Thranduil Part 1
Legolas and Tauriel were standing in front of him, below him.
Thranduil sat on his throne, leaning back lazily, one leg crossed over the other, his cloak draped around his shoulders and pinned with his spider-shaped broach.
As his son and captain went on their knees at the base of his throne, Thranduil stood and strode down the stairs to the ground slowly. He deliberately glared at Tauriel.
The king of the woodland realm stopped just before he reached the last stair, and looked out over the crowed.
200 fresh faces looked up at him respectively, brown hair and nearly black eyes the most common. Rivendell elves. The minority had pure silver hair and piercingly bright blue eyes, the elves of Lothlorien. There were 200 elves in the shadows, most with red hair in green eyes or silver-gold and deep as the sea blue eyes.
"Tauriel." Thranduil's strong and kingly voice rang out in his chamber, weaving around the horns of the elk antlers on his throne. "Before you left, you went with 12 other elves of your kind. Yet you return with only 205. Why?"
Tauriel stood as straight as one of his eldest trees, though the mighty king could see the fear deep in her eyes. "There were many dangers. Orc packs and deadly wolves and hunger and weariness. Only five of my own could survive."
It pained her to say these things. She had trained each of her elves personally and painstakingly made them into strong warriors. The elf captain saw them as her own children. Thranduil knew it hurt when a child died, and could sympathize.
But great kings didn't sympathize. They ruled sternly yet fairly.
"You can just bring in more elves to replace them." Thranduil sighed.
"Lady Arwen gave them to me as a gift, and I accepted."
"Of course you did. She was dying. But do these elves of rivers and the moon really think they are strong enough?" Thranduil asked.
Tauriel glanced over at her shoulder. The 200 elves from Rivendell and Lothlorien all raised their clenched fists in the air and chanted over and over again, "Aye!"
Thranduil looked out over the swaying mass. A mass of jet black and coco brown and moon-light white.
"Silent." The king called. His voice was thick and stern and rang out among the trees with such ease as he didn't need to raise his voice for it to be heard over the clamor of any occasion. He made a point to connect his own deep-sky blue eyes with Tauriel's flaming green ones. "Train them well."
The beautiful she-elf broke the intimate contact as she lowered her head respectfully.
With that, Tauriel turned 'round. It was almost like magic that 200 travelers and 200 natives diverged in the center, black and gold and silver mingling as one.
The natives helped guide the newcomers into fit ranks. The group turned and saluted respectfully towards Thranduil, then marched to their hollows, where the Silven Elves resided inside of the Mirkwood halls.
The king breasted the last step to come face to face with his son, who was just rising.
"You act to harshly on her." Legolas protested.
Thranduil waved his hand in the air dismissively. "I could not wait for her to stammer through a meager answer, Legolas. We have more pressing matters." On cue, the dwarf friend of his son Legolas strode forward, finally having fought his way through the churning mass of elves.
"Who might you be?" Thranduil asked.
"You need not speak to me as if I were such as a child, for I am bolder than you might guess." The dwarf grumbled.
"That is not a proper answer, Master Dwarf." For once, Legolas didn't intervene.
"Name's Gimli, Gloin's son."
"I am King of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil Vigorousspring." The dwarf grunted, stifling laughter. "I would not snigger, Gimli. For we all have our traditions, and I would not dare smirk at yours, for traditions are not jests."
"Rightly." The dwarf tugged at his belt roughly.
Thranduil nodded once, slowly, dragging it out.
"Your party is on its way. They say another week, at the least."
"Yes. It is a long trail from Erebor to even the borders of your realm."
"Such information I already knew." Thranduil replied. "I was wondering such information as where your people would sleep while we are preparing for attack."
"Anything close to the ground." Gimli gulped, looking over the side of the platform to the ground far below. "Or at the least anywhere the dangers of rolling off are less prominent."
Thranduil nodded again, slowly and deliberately.
"Unfortunately, I have other business to attend to, and I will not be able to show you around. But I am sure Legolas wouldn't mind." Thranduil glared pointedly at his son.
The prince nodded once respectfully at Thranduil before gesturing the Dwarf should follow.
It was a mystery to him how Legolas could befriend a dwarf so easily.
Mirkwood didn't have a courtyard such as Rivendell did.
It only had the main hall that led to the rest of the forest kingdom.
It was in this main hall, right in front of the doors to the forest, Thranduil now strode into. The Eagle King stood, or rather slouched, near the doors. It was clear the huge bird would rather be outside. But that was one think Thranduil couldn't fix. The king had wanted to speak, and Thranduil had agreed.
Given, most meetings happened at the foot of this throne, but this huge animal wouldn't fit, or be willing enough to delve deeper into the kingdom should his size permit.
"The noble king of eagles." Thranduil said, his voice reverberating off every surface so his whisper turned into a yell.
"The king of the forest." The eagle replied, bowing his head in the elven fashion. "It is agreeable to meet with you again."
"Indeed. It has been long years since we last spoke, the Battle of Five Armies." Thranduil replied, bowing his own head for just a moment. If nothing, he was just a bit respectful.
"Yes, it must be." The gigantic eagle sighed. "And yet a second time we meet under such terrible circumstances."
"Indeed. It must be a pattern." Thranduil didn't pace. He didn't lower and raise his head. He didn't stalk around the room. For once, he stood perfectly still. He was never rude to a king.
"You have done great, protecting my people from the dangers. I cannot thank you enough for returning my son."
