To Sow a Barren Land
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the plot and the OCs.
AN: This will raise many questions. I'll try and explain them in the end notes.
Thank you everyone who've reviewed/faved/followed. Your words are total encouragement!
Chapter 10
The rituals had been simple. Thorin refused to make it elaborate enough for people to forget the real purpose of their gathering. He wanted it to be about her and not the grandeur of Erebor. Thrór agreed. He couldn't spare much from the royal treasury due to the ongoing war. They had not taken part but they too needed to sustain themselves.
Thousands of people came and expressed their condolences. Many wept for the loss of their princess and many others for the loss of potential heirs. Some even approached Thorin to offer words of console but the dwarf prince remained stoic and unnervingly quiet throughout the whole ceremony. He was by the side of his nephews and sister who made it clear that they wouldn't leave him no matter what. Dís would occasionally rub his arms in hopes of soothing him. Fíli and Kíli would break into silent tears each time they recounted their near-death experience and how Esja pushed them just in time into the bushes.
Esja's parents had seen their world crumble. They mourned the death of their only beloved daughter. And as for Thorin, he had lost the closest friend he ever had. His world was burning.
His mother was gently combing through his hair. Her hands brushing against his skull, Orophin closed his eyes as the air hit where his mother's fingers carded through.
The door opened and he looked up just as his Nana had stopped with her action. Blue eyes widened with mirth as another elf peeped into their room. He smiled brightly and extended his arms at the other who smiled back and approached him, then scooping him up.
"Missed me, little one?" His father asked, pinching his cheeks playfully.
Orophin nodded and a giggle escaped him when his chest was tickled. They were now heading towards his mother who patiently waited for Orophin to join her. When he was settled in her arms, she asked quietly, "How does it fare?"
His uncle shook his head, suddenly losing his joy.
"They should be near Dagorlad by now. I...I pray they all return home," said the elf giving off a tiny sympathetic smile as Orophin looked at him with curious eyes.
He was not understanding. Six years of his life—six years of what he could remember—he recalled Rainion ordering everyone not to lay waste. He said food was scarce, even though winter was gone. Orophin was not allowed to play outside. He was not allowed to venture much. Partly because of the little problem he had which made him vulnerable to rumours behind his back. Though mostly, it was because of this dire situation they were in.
His mother had even scolded him for wandering off into the woods. He heard them speaking about 'war'. He had been hearing them for so many years. Yet, he did not know what this 'war' was. They said he was too young to understand.
"And what about the king and prince?" His mother asked anxiously. She was supposed to heal the ones who went to 'war'. That was her task but she said that she had Orophin to care for first.
Rainion's eyes suddenly darkened. He sighed wistfully and looked entirely at Orophin with a strangeness before he blinked a few times.
"The Valar will bless them," he muttered, shifting his gaze once more over the elfling.
Orophin's curiosity was extremely piqued. Question bordered his big eyes as he looked up and silently asked what he'd been asking all along.
Rainion seemed to have gathered his query. He approached the elfling and knelt down beside his bed.
"You will meet them. They have seen you when you were very little. And Thranduil is eager to return home as soon as possible. He misses you the most," he answered, his palm gently brushing through his golden strands.
Rainion had that strange look again. His gaze lingered on the youngest elf longer than necessary and it was this look which confused Orophin very much.
Suddenly, his mother pulled him close to her chest. Rainion's breath hitched slightly before he quickly stood up, blinking a great many times and rubbing his eyes just once with three of his fingers.
Orophin kept on staring. He was confused but it wasn't new to him. It was like every other day. Whenever Rainion would mention this 'Thranduil', his mother would interrupt him or Rainion would stop with that queerness in his eyes. Whoever this Thranduil was, Orophin gathered he was not liked by his naneth. She almist feared him. He wondered why.
At that moment, they were talking with themselves and it was clear that Orophin wasn't meant to hear any of it. Not that he was interested either. They always spoke about the people, food and 'war' again, their king who had gone to 'war', their prince— or Thranduil— who he heard was as beautiful as the legendary queen Melian. But what they never spoke about was his father...
"W-war is wh-what A-d-d...Ad-ar did?"
Their talking stopped and both of them looked at him with wide eyes. Rainion was the one who was disturbed the most. He quickly snapped his focus on the other and said something in a hushed tone. Even though Orophin was out of range, from the way Rainion frowned and snarled he could easily guess that this was a question which he was never to ask. For this caused rifts between his mother and his uncle.
He could vaguely make out a few words like 'haven't told' and 'wrong'.
His mother was gesturing towards him with her hand before she pointed a finger and jabbed the air with it as her harsh whispers sliced the air. Rainion bristled at that and he shook his head vehemently. He had a palm on his chest which he then brought to show Orophin before he dropped them and clenched into fists.
It wasn't long before they both stopped and Oriphin's big eyes grew even bigger when both looked wearily at him for quite some time before Rainion left.
"Thranduil loves you, little one." He said while he was heading for the door. "He loves you more than you can ever imagine."
His mother went and closed the door. She stood touching the panel for a few moments before she flipped her back at it and faced Orophin, sighing deeply before she crumbled down on to the floor.
Orophin was taken aback. He quickly plopped down from the bed using his stepping stool and quickly rushed over to her.
"Nan-na I'm ss-s-orry," he shook her gently, gasping when he saw tears in her eyes. Suddenly, she reached up and pulled him close, refusing to let him go as soft kisses were fluttered all over his face.
"No it is my fault, my son." His mother finally replied, her tone quiet and shy. "I have not kept my word. It is my fault. But oh I love you so much!"
