Find father.
Find father.
Find father.
This phrase repeatedly screamed itself inside Thranduil's mind as he quickly paced through a bloodstained battlefield of Dagorlad. Everywhere he looked, countless bodies of fallen elves, men and orcs lay lifeless with the most pained expressions on their frozen faces. The ground was so saturated with blood that it seemed like a rainstorm of the liquid passed through the area, turning the marshes into pools of blood.
Thranduil was searching for Oropher, one of the leaders of the Elven army. His first task was to count the survivors, which proved to be somewhat easy. But finding his father was the difficult part.
He'd been running around the horrid sight that was Dagorlad for hours, but there was no sign of Oropher anywhere. Thranduil searched his mind, trying to remember something that would be of use. All he could think of was how Oropher was proudly holding the banner of the Nandorin Silvan elves when he charged with his army into battle.
Amongst the dead, there were hundreds of various banners pierced into the ground with their carriers laying there with cold, dull eyes. Thranduil imagined the sight of his beloved father, sword still in hand, slowly dying next to his flag.
No, no, he's not dead. He can't be.
His eyes scanned for a dark green flag with a white lily in the center, but all his eyes could focus on were his fallen allies and kin. Some of his fellow elves were young. They'd never know the pleasure of marrying, or celebrating, or having children. They will never again feel the sun tickle their skin, or the wind caress their fair faces. They will never have the gift of life again.
He couldn't even listen anymore, for his ears were blocked with the sound of blades slicing through flesh, and the screams of souls begging for death.
Why was it that the immortal and beautiful creatures were the ones that begged the loudest? They were meant to live forever; how fair was it that they were the ones that had to sacrifice the gift of eternal life?
He felt sick to his stomach at the very thought.
But Thranduil's eyes found themselves gazing at a particular shade of green. That one color that he grew up around and saw every day.
That is the one, he thought.
As he approached the banner that grimly pierced the ground, he saw that the white lily in the center was now unrecognizable. The flag was badly tattered, and any remaining patch of white was colored red.
It broke his heart to see the flag his flag in such a state.
Thranduil looked down to find Oropher laying there, watching the remains of his banner gently flow in the breeze. An arrow was lodged just below his heart, and blood slowly leaked from the hole. It didn't hit a place vital enough to kill quickly, but the wound would most likely unfixable. He held back a gag, which would have been considered weak, but how can you not feel disgusted when you see a sight you hoped you'd never see? How can you not feel ill when you see the man who took care of you with an arrow in his chest?
"Father?" he whispered, his voice broken and soft.
Oropher remained still, which startled Thranduil for a moment, but then his eyes shifted to what he believed was his son. His vision was so blurry; it was hard to make anything out of the world around him.
"I see you've managed to find me," Oropher sighed. He gave a small, jagged smile at Thranduil. "Tis a comfort to know that you completed your tasks for once," he joked.
"Father, this is not a time to be smiling! What happened... what happened to you?" Thranduil dropped down on his knees next to Oropher.
A huff-like laugh emerged from Oropher. "Ai, you are incorrect. There is always time for smiling, as bad times call for cheer," he said, looking up at the sky. "Unfortunately, I am the reason many of our people cannot smile anymore."
Thranduil blinked. "What are you talking about, father? What happened?"
"I made a mistake," Oropher whispered. A salty tear rolled down the side of his face. "I accidentally charged too early without Gil-galad's consent... I am the reason so many of our kin were slaughtered! We are not victorious because of my foolishness!" his raspy voice shouted. He tried to sit up, but a daggerlike pain in his chest pinned him down. "Everything is my fault. And because of that, I am being punished by the Valar with a slow death!"
Thranduil reached out and grabbed Oropher's hand. "No, father. Our people are still going strong, and there were more survivors than expected," he reassured. "The Valar would never forsake you in such a way. Now, let me tend to you. You should have the honor of leading our people home."
"I'm afraid I won't be marching home with you, or anyone else, my son. I cannot feel my legs anymore," Oropher whispered.
The younger elf felt his jaw drop slightly open. No, this couldn't be happening. Oropher was going to fine. It was nothing but a scratch, right?
"I would like you to leave me now, Thranduil," he continued, "I do not want you to see me in this state. I do not want you to watch me die." Oropher's voice was turning into a much quieter one, and the life that once blossomed in his green eyes was starting to fade.
"I will not leave you here to die!" Thranduil said. "Not all alone and cold like this..."
The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Now, there are two kinds of silences. There are the awkward silences the ones where there is so much you'd like to say, but cannot find the courage to speak a word. But there are also silences like this one. Those peaceful, serene ones in which a whole conversation could be understood without a single word being uttered.
"Your wife is going to be having your child soon, isn't she? A little one, all yours..." Oropher asked with a flicker of hope in his slowly dimming eyes.
"Ai, yes. A son, we believe. We hope to name him Legolas," Thranduil replied. He gave the smallest of smiles to himself, imagining a little elfling to look after and love. And a little piece of himself would be in that child.
Oropher smiled upon hearing that. "Legolas... That name suits an elf who will do great things someday. I do regret that I will never get to hold him in my arms... That was something I greatly looked forward to,"
Thranduil lightly grabbed Oropher's hand, but it seemed that his hands were growing weak and cold. "I promise to you that I will tell him of all the wonderful things you've done. You will never be forgotten, and your name will be praised by our people for generations to come. But as for now, let us forget about the future, and think about what we can do now."
A breeze blew through the barren land that was Dagorlad, covering the landscape with an eerie gloomy essence. Oropher began choking on his own breath and clutched at his wound.
"You... you must go now, Thranduil. Leave me now," he stuttered. Words seemed to need more energy to form, and he began to feel tired...
"I told you, father, I will not leave you here," Thranduil insisted.
"My son, this is my last request to you. Please honor it. Go now, and leave me here. I will not look down on you for it. Go now, and do what I could not. Lead our people to victory, and be happy with them."
Thranduil still looked hesitant to leave his father's side. How would he live with the guilt of leaving him to die in this hell?
"Please, Thranduil. You have been such a blessing to me, and though now it is time for us to part, I will still be with you always. Go now, Thranduil. I am your father, and you shall do as I say. Honor my final request," Oropher whispered. His voice was broken now, almost inaudible. It no longer contained the gentle soothing sound that it once had.
The life of Oropher was going to come to an end soon.
Tears started to rush down Thranduil's face. Why? Why did this have to be his father's last request to him? It was unfair. If he chose to stay, he would have failed Oropher by not obeying his last and only wish. If he stayed, he would forever imagine how his father died all alone, surrounded by his fallen friends and foes. Thranduil did not want to bear guilt for either of these things; they were so unthinkable.
"Father, if this is truly your last command, I will do as you say. But please do not forsake me, I beg of you," Thranduil implored.
"I would never forsake you, my son."
And those were the last words that Oropher spoke to Thranduil.
The younger elf teared the banner off of the pole, gently draping it over his father. It was so cold here... Oropher would have liked to be caressed by that banner that he loved so much.
The two exchanged final gazes that entwined all of their emotions- love, admiration, sorrow. Thranduil broke the gaze, then headed for the group of survivors, who were now his people to look after.
Oropher lay there, slowly closing his eyes. The world around him started to look blurry, as if it were underwater. The sky above seemed to slowly grow brighter as if the sun finally decided to unveil herself from the wispy clouds above.
And so, the once great king drew his final breath as death carried him away.
Well, I wanted to write something a little different here. I usually like to write happy things, but this here is my first time writing angst. I hope it sort of worked out; there's a first time for everything, of course :P
Review if you have a moment to spare!