Chapter Fourteen: Dungeon Danger
Time froze.
Legolas did not hesitate. Faster than a blink he attacked, glinting knives flying from his hands. The elf almost overtook his throwing daggers as he lunged for Amulug, swatting the Shadowed Elf's blade aside as he grabbed his enemy.
A swift tug pulled him deeper into the cell and a kick slammed the door shut between the assassin and his remaining enemies. One arm went around both of Amulug's, pinning them to his sides, while Legolas's free hand put his dagger to the Shadowed Elf's throat.
Behind him, Aragorn shifted in his chains, moaning softly. On the opposite wall, Pippin remained where he was on the floor, unaware of his surroundings and still whispering about traps. Time resumed and instinct retreated, giving the elf precious seconds for his mind to catch up to his body.
This is bad, was his first thought.
The Shadowed Elves that had survived his initial onslaught broke out of their stunned stupor, yet they did not attempt to break through the door. Legolas guessed they were as uncertain of how to proceed as he was, though the assassin dare not show his lack of a plan.
Taking the leader of the threat hostage had been purely instinctive, the elf's training taking over while his mind scrambled for a way to get out of the situation. But now instinct had faded and Legolas had no idea what to do next.
Even his hostage seemed to be unable to comprehend what had occurred for a moment, but Legolas felt Amulug stiffen against him as his mind caught up to the unexpected turn of events. To the assassin's relief— and surprise— the Shadowed Elf did not immediately demand his followers shoot through the bars and kill them both. Amulug stayed silent and cooperative in his hold. It was almost as if he were afraid to die— or wanted to live. But that should be impossible.
Legolas dropped that train of thought and glared at the Shadowed Elves outside the door, outwardly cold and in control. He worried that making demands would only cause the unpredictable agents of the Void to strike, so he said nothing.
A thousand plans and scenarios to get everyone out alive went through his mind, each less likely to work than the last, and he acknowledged they were now at an impasse.
We need a miracle, the assassin thought grimly.
The violet-eyed elf heard the jingling of keys as he shifted his hold on Amulug and he realized there was another reason for the remaining Shadowed Elves' lack of action. The keys were locked inside the cell with them. Whether that was a stroke of luck or another obstacle between Legolas and freedom was yet to be seen.
Another plan was formed and thrown away, followed by two more. The assassin began to notice a common flaw in every potential route for escape, a shared element that always caused the mental plot to fail.
I can't think of a way to get everyone out. The problem is Pippin, Aragorn, and me. Boromir, Frodo, Sam, and Gimli were deeper in the dungeons than the others. They may have had time to evade the ambushers. Merry, Gandalf, Elladan, Elrohir, Fili, and Kili are all in cells. They are simply locked in, and since they cannot go anywhere our foes are leaving them be.
That leaves the three of us and our little hostage situation. The Shadowed Elves are confused. They don't know what to do. They did not account for their leader being taken and locked in a cell with the keys. I do not know if Amulug is important enough that they do not want to kill him, or they simply cannot function without his leadership for some reason, but he's the key to our escape.
A darker plan began to form at the back of Legolas's mind and he acknowledged it with a grimace.
I need to negotiate to try to at least free Boromir, without raising suspicions about his importance. Amulug obviously hates Aragorn, and sees him as the most important prisoner. If I manipulate him, I may be able to get most of the others out of here. He won't release Aragorn and I must stay here and keep holding him to keep him from shooting the Fellowship in the back, but… Wait. I'm a Wielder. If I die, they won't be able to kill the Void. But Bard survived using a Black Arrow. Perhaps I can pass usage of Daesīdh to someone else if I…
The assassin felt a rush of frustration. No. That won't work either. I'm a Royal as well. If I die the Sanctuary falls. Blast! I'd be able to stay behind and get Boromir and a few others out if weren't…
Unbidden, a memory rose to the front of his mind.
A week after revealing his identity to his three siblings— technically only to two since Barhad had already known— Legolas was cleaning one of his numerous blades when a soft knock sounded on his bedroom door. The violet-eyed elf opened the door to reveal his oldest sibling, who gave him a cheerful smile.
"Tithenlas. Could I come in for a moment?"
"Er, yes. Of course… Aglar." The assassin greeted awkwardly, still not comfortable enough to call the Crown Prince 'brother'. "Is there something you need?"
"No, no. I just wanted to talk." The silver-haired elf said, waving his hands in front of him. His gaze drifted over the neatly placed weapons and items that were strewn over the bed and his lips quirked. "How in Arda do you carry all of this?"