Thranduil nearly constantly worried about Legolas, though he'd never admit it. The king couldn't bare losing his son for the kingdom, just as he'd lost his lover.
"It was all my pleasure. I have decided it is time to return to the ways of war."
Thranduil was startled. The eagles fought in such a way that mercilessly killed their enemies, but at the expanse of their lives. They'd already lost 4 such eagles in the Misty Mountains.
"The time of mating has long since passed. How many warriors do you have?"
"Some thousand and ten." The eagle king answered.
"That is enough to face down Sarumon's army. But it was small. We are talking billions of orcs. More than that. Trillions of zillions of orcs. The number is too great for reckoning. You will all fall."
"Yes." The king murmured, his voice reserved and far-off. "The world is changing. The time of the elves was our time, and it has long since ended. There is little left for us, and here is a cause we can put our lives into."
Thranduil felt a sadness grip his heart. The eagles had been good allies, and even better friends. A world without them would be a world less bright.
Yet Thranduil had known the time of the death for the Eagles was coming. The prophecy had come true. The nature of Arwen Evenstar's death had been at the point of a poisoned arrow. He knew the eagles would leave this earth.
And when they did, his death would soon follow.
The king of the Woodland realm knew every bit of the nature of his demise, yet he would make those choices. He couldn't just let everyone he'd ever looked after die in one explosive second.
He wouldn't let it happen.
The trees carried a message for him. The death of the Evenstar has come.
The eagles would leave later that same day.
Then would come his death.
"Can you not see it?" Legolas asked, striding back and forth.
"I can see it, but what would you have me do?" Thranduil replied. Frustration was boiling up inside of him. "Run like a Hobbit?"
"Yes." Legolas replied, quietly. The prince hung his head shamefully.
Thranduil approached him, and put a hand on his son's shoulder. Legolas started and glanced up and Thranduil. The boy was the only one bold enough to hold the king's gaze.
"What is it you fear?"
"What makes you think I am afraid of anything?" Legolas asked. Thranduil almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.
"Fear is a deep wound, Legolas." Thranduil dropped his hand and turned, striding to the end of his personal chamber. That was all he was going to offer on the matter. "What is your title?"
Thranduil could feel the strange look on his son's face when he asked, but, wisely, the young elf answer. "Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, the Woodland Realm, and Heir to the Tall Seat."
"Yes. And what does that mean?"
"I shall be king should the event come that you should perish."
"Good." Thranduil replied, his deep voice muffled in this room alone. He almost had to speak up to be heard, but that was the way he liked it. Being king seemed too easy out there, in those cavernous halls. One word and all the elves in Mirkwood would die to protect him.
But now it was his turn to die for them.
"What is the nature of these inquiries?" Legolas asked. The king looked at the prince and gave a half smile, but it was more of a grimace.
"I must go to war as soon as word comes forth. Whether that be with the Dwarves as friends at my side, or not. I must protect my people. And so shall you.
"I intend to find some way to bargain for the safety of Mirkwood. If the orcs should break that promise…"
Sudden understanding hit Legolas. "You intend to let them kill you."
"If it will buy you prosperity, I will take any risk."
"Father…" Legolas protested.
"Do not fight it. You must fight if the orcs do not take my life as a high enough payment for your freedom."
"Dad…" Legolas tried, but Thranduil wouldn't hear to it.
"If the orcs should be unfaithful…"
"I will find a way to protect the Woodland realm." Legolas responded.
"Good." Thranduil turned away. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He'd been fighting back tears a lot lately. More so since Tauriel grew up and became able to understand her feelings. "Now, tonight is the Feast of Star Light."
"I shall take care of all the arrangements." Legolas assured his father, rather glad to be off the topic of the demise of the King of the Realm.
"I knew you would." Thranduil turned and offered Legolas his rare smile. His son would be the only one to ever see him smile again. He patted the boy on the shoulder gently but firmly. "And summon Tauriel."
Legolas blushed at the mention of her name, but nodded and set off to do his work.
Maybe he should be allowed to pledge himself to Tauriel.
He did love her.
Thranduil was looking out over the small pool of cool water in his chambers when he heard the door creak open, then quietly close again. Any serenity that had found its way into his troubled mind suddenly fled back to its abode under the small sea.
The only thing he could hear that would signal the approach of any elf was the gentle breathing. In and out. Never irregular. It was almost soothing, just standing still and listening to the untroubled breathing of a young elf.
Thranduil regarded her icily, his cold blue eyes staring searchingly at the slim figure of the elf captain.
She seemed tired, worn and rough at the very edges.
"Are you glad to be back?" Thranduil asked her. He genuinely was curious about how she felt.
"The sound of elf children laughing and the elven tongue speaking and singing and jesting is wonderful to hear again."
"Are there not elves in Rivendell?"
Tauriel blushed. "That is different. Rivendell is an elvish abode. Mirkwood is my elvish abode. My home."
Thranduil nodded, understanding. He too had come home after his journeys as a young elf and been glad to hear his friends merrily singing and new children prancing about.
"Do you remember when Rivendell used to be like Mirkwood?"
"Sir?"
"Do you remember passing through as a young child, a refugee?"
"Yes, of course. Splendid colors and singing all around and fires and feasting near each night." Tauriel replied, sounding as if she had fallen into a dream. She quickly shook her head. "But the children and serious, the colors damp, the wind cold."
"Why would that be?"
"War is terrible. It does terrible things. We all lose our color, one way or another."
She was wise. Young, but wise. He told her so.
Tauriel blushed. "Your words are too kind, my king."
