Hi y'all! I know it's been awhile and I'm sorry! It's just life, you know! So finally we have chapter 10! (Finally, I know) It's really just a set up for chapter 11! Which is just about completed I'm happy to say! So, here's the situation. I'm going on vacation with my family from July 24th (today) until August 2nd. One, I'm very excited. It's relaxation I need! Two, there's no internet where we are staying, perhaps some spotty spots for my phone but not sure...BUT I will be writing LOADS while I'm there in my downtime, as I'm an early riser and night owl. (I don't really require a lot of sleep is what I'm trying to say) So the POINT of this rant is this...when I come home from vacation I should have quite a lot to upload! I really appreciate your understanding and I look forward to sharing with you what I've got when I come home!

Thank you so much for all the followers! Especially the ones who have been here since the beginning of me writing this! Your support is so appreciated! I appreciate favorites too of course! I must say that I absolutely ADORE reviews! It gives me a lot of drive to keep going especially with feedback! Thank you again and I hope everyone is having a fun and safe summer!

~feltetteluvtomfelton

(BACK TO THRANDUIL)

Pace, pace, pace...a turn of the heel...pace, pace, pace...his insanity heightening to the darkening of the night. His study with it's walls of books and scrolls made him feel as if he was being swallowed and trapped, his apprehension only bouncing and ricocheting only to collide back into him. A whole day...he thought...no sign, no utterance...nothing. The grievous wound in Amitiel's neck would consume him and turn him into a wraith if it was not administered some form of medicine and treatment. Perhaps that was the Elvenking's greatest fear, that the youngling was riling in inexhaustible pain on the forest ground as the shards of the blade pulsed through his veins and ripped him from the inside out. It would harden his heart and keep his anger inconsolable. As a wraith he'd be immortal, but not an elven immortal. For he would feel insatiable thirst for corruption and power and infliction of suffering in any possible way. Immeasurably grateful Thranduil was that his father had put such an incantation upon the river, without it Amitiel surely wouldn't have lasted. How much Thranduil wished that the youngling had only come for him; danger would never have befallen the Princeling, for Thranduil alone would've taken care of the infestation. Being the only one not affected by the alcohol, he would be the one brandishing the sword...not his son's only child...not his only grandchild. Not only that, but he was the last remnant of Celdanine that walked this earth; he was far too precious to loose.

"You wished you see me, mellon?" A familiar voice came from the doorway. The Lady Galadriel strode inside as the guard shut the door behind her from the hallway. It was only the two of them, and Thranduil couldn't help but feel crazed rage towards her. Biting down and swallowing was all he could physically do to not loose all self-control. Seeing this in his irate face, Galadriel couldn't help but narrow her eyebrows and ready herself for a verbal assault,

"Now before you go off on a tangent about how this is supposedly my fault-"

"Supposedly..." he mumbled disbelieving of her choice of words. "Are you insinuating even for a solitary moment that this in fact is NOT your fault, my lady?" He practically spat, almost baring teeth.

"Calm yourself," she ordered not even catering his frenzied mind. Many would simply tremble at the Elvenking's wrath and not bother to argue, but not the Lady Galadriel. For they had been friends for centuries, she knew that beyond his belligerence was genuine heartache and manic fear for the Princeling. She watched his temples tense and bounce to the rhythm of him clenching his jaw.

"Were you calm my lady when Celebrian was captured? When she was left to the mercy of orcs, were you collected? I HIGHLY doubt it." He whispered angrily in a baritone octave.

"Yes I was calm, I had no other choice otherwise I would have faded immediately. Do not bring my daughter into this," she countered quickly. "I will remind you that my daughter was gone for well over a month and tortured; Amitiel hasn't been gone more than a day. You need to keep your head on your shoulders."

"So help me, Galadriel," he began, "right now you are going to tell me EXACTLY what you saw. What was your vision?"

"I 'saw' nothing, mellon; I felt it." She explained, taking a gander at the impressive tapestry over the fireplace of the royal family. Smiling, she saw her favorite cousin grinning back at her. Returning to the harsh gaze of Thranduil was enough for her smile to vanish as quickly as it had come.

