The Elf King
(A/N: I should not be posting this, I should be focusing on school. I couldn't resist, though.
I know a lot of people take issue with the way Thranduil was portrayed in the films, but personally I love it. Mainly because I'm into folklore and even in the books Thranduil is the elf I found to be most similar to the elves of traditional folklore. Fair Folk/Fae right down to the Fairy Circles in the forest, the love of music and feasts, and the fact that he's just as likely to genuinely help someone out of pity as he is to slip some malicious or cruel trick or order into a promise or action. I wanted to play with this aspect of the mysteriously underdeveloped elvenking and throw in more of the folklore aspects.
This will probably be a series of ongoing oneshots, or at least will seem like that at first as I weave it together, but may end up an actual story. Some of the chapters and bits of is past will be based on poems [this first one being based on Goethe's poem Der Erlkonig, which is in italics and only seen in the first paragraph of this story] or songs, and others completely of my own design. Enjoy. Hopefully you like it. This takes place some time before the Hobbit movies, Bain is only probably about five or six here, if that. Tilda isn't born yet, and trade between Mirkwood and Esgaroth is sort of lulling for reasons.)
Der Erlkonig
The horse thundered through the forest of Mirkwood as quickly as Bard could make it go. The trees stretched out their branches to catch his cloak or clothes, or to snag his steed or his son and stop their flight. The moon was full, the stars bright, but here in this forest who could tell? The horse burst out onto a path. Glimpses of the sky became visible, but only fleeting. The wind blew mournfully and low through the trees. It felt as though eyes were on them. It seemed as if every element was there for the sole purpose of keeping him from getting Bain help.
His child was burning up, his fever dangerously high. Despite the heat, the child was shivering as if freezing cold. The boy's coughs shook painfully in the little chest, rattling his breathing. He whimpered and drew nearer to Bard, clutching his father's shirt in his little fist. Bard's grip on him tightened and he drew his cloak around the child to try and keep him warm and safe. Bain whimpered again, burying his face fearfully in his father's chest.
…
Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.
…
His son was deathly ill, this much he gathered. If Bain did not get help soon… His little boy was dying, that could not be denied. Would he survive even with help? He had to. Bard would not and could not lose his little one. "My son, why do you seek to hide your face?" Bard cooed gently, trying to soothe the weak child.
"Look, father, the Elf King! He runs at our side," Bain tearfully replied, shaking as his eyes fell on a ghostly figure moving nimbly through the trees along the path, following their course, moving alongside the galloping steed, though how he could keep pace with them the child knew not. His piercing eyes watched silent, mysterious, warm and yet frightening… So hollow but so beautiful… "Do you not see? The Elf King moves through the forest with crown and train."
"It is only the mist, my darling, the mist rising over the forest plains," Bard answered, voice wavering as he tried to comfort his anxious child. His eyes, though, scanned the woods cautiously, desperately, searching for a glimpse of this Elfin King of which his son spoke. He could see nothing, and yet he sensed… He sensed something was there…
…
"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"
"Look, father, the Elf King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Elf King, with crown and with train?"
"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."
…
A voice spoke closely in the child's ear, gentle, reassuring… haunting… The voice was there, but the figure was still in the woods, racing alongside the horse. The words he spoke echoed in little Bain's mind. "Come, dear infant, come with me," the Elvenking said. "Many a game I will play with thee there in my kingdom. On my strand lovely flowers bloom and brighten the beaches of the river, and my mother shall grace thee with garments of gold to wear. Come, little one, come."
…
"Oh, come, thou dear infant! Oh come thou with me!
For many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."
…
Bain felt comforted, but with that comfort came fear, because he knew this Elf King's words should not bring him comfort. They were frightening. Why was the Elfin King trying to take him from daddy? "Da, da, don't you hear him? Don't you hear what he whispers in mine ear?" Bain asked, voice breaking as tears burned in his eyes.
"Be calm, dearest darling, 'tis your imagination running away from you. What you hear is the sad wind that sighs through the dying leaves," Bard answered. Inwardly terror gripped him. He heard no words. Why could he not hear? Why could he not see? What was it Bain sensed? What creature lurked?! His gaze was solely focused on the road as he willed the horse to go faster still. A terrifying knowledge came to him. Something was out there… Something he could not protect his son from...
…
"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Elf King now breathes in mine ear?"
"Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives;
'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves."
