Chapter 14:

Funeral Song

Part 1

A/N: Special thanks to Cara who was my 50th reviewer! I am beyond happy and honored that so many of you are enjoying the story. I apologize for the time it has taken to update. Unfortunately, I have been quite sick. In fact, I am going in for a small surgery on Wednesday, so please wish me luck. Hopefully it won't take long to update again before then. I cut this original chapter in half due to its length. Looking forward to more of your reviews. Happy reading.

The blood weighed heavy on the air. Elrohir finally smelled it as he followed Indari away from the trail that the human caravan left, miles and miles away from it to a tiny human hamlet. He smelled the blood before he saw the slated rooftops above the trees. Thatching shone black against the setting sun, the sky beyond nothing but a vast canvas of red. It was fitting, since that is all he could smell. Red. The iron that turned blood crimson. So thick, so heavy, he tasted it. The rawness of day-old blood coated the back of his tongue. It made him gag.

The horses flipped their heads at the stench, though Indari seemed unbothered. The hamlet emerged through the darkening trees and Elrohir saw the bodies. He and his stallion passed a boy, no older than Legolas. His throat had been ripped out, as had his eyes and tongue. He had also been eviscerated. Intestines lay strewn about him, half eaten. Elrohir choked back a sob and continued to follow the dragon into the tiny town.

Bodies everywhere. The dirt had been churned to mud with the blood spilt.

"Orcs," Elrohir hissed, breathing out heavily to rid his nose and lungs of the pungent odor. Tears sprang to his eyes. They were still not far from Rivendell. This could be the band of orcs that came upon his naneth's traveling party, slaughtering all but her. He and Elladan had hunted those orcs, but never could they be found. This was the closest he had ever come to their trail. "I know of the orcs that did this. I have a vendetta against them. They can't be far. We can find them. We must kill them all."

Indari swung down from his mare as she sidestepped away from the closest corpses, nostrils wide in panic. Indari ignored her fear and squelched through the bloodied mud towards a woman who was sprawled half naked in front of what must have been her house. Elrohir couldn't look closely, he refused. He thought of his nana and the tears threatened to spill. Revenge grasped his heart and he pressed a trembling fist against his mouth.

"We must find them before they get to far," Elrohir choked, his words stilted with fury and grief. The image of that little boy he passed . . . these orcs had to be beheaded and burned. They were the scourge of the world. For the boy, for his nana, they had to die.

Indari crouched beside the woman's corpse. Elrohir watched him from the corner of his eye, intent on witnessing the sun relinquish its hold on the land, handing it off to the silvery moon and stars.

"How tragic is this," Indari whispered, reaching out to brush the woman's brown hair from her mangled face. "Tragic for the undeserving humans. Tragic for the orcs who had once been elves. This is an unfair world, is it not?"

"I will not wait for you to join me to hunt them down," Elrohir growled. "What say you?"

Indari looked up and his dull muddy eyes were almost sad.

"How long have you been sick with this fever?" Indari asked.

"Elves do not fall ill," Elrohir snapped, wanting only his yes or no answer and not caring for anything else he said.

"Revenge is a sickness, elf," Indari snapped back. "And what of your brother? Are you so changed by the smell of blood spilled by orcs that you chase after them to . . . what? Save a ghost? Your mother is gone. You can't bring her back."

"How do you know?" Elrohir realized he held his sword, though didn't know when he drew it or what he planned on doing with it. Indari was a dragon. Swords were useless against the beast.

Indari stood with a casually raised brow, as if he wondered the same.

"It was a guess," Indari admitted with a grin. "Your mother was not in Rivendell when I arrived, but you would still put her ghost before the flesh and blood of a kidnapped brother?"

"It would not take us long to hunt these orcs down," Elrohir said. "With your help, we could kill them before the night is done. Elladan and the elflings are with humans. They will last."

"Humans should not be underestimated." Indari's amusement vanished.