"Then pray tell, my lady. What in the name of the Valar did you FEEL?"

"Exactly what I told you, something with great weight will free your grandson from his poisoned conscious. You will see that spark in his eyes as you once did."

"Did you forget to mention anything about an orc attack? Or perhaps Amitiel having his neck dissected by a morgul shaft?" He spoke in dangerous sarcasm.

"Do not patronize me; of course I felt nothing of the sort. Even if I had, I wouldn't have told you. If you remember in our last conversation I also said, do not ALTER his fate. Last time I checked, you fighting his own battles for him would in fact ALTER his fate." Satire was enlaced in her words; it was her turn to condescend after his ridiculous banter.

"How is fighting off an entire orc and warg pack his own battle? Since when does he resume so much responsibility?" Thranduil challenged.

"Since the very day he was born," Galadriel mused. "He's always had his own sense of duty, the Greenwood is in his blood, he will protect it fervently. Why do you think he still feels guilt about my cousin's death? She was the one person he couldn't protect no matter what. YOU are in his blood, he will protect you with every fiber of his being; you and I both know he will refuse failure a second time."

"No," Thranduil protested waving the notion away with his hand, he stared her down, "It's MY duty to protect him. But as it turns out I can't even find him."

"Have you lost hope so easily?" She asked. "You began to loose hope that you would see Legolas again, but he will be back in your realm soon enough. He has traveled deficient of rest since Estel's coronation."

"You say my own son is due back home any day now; what should I tell him?! Are you expecting me to tell him that his only child is gone without a trace?! That he has possibly turned into a wraith?! Absurd! I could never look Legolas in the eyes again." He snarled indignantly.

"Your anger is blinding you," Galadriel spoke sitting down daintily into an armchair by the fire, "have you not also noticed who else is missing in addition to Amitiel's absence?" Stopping in his tracks of pacing in the same line for over three hours, he at first was enraged at being called 'blind' but eventually seriously pondered the question.

Frantically, there was a knock on the door. Although it would've been proper for the knocker to state who they were, the door was urgently swung open. It was Urytheyl, another disheveled captain of the guard.

"My lord, I am beyond apologetic in this distressing time to come to you with my own problems. My wife and I can only assume that you too haven't seen Uriel." Shooting a look at Galadriel, the Elvenking turned to Uriel's father, the green eyes and chocolate locks were identical.

"Come in Urytheyl, I believe our problems are very much alike." Coming to the middle of the room, Uriel's father leaned and swayed from one leg to the other as he shared a gaze with his King.

"It honestly makes no sense," he began, "we've searched the fortress, the grounds, the path, all rivers-although I'd barely call them rivers now."

"What are you talking about? What's wrong with the rivers?" Thranduil requested.

"All of them are absent of currents, they are creeks now. The Grand River of Oropher remains the strongest but only barely, I can only see that it correlates to the orc attack but how? I don't know." Urytheyl explained.

"My lady," Thranduil addressed Galadriel snappily, "did you happen to FEEL any inclination of why the rivers are puddles? Please enlighten me as you have always done in the past and continue to do so now. Also, I want the most confusing, worthless, metaphorical message you can give me; please ensure that not even the most scholarly disciple could even remotely understand it." Again sarcasm flowed from his lips as he savored every moment of it.

"Mocking me is distasteful...even for you." She shot back diplomatically, "And here I was thinking that you had calmed down; how foolish of me to think that, my ill-tempered lord. I apologize eagerly for thinking I could have a conversation with supposedly a KING, when all I see is an elfling with too large a crown for his pitifully small head." There was an incurable deadly silence. Pursing his lips, Urytheyl didn't like for one moment feeling trapped in a room with two such strong and polar opposite personalities. They fought like mere children despite both of them being born of the first age. It was blatantly obvious that each knew exactly how to antagonize the other. With an acerbic, biting glare, Thranduil was evidently about to release another lethal rhetoric.