"Pockets, holsters, sheaths, and bags. How else would I carry them?" Legolas said with a shrug.
Aglar chuckled and leaned over to study the assassin's climbing claws, eyebrows creeping up his forehead. "I'm honestly surprised you can be so quiet when you're moving about. You have more weapons than an armory!"
"I just place my weapons in a way that so that they cannot clink against each other and make noise." The assassin explained simply. "It is not that difficult."
"Of course." Aglar said, gaze drifting to the small pouches that were neatly sorted on the other side of the bed.
They were sorted by color, much to the Crown Prince's apparent amusement, though Legolas did not understand why he would think that was funny. Aglar reached for one of the black bags, but the assassin gripped his wrist lightly, preventing him from touching them.
"Don't. Those ones contain poison. I don't want you to break something and get hurt."
Emotions flickered across Aglar's face too quickly for the assassin to decipher them before vanishing. His blue eyes lingered on the three dozen small bottles he could see. "I did not realize you had poisons. I mean, I think I knew, but I did not know there were so many."
"Indeed. Many are quite dangerous." Legolas gestured at the bags making sure his expression was stern. "The blue bags rarely cause death. The orange ones are more severe, but if a person is healthy enough they may survive it. The ones in the red pouches no antidote."
"And the black bags?"Aglar asked curiously.
"They have no antidote, and cause a swift, painless death." The assassin said simply.
The Crown Pricne stilled, staring at the black pouches like he had discovered they were working for the Void.
"Legolas…" His voice was strained, as if he could barely force the next sentence out of his lips, afraid to let the question out and risk getting a terrifying answer. "...Do you... have any herbs or poisons that... that you would take if you were ever captured?"
His little brother looked at him with oblivious, calm eyes and nodded. "Of course." He echoed the silver-haired elf's earlier words. "If a situation rises where I will be taken by an enemy or must sacrifice myself so others can escape, I will gladly lose my life."
Aglar turned a sickly white. His eyes dulled noticeably, and his aura flared with such instability that Legolas flinched. The Crown Prince stalked over to the assassin, gripping his brother's shoulders so tightly Legolas felt his fingers digging into his skin through his tunic.
"No." the silver-haired elf snarled authoritatively. "Don't ever— You can't— How can you even think about— No."
Legolas stared at his brother in puzzlement, watching him struggle with himself. His stomach churned with discomfort and his hands fluttered uselessly as he tried to think of a way to comfort his oldest sibling.
"Aglar…?" he asked uncertainly.
The Crown Prince drew in a shuddering breath, pulling the assassin to him and squeezing him tightly in a desperate hug. "Legolas, I need you to promise me that if you are captured, that you will never end your own life. Promise me."
The assassin blinked, then comprehended the reason for his brother's distress. He relaxed."I understand. I need to survive because I am a Wielder and Royal, correct?"
"I need you to survive because you are my little brother!" Aglar shouted.
Legolas physically reeled back in shock at the normally controlled elf's outburst. He was unable to get far because Aglar clung to him, gripping him tightly as his fingers grasped the assassin's back. The Crown Prince trembled, making soft, broken sounds, and to Legolas's horror he realized his brother was crying.
"Do not ever— You cannot— I cannot lose—" Aglar sobbed. He wiped at his eyes and gently cupped Legolas's face, red-rimmed orbs meeting confused violet. "Listen to me right now. I do not know what you were taught, but you are not allowed to kill yourself when facing capture, or sacrifice yourself so others get away, or anything like that. Do you hear me?"
The assassin was unable to shake his head because of the Crown Prince's firm grip on him. "I do not understand. You would rather have me face torture?" Legolas asked, bewildered.
"I would have you live and wait for rescue." Aglar said adamantly.
The assassin's eyes darkened, a coldness entering his eyes that made a chill go up his brother's spine. "I do not think I can promise that. I was in Dol Guldur for eighty years and no one came for me. In the end, Ciaran and I had to rescue ourselves."
The Crown Prince flinched, releasing the violet-eyed assassin, and the young elf's eyes widened in guilt.
"I am sorry." he apologized. "I do not blame you. I remember how Dark Dol Guldur was, and I am sure your warriors could not even get near it."
Aglar sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's all right. It is in the past. Nothing can be done about it." He put a hand on Legolas's shoulder again, blue gaze firm in a way that reminded the younger elf of their father.
