with him and rushed now to his side, rows upon rows of them loyally defending their king and cutting through the lines of orcs in relentless determination. Their king would not be taken from them, not while they had their own lives to give. The shattering of metal was deafening as the discord of sounds rose in an unrelenting crescendo to unbearable heights. Soon the Elves were joined by Bard and his men that fought with fire in their eyes and a wild hatred of orcs in their hearts. The renewed support filled Thranduil with an even fiercer purposefulness as he led his army on to an unrelenting onslaught against a terrible foe that had ever lived as a shadow in his heart.
A path of destruction they left behind, the ground watered with blood, splintered spears, broken shields and bodies mutilated and torn apart lining the battlefield.
The battle was far from over and the war was not yet won, but the Elvenking would not stand alone. Men and Elves would stand together as one like they once had done on that fateful day when Thranduil had fought alongside his father Oropher on the battlefield of Dagorlad. They would face the doom together and fight, not fearing death if it came to them. Because the darkness was not impenetrable after all, hope dawned like a faint golden glimmer on the black horizon of doom.
Hope was the light in their darkness. Hope that the light would be victorious in the end.
floranocturna, March 2017
Author's Notes: This battle scene was quite a challenge for me, because writing action sequences is not really my forte, at least I feel that I need more practise with it. But I quite liked trying my hand at it anyway and of course it is always a pleasure to write Thranduil, no matter the circumstances. I took some liberties with the scene nevertheless, so it may not be exactly as it was in the movie, but this is the way I envision it.
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