Thranduil waved his hand absently. "Only because I have a task for you."
"Anything, my king. What shall you have me do?"
"Train your people. They must be strong. Care for them. Provide them with leather and cloaks and pants. Teach them how to braid their hair in your fashion. Give them each their own blade and bow and arrow fleche."
"I will, to the best of my abilities."
"But tonight, do not work. Do not fight or bleed or cry for your people. Braid their hair for the celebration and invite them. Tonight, the feast of the Starlight is here, and they are Mirkwood elves now. They shall eat with us and get drunk with us, for the starlight watches over us."
She nodded her head, slightly bowing, showing respect to her king.
"You shall be my son's princess tonight, shall he ask it of you." Thranduil murmured. His throat was tight.
Tauriel looked up at him, fear at being teased evident through the sudden flash of delight in her bright green eyes. They really were soulful, weren't they?
"I am but a lowly Silven Elf. You would really let your son, the prince of Mirkwood, even consider pledging himself to me?"
"All love is pure, Tauriel." Thranduil replied as he turned back to the pool. "Who am I to stand in your way?"
Legolas was truly elegant.
His long golden-silver hair was freshly combed, his bangs clasped at the back of his head, his sideburns braided and the braids slung back like a crown just above the simple points of his ears. His deep blue eyes shown bright out of his pale face, his lips in a perfect line.
His silver robes were fastened but two elk horn buttons, his silver pants showing through the flaps. His forest brown soft boots were replaced with silver clothed slipper-like shoes, rising no higher than his ankle.
Definitely his mother's son, Thranduil decided.
The king himself rarely braided his hair. That was a memory he reserved only for his long-gone wife, the first one ever to braid the golden strands. His hair hung loose, the front halves often resting on his shoulders, the rest falling down to his lower back.
His deep blue eyes were more steely than watery. Everything was right there, whilst if you looked into Legolas' eyes, you wondered about everything. People hardly ever spoke boldly to Thranduil for fear, whilst many, children and elders alike, bullied Legolas for his friendships with the dwarves and men and hobbits and scorned him.
Thranduil wore the intricately woven crown of branches and bright red berries on his head simply. Legolas was no king. He simply waited for the crown.
Thranduil himself wore knee-high silver boots, and his own silver robes draped down to the floor like a cascading river, the only thing holding it together his arms in the sleeves and a large, elk head shaped broach, the sprawling silver antlers clutching the ends of the fabric to cover his well-muscled chest.
His cloak was clasped with a smaller, nearly invisible sun-rise red jewel, the cloak itself a rich silk the color of blood.
Legolas had no rings, whilst Thranduil had three. On the finger next to his pinky on his left hand, he had the first elven ring. The pointer finger of the same hand had a ring of white-blue. The finger next to the pinky on his right hand had the delicately woven rose ring his wife had worn.
The only thing that differed between Legolas and his mother was the hair color. Hers had been bright red, while Legolas' hair was the golden-silver.
But the prince didn't know. She'd died long ago. So long, Thranduil was alarmed to realize, even he was starting to forget all the things that made her, her.
Her deep, soulful eyes, the way the Starlight held her in its grasp and fire kissed her full lips. How her voice rang, not so powerful as his, but more gently. She was the mother of the forest.
His family had been torn apart at the doors of Mordor. So he'd come home, pledged himself to Ellirian. Months later, she'd given birth to Legolas.
Time had gone on. Legolas grew big and strong, the realm prospered, and soon his wife had given birth to another child.
It was then a deeper shadow was cast on Thranduil as his daughter grew sick and died because of a plague brought to the edges of the forest.
Seeking revenge, Ellirian had gone off to battle.
And he never saw her smile again. He never felt her love.
Legolas grew up forgetting his dead sister, and clasping onto the fragmented memories of his mother. And even those were starting to fade.
Thranduil knew his time was near. He also knew in time, Legolas would forget him too.
But something told him Tauriel would never forget him, the King of the Woodland Realm.
There was no moon. The gentle stream that fed different pools all over his kingdom was hardly whispering. This was no feast in Lothlorien. No feast in Rivendell.
This was the feast of Mirkwood.
All the light was sacred to the Eldar, but it was starlight that forest elves loved best.
Small torches and candles hardly burned around the feast table. The stars were bright enough to serve all illumination needs.
Thranduil sat in his seat at the head of the table. The queen's chair stood empty for another year. The sight wrenched at Thranduil's heart.
Looking out over the crowed, there were some jets of black in silver in the sea of gold, but the hair was braided the same. They all wore bright silver-golden gowns or robes. Smiles were on every face, and cups of the finest wine were held up in toasts.
There were no forlorn faces or tears shed out of sadness. Joy and merriment and gayness was everywhere.
He king couldn't remember the last time his subjects had been able to shed all their worries.
Tauriel had come with Legolas, both slightly blushing.
Legolas definitely looked handsome. And Tauriel was truly beautiful.
Gimli was making a fool out of himself in the seat of honor. Laughing and making absurd, drunken jokes, his face flushed and his beard becoming frizzy and unkempt as the night wound on.
Thranduil tipped a glass to his lips, and the sweet, reddish brown liquid refreshed his drying lips and dying joy.
He smiled at a little girl with big ears and clear eyes who was speaking to Legolas in screams. The prince found her adorable. He patted her head, and a harried looking father raced up, apologized thoroughly, then plucked her up and whisked away. Legolas smiled fondly and laughed loudly. Tauriel snorted and elbowed him when he dumped his wine on her lap.