"I do not know what you were taught, but self-sacrifice only leads to suffering. If you are in a situation where you will be captured or there seems to be no escape, I do not want you to throw away your life. You aren't in Dol Guldor anymore. You aren't alone anymore. If you can escape, rescue yourself. If you cannot, trust others to rescue you." Aglar whispered. "Promise me."
Legolas hesitated, then nodded. "I promise."
The assassin released an inaudible sigh, remaining unwavering and silent in their lingering impasse. If he had time to think about it, he might feel ashamed that his first reaction was to break his promise to his brother. Still, the memory had done more than make him realize the awfulness of what he had been prepared to try.
He could not sacrifice himself so the others could escape.
But he could pretend that he would.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
It was dreadfully cold. That was Frodo's foremost thought as he stood within one of the many cells in the dungeons. The hobbit could barely see a foot in front of him, with torches being few and far between this deep in the fortress, but he could spot the vague shapes of Boromir, Sam, and Gimli with him in the prison.
The dwarf had been deeper in the dungeons than the three rescuers had assumed, but had been released quickly enough thanks to Frodo's lock picking. Their friends' echoing shouts had been warning enough that something had gone amiss, and rather than run to aid them Boromir had physically dragged Gimli away from the commotion they could hear. The man's instincts had proven to be sound when booted feet pounded towards their location, Frodo vanishing around the corner just before their foes had come into sight.
The two hobbits, man, and dwarf had managed to evade the Shadowed Elves, men, and orcs by slipping into another cell. It was a gamble that had somehow paid off, with their enemies deigning it a waste of time to look for the escaped Fellowship members inside of the cells when they would likely retreat further into the dungeons.
Sam's grip on the handle was the only thing keeping the door from closing completely and locking. No one dared to speak as they stood in the dark, dank room, listening nervously as booted feet passed them by again and again. Even their breathing seemed too loud, and Frodo wiped his moist palms against his trousers as he watched the door, waiting for it to burst open with a horde of foes on the other side.
It never did, and after a long period of prolonged silence, Sam spoke.
"What now, sirs?" the gardener whispered.
"It's likely the others have been captured." Boromir deducted bluntly. He gave a disgusted grunt, and Frodo thought he saw his head shake. "We should have known it was too easy to get in here…"
"Regret the past after we escape." Gimli growled. He glowered at the crumbling stone around them like they had insulted his mother. "Hopefully without bringing this place down on our heads. These halls are damaged enough I wouldn't be surprised if a breath of wind made this hunk of rocks they call a fortress collapse."
"And how are we going to accomplish that?" the man of Gondor hissed lowly. "More than half of us are in enemy hands and there are too many foes to break through using force."
A rhythmic thudding reached their ears, growing steadily louder, and the Fellowship went quiet. Boromir and Gimli shifted, reaching for their weapons, and Frodo followed suit, not yet unsheathing Sting. There were orcs nearby, and the blade would give them away if the enemy did not already know they were there.
To their relief, the men passed them by without a second glance, heading further into the depths of the dungeons. Frodo released his hold on his weapon, letting his shaking hand fall to his side.
"I don't like this. We should be fighting in the open, not hiding in a burrow like scared rabbits!" Gimli ground his teeth, frustration in his every word.
"If you want to fight a hundred enemies at once, be my guest." Boromir said sarcastically.
"Actually, a hundred wouldn't be able to reach us at once." Sam mentioned, looking between the two bickering warriors nervously. "I mean, these halls are kind of narrow. We'd, we'd only have to kill a couple at a time."
The gardener sounded ill at the idea of slaying more creatures, and Frodo touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. There was a flash of white in the dark and the brunette hobbit guessed his friend had smiled at him. Boromir and Gimli evidently pondered the gardener's words, and Frodo did as well, his thoughts drifting to the violet-eyed elf of their group.
"I think that Sam's idea is a good one. We can ambush them in small numbers. Its dark down here, and if we're quiet, we'll be able to sneak up on quite a few of them."
The two more experienced warriors remained unconvinced.
"That sounds like something Esgal would do." Boromir murmured, almost to himself.
Frodo shot him an incredulous look, though the man could not see it in the dark. "He is an assassin. They usually kill their targets from the shadows."
He wanted to ask if the warriors were having trouble seeing the usefulness of assassin-like behavior because they were used to fighting enemies face to face, out in the open, with 'honor' but the hobbit was not the type to be so confrontational.