"My lord," Urytheyl tried to expunge the tension before another juvenile insult was given, "there are no tracks. We've had our best scouts examine the forest floors and have yet to see any foot prints that would suggest to be Amitiel's." If only Legolas were here, he'd be able to find the tracks. For it was unquestionable that much like his bow skills, Legolas was also gifted in scouting.

"This may seem like an odd question, but...did your son take any armor of yours?" Thranduil asked as he crossed his arms across his chest waiting for an answer.

"Armor, my lord? I haven't taken the opportunity to check...may I ask why?" Urytheyl appeared even more worried than he was before.

"Forgive me," the Elvenking voiced, "I meant not to vex you further. It's just that Amitiel took his father's captain of the guard armor. All of it. I can only now pray that it will protect him."

"As will I," Urytheyl agreed, "I only hope that wherever both elflings are, that they are together."

(BACK TO AMITIEL)

There was no doubt now...not even the slightest. Leaning further into the blue spruce, Amitiel reclined his back upon the bark of the tree. His throat felt scorched; his neck felt like a tight spider web had been woven around it, making him breathless. The poison was coursing through the entirety of his core, he physically could feel the shards of the blade in his veins. It would only get worse, for the blades would lacerate him from the inside out. He'd cough up blood and probably end up choking on it. His vision was hazy, as if he was looking through water; the colors were morphing together unpleasantly. It confused him and made him feel queasy. Closing his eyes was all he could do to not expel everything from his stomach. Fever clouded his thoughts and gave way to salty droplets of sweat to run down his temples, down his forehead and into his eyes. Then...miraculously everything went away. Peering through his eyelids, his vision was normal once again. His neck however was still pulsating in discomfort. The wound had branched and tunneled to the inside of his throat; he was unnaturally salivating and couldn't swallow properly, so every so often he had no choice but to spit. Getting back up to his stance and balancing his footing on the spruce branch, Amitiel went back to the small window in the pine needles and drew his bow once again. He found it odd that it would be sunrise in a few hours and still there was no activity.

Only moments later did orc start to sprout up from their handmade tunnel in the middle of the clearing. They grunted and spoke in their nefarious tongue that echoed in the lower octaves. Ranging from all sizes, shapes, and colors, Amitiel lowered his bow realizing that there were far more than he had originally anticipated. What had been thought of as an inconsequential hole to conceal only a few, ended up to be well over seventy. A few selected dozen were delegated to build an enormous fire in the very middle of the clearing. Searching over by the tree line, Amitiel found the shimmer of the river. So diminished it was, but nonetheless dangerous.

"Wake up you stupid oafs!" Bellowed one of the orcs with an ear missing and the other burned to a crisp, "Shazog takes cruelly to those who sleep on the job!" Shazog...he'll be here soon. Squinting, Amitiel found something most peculiar. Had that rock formation in the middle of the clearing started moving? Surely I'm going insane, he thought to himself. But no, it was true. There were two large boulders that stood up in synchrony to stretch as they extended their scapulas to touch the moon. Groaning ensued at being awoken so harshly. Judging by the sheer size, the chains, and the recognizable gray sheen of their skin, they were cave trolls from the Misty Mountains.

Out of no where, the orc with the burnt ear began to invade the air with his nose; whatever smell in the air offended his senses as his eyebrows coiled in disgust.

"What do you smell? Something to eat?" One of his minions enquired eagerly as he licked his blistered, scarred lips. Striding in Amitiel's direction towards the blue spruce, the burnt-eared orc resembled a malformed hound on the hunt.

"Lavender," he explained, "I smell lavender. It doesn't grow wildly around these parts in this damned timber." Tightening his fists, the Princeling glared unfavorably at his platinum locks, drowned previously in lavender oil by Yrren's bath.