"Orcs are evil. Humans are simply mortal and plagued with follies. It will not be hard to catch up with them and save my brother and the young ones. I can't let this opportunity to kill these orcs go unheeded." Elrohir sheathed his sword again. The fire to slaughter those monsters made his heart race. He was frantic with the need to hunt them. All the pain of these past centuries flooded his soul and the tears fell. They fell hot and fast and he didn't try to stop them. His family had been torn to shreds because of these foul creatures, and he would see vengeance before he found peace. He knew his ada did not sleep well knowing that those who hurt his wife wandered the world alive. Being able to tell his ada that they were now dead would help him heal, even if he hardly showed his grief.

Indari frowned at him, eyes dull and emotionless as always.

"You are still young," Indari said. "You are not wise yet, so let me help you. Would you rather run after these mindless orcs to avenge your mother who is no longer even here, or save what remains of your family from wicked men?" He gazed at the bodies surrounding them. "While you decide, I will pretend not to notice how you seem to not care about these people lying in pieces around you."

Elrohir not only smelled red, but he saw it now too. Pink and blue twilight settled around them and his heart raced, about to burst.

"How dare you!" Elrohir screamed. "How dare you act like you're better than me! How dare you speak to me of wisdom and a soft heart when you have tortured Mirkwood's royal family! You forced Thranduil to beat his youngest son, his beloved Legolas, who is no more than six years old! You are the monster, not I!"

Indari nodded, which was not the reaction Elrohir expected. It knocked him off his rampage long enough for the dragon to speak.

"You have seen only a small piece of the whole picture," Indari said. "You see only despicable actions from a dragon, while in truth these are the products of a promise from a friend. Oropher asked me to protect his kin before he went off to battle, should he die. He told me to protect his family and kingdom no matter the price. If that is to abuse a child, a family, to get the result that is needed to save them, then so be it."

Elrohir fumed. He focused on breathing evenly before speaking.

"You are not justified like you believe," Elrohir snarled.

"You do not understand." Indari walked back to his horse, but paused before mounting again. "Oropher was the only friend I have ever had. I loved him for his kindness, for his trust." Indari looked up at him, eyes bright with yellow flame, brow cinched with . . . was it grief? "I want nothing more than to repay those long years of friendship." He blinked the fire from his eyes and Elrohir could only stare. He did not know what to think of this beast.

"Meet me back at the trail we left," Indari said, "or go chase your orcs. I will continue after Prince Legolas, but only after I put these souls to rest. Oropher would have. I strive to follow his example."

"There is not time to bury them all," Elrohir whispered, still unsure of what he should do.

"I will burn them."

O

Thranduil watched as the stars of midnight blinked down on him through the black branches. He was free. He huddled deeper into his cloak and continued on foot after Sard and Naspen. The palace and city had been left far behind. The escape tunnel that Sard had led them down deposited them outside of the city walls. The black magician now led them towards the farthest reaches of the kingdom to the north, nestled deep within mountain foothills where snow still nestled beneath the imposing forest canopy. Thranduil's tooled leather boots crunched lightly over the fragile ice that encased the patches of white.

"Where are we going?" Thranduil asked and glanced around. Other knights followed, but none came close enough for him to recognize. "You said that you will leave me with elves, and one who even knew my adar and Dekriem, but there is no one this far away from the protection of patrols."

"This is a peaceful part of your kingdom," Sard agreed. "It is a shame you don't know some of your most loyal people live here."

Thranduil gazed mournfully ahead. He knew what waited for him, but he refused to believe that elves had moved back to the ruins of the once mighty Sindarian city of Doriath. It had been attacked by dwarves many millennia ago. He and his ada had barely escaped. The attack had killed his naneth and many other family and friends. The city had fallen to flame and death, and was so filled with ghosts for him that he never wished to return.

He could soon see the Doriath ruins as black, towering fingers against the moonlit sky. Chatter filtered through the trees to his ears and firelight began to push against the night.