…
Bain felt comforted by his father's words. He sniffed, burying himself closer into Bard. He felt so, so tired. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep. For a moment he dared to feel safe and protected enough to try… And then the voice of the Elfin King returned, and he said, "Wilt you go, then, dear child, wilt you go with me there?" Bain's eyes widened in fear and he clung to Bard tightly. Why wouldn't it go away? Why did he feel those words meant 'will you then go with me to death' instead of something else? He could not tell if it was a threat or if the voice was urging him to continue fighting it. "My daughters shall tend to you in the palace. Tend to you as if you were their own brother. The elfin festival of tonight they will keep, and in the fairy circle they will dance with you and rock you and sing you to sleep," the Elf King promised. Thoughts of death left the boy for a moment, and he felt less scared and more curious, but still uneasy.
…
"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care;
My daughters by night their glad festival keep,
They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."
…
"Daddy, daddy, don't you see how the elf king has brought his daughters here to play with me?!" Bain demanded, voice awed and filled with wonder as beautiful maidens appeared at the side of the Elvenking, racing along with him and reaching out their hands for the little boy, giggling and whispering. One had fiery red hair. He had never seen hair so red. She was so pretty. Another had brown hair, and a third black hair. They were so beautiful, and they looked so kind. Maybe if he went with them he would feel better and not so cold and hot at the same time… And not so sleepy and in pain…
"My darling, my darling, I see it. It is only the aged and grey willows deceiving your eyes," Bard answered, disguising the sob with which he'd said those words so that his son would not feel scared or any more panicked. The boy was hallucinating, having delusions. Dammit, when would this accursed forest end?! He wanted to scream for help, pray that any woodsman or his wife hearing would come and aid them… But he knew no woodsman was near… Nothing was near… Or if something was, it was not friendly.
…
"My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Elf King his daughters has brought here for me?"
"My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."
…
Bain felt his grip loosening on his father's shirt. He felt so weak. He wanted to sleep. He wanted the pain and confusion to stop. Maybe daddy was right and he was imagining this all…
"I love thee, I'm charmed by thy beauty, dear boy! And if you will not come willingly, then I will bring you by force," the Elf King declared in urgency, and he was suddenly right next to the horse! He reached out his pale hand, decorated with rings, and seized the child's arm tightly, painfully. Bain felt ice and fire burning his skin, branding him. He screamed. He wasn't seeing things, he wasn't, he wasn't! The Elf King was real!
"Daddy, daddy, he has taken my arm fast in his hand, daddy!" Bain shrieked. "Daddy, his fingers burn me, daddy, they're so cold! Daddy, daddy, he has hurt me sorely!" Bain shuddered violently as some mystic power flowed into him. He collapsed weakly against his father's chest with a strangled sigh, lips agape and eyes open and seeing nothing…
…
"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ."
"My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
For sorely the Elf King has hurt me at last."
…
Bard galloped madly, half wild with terror on hearing his son's shrieked words. Something was there! Something was hurting his child! Bain, Bain, Bain! "Hold on, my darling, hold on! We're almost there! My darling look, there is Esgaroth! There is home! You will be safe, my precious child. Bain, you must be brave, you must hold on!" Bard pled frantically as he kicked the horse's flank as hard as he could, sending the animal galloping top speed with a shriek, pushing itself harder than it ever had before! He grasped his son in his arms as his poor child shuddered violently. They were almost there. Only a little longer. They were almost there. Please, please, do not let it be too late.
Bard galloped out of the forest and only when he was near Laketown did he leap from his steed, clutching his son tightly to his breast in dread. They must reach home and call a healer! Only now did he dare to look down at his son, holding his breath and praying for the best… But the best was too much to ask for… On seeing his child, his hopeful expression crumbled to complete and utter despair and he froze in his tracks. The child in his arms lay motionless, eyes wide in death and lips parted. Dead, dead, dead. No, this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening! No! "Bain!" Bard shrieked in despair, collapsing to his knees and laying the boy down. "Bain, Bain, open your eyes! By the one, open your eyes, open them! Bain!" he shrieked madly, clinging to his little boy in desperation and shaking him. "Bain!" he screamed with a sob, pulling the boy's body up and into his arms, resting him against his chest as he wept without restraint, rocking his son's body gently back and forth as despair consumed him.
…
The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread,
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.