Thranduil grinned at the bickering that followed.
Legolas stood and went to get a towel while Tauriel shook her head endearingly. On the prince's return trip, he fumbled as a group of young children raced right in front of him. Caught un-awares, he lept up to avoid stepping on them, only to succeed in being forced to dodge a smiling mother and fall to the ground to avoid the running child.
Tauriel was about to fall over from laughing too hard. Thranduil could hear her tease Legolas as she helped him up. "I thought you were elegant and sure-footed."
Legolas' face was red and getting a shade deeper near every moment. "Children are different from orcs. They are fast and small, and don't pay attention." Tauriel patted his arm sympathetically when he was back on his feet.
Thranduil remembered when he was like that. All smiling and blushing and tripping over children underfoot. Then paying more attention and understanding better when his own little boy had been born.
Something inside of him still dwelt in that mindset. He still felt it, a pure love for his son. All he could see was a little boy smiling and trying to hug him, even though he wouldn't hug back. All he could see was Legolas' crestfallen face when his father stopped paying attention and started mourning, not truly understanding what there was to be sad about. He'd still thought his mother was coming home. Thranduil hadn't let him see her dead body.
The king wore a single braid in her honor that night. It was the only braid he'd ever worn since her death, and only on this one night. The Feast of the Starlight was her favorite day.
Thranduil could still remember kissing Ellirian deep into the night, whilst the starlight gleamed in each other's hair and eyes. He remembered falling asleep, bodies pressed close together, her head on his chest, her back and chest gently rising and falling in a steady rhythm whilst the river sang gently to them in their dreams.
That had all changed when she'd died.
And now, Thranduil could see his own son going down that path. And it stabbed at his heart to know how easy it was to kill her.
She'd put up a fight, sure. But billions of orcs swarming around her gave her little choice but to surrender her own life in the end.
Legolas himself could even die in that same fashion.
That was why Thranduil hoped to make a bargain with the orcs before they had the chance to delve deep enough into Mirkwood to kill all he had left in his small, ending life.
The next morning, Legolas sat down next to his father at the grand table for breakfast. Tauriel wasn't coming, it didn't look like. When Thranduil inquired, Legolas explained she'd gone back to work, training her newest recruits.
Despite this off hand manner, Legolas talked about her hesitantly. His pale face was an unusual color of red.
"Might I inquire about her condition?" Thranduil asked, rather enjoying Legolas' plight, if only in a fatherly humiliation way.
Legolas struggled to speak, and when he did, his voice was far away and nearly an octave higher. "Great." He squeaked. "She's great."
Thranduil smiled and slapped his son on the back lightly. Legolas rebounded embarrassedly.
His son grunted and cleared his throat slowly as Gimli approached, and clearly struggled to banish the flush from his cheeks.
Tried and failed.
"Is my little girl embarrassed?" Gimli teased as he pulled himself up in the seat.
In response, Legolas lashed out, pushing Gimli over the brink of the chair and spilling him onto the ground while muttering, "Shut it." Under his staggering breath.
Thranduil felt his breath come in quick gasps as he fought back laughter.
Legolas turned his deep, blue eyes on his father and gave him a pointed look. Thranduil coughed slightly, muttering, "It's not funny." But breaking into such a laughter that brought tears to his eyes as soon as Legolas turned away to help Gimli back up.
After apologies, of course.
The dwarf seemed shocked at Thranduil's outburst, but said nothing. Legolas tore a piece of bread off of a chunk and spread butter forlornly.
Legolas continued his meal silently, seemingly completely embarrassed.
At one point during the breakfast, a group of elf maidens walked by the table, and began whispering as they passed close. It couldn't be helped. If they walked any further from the table, they'd fall off the edge and plummet to their death.
Thranduil chose to politely ignore the maid's snide comments about someone's status of maidenhood and keep eating.
Gimli was hiding his own grins and looking pointedly at Thranduil to share that fact.
Legolas was calmly taking the taunts. He spread butter over a rather large chunk of bread.
Thranduil would never have been ready for what happened next.
Slowly, Legolas turned to the mocking girls and chucked the piece of bread at them. The tallest one shrieked as the chunk his her in the face, scattering butter all over her face and bread getting stuck in her hair.
Gimli snorted, chocking back laughing and a mouthful of wine. Thranduil turned and stared at Legolas, fighting the urge to laugh himself as Legolas threw a red hand full of red berries and made stains on the delicate white gowns of the maidens.
The girl's terrified shrieks floated around the grand hall and danced on all ears.
They turned tail and ran out of there, but not before Legolas pounded them with black berries.
Legolas looked grim and angry, but broke into laugher when Gimli insisted on high fiving him and Thranduil lost control and burst out laughing so loud, the maidens looked back, scowls on their faces.
The king held a hand over his mouth, but tears of enjoyment flew from his eyes. Eventually he crossed his arms on the table and put his head in the bundle, in an attempt to muffle his laughter.
"Oh gosh." Thranduil gasped after a few moments. "They hate me."
"Eh. They hate me even more." Legolas laughed.
Thranduil pulled his head of the table and swatted at Legolas playfully. "I literally cannot believe you just did that." He struggled for breath after his fit.
"I can't either." Legolas admitted.
"That was the best thing I've ever seen." The king replied, whipping tears of joy from his eyes.
"Yeah. That's the best thing I've ever done."
Thranduil swerved from the water side at the sound of a knock on his door. "Enter."
Legolas walked down the steps stiffly. His father watched him struggle to sit on one of the benches, and even then sit at a strange angle.
