Dangerous Games
Summary: His woods are shrouded in mystery one dark night, and his sentinels reported strange, unknown laughter. Finally, King Thranduil decides to investigate.
Rating: T for safety.
Disclaimer: Not one wraith.
All of my stories are interconnected unless stated otherwise but you do not need to read one to understand the other.
My stories are now present in a list of chronological sequence on my bio.
Enjoy!
~S~
After the Great Plague,
Greenwood the Great,
Third Age,
Thranduil frowned at the parchments in his head.
"Are you sure?" He inquired, glancing up at the alert captain standing before his throne. The captain dipped his head once in confirmation.
"I am sure of it, Sire."
Thranduil frowned and looked down at the captain's tilted handwriting that filled the parchments in burgundy ink. If his reports were correct, then the sentinels heard laughter of young folk in his forest. And yet the sentinels caught no sight of them.
"And you are sure neither you nor your men caught even a glimpse of them?" Thranduil pressed. The captain shook his head confidently but his expression betrayed his embarrassment.
"I am sorry, Sire. We tried to find them but it was in vain."
He hummed noncommittally and swung the reports in one hand carefully as he thought.
"And what was the nature of this laughter?"
"It seemed as they belonged to numerous young folk, my Lord. They were bright and merry, almost as playful as the kind to belong to children."
"Perhaps you heard nothing but the sounds of our own children at play. Maybe they strayed from their parents." Thranduil reasoned but the captain shook his head.
"Our children are different from mortal children. And I have no doubt the laughter belonged to the latter."
"And where does this laughter come from?"
"At the border towards the Lonely Mountain, Sire. We hear it so close to the outpost one can almost imagine the children playing right beside us. But when we investigate, we see nothing."
"Does laughter follow you and your men? Does it mock you?"
"Nay and nay, my Lord! The laughter may go deeper into the forest but never far from the forest line. And the laughter can be named mischievous at best but always very innocent."
Thranduil hummed again and rolled the parchments into a makeshift scroll clasped in one hand. The other hand supported his chin, his elbow resting on the armrest of his throne.
"Go," he said absently, too immersed in his thoughts. "Go, I shall call you should I require more from you."
Only after the captain left did his advisor make his presence known. Thorontur sat in a dark corner with his back to the wall. His vantage aided him in seeing all of the room.
"What do you think?" Thranduil asked him. His hands tightened around the temporary scroll until it became thinner.
"I do not know." Thorontur answered him thoughtfully. His dark eyebrows pushed together in a frown. "It is certainly a strange event."
"Strange, and perhaps dark?"
"Dark? I do not believe so. I believe it is just strange and unexplained." Thorontur tapped his fingers over his chin in a rhythm. "It certainly warrants an investigation."
"Then it will have an investigation," Thranduil decided. "See to it they have everything they need. I do not wish for anything in my forest to live without my knowledge."
Night reached him full of waking dreams of quiet.
The weather outside was just as restless as Thranduil. The King of Silvan tossed and turned in his bed until his blankets wrapped around him in whorls until he finally admitted defeat against his sleep. So, he pushed free from his covers and sought comfort by the window. He found none; the weather was cruel and harsh. The wind screamed as it rattled the shut window-glass. The windows shook from the air's rage, as if it were Thranduil's fault that it was trapped outside with Thranduil within. The sky was cloudless, but the new moon was nowhere to be seen. Even the stars were dim; Thranduil barely made out the outline of his forest. It was cast in shadow.
The wind rattled his window so violently that Thranduil stepped back in unease.
Laughter.
He heard it as soon as he stepped back. It was soft, barely heard over the wind. When the wind howled again, he realised the laughter was carried on the wind. It was just as captain described it. It was soft, innocent, sometimes a bit mischievous and thoroughly incessant. He could not find peace from it.
More alert than ever, Thranduil stepped back from the window. The wind picked up and slammed against his window with all its force. Thranduil half-feared the glass would break because of this form of nature but it held up unchanged. The laughter changed, and earned a darker, more menacing tone. He remained where he was, careful not to move a muscle. When he stayed where he was, the childlike laughter returned to its original form; light and sweet. It came from his bathing chamber.
Thranduil followed the voice, curious. His eyes darted quickly in the darkness. The light from the candles in his bedchamber was dim. He stepped into the corridor leading to his bathing chamber and saw two figures crouched together on the floor.