Sard stepped out of the way as Thranduil approached the crumbled city gates. On the massive, fire-stroked blocks were dozens of elves. Their clothing was dark and loose, nothing like how even the Silvan dressed. Beyond the gates he saw more elves. In fact, there were hundreds of them.

"Where have all these people come from?" Thranduil asked.

"The Silvan made home in the ruins first," came a voice to his left. "The Kindi soon joined them. Their realm in your kingdom has been here for thousands of years. They live in peace."

The Kindi? That was one of the Avari tribes, and the Avari elves were the most dangerous and unwise of them all. They had been frowned on by the Eldar for teaching humans how to make fire and build the wheel, how to simply survive. Thranduil took a closer look at the few elves that had gathered to greet him at the gates. They looked as any other Silvan, with fiery red hair, vivid green or blue eyes, and mischievous smiles on all of them.

"We are glad you have finally come to visit us, King Thranduil," the voice said.

Thranduil turned in a daze to greet this speaker. It was a Sindarian elf with a face so familiar he thought for a moment he had died.

"Maronellian," Thranduil breathed.

It was his uncle.

O

The wraps that protected the tattoo on his back were carefully peeled away. Legolas sat motionless in Ciruclo's tent, crying silently. Not because of the pain, which was still excruciating, but because he felt farther away from nature and who he used to think he was than ever before. No tree would ever let him climb its branches again, no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin.

The spindly dragon tattoo stretched from the base of his neck to the small of his back. It curled around his spine, but stayed nestled between his shoulder blades. It was the same one that everyone in the cult bore, either on their clothing or medallions around their necks. But none had it tattooed. That had been saved just for him, because he was special. He "belonged" to Kagnirrok.

"The pain will fade," Leb said, the dirty human that had given him the marking. "I promise. It is worse because you are young. It will grow with you as you get older, so you will get used to it."

Legolas didn't respond, too disgusted by the human to even acknowledge that he had said a single word. Leb didn't seem offended, but Ciruclo was.

The fat cult leader stepped on Mala's left ankle, making her scream. Legolas glared up at the greasy mortal and his rippling jowls. Dandruff flaked off his scalp and onto his black coat that bulged at the buttons.

"Do not show us disrespect, elfling." Ciruclo's monotone voice barely filled the large tent.

Legolas didn't know how silence disrespected anyone, and didn't know how voicing his thoughts would make Ciruclo happier, so he persisted in keeping his jaw clamped shut and letting the tears stream down his cheeks.

Ciruclo stomped on Mala's ankle again and she screamed louder. Elladan strained against his bonds, tied again to the center pole beside her.

"Why must you torture the young ones?" Elladan snarled. "I am more than willing to take whatever punishment you wish to give."

Ciruclo laughed. It was monotone too, and sent a sickness through Legolas's stomach. Mala's frosted green eyes found his and she gave him a shaky smile, as if to comfort him. It didn't work.

"We must travel slowly until you are better, prince." Ciruclo walked over to where he sat backwards on a chair, leaning forward against the back of his, clutching the wood with white-knuckled fingers. Legolas tracked his movements with fear and flinched when the man reached out to trace one of the tear tracks on his face.

"Don't touch him," Elladan growled, glaring at the mortal with murder in his steely gaze.

"I must find a way to entertain you while we wait for you to adjust to the mark on your back, since we will camp earlier to let you rest," Ciruclo said, and finally turned to look at Elladan from down his giant, bulging nose. "We will have you fight some of our warriors every evening. If you die, you die. If you don't, you don't, but won't it be fun to watch?"

Legolas grabbed Ciruclo's hand and squeezed it, begging.

"Please don't," Legolas pleaded. "I will do anything, just don't make him fight."

Ciruclo's sickly eyes found his and he grinned, delighted that Legolas was holding onto him. Legolas's stomach wrenched but he didn't let go.