"What happened?" Thranduil asked, striding closer, his hands behind his back.
"I was assaulted in the corridors."
"By whom?"
Legolas didn't answer. But that was all Thranduil needed.
"No!" Thranduil couldn't believe it.
"Hey, they are supper fierce when they want to be."
"You let yourself get beat up by a bunch of maids?" Thranduil couldn't stop himself.
"Tauriel could beat me up."
"That's different. She's a maid trained to kill orcs. These girls've never left Mirkwood!" Thranduil crowed.
"There were more than the four I pelted with various foods this morning. Maybe like fifty. I was home. I wasn't expecting an ambush." Legolas replied, his voice getting higher and higher.
"You sound like you're getting more and more defensive." Thranduil pointed out.
"Because the more I think about it, the more ashamed I become."
"Good." Thranduil smirked. "You let a bunch of untrained girls beat you up."
Legolas shifted uncomfortably. "I don't remember hurting this much. Ever."
"It's not my fault the orcs have missed tugging your hair and ripping your cloths."
Legolas looked down at himself, then blushed when he noticed the tear in his forest green and brown tunic spanning across his chest. He grasped the ends of the fabric together. "That was the breeze."
Thranduil snorted. "Why did you pummel them, anyway?"
"You heard their comments."
"Yeah. Something about Tauriel losing her status as a maiden…"
"It was an undignified lie!" Legolas snapped.
"Then you didn't…"
"No!" Legolas sighed in exasperation.
"How could they lie about it, if it didn't happen?"
"We were walking back to our hollows, and hers was on the way, and it was stupid to try and walk apart from each other, so we walked together. We got to her rooms, and she looked at me and said goodnight and I said yeah. And then she started to move away, into the doorway and I kind of panicked a little because I wasn't done looking at the way the starlight reflected off her eyes and hair and made them shine brighter.
"I called out, wait! And she turned and looked at me and I got this strange tingly feeling and I just kissed her. Like, really kissed her. Then she kissed back but by then I realized what I'd done so I broke away and ran in the opposite direction."
"You ran." Thranduil asked.
"Yeah. I was just really embarrassed."
"You didn't have to run!" Thranduil exclaimed. "No wonder she didn't come to breakfast bright and early."
"I got that strange feeling."
"It's called love."
"I didn't like it."
"No one does. Not at first."
Dinner was kind to Thranduil.
Gentle, quite, slow. Good breads and meats and cheeses.
Legolas sat next to him, and they talked casually.
But not about Tauriel, which blatantly amused Thranduil.
The river sang gently. The stars came out slowly.
But the inky black sky revealed something shocking.
A faint red glow on the edge of the forest.
"Fire." Thranduil breathed. He pushed himself out of the chair and ran down long passageways. Legolas followed, cloak floating out behind him.
A flash of red rushed up.
Thranduil focused putting everything into forcing his muscles to go as strong as they could.
At the doors, he quickly pulled his bow and quiver stuffed with arrows as he pushed through the heavy doors to the forest.
"Were are we going!" The king heard the prince's call.
"The forest is burning!" Thranduil called, panic bringing desperation into his heart.
The elves at the doors looked at him strangely as he brazenly rushed off into the trees, Legolas and Tauriel flocking out behind him.
His well-built chest kept him pushing and pulling against all obstacles, swinging down into gaping caverns in the forest floor then just as quickly pulling himself up into trees to touch the cool sky that made the sweat on his brow chill.
His long legs propelled him over rough terrain and helped him keep balance on thin roots and slick trees and uneven ground.
His crown poked up, adding to his already menacing height.
Thranduil could feel his heart beating. Everything around him lost true meaning. The sound of his heart droned out the misplaced rocks and snapping branches and dying leaves. He could be making a lot more noise then he thought.
His eyes skillfully sought out the safest way to travel. He could pick out small gaps in trees and hills to climb high rises and he lept over the more protruding root.
Thranduil was dimly aware of Legolas running with just as much skill alongside him, so light on his feet it was a wonder. Tauriel was running on the harder ground.
Panic was rising in her stomach. Thranduil could tell. Her ears were pricked, her nose sniffing, her feet making not a sound, her breath coming in short yet sustaining gasps. "The forest." She whispered. "The forest is a-flame."
Thranduil's sturdy arms reached up and found a low tree branch. His fingers kept finding the next branch, his feet skillfully lifting off the one below him.
He came to the top of the tree, and he stood so delicately it did not bend.
Legolas breached the leaves to stand on the branch on the other side of the top of the trunk. His arms had already drawn his bow.
The sharp hiss of the best steel rang out at Tauriel unsheathed her twin daggers and held them tight, bending her knees.
They could have been threatening. If the flames that reflected in their eyes didn't highlight their tears.
"Oh my…" Thranduil could hear Tauriel breathing heavy, her mouth agape in wonder and fear.
Flames rose high into the night. They sliced open the sky and ate the stars.
Screams rang out in the distance. "HELP!" One voice rose above the rest. The tree swayed as Tauriel tensed and sheathed her blades.
"Tinaraviel!" She screamed. A fierce light shone in her green eyes and she jumped off the tree.
Legolas followed, but Thranduil held him back on the top of the stony ridge.
Her bright green cloak fell the ground as she unclipped it. Her red hair was the last fleeting image they had of her for some time.
Legolas paced back and forth.
Thranduil was horrified. His forest was burning. A small village was trapped.
Orcs.