Two children sat facing each other, with their knees reaching their chests and arms around their folded legs. One of the girls was older, nearly six summers. Thranduil supposed the other one could not be more than three.
The older girl had messy brown hair, with bits of earth and straw stuffed in her hair. Her face was round and strangely pale, with reddish cheeks and overly large pupils. The younger one had reddish hair, turned dark with earth and decaying leaves. She held a ragged doll in her arms.
Thranduil smiled and knelt before them, past inhibitions forgotten. He addressed the older girl first.
"Your hair is a bird's nest." Thranduil quipped lightly. He was rewarded with a giggle. "And even birds keep their homes neat and clean, unlike that mop of hair." He earned another giggle. Thranduil smiled wider without realising it. "Now what are two young girls like you, doing in my halls, and in my chambers, no less?"
The younger one piped, "Awe you the king of the fowest?"
Thranduil was amused by the young one's effort to string words together.
"Indeed, I am." Thranduil crouched low. "And who might these two young maidens be? None pass through my kingdom unannounced, much less my halls."
"Some things aren't in your control, King of the forest." The older one said, smiling with laughter dancing in her eyes. Her cheeks were dimpled and red, as if she stayed too long in the frigid air.
"Aren't they?" Thranduil wondered aloud. "Tell me, how did you get in?"
"It waw eawy," the younger one spoke. Thranduil's lips twitched again at the adorableness of her speech.
"Was it? Did you sneak in?" Two heads bobbed once in unison. "Well, my guards must be lazy of late. I should punish them."
"Don't do that!" The older one said earnestly. "It isn't their fault. We are good at it. Besides, it was only a game." The older one held up a hand while she smiled. "Do you want to play a game?"
"What game?" He asked warily. The younger one skipped to him. He caught a whiff of warm sunlight and flowery scent from her hair when she stopped in front of him with a little bounce and hugged her toy close to her chest.
"Play with us." The older one urged. Her sister pressed against his side, and he absently patted her head. His wariness melted away. He felt happy. He felt content.
"Here you will know no pain or sorrow," the older one whispered. The younger, still clutching a red doll in her hand giggled and tried to hug him with only one arm around his neck. Smiling, Thranduil complied.
As soon as her arm went around his neck, Thranduil felt something constrict around his throat. He reached up with a free hand and felt nothing but air. He gasped, clawing at his neck. He looked at the two girls, and found them horrifyingly transformed. The inviting smiles turned into wide snarls of yellowing teeth. Their eyes were unfocused and glassy. Their skin turned pale, cheeks red with congealing blood. They looked more like corpses than children. The scent of flowers and sunlight turned into the musky scent of a grave and rotting meat.
"Thranduil!"
He felt two large hands grab his shoulders from behind.
"I know not which delivery has taken hold of him, but begone! Back! Back to where shadow and evil dwell!"
Thranduil heard a long hiss by his ear and suddenly the tension around his throat eased. Thranduil collapsed backwards against a solid chest and breathed in gratefully.
"Thranduil?" Thorontur demanded. He cradled the King in his arms and shook him slightly. "Thranduil, speak!"
"Children," Thranduil gasped. He tried to sit, pushing Thorontur's hands when they hovered close to him. Once he regained enough strength, he slowly raised himself by supporting his weight against the table. He sat down heavily on it and leaned against the wall, "in my room." Thorontur's eyes widened and he looked upon him in surprise.
"Are you sure?" His advisor asked. Thranduil nodded wordlessly and massaged his throat to ease the tension. Then he glanced at Thorontur.
"You doubt me."
"Nay, I believe you." Thorontur looked around cautiously. "Are they here or have they gone?"
"Gone," Thranduil said. He placed his hand on his forehead. His skin felt cold and clammy, and the air inside the room seemed colder than before. "But they'll be back." Thorontur looked at him sharply.
"How would you know?"
"I know." Thranduil said with certainty. "I simply know." He shivered and crossed to his wardrobe, where he pulled a thick mantle and threw it over his shoulders. "You may stay if you wish. I can handle this on my own."
"I am not leaving you!" Thorontur snapped. "There is no way to know what would happen if I leave here and they return."
"How did you know to come here?"
"I am your advisor, Thranduil. I have known you for many years. I always know what is on your mind."
Thranduil smiled, thinking about his staunch companion.
"Aye," he agreed softly. "You always do."
"Why must you be the one to handle this?"
