Legolas held his breath. The blade was cold against his throat and he could feel it already cutting his skin. The merchant smelled like tobacco, which made him want to gag. He held the reflex back though, terrified that the sharp knife would slice deeper. The blood that trickled down his neck and into the front of his white tunic was hot. He watched Ada and Kasslad and took in their pale faces and wide eyes. Kasslad looked defeated, arms hanging limp at his sides with tears on his cheeks. Ada . . . he looked like he did when the dragon came. Ada towered over everyone else in the throne room, blue eyes blazing like balls of fire, hands fisted and his soul pulsating with power. It pressed down across the hall and with it light began to fade.
Legolas shivered, scared of him again, and the knife cut deeper at his movement and he winced. It sliced him again, farther along his throat and a panicked sob escaped his lips.
Heated silence followed and the merchant laughed.
"Release him," Thranduil commanded and the guards that had rushed into the hall from around the throne took a cautious step closer. Legolas knew many of them from the barracks and saw fury in their usually happy faces.
The merchant began to laugh again and moved his left hand, the one that had been on Legolas's chest, to his jacket. His laugh morphed to a deep, gurgling choke and Legolas felt the knife slip from his grasp. Before Legolas could make a run for the nearest warrior, strong and familiar hands grabbed him under the arms and lifted him to a lean, muscular chest. He felt the coolness of hidden blades beneath the black uniform and knew it was Sard before looking into his furious dark eyes. The magician wrapped powerful arms around him and Legolas felt secure enough to look back at the merchant.
White and pink foam bubbled up from his mouth. The man lay on his back as if every muscle had lost its strength, his eyes rolled into his head. A trail of blood ran out of one nostril, making a path along his cheek and into his ear.
"What did you do?" Legolas didn't even remember seeing Sard nearby, let alone how he could kill the man without touching him. He began to understand why his ada called him a black magician. Thinking of the nickname as he watched the merchant struggle in his last, watery breaths made Legolas cold with fear.
Instead of answering him, Sard cupped a hand behind his head to turn his gaze away from the merchant. He didn't manage it in time though, before Legolas saw the man's body shudder and fall limp. Though he didn't see an actual soul, he felt it pass away.
Legolas clung to Sard, feeling safe with him even though he was now terrified of the elf.
"Why did you kill him?" Ada's voice rang across the room. The humans just outside the wide open doors quailed and huddled closer together, like being in a group could protect them from the Elvenking.
Other hands tried to pull Legolas from Sard, but he refused to let go until he saw that it was Kasslad. Sard gave him a comforting squeeze before passing him over.
"Where is Blaon?" Kasslad's voice was shaking.
"I don't want to go," Legolas muttered, shock still making him tremble. The blood dripping from his throat made him scared and he didn't want to look at the front of his tunic.
"I will visit you when we get this chaos settled," Kasslad promised, sealing it with a kiss on Legolas's forehead.
"I killed him to save the prince from being abducted," Sard told the king, walking over to the body and pulling out a black pouch from inside the man's jacket. "He was reaching for this." Sard dipped two fingers into the pouch and withdrew a pinch of gray powder. He threw it and billowing smoke filled the hall. "This is dragon's breath. He would have escaped with it."
Sard dropped the bag back on the body and stood before Ada again. Black smoke coiled around him, slowly fading. It reminded Legolas of dragon's breath. It was a fitting name.
"This man had a dragon emblem on his chest," Ada shouted. Legolas saw that his father was still furious, filled with the same wrath that had made the dragon flee. He shrank back from the dark power pouring out of him, glad that the king hadn't rushed to him like he had that day when Kagnirrok came. It took months for Legolas to feel safe around Ada after that. Sard, however, stood his ground.
"He spoke as if he was in league with Kagnirrok," Ada shouted.
Sard looked to the body and walked over to it, jerking the trench coat out of his way so he could see the black, spindly dragon on the man's shirt. He looked up and met Legolas's gaze just as Pelorian and Blaon, as well as a dozen more soldiers, hurried into the room.
"My prince." Pelorian fell to one knee before Kasslad, eyes frantically searching Legolas's chest for a source to all the blood.
"Take him to his rooms." Kasslad handed Legolas to Blaon, but Legolas kicked his keeper in the gut and stretched his hands to his brother, fearful tears finally making their appearance.
"I don't want to go," he cried. "Kasslad!"
O
Legolas fought Blaon the whole way back to his quarters. He couldn't escape the surging terror that still ripped its way through him, and it resulted in his screaming and tears. He didn't feel safe with Blaon. He wanted to be with his family or one of the warriors, namely Sard. A fierce determination overtook him and he knew that one day he would be a black magician too. He would be so deadly and so fierce that every race in Arda would tremble at his name and no one would hurt him, those close to him or his kingdom. First he had to escape Blaon and beg Sard to apprentice him.