There was heavy breathing coming from the trees, and coughing. Tauriel emerged, half lifting, half dragging a collapsed form.
Legolas helped her pull the lithe form of a mere child up the slope and set her gently against a rock, where Tauriel lay her cloak.
"I am unharmed." Tauriel pushed Legolas away as she bent down to the girl.
The child was small, hardly a thousand. Her face was gentle shaped, her cheeks sloping, big, round, brown eyes took up most of her face. Her clothes were burning off her small body, but no bare skin could be seen. She was a charred mass. Tears leaked out of her eyes.
"Tinaraviel." Tauriel whispered, holding the child's hand gently.
"Tauriel." The girl coughed. "Orcs came. Defenders fought. But they burned."
"The fires…."
"They will fade when they have consumed the village. The monsters are long gone." The child closed her eyes and scrunched her face. Tears and pitiful gasping sounds escaped her thin, pale, cracked lips.
"We'll get you back to Mirkwood." Tauriel promised, her breath beginning to come in short gasps of desperation.
"It's not that. They took my momma. And my sisters. They took all the girls. They said something about 'blood on his hands will make the tree cow.' What does that mean?" She coughed and wheezed. Tauriel pulled the child's head to her chest. When the girl stopped coughing, there was a scarlet badge on Tauriel's shoulder.
"Shhh. It's all okay now. The prophecy does not concern you. All will be well."
"I'm tired. I need a nap."
"No, you can't. Don't drift, no don't!" Tauriel cried. She was clearly fighting back tears.
"I'm tired."
"Don't drift! Please!" Tauriel's voice shattered into a million pieces. Thranduil's heart wrenched.
"I was told when I'm tired just to sleep because when I awake, all will be well."
"It was a lie." Tauriel murmured, tears smudging the ash and dirt streaks on her face. "Don't fade. Please. Don't."
"But I'm tired."
"Just stay awake."
"I can't."
"No! Stop it!" Tauriel shrieked. "You're hurting me." Was the last thing the child heard before falling into a deep sleep.
Tauriel's agonized shriek added to the pain in the valley.
She hugged the dead child's body to her chest, as if trying to hold the soul in.
Legolas stepped forward and grabbed at her. All the fight had gone out of Tauriel. She fell back into his thick arms and wept into his chest. Legolas rubbed her back gently.
"She was just a baby. I remember. I delivered her. Her mom died in the birthing bed. There was blood everywhere. No, she's just a child. She can't die." Tauriel whimpered as Legolas hummed gently. "Tinaraviel"
The trio limped back to their home, more dejected and depressed than in pain. They couldn't run, all their energy had been spent.
Thranduil continued to press on, even after Tauriel began to fall behind.
The only thing that prompted him to stop was Legolas' cry. "Father!"
Thranduil turned around.
Tauriel was exhausted. It was plain to tell. She was on her knees, gasping for breath, her sides heaving. Her eyelids fluttered and flickered, struggling to stay open. She was leaning to one side, ready to fall off into a deep sleep. Then she'd hit the bottom and that sleep would become eternal.
"We must stop. I could use a rest as well." Legolas called.
"Agreed. I must think."
Legolas helped guide Tauriel over the bridge to the ravine and come on to the other side. She fell down on the trunk of a large tree that the base of another huge rise.
Thranduil sat down a few feet up the rise and Legolas approached Tauriel nervously.
Thranduil could see several gashes on her face, her nose was broken, and her ankle twisted. Her breathing labored.
Legolas sat down tensely. Thranduil wanted to shove him into her. This shyness was tiring and childish. He was no longer sure he had all the time in the world.
"Can you push my foot back?" Tauriel asked. Legolas nodded hesitantly. Tauriel offered up her leg and steeled herself. In a sudden burst of speed, Legolas twisted.
Tauriel's body involuntarily convulsed and she cried out, but the pain seemed to last only a moment. She thanked him and rubbed her ankle gently.
Legolas scooted himself closer noisily, and Thranduil felt embarrassed for him in his struggle at subtly, but Tauriel smirked and pushed his arm gently. It was a tired gesture. She was near to passing out in total exhaustion.
"You are injured." Legolas said suddenly, reaching his hand out. He brushed his hand along a nasty cut across her face. When she gasped in pain, he pulled his hand halfway back.
Her green eyes shone bright in the firelight. A wild light was reflected. Legolas reached out again, but this time to her nose. He whipped the blood off her top lip, then used his sleeve to clean up the lower part of her face. Then, he grasped the twisted appendage and twisted.
A sick pop traveled up to Thranduil's ears, but Tauriel didn't scream or even gasp. She sighed. Legolas used his sleeve to wipe the dripping blood off of her lips and chin.
They looked at each other a long time. Not saying a word. Just staring into each other's eyes.
This time, Tauriel struggled to sit up for a moment in her exhaustion. Her hands, thick with her own blood, reached up and grabbed Legolas' head and pulled him down so her lips could reach his. And they kissed for a few moments, before Tauriel succumbed to her wounds and fell asleep against Legolas' chest.
Thranduil didn't remember falling asleep. All he remembered was being awoken by a party of red haired elves.
One of them offered a hand, and Thranduil took it, grateful for any rock.
"The fire is ended. The village gone. The people are but dust." The elf whispered. There were 20 red haired elves. Silven Elves. Legolas and Tauriel were speaking with each of them as they began to walk painstakingly slowly back towards Thranduil's halls.
His mind kept wandering, a lost child in the masses of bodies wandering to find a home.