LotR
Bard sobbed silently over his child's body, holding Bain near and willing it not to be true. Rain fell from the skies above. It was not a gentle rain, but though he was soaking wet, Bard hardly noticed, still in denial. He sensed a presence at the edge of the forest and looked shakily up ahead, though he didn't turn. He didn't dare to. He closed his eyes tightly, recalling Bain's final shriek. The elf king had seized hold of him. The elf king hurt him. His teeth clenched dangerously, darkly, and he turned his head swiftly around scowling murderously at whatever may be there…
At the edge of the trees stood a pale being who seemed to glow in the moonlight. Upon the figure's head rested a crown of berries and red leaves. In his hand he held a carven staff of oak. The moonbeams caught his hair, lighting it up in a ghostly way so that the creature at the edge of Mirkwood seemed almost to be a ghost… But he knew what it was… Before his eyes stood the Elvenking watching coldly, expressionlessly, without pity or any hint of empathy. In the branches he heard the whispers of elf maids. The daughters of the Elvenking. The ruler of Mirkwood tilted his head ever so slightly to the side then turned and walked away, vanishing into the forest. Rage and hatred filled Bard, then, and he screamed a curse after the fae, vowing vengeance for the death of his son.
LotR
Bard's wife sobbed over the body of her child, holding him close. Sigrid too was weeping, hugging her brother tightly and refusing to believe he was dead. "He isn't dead, daddy, he isn't, he isn't!" she screamed. "He can't be! He's alive, I feel him, he's alive!" Bard couldn't hear them anymore, still inwardly raging and promising to himself that the elven king would not get away with this death. The fever had come on suddenly, and his son's shivering. At first Bard had wondered what had brought the sickness on so quickly and out of the blue… Now he knew… Now he knew… The fair folk had stolen away his child from him, and so they would pay a price equal to his own son's life.
No… No, he was not the 'great' elf king Thranduil. It was not in his heart or his soul to be able to kill or steal away a child of the fae or of any being that existed upon this earth. He went to his son's bedside and gently placed his hand on his dead boy's hair. His mouth quivered and he sobbed, covering it. Sigrid clung to Bain, crying and now not letting her mother or father near to try and take him and bury him. His wife fell into his arms, dissolving into tears. Bain's body shimmered in the gloom briefly. None of them saw…
It was not until hours later that his wife had finally cried herself to sleep, as had Sigrid. Bard was quiet, sitting up in bed. If only he could cry himself to sleep as well… And never wake up… He looked over at his sleeping wife with her swollen belly and gently reached out, touching it. Their pending child would never know her brother… That thought caused him such heartache that he hardly thought he could bear it. He clutched his chest tightly and bowed his head, starting to silently weep again. Soon recovering himself, he looked darkly up, teeth clenched and tears blurring his vision. The elvenking would pay… Tomorrow he would gather all who were willing to come, be they man or woman, old or young, and he would lead them into Mirkwood. They would find the hidden palace, and they would attack it and they would kill its king.
Were he thinking rationally he would have seen all that was wrong with that plan. Leading a small party of men and women into Mirkwood forest in vengeance for a lost child would end in the death of the party from starvation in the woods when they became lost, or death by spiders and orcs. Even should they survive those dangers, the palace was impossible to find. The Elf King had ensured it was so. Should by some miracle they discover it, what then? The gates would be locked, the elven guards would be on patrol. If they dared near, they would all be killed. No elf blood would be spilled against an untrained band of grief-stricken humans. If, Iluvatar willing, they got beyond the gates and into the palace, they would go no further. Either they would be shot down, or a spell would be put upon them and they would be forever imprisoned in Mirkwood's halls, prisoners or sentient decorations, forever living and able to see the world moving on, but unable to join it. The elves were dark, the elves were dangerous, the elves were cruel, and they would show no mercy to impudent humans seeking revenge and retribution.
However, Bard was not thinking rationally, and sure as night followed day or vice versa, within three days a good sized party of volunteers had been gathered up all together and were setting out for Mirkwood forest…
LotR
The forest loomed up ahead, dark and gloomy. Fear began to take hold of the group, but Bard pressed on boldly. Those who changed their minds and desired to turn back were welcome to, and he had made that clear. Even if he were the only one left to press onwards and lay siege to Thranduil's Kingdom, he would keep going. He would not look back. Nothing short of death would stand in the grieving father's way. And if he could somehow get away with defying death, even for a short while, he would do so to take his revenge.