"An emasculated elf is nearby; keep your guard up." The orc continued as he peered into the defoliated area of the impressive blue spruce. Emasculated? I'll show you emasculated...Amitiel drew his bow once more, swearing that the orc was holding uninterrupted eye contact with him. So ridiculously close to releasing his arrow, and yet all was interfered with too soon,

"My feared Shazog arrives." The orc with previous concerns about a meal announced. Gasping much more loudly than intended, Amitiel's stomach did a tumble at the mention of that name. The chemical reaction when hearing that name left him stunned, biting his lip raw, clammy hands, white knuckles, knees knocking and shaking; worried he was that his unsteadiness would cost him to fall out of the spruce all together. Swiftly turning his attention back to his company, the burnt-eared orc prodded and pulled other orc to their feet whilst bellowing,

"Look alive, you flea-bitten vermin! In formation!" Amitiel marveled the pure velocity of which it took his enemies to appear in typical soldier procedure. Lining up in 7 rows of 10 all equidistant to the other, they held their spears and swords in their right with shields in their left. Whether he hated to admit it, they were well trained...they were mere puppets. They feed on fear, heartache, and brutality. Mind you, they are the force that Sauron controlled. His grandfather's words echoed loudly in his head. Amitiel could only deduce that their training methods and punishment for falling out of line was brutal judging by their trembling demeanor and multitude of scars and festering wounds.

Except for the crackling and splitting from the wood of the camp fire, all was silent. Slowly approaching was yet another company of orc, most primarily riding on wargs. Amitiel could recognize some of them due to their devastating and putrid burns. His mother's murderer led them; his significant size compared to the others created the largest and most menacing shadow to creep across the forest's floor. Then a different shadow appeared. Taking a closer look, Amitiel saw that there was a substantial cart pulled by a team of three wargs. The contents of it were shrouded by a large blanket; it was obviously heavy, as the wargs struggled to keep a consistent pace. Dismounting his silvery-gray steed, Shazog inspected with critical eyes of the other company until they rested upon the gigantic mountain trolls,

"I see you got these mutant monstrosities. Do they obey?" Shazog enquired. The burnt-eared orc stepped forward hesitantly, obviously fearful of his menacing superior. It had crossed Amitiel's mind whether it was in fact Shazog who had burnt his ears for disobeying.

"My feared Shazog, they have been most compliant thus far."

"Perfect, shall we put them to the test? You boys must be famished," the trolls groaned in an agreeable manner. "How can we expect you to tear down those gorgeous gates of Thranduil's fortress on an empty stomach? To destroy those caverns stone by stone?" Amitiel practically choked on the air as his heart leapt to his throat. As much as he hated to admit, those trolls would make quick work of the front gates; especially since the fortress' river was weakening by the minute. Shazog offered a malevolent chuckle as he raised his behemoth arm and gestured to the burnt-eared orc,

"Chow time, boys!" There wasn't a split moment for any to react; gruffly lifted off his feet and placed in the adamant strength of the trolls, the burnt-eared orc was pulled apart...and eaten. Sounds of crunching on the bones and the grisly noise of devouring muscle were detectable as all the orcs and Amitiel watched in silence. It wasn't the least bit surprising to the Princeling, he had first hand seen Shazog break the neck of another orc at the bridge to the fortress just for speaking out of turn. Watching, Shazog observed the trolls finish off his once-but-no-longer minion and then turned to face the rest of the company,

"In case these oafs for whatever reason cannot rip those gates down because of those damned Elvish arrows, I did happen to get my hands on a spike bomb." He gestured to the cart pulled by the team of wargs. Gazing at it to take a closer look, Amitiel could barely make out the barbed texture of the enormous bomb under the blanket. Hating to admit more weakness, he knew that the bomb could easily destroy the front gates of the fortress as well. If it was so much as detonated at the beginning of the bridge, those gates would appear as pasture fencing. In that instant, Amitiel thought of his grandfather, Uriel, Yrren, Elrohir, Elladan, all the returning soldiers that had just come back from war. He thought of the young elflings that could barely stand yet, all the mothers holding them and mollifying their fears. The entirety of his people would be snuffed out; their would be so much Eldar light lost in that moment that the night sky would appear as fiery day, thousands upon thousands of suns. A whole culture would become extinct, and the Greenwood would have no more guardians left to protect it.