"They sought me. That is why."
"I would have thought spirits were harmless. They lose themselves in time."
"Children remember. They always do in life. It only makes sense they remain the same in death. And anger and confusion are strong emotions. It lends power. For spirits, it means they become capable of many things... Even murder."
They sat together, facing each other on the floor at the foot of his bed. Thorontur tugged the sheet off Thranduil's bed and used them to keep himself warm.
They say in long silence, until the moonlight grew steadily bright as the night deepened. Then they heard soft laughter. Thranduil lifted his head and looked at Thorontur with question in his eyes.
"I hear them too," Thorontur murmured. He looked up, past Thranduil's shoulder and paled. "I see them too."
Thranduil paused for a long moment. Then he slowly turned his head. The two girls stood before him, the younger one standing with one arm clutching her toy close to her chest and the other dangling from her older sister's tight fist. They looked like they did when the first appeared, without the rotting flesh and half-worn bones.
"Why won't you play with us?" The younger one asked.
"Because that one won't let us," the older one hissed angrily, pointing at Thorontur.
"Killing someone isn't a game," Thorontur spoke quietly. Thranduil was surprised. Thorontur spoke in a manner of gentle, soft-hearted father reprimanding his children for a small mistake. "You can hurt people. Why not play something else?"
"No one would pway wiv' us." The younger one said sadly.
"They ignore us." The older one expired bitterly. "The ones that do pay attention become scared and then they run away. It makes us lonely. It makes us upset!" Her voice heightened to a high pitch. Her image flickered, revealing her true form beneath.
"But death is not the answer."
"Yes, it is!" The younger piped, sounding hopeful. "If they awe like us, then they would pway wiv' us fowevew and fowevew!"
"It doesn't work that way." Thranduil said gently. Then he sighed and shook his head. There was no way to reason with a child. Then he suddenly had an idea. "Let us play a game then," he urged. "Why don't you girls hide somewhere you always go, and we will come and try to find you?" The two girls peered at him suspiciously and then they smiled.
"Alright," the older one said. The younger one nodded her head vigorously. "Come find us!" The two girls held hands and raced through the open door and down the corridor.
"We have to go." Thranduil said suddenly.
"What?" Thorontur asked, surprised.
"We have to follow them."
"We shall do nothing of the sort!" Thorontur began angrily.
"They will come back. You know they will. There will be no peace until they find it themselves." Thranduil grabbed his sword and pulled a cloak free from his wardrobe. "And I intend to solve this matter." He finished grimly.
They both ignored the guards insisting they take an escort. Instead, only the King and his advisor ventured out in the night on their horses, armed with a sword and carrying shovels.
"They're gone." Thorontur said. "What now?"
"They'll be here." Thranduil said with firm certainty. "They want to play, after all."
The words barely left him when they heard soft laughter. Thranduil turned sharply in his saddle, absently calming his horse when it felt him shift. The laughter belonged to many children and yet sounded so distant and faraway. Then a girl's voice whispered encouragingly amongst the laughter.
"Let us go," Thranduil murmured. He spurred his horse into action. They followed until they reached the end of the forest, and the laughter grew so loud that it surrounded them from all sides. They came upon a mound that was obviously dug and refilled with a sparse few sprouts covering the surface. They halted.
The voices disappeared.
"We are here." Thorontur whispered. Thranduil replied with a nod.
Thranduil tossed a shovel to Thorontur who caught it cleanly. Thranduil dug his own shovel into the ground with one foot before tugging it free. Soil flew out in the air. They worked quickly in tense silence. Neither of them was willing to find out what lay beneath. Twilight was fast approaching. It was best to finish their work when there was still light.
Thranduil's shovel struck something hard and he halted. It was not a stone. It was not hard soil either. He eased the shovel free from the ground and looked at his advisor. A wordless conversation took place between them. They resumed shovelling, but this time they went slower.
When another shovel of soil was removed, something peeked out from the dirt. Thranduil grasped it and held it up for his advisor to see.
It was a skull that belonged to a child, free from skin, flesh and cartilage and gnawed free from remaining flesh by maggots. Two large holes were eyes should have been winked at them. Maggots fell out from the nostrils and onto the ground below, between Thranduil's feet.
"What sorcery is this?" Thorontur said in wonder. "We are haunted by the dead!" Thorontur bent and shifted through the soil with his hands until he pulled out a large dark object.