None had turned back by the time they entered the forest. The horses paused, though, on their riders' command. The citizens of Lake Town frowned confusedly. Did Mirkwood for once actually look… normal, perhaps was the word? The path stretched before them. It was not covered over by branches as it had been. It was clear and it was bright and dare they say it inviting. Immediately suspicion was raised. Rumor of the power of the Elfin King's illusions had become legend amongst them. Had he warped this Mirkwood path into something warm and friendly, something was very wrong… He suspected…
Bard himself very nearly turned back, a little bit of common sense coming back to him. If this was a trap, he would not lead all these people to death… Not even for the sake of revenge… He would go himself… But the path did not feel like a trap. It felt like… like a challenge… Not an unfriendly challenge, however, but a welcome one. After a moment's deliberation, Bard pressed on ahead. Those who wished to turn back would. None did. All followed him, relishing in awe at the sudden beauty of the forest. Even still, none dared to wander off of the path. If they did, they knew the forest would suddenly become much less… friendly, if you could call this that. They heard singing in the distance and from the river. The Barge Elves and elves that played in the trees and watched over the passage of the mortals. As the mortals neared, though, song died, and suddenly the forest would become eerily quiet… Almost as if they knew what the intention of these humans was…
LotR
In the halls of hewn stone, the elvenking sat upon his elaborate throne, his fingers playing over the staff of carven oak. A young ellon approached him, head held high as if he were royalty, and every movement was grace in itself beyond even that of the average elf. It was a grace he had inherited from his sire and even still had yet to master. Without missing a beat the young elf fell to his knee before the throne of the king and took the outstretched hand, kissing it tenderly in a show of reverence and submission.
"Speak your piece," the Elfin king commanded.
"My Lord, the trees have taken note of a party of about twenty-three men, armed and marching to lay siege upon us," the elf answered, head bowed to the king so as not to meet his eyes, for that could be taken as a sign of great disrespect, depending on circumstances.
"I am aware. The whispers of the forest have not failed to reach my ears," the elf king answered. "They walk unhindered down a peaceful path unmolested by spiders, orcs, or darkness, for I have dained it to be so and my illusions are powerful, my orders obeyed."
"And what are your orders, my liege?" the young elf questioned.
"Let them come, undetained, unassailed. Command the guards to leave open the gates of the walls and the doors to the palace then go on their way and hide. They are to pay no heed to the mortals. Command those in the kingdom to hide themselves away as well, and those in the palace to go to their rooms and remain there ne'er coming out until they receive my orders to the contrary, or yours. When that is done, you too must go to your chambers and lock them tight, and let nothing draw you out," the Elven King answered.
"Let them come into our home without protest, armed and prepared for battle?" the young elf questioned, quickly looking up with eyes narrowed. "What is the meaning of this? What is your purpose?" he demanded.
"My purpose is of no concern of yours," the elvenking answered, giving the one before him a look that threatened him not to question.
"I…" the young elf began before recalling his place and whose presence he was in. He bowed his head once more, looking away from the eyes of his king in submission once more. "And you, your majesty?" the young elf asked, but his tone was hollow, and there was unease veiled but present as well in his voice and question.
"I will remain here, and let them come to me in their rage and lust for vengeance," the elf king answered.
"Will you fight them?" the young elf questioned. In response, three blades were laid down before the young elf. He looked up once more, concern and fear flashing briefly in his eyes before he hid it.
"No," the king replied as he returned to his position on his throne.
The young elf was silent. "They will kill you…" he finally said.
"Perhaps," the king confirmed.
"Hir-nin Thranduil…" the young elf began.
"Obey my orders," the king said. "That is your task, Legolas."
Legolas swallowed and bowed his head once more, closing his eyes. "Yes, hir-nin," he answered in a tone hardly above a whisper as tears threatened his eyes that he was unwilling to shed in front of his king. He had long ago become accustomed to holding back tears… It would seem this time it did not work, for he felt one slip down his pale cheek.
Gently a cool hand that somehow made him feel warm and comforted slipped under his chin, gently tilting it. He opened his eyes to look up at his king who gently wiped away the tear with a thumb, a brief moment of tenderness and compassion flashing in his eyes before it vanished once more to the cold, impassive, stoic gaze. It was gestures such as these that differentiated the young elf from all others in the kingdom, in all of Middle Earth, and told that he was held greater and in higher esteem than all of them in the eyes of the king. It was gestures like these that revealed to any who were lucky enough to witness that this particular elf was worth more to the Elvenking of Mirkwood than anything else had ever or would ever be.
"My son, so afeared of what has not yet come to pass, mourning before the time for mourning has come," the elvenking murmured. He tilted his head ever so slightly. "What now are these tears slipping down your pale cheeks? Why do you weep for what you have not yet lost, tithen-las?"
"I weep because I may yet lose that which is with me now, Ada," Legolas answered. He had already lost him long ago in emotion and spirit and mind and love. He would not lose him in body too. Thranduil's hand slipped out from under the young elf's chin and gently brushed through his hair. Legolas leaned into the increasingly rare touch, closing his eyes once more and covering the king's hand with his own, fearfully squeezing it.
"You are ready, ion-nin," Thranduil declared.
"You know I am not, father," Legolas answered.
Thranduil rose from his throne and drew his son up. "You will be a great king," he stated. "Even should some great ill befall me, or death, you will endure…"
"You cannot be sure," Legolas argued.