"Legolas," Elladan warned.

Legolas ignored him and continued staring up into the man's face, searching for any mercy in it.

"Then I have no choice but to sit with you as your friend fights." Ciruclo used his other hand to stroke Legolas's hair, making him cringe. "I must comfort you."

Legolas released his hand and met Elladan's furious stare, which melted when he returned the attention. Elladan's hard eyes unsheathed to show Legolas his sorrow. Legolas bowed his head, heartbroken and feeling very far from home.

O

Thranduil emerged from the hovel he had been assigned to live in during his stay. It wasn't much, having once been the throne room of Doriath – or what remained of it. He had slept in the farthest corner where there was still a part of the domed roof remaining. The Kindi and Silvan elves draped gossamer and cotton sheets from the roof to give him privacy. Through the white stripes of cloth he had seen the setting of his nightmares lit by stars. The black and green marble had been dulled by long-cold fires and nicked with battle axes from the dwarves. He had last seen this throne room the night those dwarves raided the kingdom to steal their gold, which his adar gave freely – anything to keep them from killing more of his people. It hadn't mattered. The screams of the past kept him awake all night. He wasn't sure if these wild elves had given him this spot to sleep to honor his royal blood or to punish him for never returning again.

"How did you sleep?" It was his uncle.

Thranduil had wondered if seeing Maronellian was just another haunting from the past. Apparently he wasn't. He started at his uncle's deep voice and turned to face him. Maronellian sat on the steep steps that led to the palace, the morning breeze ruffling his intricately braided white hair. He had Oropher's face, the curved brow, pointed chin, pinched cheekbones, all of which gave him the air of indifference. Instead of holding an impassive expression, like one that Oropher often wore, Maronellian smiled. His face was open and soft, his intense blue eyes like mirrors to a bright sky on a clear day. His clothes were simple, being the same as what the Silvan and Kindi wore, which were dark green leggings and black boots, and green tunics slashed with white, blue, or brown. In Maronellian's case, it was yellow. What amazed Thranduil the most were the blue jay feathers woven throughout his hair. Though he was Sindarian and once a prince, he had gone native.

"How did I sleep?" Thranduil demanded. "I am in the ruins of a home from another life, one that I left behind long ago and where I lost nearly everyone I loved, yourself included."

Maronellian kept smiling. Thranduil couldn't believe his audacity and felt one of his dragon rages charge to the surface. He contained it by tilting his head back.

"You sacrificed yourself to save your brother and me, telling us to run," Thranduil said. "You died."

"Apparently I did not," Maronellian said, still grinning.

"Why?" Thranduil hissed. "Why then did you never join us at the Mirkwood palace? Why did you let your own brother believe you to be dead?"

"I had no wish to be treated as royalty," Maronellian said and stood. He was taller than Thranduil, making the king feel suddenly young and small again. He did not like it. Maronellian draped an arm around Thranduil's shoulders, still smiling, though softer now. "There is someone I want you to meet."

Thranduil allowed Maronellian to guide him down the countless stairs to the charred courtyard below. Naspen and other knights emerged from surrounding buildings to flank them in silence. Thranduil searched for Sard but could not find him. He hoped the magician hurried on to find Legolas.

Maronellian led him through Doriath. Though these elves had not returned it to its former mighty glory, where almost every building was coated in gold, making it shine in the forest like a city from Mandos, they had made it comfortable. Thranduil studied the bustling marketplace that had filled the spacious courtyards and streets, listened to elflings laugh and watched them run freely from homes to pester blacksmiths as they hammered out steel armor and swords, breathed in breakfast that consisted of sliced hams and chicken, of churned cream and cool juice. It was a realm like Rivendell, surrounded by age-long history. It wasn't as rich as Rivendell, but it was full of life anyway and graced by a cheery sun.

