Ashes and Stones

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's creations. Sadly. Unfortunately. Really. *bawls*

Summary: The Arkenstone is found and of many, the Elvenking too is to swear fealty to King Thrór. Just before his visit, tragedy strikes Mirkwood where an ambush has most scouts dead and his own son missing. Enraged and heartbroken, Thranduil vows to make Thrór pay with fear which only a parent could harbour. He soon finds Thrór's truest weakness and perhaps his own.

AN: Missed me? XD Well here I am, back with yet another plot and yep...you guys guessed it. This one too has a lot of drama and angst and Thranduil's fabulousness (or...me trying lamely to write his fabulousness. Which is WRONG. Fabulousness can NOT be written. Erm, but can be tried to be written? ^^;) Anyway. Back to the point:

This is an independent little project of mine. It is AU-ish, and is Pre-Smaug.

It is screwed up. It is dark, heavy angst, revenge, death, (attempted) suspense, screwed up relationships, has sex, has power play and an author biting her nails to make it all work.

Guys do let me know what you think. I'd love to hear from you and see your suggestions.

Hope you like this~

Chapter 1

As he staggered on towards the stronghold, Gelmir's breath whizzed and puffed, struggling every time he gasped to take one more gulp of life. He limped, cringing hard when the wound on his ankle throbbed hard with the metal end of an arrow still lodged in.

The royal guard swallowed thickly when at last the beginnings of his king's cavern came to view. He paused wanting to take one deep breath but moved sooner than he hoped. Fear of a life slipping was often a motivator for the desperate.

The guardsmen startled when Gelmir crashed against the door. He rolled over no sooner had he hit the great wooden pane, chest heaving hard and deep as he clambered one of the guards for support.

"Take me to the king," he said.

The guards frowned and held him up. It was at that time did one of them felt something other than the fabric on Gelmir's back. It was sticky and cold enough to blanch the other. His eyes widened in panic just as Gelmir's started becoming hazed. He asked about the metal handle the end of which was lodged deep in Gelmir's back. He tried freeing it.

"You leave it there. I will answer to the king," Gelmir answered with much strain and added at the horrified looks of others. "I will die faster if you take it off."

"Take me to the king," Gelmir insisted again. This time, they did as requested, one standing by the door with great vigil while the other escorted his fellow guard, blanching every moment as red stained him and the floor.

"Travelling north will take about ten days and ten nights, returning will be take a little more for winter is not too far behind. Perhaps we shorten our stay to...Erebor—limit it to a few days rather than weeks. The woods are peaceful for now, Valar be with us, and it wouldn't take us long to keep ready our gift for them."

Thranduil had been sitting in the throne room, cool eyes looking forward while his advisor went over the journey he would soon make to Erebor. There were rumours of the dwarf king uncovering something very rare and divine. A stone they said, the heart of the very mountain in which they dwelt and King Thrór had high expectations of Thranduil to swear fealty to him.

His eyes narrowed at the very line of thought.

Fealty to somebody was something which Thranduil had never considered in account. Not since they had inspiration to build a kingdom of their own; he didn't need to and he didn't have to. Still, fealty to Elu Thingol was a great honour.

Fealty to a dwarf however...

His heart burned with scorching hatred smouldered but never extinguished. His eyes flickered with its flame at the very thought of a kind that knew nothing but greed. Had it not been for the purpose of keeping peace, Thranduil would never in his worst delirium so much as spit in Erebor let alone step in it.

All of a sudden, a loud crash echoed throughout the throne room followed by wheezes of breath, roughly pulling Thranduil away from his musings. His eyes fell on the floor, right at the base of the flight of stairs to his throne. They were trailed by dark crimson stains and at the end of the trail lay a crumpled figure of his guard who managed to hold on to the stairs with bloodied hands, looking up desperately asking his king to come closer when he clearly hadn't the strength of his own to do so.

Thranduil felt his heart sinking deep at the sight, his legs already lifting him up from his throne while he dashed for the guard. The more he came closer, clearer he witnessed the mess which was there right before his eyes. The guard's leg was wounded beyond belief; the tunic on his back now had no strand of green as dark Elven blood pooled around the hilt of a dagger sticking from his spine.

It was a wonder that he had made this far.

"My king," he started feebly, choking down a whimper as the pain becoming searing and all the more unbearable.

Thranduil quickly knelt by the elf, letting his eyes wander over the guard who now struggled to keep his vision straight. Holding him up by his shoulders, Thranduil asked with alarm seeping in his tone, "Tell me all that you know. How did this happen?"

Gelmir heaved a few times, his mouth opening and closing trying to find his voice and strength when he finally replied, "The north borders, my King. We were a handful of scouts, returning." He paused, face twitching and clenching with unbelievable agony. Thranduil held him up further, making Gelmir swallow hard, as a trembling hand held on to his own supporting arm.

"We do not know what came upon us." Gelmir went on, "Our men fell. A few scattered. There was no sound, there was no battle. All slain. All ambushed."

Thranduil remained silent. His face remained still but only through his wide eyes and their distant look could one see the cold horror beginning to latch on to the Elvenking. Even as he held the other, Thranduil shuddered when his palms felt the wetness of blood seeping through Gelmir's clothes.

He didn't trust himself to speak. His lips went dry and his tongue became entirely paralyzed with unspoken fear while his own hands started to tremble with a hopelessness that was too frightening to be true. The void in Thranduil's heart grew deer and deeper, a chilled foreboding feeling howling in it like ominous winds, all the while his colour began draining away from his face.

"And what of the others?" He asked, praying inwardly for an answer he wished to hear no matter how farfetched the wish would be.

