He hurt. From the the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Legolas was in agony. There was no simpler way to put it. With each breath the pain grew. It was as if it was an all consuming fire. It slowly crept over his flesh and seemed to burn it down to the bone. He reached to grasp the wound. Maybe hoping to stop the bleeding. But he couldn't. The chains on his wrists weighed his hands down. In a way, Legolas almost wished to die right there. A blinded elf was of no use to his home. A blind warrior is of no use in protecting his home and brothers in arms. It was a fate, oh so much worse than death. Legolas let out a sob. The proud prince barely out of childhood no longer cared about the way he looked, or how he was meant to act. He let out a loud wail that scared birds and mad the traitor laugh. Fanedìl, the former second in command and right hand of his father enjoyed his pain.
At one point in time Legolas would have seen the man as a surrogate grandfather, for his own died long ago and Fanedìl was far older than his father. The elf being a young man in the army when Thranduil was a child, quickly rising through the ranks to become Thranduil's right hand a mere 100 years after his father came into power. There was no reason for the betrayal other than greed. Greed for money and power. To rule. Not that any of the elves would let that happen. The Greenleaf family always has and always will rule the elven people.
The thought of home brought joy to Legolas's quickly deteriating mind. He fingered the blades of grass. The soft plant providing some comfort to his wounds. Legolas slowly splayed his fingers and dug the tips of them into the soft earth. The trees were in a panic. Talking via their root network Legolas could hear them guiding others. Most likely his father. The soil trempled at his touch and the blades of grass pushed sonething into his hand. The shape was familiar. As was the delicate emerald leafs decorating it. This was his blade. The coming of age gift made by his mother after his birth was unique and one of a kind. If Legolas focused enough he could remember her shadow. The long forgotton face shrouded in darkness. Sometimes the shadow had a bell like laugh. Sometimes it stood silent or it sat in a bed of flowers. Legolas always gathered strength when thinking of his mother. The woman who gave her life to protect. She died protecting her people and Legolas would do the same.
His legs were shaker than the had ever been and Legolas felt like the baby deer in the woods around his home. He gripped the small blade in his hand. He let his hands sag as if wheighed down with a million suns. Stumbling to the crazed laughter he let himself be dragged when a hand snached the front of his shirt. The dagger belonging to his father was twisted. Blood fell freely from the wound and the corner of his mouth.
"You stupid boy do you really think-hurkk" It wasn't grand or amazing but it worked. The small blade was plunged into Fanedìl's stomach. The elf slowly let go of Legolas and brought his hand to his stomach. With his support gone Legolas fell.
The trees were waiting and Legolas fell into moss covered tree roots. He was gently moved away from the now gasping elf. The elder suddenly seemed to snap. "a' telwa dear taren Legolas" is all he kept repeting. Legolas covered his ears weakly. In his little hollow he laid curled up in a bed of daises. The tree's roots forming walls around him intill only a ray of sun shone though. The tree was crying. The roots shook and the the soil trembled. There was no saving him. Legolas already knew. But he would take his death in stride. For a death with honor is the best death one can have. Legolas smiled and laid his head to rest on a root. The sun was so warm...
Thrainduil was livid. When he was normaly like this it was always due to someones stupidity or dwarves. Mostly the latter. But today was diffrent and it wasnt intill he and twenty other elves were running through the forest that they learnt why. They had been betrayed and their beloved prience wisked away by said defector. It was a cruel blow to the batalion and it left them weary about each others loyalty. The elves had mentaly prepared for a battle of epic proportion. Something to validate the amout of anger they felt. But bursting into the clearing empty of all but one elf something in them all was destroyed and discusted. The skwirming elf was draging himself to the tree line laughing as if he was half crazed. Thranduil was on him befire any elf could blink.
Thranduil was teriffied. His bond with Legolas was fading fast. Fanedìl was laughing and Thranduil did nithing but yank his sons blade out of that vermon's stomach. His own blade replaced it and the screams as he twisted it made him smike evily. Thranduil saved hus favorite tourtur for his favorite enemy's. The elf had blood bubling over his lips, but the gurgle of "the trees" was enough for Thranduil. He threw the bastard to the ground and fully intended to let him bleed out. Slowly. Or maybe let him be healed enough to die from infection. The soft voice of a tree called to Thranduil. She was a large tree the oldest here. Her children surounded her and bekoned Thranduil to her roots.
In the base was a semi-large hollow. It was beautiful and as the roots shifted and alowed Thranduil inside he could see the blood. Thranduil dosn't know when he started screaming. He has no clue when the roots snapped shut around him and he wrapped his arms around Legolas. He was breathing slowly and slumoed helplessly in Thranduils arms. His soft voice only saying "Ada" or "Adar". The bond only shared with a parent and their child grew weaker and when it snapped Thranduils world shattered like glass.