Shazog almost in a gleeful way took a gander at the spike bomb once more,

"This should do the trick and send a message, almost as loudly as when I cut down that brat's mother." The assemblage didn't dare make a noise in case they made the wrong intonation in front of their leader, "I saw that fucking sprite run like the coward he was when that whore of a mother fell to the ground. She bled to death to save his sorry ass, and I drank every drop she had in her." Clenching his teeth to the point he felt them fracture, Amitiel could genuinely feel his blood boil. Anger made his head pound like a war drum; his breath was so raspy and calescent that he was half-expecting to breathe dragon's fire that could generate right from his scalding core. His metal armor would become leafed scales that along with protecting him from physical harm would blind and numb him from grief of that day, and his leather would stretch to become wings. He'd extend his wings as if he was to embrace the universe, take flight and burn Shazog and all orcs until all was bitter ash that would be thrown unerringly to the biting wind.

Turning in a painstaking manner, Shazog faced the impressive blue spruce. Amitiel held true eye contact with his mother's slayer, and felt unimaginably vulnerable; he could in absolute legitimacy feel Shazog taking inventory of all his fears, obstacles, and shortcomings.

"Hell, I even used her skull as a chalice of my victory. Naturally, I had to first scalp her to firstly remove her impressive amount of hair." The rage took over. All-encompassing, all-overwhelming. I'm about to loose myself, Amitiel panicked. I am about to loose all self-control, I am about to loose myself. He dug his fingers into his bow to somehow prove to himself that he still could still govern his body, that he was still attached to the world and not floating away into oblivion whilst his soul was disbanding at the seams.

Shazog's gaze never lessened upon Amitiel as he clearly waited for a reaction, begging for an arrow.

"I suppose baiting you with words isn't enough. That's just fine, perhaps you are more of a visual learner." Making a gesture of his fingers rendered two orcs to reveal themselves from Shazog's original encompassing pack. They were contending with great difficulty to lead the outline of someone that Amitiel knew only too well. Holding him up by his shoulders and restraining his arms, the orcs struggled with the captive's indomitable fight. The prisoner dug his heel into the forest's floor, only to have the back of his knees kicked so that he sprawled onto his face in the clearing beside the fire. Maniacal laughter resonated in the air as the elf immediately stood just as Shazog punted with incomprehensible force into his chest as he tumbled painfully back to the ground. Horrified, Amitiel saw the glint of fearful emerald eyes that had the fire's flicker within them. It was Uriel...his best friend had been relentlessly beaten all because he had decided to follow Amitiel in hopes of bringing him home. Uriel had a split lip, and a black eye. Once more the Princeling's temper spiked when seeing his friend this way, especially when it was all his fault. There was something odd about this anger, as if all the while it was weakening him by the second was also giving him power. Incredible, unprecedented capacity to do incogitable damage. The blades...the shards...Amitiel attempted to remember what his grandfather had told him about morgul shafts, but couldn't recall anything about the potential of supernatural ability to cause devastation to foes.

"Come on Princeling! You wouldn't let a fellow elf get eaten, would you? A member of your kin?" Shazog tempted.

"No! Don't come out!" Uriel croaked from the ground, "Go home! Leave me!"

"Silence!" Shazog seethed as he kicked him once more, only this time in the head as Uriel writhed in pain, clutching his temples to keep them from ringing. In this split instant, Amitiel knew unquestionably what he could do, as if he had no limits and eons of time. He saw it all play out in front of him, he saw himself taking down the two cave trolls, he saw himself taking lives of orcs. But did not yet see himself shoving a blade through Shazog's throat. The morgul shards pulsating in his veins lead his arm to put away his bow and instead take out his swords that glowed so severely because of the proximity of his enemies. He willingly revealed himself as he glimmered intensely from the tree and every orc except Shazog frenzied in excitement at the surprise assailant.

"There you are," Shazog mumbled in satisfaction. "So you've decided to expose yourself to save a friend? How brave. How touching." Whipping his head around to face the cave trolls, he gestured to the beacon in the spruce tree, "ALL YOURS BOYS!"