"I think this is the best idea we have." Frodo claimed. "We'll at least be able to lessen the number of pursuers after us and it will give us time to think if a plan to escape."
Boromir considered his words, and gave a sharp nod. "All right. We'll communicate as best we can through hand signs and other signals. Sound echoes here, so we'll need to be careful. If we can hear the enemy, then they may be able to hear us as well."
"Fine." Gimli hefted his axe, narrowing his eyes as he peered out the door. "I say we pick off the ones deeper down first. Last thing we need is to be attacked from both sides."
They headed deeper into the dungeon, keeping their footsteps as soft as they could manage. It grew difficult the further they went, with the floor getting wetter the more they traveled. It was dark, but not so dark that they were completely robbed of sight. Frodo could just see the outlines of his companions in the shadows.
Gimli abruptly raised a hand, silently telling them to halt. Frodo heard the enemy soldiers before he saw them, their footsteps and clinking chainmail growing steadily louder. If the hobbit concentrated, he could identify four separate sets of feet. They were likely men, for elves would never make such noise while walking.
Boromir gestured to the cells beside them, and the group slipped inside, with Frodo and Gimli in the left cell, and the man and Sam in the right. The footsteps grew closer. The blue-eyed hobbit tensed, not yet unsheathing Sting. The blade might glow because of nearby orcs, and being spotted too soon was the last thing the Fellowship needed.
They watched with bated breath as the men passed by, one step, two steps, three. Then Frodo saw Boromir's sword reflect in the other cell, an obvious signal. Without a shout or war cry the four fell upon their enemies.
Gimli got his target right in the chest. Frodo stabbed his directly through the heart. Boromir slashed his foe's throat, then turned and finished off the man that Sam had downed with his pan. The gardener flinched and paled when the Captain's sword sliced into the fallen Easterling's flesh, but he did not utter a sound. The man did not take time to comfort him.
"In the cells." Boromir said quietly.
He grabbed two of the dead men and dragged them into the cell he had ambushed them from. Gimli did the same with the third, while Sam and Frodo managed to hide the last one. Other than the streak of blood that could not be seen on the wet stone wall, there was no sign that there had been a fight.
Frodo moved to exit the cell, only to hear more footsteps, accompanied by the low clank of metal. He glanced across the hall and saw Gimli close his eyes and hold up two fingers. He motioned for Frodo and Sam to get out of the doorway. The hobbit grabbed the gardener and dragged him into the corner.
Even in the darkness, he could see the nervous sheen of sweat on Sam's skin. Frodo did not have time to give his friend a reassuring smile before the man of Gondor and Gimli struck.
Boromir rammed into the first enemy sword first, blade stabbed up to the hilt as he used his momentum to shove him into the hobbit's cell. As his ally turned, Gimli struck the other Easterling from behind, his axe sinking deep into the man's spine. He dropped like a stone, expression frozen in shock. The body was thrown with the others and the door locked.
More footsteps, distant and echoing. The Fellowship headed towards them instead of away, intent of intercepting the men before they could potentially find the bodies of their comrades. Sam nearly ran into a Shadowed Elf, skidding to a halt and stumbling backwards as he emitting a surprised gasp.
Luckily for the hobbit, the elf was as stunned as him, not reacting for a critical moment. Boromir was the cloak, and Frodo became the dagger. As the man blocked the Shadowed Elf's sword, locking the blades together, the hobbit slipped in and sank Sting into their enemy's chest. The Shadowed Elf fell without a sound, dead long before he hit the floor. Gimli and the man of Gondor instantly dragged the body into a cell. The dwarf listened again.
"Five sets." he reported softly. Reluctance crossed his face before he looked at Boromir. "Take two?"
The man nodded in confirmation. They slipped into the cells. The two Easterlings and three orcs were further apart than they first anticipated, but when Boromir gave the signal just after the two men passed, Frodo did not hesitate.
The Fellowship revealed themselves in the middle of the group, appearing from the shadows amidst the enemies that hunted them. Boromir spun and took two of the orcs' heads with a single swipe. Frodo slashed his foe across the spine, the man only able to make a slight gasping sound as he collapsed.
He was finished with a stab to the chest. Gimli threw an axe, which buried itself in the other orc's back. Sam froze, but before the last man could alert their foes, Boromir impaled him on his blade. The Easterling gave a low sigh before falling off the sword.
"S-Sorry, sirs." The gardener stammered.
Gimli and Boromir were already dragging the bodies into the prisons, so Frodo focused on his fellow hobbit.