Orophin shook his head questioningly. What had she meant? It was not her fault that she couldn't heal his father. She said he was gravely injured in battle. Orophin did not even remember him. He was very young.
He shook his head again. This time, his eyes were more resolute and more assuring. He didn't speak more often due to his stutter but his gestures were enough to convey what he thought. And his mother had heard him.
"I love you," she murmured and tightened her hold on him, oblivious to the thousands of queries dancing in her son's eyes. Once again he was made known how much Thranduil loved him. Once again he had seen her mother's mood ruined at the mention of his name.
And yet again, Orophin was left utterly perplexed.
It was a wasteland. Before them, the vast marsh plain stretched as far as the eye could see. It hit the ragged and dark rocks of Mount Doom which remained atop, smirking with an evil glee, challenging the men and elves to cause it any harm.
Oropher drew in a breath. Sharp eyes lingered still on the great land, searching for any sign of activity from the opposite end. Gil-galad had warned them not to be rash. He ordered them to wait for his signal because apparently, he feared that Oropher or any other— as a matter of fact— were too inexperienced in war.
A snarl crossed his lips. Gil-galad wanted to command those who marched independently. The Noldor High king thought that he'd command those who didn't fall under his jurisdiction or even race!
That vain fool!
His thoughts were broken by Amdír, who placed a hand on his shoulder. Oropher turned his attention and found the king of Lórien reflecting the same feeling from his eyes as he voiced his opinion, "An ambush would've been perfect. The orcs are not flanked. They are not ready. Gil-galad is wasting time."
Oropher's eyes sparkled with approval.
"Does he not always waste time?" He hissed, shooting a brief glance at his son who was eyeing them with great concern. Turning towards Amdír, he continued with the same edge in his voice, "He expects us to follow his every step. But we are commanders as well. Capable in our own rights and rulers of our own kingdoms! We should not have to submit to a Noldo snob!"
"We answered his call. We joined the alliance. But now, it is our turn to take advantage of a perfect opportunity instead of standing by and awaiting an event like a child waiting for his parent's approval!" Amdír's tone was rough as well. The hate for the Noldor was evident in his glinting eyes and as he looked at Oropher, the king of Mirkwood felt a surge of energy running within him.
"Precisely!" He replied, "We must charge."
Amdír smiled proudly and as he was about to give orders to his own troops, he was rudely interjected by another voice, making him to turn sharply and coming face to face with the young prince.
"What did you say?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You can't charge in! It is a brash act in itself and we are not in the position to take heavy hits!" Thranduil repeated, this time with more firmness as he looked at Oropher. "We are lightly armed, Adar. We cannot risk the lives of our troops. We best be awaiting his command."
Much like Amdír, Oropher's eyes flared with anger at his son's words.
"You—of all people—cannot possibly even suggest that!" Oropher hissed at Thranduil, who stopped in his speech but stared stubbornly at the other two elves.
"But why not let them break the orcs barriers? We can march then!" Thranduil was insistent and had it been any other time, Oropher would've thought about it. However, at that very moment, his pride and hatred for Noldor arrogance overshadowed his judgement. Amdír's similar sentiments were influencing him and fuelling his irrationality. He shoved Thranduil back and faced his fellow commander.
"We march."
Amdír's eyes twinkled with a rush of adrenaline. He nodded with his full consent and hurried to order his troops. Oropher turned towards that of his own and gained their attention immediately as he began unsheathing his sword.
The elves prepared their own weapons. Silence titillated the entire area as every pair of eyes were keen on their king whose eyes gleamed brightly with a fire as he regarded each and every one of them.
A heavy hand tugged Oropher's arm and the king sharply looked at their owner who had a tight expression about his face.
"Please reconsider," his son pleaded, worry lacing every portion of his face. "I would much rather keep our men alive than criticising the Noldor's stupidity!"
Oropher narrowed his eyes and jerked off Thranduil's hands. He ignored the shock that made way to Thranduil and promptly turned towards his troops.
They were ready. They awaited his orders. They trusted him.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Thranduil falling back into his position and getting ready by drawing out his own weapon. He was not pleased, Oropher guessed. But he was proud to see that his son was not going to leave them be.
Amdír was heard shouting orders in the background. With no further delay, Oropher quickly unsheathed the rest of his sword and raised it up high in the air.
"We march," he repeated— slowly at first— which readied Thranduil and a few of his men in front.
Then he raised his voice and addressed every one of his soldiers who let out a boastful shout, soon joined by the calls of the warriors of Lórien.
"WE MARCH!"
The shouts doubled and with the order, they charged ahead in full force, lead by their commander and kings. Adrenaline flowing through their bodies, they surged ahead, shaking the ground beneath them.
Gil-galad's words were unheeded. When the news would have reached the High-king, he would be horrified. And History would record what a folly it was to act with such brazenness.
AN: Originally, I was going to make Legolas the child. But the War lasted for so many years (weeks or days...yeah), which implied that he and Thranduil weren't even close. But that's most likely not the case. So I needed one person who fit the puzzle. Orophin seemed like a good choice ('cause of his name matching with Oropher and him being so aloof and cold in LotR, even at Legolas. His kin.)
Orophin has a stuttering problem and because of this and his secret parentage, he is kept sheltered by the healer. She practically raised him and Orophin thinks of her as his mother. He doesn't remember Thranduil because he was very young when he went to war. I have made him to stutter for a specific reason. Well cause he doesn't say much in LotR. It just spurred. Please review!