"How can these people still be loyal to me if I have never been here to see them, or even protect them with patrols?" Thranduil wondered more to himself than the ghost with his arm still around his shoulders.

"Many fought with Oropher's armies when the city fell," Maronellian said, his voice so familiar and welcome that it hurt. "They love the royal family more than you can know."

"But why?" Thranduil studied the face he never believed he would see again, a face he never wanted to look away from. "I have avoided this place like it was Mordor. . . ."

"They knew you needed time to heal," Maronellian said, a spark of understanding in his joyful, gentle eyes. "Just as many of us needed time to let go of our hate for dwarves, our nightmares of fire and stolen gold."

"Ada!" a little girl squealed.

Thranduil was released as Maronellian bent to catch a little elleth. She had vibrant red hair, as bright as flames, and beautiful silver eyes.

"Luria," Maronellian sang. "Little Luria! What trouble have you caused so far today?"

Luria whispered something into Maronellian's ear that made him roar with laughter. Thranduil watched with awe, turning to see a small hovel built from pine logs with a thatched roof. A chimney smoked pleasantly and tiny mountain flowers bloomed purple and pink in the windowsills. It was a humble home.

A woman with deep honey-colored hair, glittering red and gold in the sun, emerged with a huge smile. Elflings ran everywhere and two grown elves poked their heads out of windows to greet his uncle.

"Maron," the woman said before giving him a kiss. "I didn't know if you would make it for breakfast."

"This one did almost sleep the day half away," Maronellian smiled at Thranduil.

"The problem is I didn't sleep," Thranduil corrected.

His uncle widened his eyes.

"Thranduil," Maronellian said, "this is Kova, my wife."

"And all these children?"

"They are ours," Kova said, eyeing him warily.

"How many are there?" Thranduil tried not to gape but knew he failed miserably.

"Luria is our youngest, about Legolas's age I believe," Maronellian said. "She is our twentieth."

Thranduil needed to sit down. Kova laughed, as if understanding his shock, and took his arm to lead him inside the house. Though it looked small from the outside, it was beautiful inside with just enough room for everyone. An enormous oak table took up most of the space in the kitchen, and was the focus of most of the children still running around. They fought for their seats. Kova sat Thranduil next to one of the grown children, a handsome ellon who looked strikingly like his naneth. The same electric green eyes met his, filled with life and laughter, so unlike Kasslad that it made his heart skip and he clutched at his chest.

"It is good to finally meet you," the ellon greeted. "Ada always tells us stories of the trouble you would cause when you were young."

Thranduil felt his ears go red and he glared at his uncle as he sat down at the head of the table with little Luria in his lap, singing with her some little tune about ponies.

"What is your name?" Thranduil chose to ignore whatever stories his uncle told him.

"Thranellian," the ellon said.

Thranduil's eyes widened. The child was named after both him and his uncle.

"He is our oldest," Kova said as she leaned between them to place plates packed with fruit and meat in front of them.

Thranduil turned away and closed his eyes. This was almost too much. Their laughter, their joy, the fact that they were alive and his family, made him dizzy. Legolas would have loved them all, which made his heart skip another beat. He winced at the pain of everything Legolas and Kasslad have missed by not knowing they had more family and sharing in on these songs and jokes passed between their cousins. Oroduil and Ayanu had never had the chance to know, either. And what if Legolas never got the chance either? Tears burned at his eyes, threatening to fall.

"Kova saved me," Maronellian called to him from down the table, quieting most of the children. "When I told you and your ada to run, I would have died if not for her."

"The Kindi and Silvan arrived in time to save what Sindarian elves remained," Kova said, taking a seat between some of the smaller elflings. Almost all of them looked like her. "We drove the dwarves out, but could not save the city. We tried to restore it, but love what Doriath has become. It is home to all of us now."

Thranduil let her words melt into him, but he couldn't digest them. He stared at her for a moment, felt all of the children watching him, and then turned to Maronellian, numb and overwhelmed. He wondered where Naspen and his knights were and if they could get him out of here.