"It's all right, Sam. No harm done."
The gardener gave him a hollow look. "This time."
Before Frodo could respond, the man and dwarf finished what they were doing, shutting the doors.
"How long before they start realizing someone is killing them?" Boromir asked rhetorically.
"Not long. Let's use our remaining time wisely." Gimli said.
The Fellowship trekked deeper into the dungeon.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
Thranduil was tiring.
The Elvenking did not want to admit it, but when his blade clashed with Oropher's his arms shook. When he blocked his father's stabs, his movements were slightly more sluggish than they had been before. His back and chest stung, blood trickling down his skin from the wounds caused by Thror's axe and Oropher's sword, and the injuries were slowly but surely taking their toll, sapping away at his strength.
Thranduil had received far worse wounds than these and fought on, but if he had a moment to breathe and look within himself, he would admit that his bleeding heart may be the reason for his descending performance. He had lost track of Elrond, Glorfindel, and Thorin long ago, Oropher having forced their battle out of the courtyard and into the Palace itself.
The walls were marred with deep scars from where Oropher's sword had struck the stone, the loss of an arm not lessening the former Elvenking's strength and rage in the slightest. He did not fight so much as stalk Thranduil now, pushing the blue-eyed elf into a steady retreat as he beat him back with the sheer power in his blows alone.
As he was sent reeling by a harsh downward slash, the Elvenking resolved to stand his ground, not taking another step deeper into his home. Aglar and Barhad were somewhere within the Palace— not to mention, Hannel— and Thranduil was not about to let Oropher anywhere near his children. His father noticed his change in demeanor and his head tipped. In another creature, it may have looked curious but on the cold-eyed fake elf that bled shadows, the pose looked rather disturbing.
"Have you finally chosen to stop fleeing like a coward?" Oropher asked. His eyes flicked past Thranduil. "Or is there something you want to protect? My grandchildren, perhaps?"
The Elvenking said nothing and did not turn to look behind him, already knowing his children were not physically present and knowing better than to show his back to the enemy. He met Oropher's blade with his own, both hands placed firmly around the hilt as his father attempted to bring his sword down on his son's head.
The two combatants disengaged, not quite circling one another as Thranduil blocked the way into his home. The Elvenking slashed at his father's armless side, a blow that Oropher easily deflected, then followed up with an upward flick. The second strike scored a slice on his father's ribs, but Oropher did not seem to notice, pressing forward to attack once more.
Thranduil parried his slash, then the next, the next, forcing Oropher's blade away from his body and darting in to stab. His father shifted his weight and stepped backwards, sword carving down, but the Elvenking rolled out of the way. His sword cut a gash in Oropher's leg as he passed, and more shadows writhed and spilled from the wound.
Block. Block. Parry. Block. Stab. Deflect. Retreat. Stab. Block.
Thranduil was briefly reminded of the many times he had sparred with his father so long ago, but he ceased that line of thought before it could distract him, or hinder him with memories that would only hold him back.
This is not my father. This is a monster that wears my father's image. I cannot forget.
Oropher sneered and gave a wide swing, forcing Thranduil to duck to avoid being beheaded. He straightened and grunted as his wounds tore further, vision turning into black spots even as he hastily dodged his father's next stab. Either the not-elf was getting more frustrated or simply less self-preserving, for his next barrage of blows were wild and unrefined, drifting further and further from the elegant fighting style Thranduil remembered his father using with pride.
The former Elvenking's next strike sliced a tapestry on the wall in half, carving a mark in the stone that may very well almost go all the way through. Their blades locked once more, blue eyes staring into blue, and for a moment, Oropher almost looked sad.
"Why won't you do this for me, my child?" he asked quietly. "Why won't you die?"
For the first time since he had appeared before Thranduil, Oropher did not look upset or enraged by his son's presence. Instead, the former Elvenking was nearly melancholic, thoughtful, hurt. Thranduil knew better than to believe it.
"You are not my Adar." Thranduil spat. "And even if you were… a child should never die for their parent."
He pushed against Oropher's blade, sending him stumbling backwards, and with a loud shout he slashed not-his-father across the chest, following up the strike with a stab through his torso. The former Elvenking fell to his knees and stared at the sword in open surprise. Slowly he met Thranduil's gaze, and he smiled.
"Thank you, ionin."