"Does not a father know the child of his body?" Thranduil questioned.
"Not all of them… Do you, Ada?" Legolas questioned right back. A brief smirk tugged at Thranduil's lips.
"Your words are wise, my Greenleaf," Thranduil answered. "I promise you now that you will be alright… Now go. Heed my commands and make haste. They draw near." Legolas took up his father's blades and nodded, turning and walking away, wiping his eyes and erasing all hint of tears or emotion.
LotR
The men of Lake Town marched boldly up to the gated walls of the kingdom, anger and fury and mourning driving them all on with their weapons and torches and on occasion pitchforks, more suited for ogre hunting than elf hunting. They paid no heed, say for a fleeting thought, to the fact no elf hindered them at the gates and that they were open wide. They paid little more interest to the fact the doors to the elvenking's halls were left open so that anything that neared could walk in. Of course had anything done so, they would have likely assumed the halls were long abandoned, as did the men now as they slowed their pace, for nothing stirred, nothing breathed. It was dead silence. Not even the whisper of the wind echoed through the barren halls, and they paused, quiet.
Nothing was there, or so it seemed, but something drove them onward, some otherworldly call heard only in their minds but not by their ears. They marched forth, the bereaved father in the lead, eyes burning with desire. Desire to see the elvenking's blood soak the ground before him and have his son avenged. They went swiftly through the halls as if they knew its paths, but they knew nothing. Never had they been here. Something was guiding them, and they knew that should they ever have opportunity to enter these halls again, they would not so easily find the path. If no one else, then Bard at least got the sense he knew what that something guiding them was… Then all at once it was there, the grand throne high above, and seated upon it a solitary figure.
They were frozen in their tracks as his daunting, pale, eerie eyes fell upon them emotionlessly. His eyes reminded the men of a coming storm far in the distance, menacingly approaching and dangerous in its might and power. They unnerved and threatened without even trying, and stripped away all defences thrown up about them so that they felt as though even as they stood he was casting some wicked spell or curse on them.
"I hinder you not," he said, his voice echoing through the halls, authoritative and bold. His voice commanded respect, and commanded obedience and reverence and fear. It was a tone that any would find hard to deny or defy, a voice the chilled them to their bones.
They took the invitation as if it had been a command, and they approached him swiftly, weapons drawn. As they neared their anger and grief and determination returned to them and they called for blood and death and repayment for the lost life of the child. A child the people of Esgaroth could not afford to lose, for the infant mortality rates were abnormally high in their hometown, and more children died than survived in that rough place and that rough life so that those who made it even to five years were considered miracles and could not afford to be lost.
They seized the elvenking from his throne and dragged him to his feet, binding his arms tightly behind him and roughly forcing him into their midst to stand before the bereaved father of the child lost. Thranduil stood tall and proud, head held high and no trace of fear within him though he felt death creeping upon him. He deigned himself to gaze into the eyes of the mourning father without expression, or regret, or remorse. Bard met the piercing gaze silently, grimly. Part of him tried to feel compassion or pity for the elfin prisoner before him, but any he could have felt was wiped away by the memory of his suffering and terrified son shivering in his arms, and by the unapologetic look in the elf king's eyes. He felt only disgust and scoffed, turning his back. "Do what you will to him," he ordered his own. The elf would not fight.
Thranduil felt a rope slipped around his neck and pulled taut. He was shoved to his knees and a blade went against his throat as if they were yet deciding whether to hang him, behead him, slit his throat, or impale him. Now, though, he spoke. "Will you sentence me to death without first hearing my defense?" he questioned the bargeman.
"What defense could you possibly give?" Bard hissed.
"I took your child, yes, but I did not take him to death," Thranduil said. "I saved his life."
"If you saved his life, why does his body lie cold and pale in my house?!" Bard demanded, spinning viciously around.
"Because the body is not the body of your child," Thranduil answered darkly. "It is the body of an elfling who drowned in the river before his parents could reach him. It is a changeling, mortal, a changeling child put in place of your son so that my people could take away your own and nurse him back to health without the hindrance of your folk and your cures standing in the way. There was no time to tell you only elven medicine would save him and convince you of our sincerity. There was no time to discuss the terms of his treatment or explain what was happening, and bowman, would you have let him go had we asked you directly? Would you have let the wicked elves in the woods, of whom so many cruel stories have been told—not all of them false—bear away your child to an invisible and hidden realm you would never have found had I not desired it?"
LotR
Bard felt numb. "You lie," he finally breathed.
"When you return home, you will see the form of the elf child who died, not the form of your son. Your wife and daughter would have already seen and known the truth of it, though I do not doubt they fear, now, that he was kidnapped and will never be returned," Thranduil said.