The soft, spidery hands that held him threw him across his room and he hit the bed. He rolled twice, shocked that Blaon had tossed him like he was a bag of trash. Before he could turn and demand why his keeper had disrespected him, a hand slapped him across the face and then backhanded him before he had a chance to gasp. Pain ricocheted through his skull, his cheeks and mouth burning with the blows. He pressed a hand against his bottom lip and felt blood.
Blaon took hold of his shoulders and shook him, blue eyes filled with something more than disgust, but Legolas couldn't place it. All he knew was that it was ugly and he needed to get away.
"How do you like it, brat?" Blaon shoved him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him as he landed on his right side against the rug. Blaon's boot flung at him, but he wasn't quick enough to roll away from the kick to his stomach. "It doesn't feel good when someone hits you, does it?"
Legolas was too shocked to cry, too stunned to do more than stare up at his keeper and wince as he lifted another hand against him.
"Get off me!" Blaon suddenly shouted.
Legolas looked back and saw Rugon's mighty figure twisting Blaon's arms back, an enraged frown on his wide face, gray eyes darkened to almost black. Rugon wrestled Blaon to the ground within seconds, strangely silent. Legolas wasn't used to seeing him fight, and found himself unsure how to act without the friendly smirk or teasing remark to guide him. He pushed himself across the floor and against the wall, scraping up the courage to stand and walk calmly back to the throne room to inform his brother that he wanted Blaon dismissed.
Three of Rugon's knights took hold of Blaon, tied his hands behind his back and stood him up.
"I wasn't going to hurt him seriously," Blaon argued. "I gave him a taste of his own medicine. He kept hitting me so he needed to understand how it felt."
Rugon's powerful hand slapped Blaon and then backhanded him, splitting his lip like Legolas's had been. Before Blaon could protest, eyes still unfocused, Rugon punched him in the gut. Blaon doubled over and would have fallen had not the soldiers on either side of him held him up.
"A six-year-old doesn't hit like a grown elf," Rugon growled. "And he likely hit you because he knew better than any of us the sort of scum you are."
Rugon raised a hand for the soldiers to take Blaon away when the sweeping windows along the far wall shattered. A flaming arrow plunged into Blaon's face, and another went through the soldier's neck to his right. Where Blaon's nose and mouth had been was suddenly a black and bleeding hole, flames licking out from between broken teeth before he slid to the floor. The soldier next to him almost lost his head by the impact, his black uniform catching flame. The other two soldiers backed against the wall, shouting for help though their words were lost on Legolas. His ears were filled with the thumping of blood through his veins, accompanied by a high-pitched whine that brought his headache back from the night before. Legolas curled in on himself, listening to the distant whoosh as more arrows volleyed through the glass and into his room.
Rugon's body was suddenly on top of him, a heavy weight that shielded him from the growing heat in the room. Legolas looked up into Rugon's face, unable to stop his frightened tears. Rugon gave him a smile but it didn't reach his gray eyes. Legolas searched his face for what to do, how to get up and get out of there, but as he watched Rugon the light in his eyes began to fade.
"Rugon!" Legolas reached out and gripped him by the hair, shaking him. "Rugon, we need to get out of here!"
But his friend didn't respond, as if he hadn't even heard him. His eyelids fell closed and the smile on his lips disappeared. Rugon's weight grew heavier, pinning him to the stone floor. Legolas gasped for air, his lungs restricted and screamed. Rugon's soul had left him behind, Rugon was dead, just like Nana and Oroduil and even Blaon. He hated Blaon but he couldn't make his keeper's punctured face from his thoughts. He screamed and he pushed against Rugon's body, kicking with every ounce of strength that he had. He heard the clatter of more arrows and smelled smoke. Burning. Something was burning. He struggled to see passed Rugon and saw orange flicker on the vaulted ceiling high above their heads. Fire. The room was on fire.
Kagnirrok. Had the dragon returned for him?
Sheer and utter panic overwhelmed him and he pushed harder at the elfin knight. Gradually he squeezed his upper body away from Rugon, but his black pants were caught on something, likely some of Rugon's buckles. Legolas clawed at the floor, inching his way free, fingernails breaking. His entire bed was engulfed in flame, as were the white and green curtains along the entire south-facing wall. Smoke suffocated him, pressing down on him. The flames roared and he could almost swear that he saw a serpentine shadow fly just outside the windows, calling his name with that bone-drumming voice.
"My prince!" one of the soldiers, Legolas didn't know which, grabbed his outstretched arms and pulled on him until he was free of Rugon's body. The soldier scooped him into his arms and rushed out into the hallway and into disarray. Screams filled the palace and Legolas called for his ada.