"You have a large, beautiful family," Thranduil whispered. The rest of the children's chatter quieted. Tears escaped his lashes. "Why didn't you come forward to let them meet their cousins, at the very least? Even if you didn't want to be treated like royalty, we could have raised our families together. Why did you hide? Did you not want to even meet your great nephews?"

Maronellian's face clouded and suddenly he did look like Oropher. Thranduil shivered.

"Why have you never ventured this far into your kingdom?" his uncle demanded, cold and irate. "If you had faced your ghosts, you would have found me then, but no – you wanted to stay in your palace with your mithril crown. That is not the nephew I knew, so why would I care about his sons?"

O

Legolas watched Elladan duel another human. It had been two months since he had received the tattoo and it was healed, the burning having long since gone. But that didn't stop Ciruclo from continuing the "entertainment."

Elladan deflected a blow from the giant man's axe. The blow was hard enough to clatter the iron chains around Elladan's wrists, connected to the ones around his ankles with an even heavier steel shackle. Elladan was covered in sweat, wearing only his breeches. Black hair stuck to his shoulders and face, getting into his eyes and caught between his teeth. He had suffered only three wounds since the duels began, but he had been too exhausted for them too fully heal. The strain of fighting the mountain of a man tonight had reopened all of them. The first was a gash on his left calf that had never been stitched in the first place. The second was a spot in the middle of his back where he had been knocked down and landed on a boulder, scraping his flesh and filling the wounds with dirt and pebbles. The third was a stab wound in the right shoulder, which was the most recent and bled the heaviest.

Legolas turned to the giant tent where Mala was tied up. Luckily she didn't have to see this, but she always did see how more tired and wounded their friend was when it was done. She would be horrified to see all of his wounds worse-off than they were this morning.

Legolas took a deep breath and glanced at Ciruclo who sat at his left, a "comforting" hand on his knee.

"Make it stop," Legolas said to him. "Please, Elladan is injured."

Ciruclo laughed, ignoring him.

The soldiers surrounding them and the duel cheered. Legolas hurried to look back, anxious to see if Elladan was okay. He was. At least, he wasn't dead. The giant was. Elladan pulled his sword out of the mortal's chest, letting his body fall into the sand. The elf's face was gaunt, shadowed and hollow from killing men every day for so long.

The wind picked up, slapping Legolas's face with sand. They had traveled far beyond the southern mountains and had recently entered the dessert. According to Ciruclo, they were close to Kagnirrok's lair.

The sun was setting, casting a deep crimson stain across the flat horizon. It was always a red sunset here. Smoke made the air hazy, being spat up by a cone-shaped mountain in the far distance. It was a volcano, alive and angry as most of them were.

More shouts and screams erupted from the far end of the watching crowd, making Legolas tense and Elladan look up.

"The barbarians!" one soldier ran forward to Ciruclo. "The sand men, they are raiding us!"

Ciruclo swept Legolas into his arms and hurried for the tent. Elladan shouted and Legolas heard his manacles clink as he tried to follow.

"Kill the heathens," Ciruclo ordered. "Don't let them near this tent."

Legolas struggled to get a glance at these barbarians that he had heard so much about since they entered the dessert, but all he saw were more of Ciruclo's soldiers milling about, organizing for a fight.

Ciruclo scurried into the tent. Mala sat up from where she was trussed against the center pole, as always. Her eyes were big and ringed with tears. She tensed when she saw them.

Legolas smiled at her, to let her know Elladan wasn't dead, when new shrieks tore through the camp. Ciruclo held him tighter.

"What is happening?" Ciruclo shouted.

Soldiers dragging Elladan appeared.

"Sir." It was Leb. He looked at Legolas, eyes big. "The bandits have us surrounded. I have never seen so many people in one place. Sir, they are here for him. They are telling us to give him up or else we will all be killed."