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Chapter 7

Shadows

Someone's hands lifted him; everything was flouting around. Those flying objects were seemingly aiming at him. It took him some time to realize that they were Legolas' arrows, being fired at another troll. How many trolls were there in that accursed place? Thranduil reached to where his sword should have been instinctively, and found just ragged dirty clothes instead. He bent to the ground; there had to be some stone, something to throw to the troll. A point of a sword appeared in front of his eyes, and he immediately got up. Tauriel was there, handing him a sword. The Elvenking held his head up. It was painful; his shoulders, neck and back agonized from the effort, but he had to stand upright in front of her.

"The last time you pointed an arm at me, former Captain of the Guard," Thranduil said, "was to threaten me with it. Is it so this time?"

"You know well enough it is not," Tauriel said.

She rubbed the back of her neck and quickly blinked.

"Why should I know it?" he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"If what you want right now is to admonish me, you can do so," she said. "Do it while your son is risking his life trying to save yours."

She turned away abruptly, and Thranduil looked at Legolas, who was pointing his dagger to an orc's shoulder while being attacked by a huge troll at his back.

"Former Captain of the Guard," Thranduil said; Tauriel turned around. "Give me this sword."

She approached him, and handed the sword to him once more, her gaze glued to the ground. He took it with his good hand, and turned around. His head was swimming; those black spots were back again, clouding his vision. Where was the last time he had taken a rest?

It was not difficult to use the sword with the first orc. The creature was dumb and slow, and Thranduil pierced his chest with his sword. The second one turned out to be more difficult; he was smaller and was constantly turning around until the Elvenking finally finished him too. Thranduil's sword fell to the ground. Everything, trees, mountains, trolls, orcs, were turning around now. He would not be able to last much longer. Where was his army?

Legolas was immediately near him. The prince's eyes were red; it was clearly taking him an enormous effort to continue fighting.

"Where are the rest of elves?" Thranduil said.

"They are hiding behind the mountains," Legolas said. He pointed at two orcs running towards them. "They must not know anything; this is an ambush. We must drive them out of the fortress. The army will attack them then."

More blows and blood followed. More exhausting moments. Surprisingly, neither he nor Legolas had been injured yet. Thranduil glanced to Tauriel's direction, just in time to see piercing an orc's chest. She was well too. Thranduil wept sweat from his forehead, and sat on the ground, holding his sword near to him. It would be over soon; they would win, drive out those creatures to the mountains, and then… His eyelids were heavy, his head was falling. If he could take a small rest, just for a couple of minutes…

Mirkwood was all full of light; the trees were reflecting in it. There were birds everywhere, singing their bizarre songs. The Elvenking's Halls were brighter than ever. Was it all a dream, a product of his tired imagination? It could not be. It was too beautiful, too peaceful; it had to be true. The fountains were limpid, the forest green. His throne stood there with all its magnificence, with all its wooden glory. And he, the Elvenking, was sitting on it, watching his subjects with a benevolent, slightly mocking smile, like he always had.

"Get out from Gundabad!"

That had to be true. It was too real to be just a dream. And he was not sleeping; therefore could not be dreaming.

"Go away and never come back!"

Thranduil's opened his eyes with a start. They had been closed after all.

Legolas, with a bow pointing to a horde of orcs, was standing near the gates. Orcs were surrounding him, throwing what were surely insults to the Elven Prince. But they did not dare to attack him directly, not anymore. Thranduil felt lightheaded and swallowed quickly.

When they finally moved towards the gates, he was not even surprised. Legolas has assured him they would drive them from the Gundabad, and they did. They were stronger; there could be little doubt of that.

He walked towards the place where his son was standing, heavily leaning on a wall.

"The army is waiting them outside," Legolas said in a whisper.

Thranduil looked at him. Legolas eyes were even redder than before. He was clearly tired, but there was a glimpse of triumph in his eyes. Legolas threw a glance at his father, and Thranduil caught a look of extreme worry in his son's eyes. He would not tell him anything, though, Thranduil was sure of it. They would return to the Mirkwood soon, and once there, doctors would help the Elvenking, he would be better, would sit on his throne again.