"You lie!" Bard yelled, despite the hope and desire that filled him. What if it was truth? "Why would you help him? What could you gain?!"
"Nothing," Thranduil answered. "He was a beautiful child, man of Lake Town, and when I saw that he was dying of an ailment no mortal medicine could heal, I felt pity… I had a young son, once… I have one now grown to maturity or near to it, and for memory of the times he was ill or the times I feared I would lose him, I acted in favor of yours. I beckoned for him to come, called to his spirit to answer with many a tender promise, but he resisted, and so force I had to use, and I took hold of his arm roughly. When his last cry departed his lips, I stole away his body and exchanged it for the body of the deceased elfling we had gone to recover. The daughters of the forest, my daughters though who is to say by blood or not, took him, bearing him back to my kingdom; and so here he remains in the halls of healing, recovering from the sickness he suffered."
Bard could hardly comprehend any of what had been said. What if this was a lie, a trap? Part of him hoped it was, because if it were not, they had sorely and disgracefully treated the king of the black woods unjustly, and he was innocent of wrong doing. This humiliation they willed him to suffer was for naught, and Bard and those he had led had only themselves to blame. It would be in Thranduil's authority to punish them however he saw fit. "I-I don't believe you," Bard said.
"I will bring you to him," Thranduil answered.
"Keep him bound, get him to his feet! He comes with us!" Bard ordered. "I do not believe you," he repeated numbly. The elvenking said nothing. The mortal was in shock, and so whatever he could have said would not be heard. Instead, bound and with the rope still tight around his neck, he led them through his palace towards the Healing Halls. For the countenance with which he carried himself, and the authority he retained, you could forget he was their captive, for he paid no mind to the ropes binding him so that even the men nearly forgot he was still tied between them.
LotR
The Halls of Healing loomed ahead, and Bard picked up his pace until he was practically sprinting across the way. He forgot that this could all be illusion and that he could very well be running himself over a cliff. He forgot the power of the king they had taken. Fortunately for him, there was no trick to the Elvenking's offer, and the captain of the Laketown guard, at least at this time, burst into the Healing Halls with heart pounding in his chest. "Bain? Bain!" he called out frantically. "Bain, where are you?!"
"Da?" a quiet and weak voice questioned from a room nearby, covered over by a curtain. "Da?!" he called tearfully again, hoping against hope it was his father.
Bard nearly collapsed then and there, but quickly he recovered himself and ran to the curtain, throwing it open. His eyes widened and filled with such intense emotion even he was not sure of all he was feeling. There in the bed was his little boy, all snuggled comfortably beneath blankets, clothed in an elven nightgown and clutching a stuffed deer close to his chest. Bard felt his knees weaken and leaned on the doorpost for support. Even still he slipped to his knees, clutching his chest. The knuckles on the hand clutching the doorpost were white, and he was shaking, unable to find words.
"Daddy? Did you come to take me home, da?" Bain hopefully questioned, big tears springing to his eyes. "I miss Sigrid and mama, papa, I want to go home!"
Bard gave a cry and lurched up, sprinting to his son's bedside and engulfing him in a bear hug so tight that Bain began choking a bit before Bard loosened his grip. Bain hugged his father tightly, cuddling against him. "My darling, my precious little darling, you're alive! You're alive!" Bard sobbed, breaking down. The men of Laketown watched in awe and wonder, murmuring amongst themselves and beginning to cheer and celebrate excitedly. The child was alive! Thranduil watched silently, expressionless.
"Kindly release me," he said to the men. The two holding him looked uneasily at the elvenking but soon tentatively cut loose the bonds holding him and removed the rope from around his neck. Thranduil called out something in elvish, and seemingly from nowhere elf maids and elf men began to appear, occupants of the castle, curious as to these strangers and suspicious, eyes narrowed at them dangerously. They had seen their king led bound by these men, and they were far from impressed. "Take these men, feed them, and let them rest," Thranduil ordered. "I would speak with the Bowman alone." The elves immediately moved to obey their king's orders, swiftly sweeping the men of Laketown away.
LotR
Bard, still clinging to his son and weeping, hardly acknowledged Thranduil's presence. "I love you, I love you, I love you," the elf king heard the mortal saying to his son as he drew his hands through the little one's hair and peppered him with tender kisses. He did not release the boy until Bain had fallen asleep again, still in need of rest as he had not yet fully recovered. Bard stayed by his bedside, clutching the sleeping child's hand and wishing Bain was not asleep. To see him asleep reminded him too much of seeing him dead.