Oropher's skin blackened and he crumbled away, leaving behind only his blood-covered sword. Thranduil flinched as the weapon clattered loudly to the ground, rattling against the stone before going silent. The Elvenking stared blankly at the spot where his not-father— or was he?— once stood. He took a moment to let his shoulders slump, confused and overwhelmed by the fight, his injuries, and the mysterious combatant he had just defeated.
What did the Void do? What did he create? He wondered.
Was that actually my father? If he was—
Thranduil shook his head, pushing aside his questions and dismay and bracing himself against his body's desire to collapse. He was injured and his personal fight had been won, but the battle was not over yet. Still breathing heavily, the Elvenking turned back to the courtyard, racing through the scarred halls to assist his allies.
Before he could make it, something grazed his arm. Thranduil reacted instinctively, pulling away and raising his sword to stab… only to freeze when he was met by Barhad, Aglar,… and Nestor? His younger son was the one who had reached for him, though now the startled Prince quickly withdrew his hand. Barhad was pale, the Crown Prince tense with worry, while the Healer turned Fallen Elf looked around at the destruction with a rather detached air.
"Someone ruined the tapestries." Nestor mentioned thoughtfully. "Did they not like them? I thought they were nice."
Thranduil kept his eyes on the Fallen Elf, speaking lowly to his sons. "What happened? Why is he out of the dungeons? How is he out of the dungeons?"
"I'm not sure about that, but he knocked on your office door and let himself in." Aglar revealed. "He did not attack us, and we did not just want to leave him there, so we were trying to take him back."
"I do not want to hurt anyone." Nestor informed them randomly. "I did not want to be alone, either."
Thranduil did not have time for this. He had a battle to return to, allies to fight alongside. And yet instinct kept him from sending the three away, not because he disbelieved Nestor's claim that he would not attempt to harm his sons, but because of the small matter that the Fallen Elf had been released from confinement. If Nestor was out, then could that mean…?
"Nestor, where are the others?" Thranduil asked, forcibly keeping his voice calm to prevent himself from revealing his urgency. "Where are the other Fallen Elves?"
"They're all gone." Nestor said distantly. "Amon let them out. I stayed behind. I was by myself. It was lonely." Unfocused eyes looked vaguely in the Elvening's direction. "I don't want to hurt anyone."
The Elvenking's mind slowly comprehended what he had just been told and his confusion gave way to a deep horror.
Amon snuck into the Palace and released the Fallen Elves. How long ago did that happen? Did they all leave or are some hidden among these halls?
Another realization struck and Thranduil felt cold. The Fallen Elves had been in the dungeons, in the heart of the Palace. They had multiple guards watching over them, and the Elvenking knew better than to believe that Amon had just let them be on the way in. There was also an unexpected battle raging in the courtyard, one distracting a majority of his forces, so it was likely few would notice a group of elves heading out the front gate. And if they did head that way…
Thranduil tried to form words, but his rising alarm prevented him from voicing them. Instead, Barhad took the initiative, asking the question that remained stuck in the Elvenking's mind.
"What happened to the elves guarding you?"
"They're dead." Nestor replied in that same, detached tone. "The others killed the guards." He frowned, brow furrowing. "I don't think I tried to stop them. A lot of them were angry that you locked them away, you see. They wanted to get out. Amon freed them. They're probably in the forest by now." The former Healer tipped his head in a way comparable to an elfling. "Am I in trouble?"
"No." Thranduil choked. "Just… stay with my sons, all right?"
Nestor nodded agreeably, before he abruptly focused on the red staining the Elvenking's clothes. For the first time, his eyes focused. "You're hurt. I will help you."
He took bandages from his pocket and started prodding at and wrapping Thranduil's wounds before the Royals could stop him. Seeing that the Fallen Elf was intent on his work and had no desire to harm him, the Elvenking looked to his ashen-skinned sons.
"Aglar, how many Fallen Elves were in the dungeons?" Thranduil asked quietly.
The Crown Prince grimaced, tucking a loose hair behind his ear. "Minus Nestor? Three hundred and twenty-two."
LOTRLOTRLOTR
A/N: Late update but I did it. Yay. So tired. Need coffee.
Pretty sure fanfic messed with my sentences and spelling again. Too tired to check. Need lots of coffee.
You know that moment when you feel like you forgot to put something really important in a chapter and you just can't remember what it was? Guess who is feeling that right now? (squints blearily at chapter) Ugh. I'll probably remember and go "damn it!" later.
Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited this story! And another thank you to everyone for your patience. I know this chapter took a while, but I hope it was at least a little worth it. :)
Please review! And give me coffee…