Flames danced behind Thranduil's eyes, the screams of the burning echoed in his head, Tauriel's wails made his heart wrench.
He would get revenge.
Later that day, a huge group, maybe 4 thousand, dwarves were escorted to roughly his throne hall. Most of them stood grumbling on stairways or tittering nervously on higher perches. They enjoyed the flat ground.
"Thorin, third of his name." Thranduil greeted the king, bowing slightly.
"Thranduil Elvenking." Thorin replied, bowing back. The tiny dwarf looked up at him.
For once, Thranduil was not sitting on his perch. This king deserved respect.
"I can only thank you for coming to our side is such need."
"If Mirkwood fell, they'd come for home next." Thorin replied.
Thranduil's stomach roiled, his blood boiled, his eyes watered. It had nothing to do with Thorin. His home was in true danger.
"Gimli will show you to your ground-hollows. I expect you should feast with myself, my son and the captain included."
"I would be honored."
"Bring your top generals." Thranduil gave a snide grin.
Tonight, he would feast. Tomorrow, he would fly to war in the burned out fields that, according to his scouts, orc legions preparing for a full-scale invasion now begged to be slaughtered.
Dwarfs were sloppy eaters. That was their most endearing trait.
Tauriel and Legolas were drunk and laughing with the generals while Thranduil and Thorin watched, amused.
The dwarf king of the Lonely Mountain was almost as gentle and kind and elegant as a fellow elf. Thranduil could learn to like him.
Songs in rough tounge were screamed out. Drunken dwarves were as tone deaf as blundering bears.
Tauriel was arm-in-arm with one dwarf, singing a rough tune that Thranduil swore would make his ears start to bleed. There was one difference. Her voice rang out icily clear and soft, a beautiful voice. The dwarf was burping and swaying.
Tauriel had to help him sit down again.
Meanwhile, Legolas was staring intently at another dwarf. Thranduil put his head in his hand, sighing when he realized they were playing a drinking game.
So immature.
But perhaps he was better than his old father. Legolas would, without a doubt, make a splendid king.
Thorin turned, his cup raised, and hailed at Thranduil. "A toast!" He cried, his deep voice like the cracked stone of his home-halls rebounding around again and again. Everyone stopped laughing and joking. Legolas stopped drinking and thumped his partner on the forehead, forcing the dwarf to break off. Tauriel stopping singing and boating, put a slender hand over the mouths of the two dwarves next to her.
Thorin raised his mug, and Thorin followed suite. The whole hall did as well. "A toast!" Thorin yelled again. "To the luck of the army and the prosperity of Mirkwood!"
"To the luck of the army and prosperity of Mirkwood!" The group chanted. "Ey!" They all chanted. "Ey. Ey. Ey." Legolas and Tauriel hoisted their mugs of hard beer in unison with the dwarves. "Mirkwood! The army! MIRKWOOD!"
Most of his elven generals had all slept on the floor of the main hall with the dwarvish generals.
A separate, side hall had housed the two kings and their heirs.
Thorin's son Alvett lay snoring noisily next to his queen, stroking her beard gently.
Legolas himself had fallen into a deep sleep, Tauriel rapped in his arms, her snores gentle, her breathing steady, her face placid and beautiful.
Thranduil had been the first to awake. He noiselessly adorned his war crown, his metal boots, his soft chainmail leggings, his chest plate, and his dark green cloak.
Thorin grumbled and turned over in his sleep. Alvett rubbed his nose and got up, grumbling sorely. His bride lay on the ground, looking up at him, giggling.
Alvett stood and grudgingly adorned his own mail, helping his bride into hers.
Legolas awoke and kissed the top of Tauriel's head gently. She sighed and groaned loudly. Thorin awoke with a start and nearly fell off the edge, if Thranduil hadn't been there to grab his arm and restore his balance. Legolas smirked, but quickly gave his apologies.
"Sorry." Tauriel blushed wildly as she placed her hands over her eyes and rolled away defiantly. "I just discovered why hard beer is hard."
Thranduil smiled. He felt the same. And, considering Legolas beat all 10 of the generals whilst getting deeper and deeper into his cups, the prince felt worse.
Despite this, the younger elf stood and pulled Tauriel, groaning pitifully, up to her feet. Their hair was down, in the elven fashion of showing ease, so they each braided the other's long and soft hair for battle.
Legolas adorned his scales under a dark green vest with a blended cape of brown and two shades of greens. His knee-high stiff leather boots cutting off his soft dark green leggings, and deep green gloves, almost black, over his nimble fingers.
Tauriel pulled on fresh soft red boots, the leather reaching over her knees. Over her green tunic she laced a vest of leather and fastened leather gauntlets over her lower arms. Her green gown laced up over the top, the sides of the legs snipped for free movement and the sleeves and neck cut off for free-formed movement and comfort. Under said gown, her red leggings nearly matched the color of the fresh leather, contrasting sharply with the green gown.
The dwarves all wore the same thing, sturdy yet loose chainmail to accommodate their whole body weight, a high-set metal helm, black gloves that reached the elbow, chain mail above. A mail skirt and leggings and soft leather boots finished off their outfits.
"Tauriel." Thranduil approached the young elf, taking her simple beauty in. "How many Silven Elves are ready for field testing?"
"All of them are ready, but to prepare them with tools and braid their hair and dress them accordingly, will take four hours, even with Legolas' help."
"Take the time to give pride to your soldiers."
Thranduil looked over his shoulder before he urged his elk forward.
Legolas was sitting atop his pure-white beauty next to him.