There was silence some moments longer before Thranduil spoke. "Now, what to do with you and your following who would dare intrude upon my domain and attack me in my own halls," he said.
"Let the men go. It is I upon whom all blame should fall. All of this was my command, my plot against you. They are blameless," Bard said.
"That they followed erases blamelessness from them," Thranduil said.
Bard was silent. "I pri'thee, lord, let all punishment fall upon me. Should the sentence be imprisonment, death, slavery, I will accept it. Only let them go and take my son back to his mother and sister, and in return the elfling's body will be returned to you for your people to bury… I am sorry that it was lost…" he said.
"Not half as sorry as his mourning parents are," Thranduil bitterly said. For a child of elves to die so young was tragedy of the highest degree, for children were rare to his people, and when they were born there was no treasure greater or more loved and cared for… Oft the parents of a lost child faded, he knew. Three elves gone from his kingdom like a candle dying in a breeze whenever an elfling died… That was a mortal fate, it was not meant for elves… "Very well, bargeman. Your men may go with your child, but here you will remain for the rest of your days. Do you know you will never see them again, never watch your children grow? Never see the birth of your third child?"
"I know," Bard answered. As long as his son would live, and his family would survive, he would accept this fate. It was more than he deserved.
"So be it," Thranduil declared. "Tauriel, take the man to the dungeons," he ordered an unseen figure. From the shadows stepped the red-haired daughter of the wood whom Bain had seen with the other two elleth's at Thranduil's side. She looked reluctant to do so, perhaps even bitter, but she obeyed nonetheless, taking hold of Bard and gently pulling him from his son, leading him away to imprisonment. Thranduil looked once more at the child then left. He had a son of his own to visit.
LotR
Bard had resigned himself to sleeping the rest of his life on stone, a slave or prisoner for the delight of the elves. When he awoke, then, to find him and his men laying asleep on the beach of Long Lake, Bain cuddled in his arms, you can only imagine how confused he was. So much so that had he not been on a beach with all his men, his son in his arms clutching the stuffed deer and clothed in the elven nightgown, he would have believed it a dream. The others awoke equally confused, looking around. The food! It must have been drugged. But that did not account for him, Bard realized. Wait. It did if they had also drugged the water.
Bard rose with those who had followed him, cuddling Bain tightly. He would never let him go again. Swiftly the group returned to Lake Town and were greeted by cheers from the people and awe to see Bain alive and to hear the story they told. "Utter poppycock," the Master of Laketown said when report was made to him by Bard who, at that time, had been captain of the guard. "The elves of Mirkwood are as tainted and dark as the darkness that overtook their hideous forest."
Bard himself had found the forest beautiful, but there was no arguing the master. "Perhaps they are, but dangerous and dark or not, there may still be use for them," he said.
"Such as?" the Master of Laketown questioned.
"The elves would make good trading partners they would, sire," Alfrid Lickspittle said from his place at the Master's side, visibly plotting out advice to give that would benefit him and the master in some way or other even at cost of benefitting the people as well. "Their goods for our ales and fish and whatnot. It could be very profitable. We've traded with them in past. Only recent years put a pause to that, it did. Could be wise to start it up again, if that wasn't the king's whole reason for the little escapade with the brat." Bard gave Alfrid a hard look but said nothing.
"Really…" the Master mused. "But who would be daring enough to proposition the erl-king?" he questioned.
"I will offer trade to the erl-king," Bard answered boldly. He had promised, besides, to return the body of the fae child. Did he believe he would find the palace? No. In fact he didn't believe he would even be allowed to enter Mirkwood forest for some time, but he may not have to. "As Alfrid has said, we once traded with them in past days. Have him write up the agreements that will suit us better now." Though Bard got the sense many a trade agreement that was beneficial to the people more so than to the Master and Alfrid would conveniently get lost.
"Very well, we will try it," the Master said. He may not be a clever man, but he was not a fool either, and many a decision he had made had aided Lake Town in past days. "Alfrid, write up the documents."
"Sire," Alfrid replied, bowing.
"Thank you, my Lord," Bard said to the Master, bowing as well then swiftly leaving. He despised being near Alfrid or the Master any longer than absolutely necessary.
LotR
Bard rode silently towards Mirkwood, the dead elf child cradled gently in his arms. He looked down on it. He had been beautiful… Oh the pain its parents must suffer. He could now well imagine it. He felt a tightening in his throat but willed it back. He looked up once more, approaching the forest outskirts. There, just outside the trees, sat Thranduil high upon his noble elk, the creature a status symbol, a sign of power and authority, Bard knew. For him to tame and ride an elk was testament to his position. A position that differentiated him from other Elven Lords scattered across Middle Earth.