Then his ada was there. Thranduil's eyes were wide, his spirit still raging and dark, but Legolas didn't care. He opened his arms to his father and was transferred to him. Thranduil draped his outer robe over his son, covering his bare legs and bottom. It wasn't until then that he noticed he had lost his pants escaping Rugon's body.
Legolas shivered and welcomed the protection of his ada's robe, burying himself into his father's chest and simply let the world descend into chaos around him.
O
"Tell me what this means." Thranduil lifted one of the rolled pieces of papyrus that had been bound around each of the arrows that were used to attack his son. Each sheet was the same: a black and curling image of a dragon. The spindly image made Thranduil nauseated to even look at. "It was on that merchant's shirt, as well."
Sard stood in Thranduil's study just outside of the king's bedroom where Legolas slept. With them was Pelorian, commander of the archers, and Rugon's replacement, Naspen. Thranduil studied the previous second-in-command over the warriors and elite knights. Naspen wasn't as largely built as Rugon was, but he made up for it in height. The elf towered over even him, and was still broad and powerful. Thranduil would miss Rugon, and couldn't help but resent Naspen for taking his place even though it was necessary.
Also with them were Kasslad and council representative, High Chair Inamgia. Thranduil studied the elleth, hating that she had to be here. He didn't trust the council and would have rather done this without anyone from that board present. As if sensing his displeasure, the elleth raised her dark brows, challenging him to throw her out.
"It would seem that this is a cult," Sard said. "It was well known that the humans in Dale often looked to us as a sort of higher race, and some even went so far as to worship us, though not many. Since we were attacked by a dragon, a species even greater than our own, I would dare to suggest that we are looking at a group of people that have decided to worship Kagnirrok. I'm sure the beast would love to discover this, especially if they are this determined to capture the prince and deliver him to the snake themselves."
"Then why attack Legolas?" Kasslad was still pale and shaken from the tireless events of the day.
"Kagnirrok's followers probably had no intention to seriously injure the prince, but rather take out those around him and let us know they will keep coming, maybe even trying to get us to give him up," Sard said, and a dark smile lifted the corner of his mouth, as if amused that anyone would try to frighten him.
Thranduil seethed and stood, unable to sit still. He paced the length of his study, throwing anxious glances to his bedroom door, waiting for his elfling to scream from his regular nightmares. He was certain tonight would be worse than normal.
"Do you think the snake could have sent these humans?" Thranduil asked.
"No," Sard said. "I would wager that Kagnirrok has no idea they exist."
Thranduil snorted and continued pacing.
"We should close off the kingdom again," High Chair Inamgia announced, throwing her head back and pinning Thranduil with frosted green eyes. "Keep the humans out of Mirkwood and thus keep Kagnirrok's cult away from the prince."
"No," Thranduil snapped. "I will not sit here and hide from them. We must respond to this attack with one of our own."
"We do not know where they meet or who leads them," Naspen argued, his voice monotone and as cool as steel. "We can't charge into Dale and expect their king to understand why we blindly burned down every home to eradicate a small group."
"Do we know it's small?" Thranduil snapped.
"Until we know more, we can do nothing against Dale." Naspen met his glare with calm, almost bored blue eyes. "Not unless you want war with both them and their allies, the dwarves under the mountain. They will not care that you are doing this to protect your son."
"Unless we direct the dragon to the dwarves instead," Thranduil hissed. "Send the beast to their mountains of gold and let their kingdom burn. I would do it to spare Legolas. I would see every human and dwarf die and suffer in place of my son."
"Dangerous words, my king," Naspen said. "It is best to investigate before acting rashly."
"We can call for help," Kasslad interrupted. "Rivendell and the Golden Wood would come to our aide. We need only ask."
Thranduil tore his scowl away from Naspen and studied his son. His daughter, Chailiel, was in Lothlorien with Lord Elrond's daughter, Arwen. Both had fled there after their mothers died, though Arwen's had sailed instead of being torn to shreds by a dragon. Perhaps the other elven realms would help. . . .
"In the meantime," Thranduil decided, "double security around the palace, send out more patrols and every human who enters this kingdom will be searched before allowed entrance. Anyone with the image of a dragon on their person will be taken to the dungeons."
"What of Legolas's keeper?" Sard asked. "He will need a new one, and one who can protect him."
Thranduil gritted his molars together at the thought of Blaon. The idiot elf had no foresight and no patience. If Kagnirrok's followers hadn't killed him, Thranduil would have lobbed his head off himself and placed it on a spike outside of the palace.
"Kasslad," Thranduil said. "Hold interviews. Find Legolas a new keeper."
"I am willing to take the job, my king," Sard said.
"You will be busy investigating this cult," Thranduil ordered. "Find out how to destroy them. That is how you can help my son."
"What of the funeral?" Pelorian's voice was muted, his eyes downcast. Thranduil saw Sard's shoulder slump and place a comforting hand on his friend's back.
That was when Legolas started to scream again.