Behind him, Tauriel sat atop a nimble horse herself, the Silven Elves mounted behind in pyramid formation.
The dwarves had gotten a five hour head start, their bodies moving gently yet noisily through his forest.
Tauriel edged her horse that much closer, and Legolas pulled himself over to give her one last kiss.
Then she turned back to her Elves and screamed, signaling for them to go forward.
Her red hair, flowing like a cape, vanished into the trees.
Thranduil moved his elk forward slowly, then it bayed and raced forward full speed. He easily speed up to the front of the lines, counting as he went.
400 Silven Elves, 7 thousand of his guard, 15 thousand able bodied village elves from all across Middle Earth, 600 men from the kingdoms already trampled had come to join forces with the elves.
The army was large. But would it be big enough to save everything?
Thranduil doubted it.
In just four days, the elven company surpassed the dwarvish one and set up lines at the very edges of Mirkwood.
Or tried to, anyway.
The host of some billions of orcs was slightly distracting.
The dwarves stopped and smashed their axes against stone. Thranduil gulped.
"Elves!" He called in their own tounge. "The orcs are clumsy in the forest. Our party that are not advanced on horseback shall fall to thee tree lines. Otherwise, stay out and die."
The 15 thousand fell back into the trees, where they were twenty times as deadly.
Under Thranduil's orders, the horses were tied up for now whilst the company fortified itself.
The corpses of the trees were burned tough, the singed points easily able to pierce or cripple armor. Silven Elves cut up the blackened trees, sharpening them into deadly spikes. Men dug huge trenches, and the Silven Elves stuck their pikes in the bottoms. Every elf apologized as they chopped down a tree, but the forest did not seem to mind.
The elves had been kind and caring for many years, the forest would gladly give itself for the elves protection.
The chopped down trees were dug into place in-between the two sections of trenches. If the wall was somehow breached over the first trench, a second would open to meet them.
Many bodies had been found in the fire.
Bones of elves and creatures stuck like teeth from the wall of wood. Blood was doused over the wood to protect the material from catching fire. Everything left behind by the massacre was used. Nothing spared.
The village elves pulled fresh branches from the trunks of the trees used for the walls. The smaller fingers and leaves and needles were tossed into one section of the spanning pits, to hide the spikes more. The branches were stripped of bark, the skin of the trees was used to fuel the many fires the elves and men had spread around for fire arrows and burning foes alive.
Inside the camp, there were dozens of small pits the elves and men had to be careful not to fall into. There were no spikes in those. Just fire.
The bare limbs were danced over the fire pits until they caught flame and were tossed back onto the ground.
Elves poured water into other pits. Water full of floating chunks of shattered steel and bones like the skull that could not be turned into teeth for the walls.
Everyone busied themselves, cutting down trees, stripping the bark and throwing it into the fire pits, adding new found pieces of shattered steel and bone and adding them to the already pointed edges of the water pits. More and more blackened sticks were stuck in the pits, and after that, the elves started crafting a field of hard spikes, blood drenched to fight flame.
If an elf found the courage, they would look over the wall into the rising and falling slops of the fields. Spikes were hiding from all view held by the orcs.
But still they churned, waiting.
Before Thranduil had been aware, three years had already passed in this field, digging and fortifying. Preparing for the Battle of the Fringes of Mirkwood.
One young boy, maybe now 19, had brought this to his attention. "We've been out here three long years, and still they do not come."
"They should come on the fifth year." Thranduil replied, remembering the patterns orcs, from everywhere, liked to hold.
"I'd rather like to die sooner."
They'd stopped cutting trees down soon after the third year began. They now started to fill in cracks with wet mud that would dry and become near impossible to break.
Thranduil finished a pit of spikes. Now the burned spikes were even more deadly.
As time went on, days flew by, months passed, and years wilted, everyone began to become weary. Thranduil hadn't celebrated the feast of starlight for three years, now bordering on four.
Every night, dwarves sharpened their axes, men boldend their blades, elves flexes their bows and fletched new reserves of oils.
Every day, elves went to the sites of the genocide.
Every month, a scout who had been seeking around the rest of Mirkwood would come back with no news but idleness.
Every hour, the orcs screamed, a broiling mass hungering for blood.
"When the day should come these orcs should attack and slay us all, I must ask you something." Legolas caught Thranduil's attention.
"Yes?"
"If we should survive, and live to make it back home after this battle, should you allow us to pledge?"
Legolas didn't have to detail who 'us' were.
"I should be proud, my dear son."
All at once, on the cracking dawn of the fifth year, the raucous calls of the orcs grew louder and more intense.
Their harsh tounge was floating out over the huge field, the gentle rising and falling slopes where spikes lay hidden.
Thranduil understood their words, floating on the breeze.
"ARM YOURSELVES!" Thranduil cried in elvish, dwarvish, and the common tounge. A surge of men and dwarves and elves went up as they pulled their blades. "FORM UP!"
The men with spears linked together just inside the ditch on the inside of the wall. The archers clambered up the edge of the wall and prepared to fire. The dwarves mingled everywhere else with swordsmen, ready to defend to the last axe.
The orcs were forming ranks, and the smallest ones were hurtling themselves forward. The high moon vanished behind a cloud, and a crackled of thunder made everyone start.
These orcs brandished warhorns, and blew out a deep, long note. The note that brought death.
Rain pounded down the fields, soaking the fires but thankfully not putting them out.
The battle for the fringes of Mirkwood had begun.
To be continued…..