Thanduil waited as Bard approached. The guardsman rode up to him, gently wrapping the elfin child up tighter in the burial linin his wife had wrapped it in. Bard looked into Thranduil's eyes and handed the little one carefully over. Tenderly Thranduil took the elf infant from Bard, holding him close to his breast and gazing woefully down at the little body before all signs of woe vanished. "Did his family not come? Where are its parents" Bard questioned.
"His mother is dead," Thranduil said. "She has been for many centuries."
Bard looked at it softly. "And his father?" he questioned. Thranduil was silent, lovingly stroking the little cheek with a finger. There was a burning in his eyes that had long been foreign and unknown to him. This he willed back.
"His father came…" Thranduil answered, an expression of such grief flashing across his features before he masked it once more. Though this look of grief had been no more than a flash, Bard caught sight of it, and he knew the answer. The mortal's eyes widened and filled with horror, then pity, then pain and compassion.
"You…" he said. The elvenking gave no answer. He lifted the little elfling up and pressed a loving kiss to its little nose. "He was-was your son," Bard stammered.
"In a sense," Thranduil answered, neither directly confirming nor denying whether or not the child had been his own by blood or by adoption.
"What befell him?" Bard questioned.
"Children play, children explore, children go where ought not and play with what is off limits to them. Children climb and fall and hurt themselves and are tended to and lectured… But sometimes children fall and hurt themselves, and there is no one there to hear their cries… Sometimes their bodies are never found, sometimes it takes centuries or millennia to find them. Should the body be discovered again as whole and unchanged and beautiful as it was the moment it drew its last breath, it is a miracle… or a spell… or an answered prayer…" Thranduil answered.
Bard looked at the infant. He knew not how long ago the little one had died, he doubted the erl-king would answer should he ask. What he gathered of the story was enough to understand the gist. What he knew was that the body could only have just been discovered by the elves on the day he had ridden wildly for Laketown with his dying child. What struck him hardest was realizing that its father had not had time to even embrace or mourn the elfling before he had had to act to save a child of a race he despised. Hardly had the infant been set in its father's arms, empty for too long, when the elf parent had had to exchange his own little one's remains for the body of a mortal and let it go a second time, unsure if he would ever see it again.
"You should not have done it…" Bard murmured.
"No I should not have," Thranduil answered bluntly, turning his elk to enter the forest again. "There is more you wish to say, bowman?"
"Question of opening trade with your people again, but that is not a matter for now, your majesty," Bard said. "Doubtless it is the last thing you want to deal with at the moment."
"Give me the proposals," Thranduil commanded. Bard started but did so. "I will look them over when I have a moment and amend them as is befitting us both. We will reach an agreement quickly enough, I assume."
"Elf King," Bard said. Thranduil paused, looking back at him. "You spoke of your mother. What meant you by that?" All who knew anything about the elves of the woods knew their king had no parents. Various tales spoke of how that had come to be, few of them pleasant or flattering to the king, and yet Bain had told him—when he spoke to his mother and sister and father about the things the elf king told him—that Thranduil had mentioned a mother.
"My mother is the forest and all it provides. My mother is the stars and moon. My mother is a nurturing elleth who is a servant in my palace. Who or what I referred to, mortal, is none of your concern," Thranduil said.
"Elf King, who were the daughters?" Bard questioned.
"That is an answer I gave you," Thranduil answered. "They were the daughters of the woods, whether mine by blood or by title only is not your concern. They were a comfort to your son and another vow I made him."
It seemed very little was his concern, Bard dryly thought to himself, but to be fair, the elven king was right. "Elf King, why choose to be a mystery?" Bard questioned ruefully.
Thranduil glanced back at him, an amused look in his eyes. "Am I so mysterious as that, mortal?" he asked.
"More so," Bard deadpanned.
"You would do well to ask yourself if that is a mystery you truly want cleared up," Thranduil replied. With that the elvenking rode back into his forest, vanishing into the thick and dark trees.
Bard stood long before that forest pondering the questions he had, but some were best left unanswered, he knew, for he saw, now, what the elf king had alluded to. For what would become of the mystery and majesty, the beauty and wonder, of the elves and their ruler if all secrets were to be shared? Imaginings, fantasies, questions, and more would cease to be, and they would become as plain and ordinary as any man… But were all men as ordinary as that? Perhaps it was a question the elves asked themselves. Perhaps they were as much a mystery to the fae as the fae were to them, and if that were so Bard began to see why Thranduil had told him to ask himself if it was a mystery he wanted cleared up. Determining to lock his questions away forevermore, Bard turned and went back home.