Thranduil looked around; there was not any sight of Tauriel anymore. Legolas seemed calm though, so it was improbable something may have happened to her. His son's attachment to the former Captain of the Guard sometimes seemed unreasonable. The absence of Hagob among the orcs moving towards the gates was more worrying though. It was possible that the self-appointed leader was lying dead somewhere, but it was not improbable.

The orcs were going through the gates, hatred evident on their faces. They were not struggling though, powerless without their leader. Thranduil sat on a heavy stone, his legs giving away under him. He closed his eyes for a while. The sound that followed was so sudden, it seemed surreal. Thranduil's hastily opened eyes to a painfully bright light emanating from a torch right in front of his face. He lifted his head and saw Hagob the Invincible standing above him.

Legolas was there in a second, his arrow pointing to the orc's chest, his face distorted with not hidden disgust. Hagob curled his lips into a smile.

"Your son is alive, after all," the orc said. "Who would have thought he would survive?"

"Keep back or I will put this arrow inside your chest," Legolas said, his hand firmly on the bow.

"Have you been so saddened by your stay with us, Elvenking, that you require the use of the personal bodyguard right now?" Hagob said.

Thranduil lowered his son's arrow, and Legolas shook his head slowly, disbelief and worry in his eyes.

"I will surely not require anyone to finally free the Middle Earth from your presence," Thranduil said.

Hagob did not wait for another invitation, and struck immediately, lowering the heavy wooden club on the Elvenking's head, not giving Thranduil any time to repel the blow, and sending him to the ground. Legolas rushed to his father's side immediately and gave him his hand.

"You see, Elvenking," the orc said, the grin on his face even wider, "you need assistance after all."

"I do not think you should…" Legolas said.

"Step back, Legolas," Thranduil said.

The Elvenking rose to his feet, holding his head high. Those black spots in front of his eyes, they were back once more, blurring his vision. He held the handle of the sword tightly in his hand.

The second blow was heavy too, but the managed to repel it, stopping the club with his sword. He took a glimpse of Legolas, an unmistakable look of worry written on his face. No matter what he said, there was no way to prevent the prince from standing there, watching them fight. The club was raised once more, and, despite Thranduil's quick movement to the left, hit him on the shoulder with its weight. If he could only use both hands!

The orc's weapon was getting up and down, up and down, without any pause. Thranduil's breathing was coming in short painful gasps, his vision was completely blurred now, and he was moving in shadows, hearing the orc but hardly seeing him. The tremor that was shaking Thranduil was threatening to become overwhelming; he could hardly raise his left arm with the heavy sword.

Legolas was nearer now, Thranduil could feel his presence, could sense his son's worry, his urge to intervene at any moment. It would be so easy to step back and let Legolas finish, so tempting… And to compromise his honor, to become a coward incapable of dealing with one orc on his own? Death was preferable to that fate.

Thranduil lifted his sword once more, his hand shaking more than he would care to admit, and hit Hagob on the head, provoking the orc's roar of rage. Thranduil gave a wry smile. His opponent was clearly becoming weaker; just a couple of blows and… He lifted his sword, hoping to hit the orc before he would even have time to use his club one more time. Thranduil was tired, too tired, and the shadows around him were becoming denser with every shuddering intake of air.

The blow that landed on the Elvenking head almost did not take him by surprise. He had been imprisoned, mistreated and tortured for far too long to be able to win that battle. He fell to his knees. Legolas would kill that orc now. And later the prince would return to Mirkwood and become a king. And he would marry Tauriel, who would become a queen. Thranduil smiled inwardly. That thought, instead of angering him, suddenly seemed funny. Tauriel sitting on a throne near Legolas, smiling benevolently to their subjects. Who would ever think that possible?

There was some commotion near him. He could swear he heard his son's voice. He attempted to get up, but his body had suddenly become so unbearably heavy that he could not raise it from the ground. Shadows around Thranduil were not shadows anymore, they were complete impenetrable darkness.

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