Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A/N: A big hello to all my readers! After a long hiatus, I've decided to give this story some long overdue updates! I'm also working on a Belle/Gaston fic called Crazy Old Maurice if anyone wants to check that out. I'm uploading this chapter as a prologue. It does spoil somethings for those of you who haven't read the other chapters in the order I posted them, but I'm hoping it will help give the story a more cohesive feel.
Prologue: It Should Have Been You
The stench of the battlefield was overwhelming. It was the smell that thousands of God's creatures made as they bled, evacuated their bowels, and died. No other smell approached it in rankness. Thranduil strode passed line after line of the dead and dying. All this devastation was wrought by the wars of men. He had seen it for a thousand years and he would continue to see it as long as their race reigned on this earth. They were a pestilence on his world. He hated them all, except one. Was his queen not part of this degenerate and filthy race? Were these poor wretches who called for mercy not her people? Thranduil clenched his jaw and picked up his pace. He searched every face for signs of her sweet features. He looked into every set of vacant unseeing eyes, praying to gods he didn't believe in not to find her there.
The battle had been over for hours and he had not even realized she was gone until it was too late. The thought made him so angry he wanted to wrap his long fingers around her throat, but he knew that if he found her unharmed he would likely weep with joy instead. He had denied her pleas to aid her father in his war. He knew the wraiths were coming. He knew that soon they would be as his door, and then his people would be at their mercy as well. They would suffer and die even as his solders fought them off. He knew helping his neighbor would be for the greater good, but he would not. Men were a disease that needed to be purged from this planet. He saw the value in letting the wraiths do their work before he rallied his army to beat them down. He wanted their numbers decimated. He wanted the few survivors to live together in tiny communities that could not possibly endure. If he handled this well, it would be the beginning of the end for the race of men. After all, were they not inferior to elves in every way? Why should they rule the world simply because they bred like rabbits?
Except for his beloved of course. She was a like a soothing balm to a burn. She alone from her race was worthy of his affection. He didn't understand how it could be so. How could she be so vastly superior to even her own kin? Her sister was nothing to behold. It was her birthright to rule, but she was coarse. It was Brinya alone from the race of men who was worth saving. That was why he had not instructed his army to march sooner. He wanted to wait until the battle was well underway before he sacrificed Elvish lives. He would rather have his soldiers die bravely killing as many of the creatures as they could rather than die in vain trying to save unworthy humans. His queen had begged him to go to Balinor's aid sooner, but he would not heed her cries. He stubbornly stayed his course, determined to wait out the worst of the damage before he ordered an attack.
He had been a fool. What had made him think that his wife would quietly accept his decision and allow her people to be slaughtered while she hid behind his walls? No doubt other wives would have accepted his decision and wept for their countrymen in private, but Brinya was different. She was raised to be a solder. Her anger had seen her through the pain of all she had lost in life, her mother, her childhood home, her name. Since she was old enough to choose, she had chosen the sword. She was much more than a lady in waiting to her princess. She was a trained body guard. It had given her life a purpose when the laws of men failed to provide one for her. When Princess Anoria announced that she and her retinue were leaving the safety of Mirkwood to aid Balinor in its fight against the wraiths Thranduil had laughed. He had told his advisors that he was glad to get rid of their vapid smiles and their simpering laughs. She and her ladies were useless. He had not even considered how their departure would affect his wife. He hadn't given a single thought to the possibility that after years of loyal service to the crown of Balinor, a marriage of a few months to him might not eclipse everything she had been before she came here. She had been deadly. He hadn't realized it at first. She had a sweet disposition and a kind heart. It was only when he really got to know her that he saw how deep her dedication to her family and her people ran. Though she had been trained in all the knowledge of a lady's life at court, she had also been trained in other things, things taught to women only in secret. She understood how to mix and manufacture a vast array of poisons. She could kill a man in total silence or make him scream all his secrets. She was the closest thing to a goddess he had ever known, and she was almost definitely here among those maimed on the battlefield.
He hated himself. Since the steady return of his human emotions, self-loathing had become Thranduil's constant companion. He could handle hatred. Keeping hate reigned in wasn't so different from his normal feeling of total numbness. He concealed it with a careful mask of complete indifference. It was the longing for her that nearly drove him to his knees. Her absence felt like a fist that was ever expanding and contracting around his heart. Was she here? Was she beyond his help? For the millionth time, he cursed himself. He cursed the day he was born. He cursed the day he had met her. She had brought him back from the edge of fading and prolonged his nearly human existence, and this was the price she had paid for it. He wished now that he had let himself go. He should have allowed himself to turn into a soulless ghost instead of seeking her attentions. If he could do it all again, that's what he would do. He would rather fade into oblivion that subject her to the horror of war. There was no end to the atrocities men visited on each other in the battlefield. His pointy ears perked slightly as he heard a voice calling for help. There was plenty of that here, men begging to be put out of their misery. This voice was of a higher pitch than the rest. It belonged to a woman. He listened intently, trying to discern where it was coming from. He heard it again, "Please, someone, please help us." He broke into a full sprint toward the sound.
Thranduil had seen many things in his long life, but nothing could have prepared him for this. It was Anoria who was calling for aid. She was bent over her sister's prone form, stroking her hair. He could feel his heart beating in his throat when he saw them. There was so much blood. The king dropped to his knees in front of Anoria and the still form of Brinya. He was kneeling in a crimson puddle, but he barely noticed. Brinya was white as parchment, but there was no wound that he could see. "Where is it all coming from?" he asked Anoria, noticing her for the first time.
She shook her head, but didn't acknowledge his question. "It's my fault," she said, "She came to protect me, like she always has. I did this." Tears pooled in her eyes, but failed to spill out onto her cheeks. Thranduil silently laid his head on Brinya's chest. Her heart was still faintly beating. There was still hope. He needed to ascertain where she was damaged. He took Anoria's chin in his hand and forced her to meet his gaze, "Tell me how this happened. I must know before I can help her." It was a command from a king and even after so much bloodshed, it was hard to ignore. Anoria took a shuddering breath and tried to speak in a steady voice. "I wanted to ride into battle and help my father. It was stupid. I was raised to rule with a word, not a sword. She knew what I was planning and she wouldn't let me go alone. She said she would protect me, just like when we were children. I didn't know about the baby, I swear. We were riding toward the melee when one of them ran at my horse. The animal panicked and reared. It threw me. I didn't see exactly what happened. That thing was almost on top of me. It wasn't a man anymore. I know it used to be, but not anymore. Brinya got between us and it kicked her hard in the stomach. She took its head, but after that, I could tell she was really hurt. I've seen her take harder hits plenty of times, but I knew something was wrong. She said that it was only a little thing, but that it had stopped growing. That was when I saw the blood. I killed her."
Thranduil tasted salt on his lips and realized that he was weeping. She was so stupid. Why would she risk her life fighting for a kingdom that had never done anything for her? What had Balinor ever done to deserve her loyalty. The court had treated her with contempt and she had laid down her life for it. Why hadn't she told him about the baby? He knew that answer, too, of course. He would have tried to convince her to end the pregnancy. Human women weren't built to carry elven children. He had no idea what his child would have done to her. If it was anything like him, it would consume her without a second thought. Now he'd never know. This was far beyond his ability to heal. It was true he had some healing abilities, but she needed someone more proficient. He lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing at all. "I'm taking her to someone who can help. You can follow if you are able." He regarded Anoria with an icy stare, "It should have been you."