Thorontur passed it to him wordlessly. It was a ragged doll, covered with earth and decaying leaves. Thranduil cradled it in his hands, feeling grim.
"One of the girls, the younger one, was holding this." He muttered. He squeezed it lightly, feeling the moisture deep out of it and onto his hands.
"Who would do such a thing?" Thorontur asked.
"I have heard rumours of this. Children that were buried before their time," Thranduil said with a sorrowful shake of his head. "They were not afflicted by the Great Plague but the people buried the children alive nevertheless, because of their terror of an illness that had no remedy."
"Who would do that to a child?" Thorontur hissed in surprise and disgust.
"Fear can be a terrible master." Thranduil said. "And I do not think it is just one child." Grimly, they returned to digging until five more skeletons were uncovered. They pieced together the skeletons as if they were pieces of a puzzle, until they lay in a single file on the ground.
"Where are their families?" Thorontur wondered.
"Dead," Thranduil assumed. "Or perhaps they fled. But they have no family any longer. Or else they would have been buried with a bit more dignity than piling alive and well children in a deep pit and throwing earth on them."
Thorontur's frown deepened.
"No parent should be this cruel to their child."
"If that were so, the world would have been a better place. But such is the realities of this world. Wait here."
He found them not far from the tragic burial site. They sat side by side on a long rock with their backs to him. Thranduil sat on the ground beside him, bending his legs and crossing them at the ankles before bracing them with his arms.
"What are we?" The older one asked in a very small voice.
"Spirits," Thranduil answered. "Spirits who died before their time. Those who did not know it is time to pass to the halls."
"Which hawls?" The younger one piped. Thranduil glanced at her.
"The ones that beckon to you. You may know the way," Thranduil answered. "Perhaps you are frightened to tread the path leading to them." She ducked her head and clutched her doll right against her chest.
"It's woo faw." She mumbled into her doll.
"It's not too far. Not when you take that first step." Thranduil consoled her.
"What then?" The older one asked, a desolate look fixed on her face. "After we reach the halls?"
"I'd imagine you would meet your family beyond the circles of Arda."
"What is beyond the circles of Arda?"
"I do not know."
"You do not know?" Fear settled on the older one's features.
"No one knows, child." Thranduil amended. "Except for those who crossed the circles. They do not share their secrets for they never return. But I'd imagine that whatever awaits them is worth staying there." He smiled reassuringly at her.
"I don't think I want to go." The older one said, stiffening her lower lip and chin stubbornly. But there was fear in her eyes.
"No one will force you to." Thranduil said gently, realising he needed to convince the older one first. "But it is not natural for you to be in Arda for so long now that you have no body to call your home. Soon, you will lose yourself to the darkness here and then you will be a shadow of yourself. You would forget who you are."
There was a long pause.
"You promise it is better over there?" The older one asked meekly.
"For such young beings," Thranduil said. "I am sure." Silence fell. Thorontur lingered close by, hearing everything but not interrupting.
"Will you sway, untiw we awe gone?" The younger one said worriedly.
"Aye," Thranduil said, smiling softly. "I will stay."
Thranduil sat at the foot of the stone, and Thorontur sat down beside him. The girls remained silent and still as statues. They sat together for a long time, until the moon waned and slowly the stars winked out to sleep for the day. Light chased away the dark. And soon the sun peeked over the horizon. Thranduil tilted back his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of sunlight on his cheeks. When he opened them, they were gone.
Thranduil stood up, his limbs groaning over the sudden use. He looked behind him where the hole lay open like a wide mouth. The skeletons were arranged in a line beside it. They deserved a proper burial, each with their own graves and some kindly words for all of them.
"Come. It is time we buried the dead."
When they were done and they had spoken some words of prayer for the children, Thranduil leaned on his shovel and shook his head.
"Fear is a terrible thing. It teaches you doubt, turns ordinary things into nightmares and envisions innocent children as the enemy."
"And in the end, children suffer most from our mistakes." Thorontur murmured. Thranduil hummed an agreement.
~S~
Author's Note:
I started working on this story some time back. I read in the Silmarillion that the spirits were meant to go to the Halls of Mandos, and yet some managed to reject the call if they died before their time. Now this was for the Elves but I wondered; what about the Men?
It is a daunting thing to read history, because then you will see how many times family killed their own family in the fear of plague, poverty and capture during a war. Children were often victims.
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