He didn't wait for Gelmir's answer. He didn't need it. The way his chest heaved, the way is whole frame began quivering was proof enough of his estimation.

"Rûmil?"

Gelmir quietly shook his head.

"Legolas?"

He had not been found and Thranduil's worst fear was confirmed. But he wasn't allowd dtime to mourn.

Thranduil was once more pulled away from the shock when his sense of duty struck him. Gelmir was beginning to feel cold in his arms. The blood loss was heavy haggard breaths were hot and short, hitting against Thranduil's neck as the elf struggled to hold on.

Thranduil still tried, he tried his best to sustain Gelmir as long as he could. If only to ask for more answers—any that he could find—any that would prove him wrong of his assumptions. However, much to his horror, the guard was slipping.

"Who did this? You must've seen something! A glance, anything!" Thranduil barked, almost jerking the other, as if it would shrug the lethargy away from him. It was futile. For Gelmir now began feeling heavy in his arms and the guard's eyes began to close.

"No, no tell me! Tell me something!" Thranduil's tone became sharper, louder and more desperate. "You have seen something, surely! Rúmil? Legolas? Damn you, tell me!"

It proved to be of no use for Gelmir was growing tired and limp, his energy started to fleet and ever so slowly, his eyelids started fluttering as a darkness loomed over his eyes. At that, Thranduil became all the more desperate.

"There must be someone who has seen! There must be someone who is alive! There is, tell me who!"

A sharp gasp escaped his lips as his hand felt the dagger. Mindlessly, Thranduil pulled it out, cringing at the choking whimper of his guard who breathed his last breath falling heavily upon Thranduil.

For a while, Thranduil sat still unmindful of the others who had gathered around their King. He felt so numb. He didn't know how he would face Galion. He didn't know how he would tell him of his son's death and how he would cope with his son missing probably dangling at the brink of death!

His mind didn't respond, his heart didn't beat and whatever hope he had in him died away when he settled the lifeless body of the other on to the floor.

His eyes fell on the floor, wide and uncertain, wandering aimlessly till they caught a glimmer of the dagger lying beside him. They lazily took in the bloodied blade, so red and sick it almost made Thranduil's bowels churn with disgust and horror. His eyes moved on, scanning idly the hilt, marked and carved out of mithril.

At that, some sense returned to Thranduil and he frowned thoughtfully.

Mithril?

Growing alarmed, he lent his entire focus on the hilt which seemed to have some strange carvings on them. He picked it up and inspected the marks closely. They seemed to be runes. No, language. Foreign words that belonged neither to the common tongue nor to black speech. It was too precise and crafted to belong to Mordor.

He had seen these before. He didn't know the language but the markings were of a similar kind he had come across ages ago. Back when he was still in Doriath. Back when Elu Thingol had asked to forge his doom.

It was at that moment that his heart stopped beating for an entire moment.

Terror flooded his chest as it settled deep with a horrifying realization. And the more he realized the more frantic Thranduil grew. He started trembling. A crushing feeling gathered on his chest, quickly overcoming by a fire that began burning in his eyes.

He was a fool for placing his trust in them. How could he believe to even be civil with a race known for hatred and greed and jealousy? His foolishness cost him a child he had raised and perhaps his own and only son!

They started to sting with rage, hatred and betrayal narrowing narrowed dangerously over the dagger in his hand.

Thrór never wanted his fealty. He wanted to shove his power in Thranduil's face! With the Arkenstone he had a perfect excuse. But that wasn't enough for him. He couldn't wait, the bastard. He dared to take it a step further. He dared to mock Thranduil and test his patience! He took his son away from him. He murdered an elfling he had raised. And he still hoped to play innocent and demand Thranduil's visit?

His trembling ceased when a hand was placed upon his shoulder. The rampant war Thranduil felt in his chest suddenly quietened down like to an eerie composure as his gaze became frigid.

"My king, what are our orders?" Asked an advisor. "The dagger alone is not a sustainable proof. They could easily deny it being theirs or them having any knowledge of the ambush. Although we know better."

Calmly, Thranduil rose up and faced him, the deathly cold glance of the king sufficient to silence anyone in the throne room.

"We have no viable proof but it is indeed a Dwarven blade," Thranduil spat his words hatefully at the dagger.

"We shouldn't jump into conclusions," a counsellor warned. "Of all things, Thrór is not a hard head. He will not use a weapon so easily traceable."

"We need to give him the benefit of doubt. If we find him responsible, we kill him!" Added another.

"He shed blood of our kin. We shed blood of his own."

"He wants to ruin us, I say we ruin him."

"But what should we do? Should we make this tragedy be known to him? Should we play along?"

"He will not come here if he is guilty. He will not accept any sudden invitations right after the meeting with our King."

"My king?"

"We shall go as planned," Thranduil ordered, daring anyone to defy it and none did. "Our stay will be short. I will be escorted by a few men with one of my advisors acting as interim till I return. Have scouts search the woods, let them account of those who fell and let them go on searching for the missing. If they are not found, they are not to be taken for dead." A fire burned in his eyes as he spoke, his jaws tightened as anger bubbled in his chest.

He couldn't save his old friend's son. He couldn't protect his kin. But he refused to give up on Legolas.

"Then we bring them to our Realm."

AN: Yes, Rumil. Rumil is Galion's son and Thranduil's ward. Now...this is not mpreg but...for now, let us consider Galion being a single dad, besties with Thranduil, has a kid who...basically was around Thranduil so much that he was likea son to our fab Elvenking.

Note 'for now'. I change my mind...you know that though, don't you? XD

Please review~