Chapter 20:
Kingbreaker
Author's note:
Hello all. It has been a very long time since I posted chapters this frequently. I didn't want to write a personal message to you until I knew I could get back into a pattern of posting. For those of you who have followed this story since its beginning, thank you for staying with it and I very much hope you are still enjoying these drabbles of mine. As for an explanation for my long absence, well, yes I've been sick, but on top of that I got a new job in a new state, which involved moving. To those who don't know (which I suppose is all of you), my job is quite intensive. Mix in all of those things with getting married (this is a happy thing!), then yes, yes I was gone for quite a while from this story. Thankfully my husband is very encouraging, and since I use this as a way to keep writer's block at bay, you can thank him for pushing back into writing.
So, in short . . . I'm baaaack.
O
Bodies from the battle in Doriath's streets had been lined up before the old palace.
Thranduil walked between the rows, looking at the scratchy, woolen sheets and cloaks that had been draped over them. Some of those cloths were spotted with blood, some misshapen because the body beneath had lost a head or a limb.
He stopped his weary march to take a breath and stare up at the old ruins where he grew up. This old city had more ghosts walking in it for him now and just like the night where Maronellion told him to run, wailing and crying echoed off the stone walls and marbled roads.
On the palace steps lay Maronellion's body, draped by a white and gray cotton sheet. His wife Kova knelt on stairs below, her arms spread across his covered chest. She was crying again, though this time her screaming had ceased. She had been there for days as Thranduil and the knights gathered up the Silvan and Kindi that had lived here to help take back Mirkwood.
"Do you think Legolas is dead too?"
Thranduil took a steadying breath before facing Kasslad. His son wore Kindi clothes to replace his ruined silk ones. Kasslad looked at home in the dark green tunic and leggings, slashed with royal blue and white. His perfect white hair had been cleaned and braided intricately back, in the fashion of the Kindi. He looked wild, but not ragged as he did when the black magicians had thrown him to the ground to lure Thranduil out of hiding.
Still, he didn't look like the cheerful and carefree Kasslad he had known back before the dragon came. He feared that Kasslad was forever buried, gone forever, much like he feared of Legolas.
"I don't know," Thranduil said, searching Kasslad's gold eyes for what his son believed. The deadness in them said he feared the worst for his young brother. "I can only hope Sard can still bring him home to us."
"If Sard is not dead himself," Kasslad snapped.
Thranduil reached out to touch one of the bruises on his son's face, but the ellon retreated from him. The helplessness he had showed him in the battle became more and more withdrawn as the bodies were lined up. Thranduil had seen his son do this same march every morning just as the sun began to shine light on these dead immortal lives, the paradox that it was.
"We are ready to march whenever you are," he said.
Thranduil bowed his head to hide his grief. The damage he had done to this family may never be repaired and the realization of that tragedy chilled his heart. With a steadying breath of the thawing winter air, he resume his march between the rows of the dead.
A procession of elves drew his attention. About 20 or so elves moved along the side of the rows toward the palace steps. Thranduil recognized Thranellion, his uncle's oldest son, as he carried little Luria, the youngest.
They were all his uncle's children. Thranduil still didn't know all of their names. He stopped his march again to watch the somber group climb the stairs to join their mother, surrounding their father's body.
In the quiet street he heard Luria sob.
"Ada," she cried and pulled at the sheet. "Ada."
There were no other words, no pleas for him to wake, to begging for him to return. Even at the tender age of eight, Luria already knew the hard truth of death and it broke his heart, making him shiver in the cold that it brought him.
Kova met his gaze over her children's heads. Those beautiful blue eyes pierced his and for the first time since Maronellion died, she rose.
Thranduil waited for her to meet him. Her once elegant deep gold hair had frayed in her grief, dark smears under her eyes telling the world she hadn't slept in too long, even for an elf. Lines bracketed her pale lips, showing her stress.
"Reclaim your kingdom, Thranduil," Kova ordered with a fierceness that surprised him. The Kindi were still wild at their core, too native to care about government and titles. Her independence was her crown. "Don't you die and don't you abandon us again. Return to Doriath. Bring peace to your ghosts and remember all of your people, or next time we will not be there to help you again."
She turned away before he could reply. Thranduil watched her return to her family, his family.
"Your army is waiting," Kasslad said.
So Thranduil steeled himself and in his heart asked the ghosts of Doriath to help him end the death in this once great kingdom.
O
Legolas didn't like hiding, even in plain sight. He had donned an itchy, molding potato sack in order to look like a traveling pack and rode behind Elrohir on a horse he and Sard had stolen from the caravan before entering the emperor's tent.
Mala had lost her rich white furs and silks for a potato sack of her own. She rode behind Elladan. The twins were both dressed as Terkmar soldiers, posing as just another Terkmar patrol out looking for the Dragon Soldier and rebellious concubines. They would never be found.
Of course, Elrohir admitted it had all been Sard's idea.
As Legolas was jostled atop the tall, skinny Terkmar mare, he growled his displeasure.
"We had no choice but to run, tithen pen," Elrohir said over his shoulder, keeping the horse at a brisk trot across the flat snowy plains.
Legolas could see for miles, but after hard riding for almost two days, the caravan and Sard were nowhere to be spotted. Instead, the sun reflected off the snow as one blinding white mirror, making his eyes sore and watery.
"He saved us," Legolas snarled. "We need to go back."
Elrohir surprised him by saying nothing. The talkative twin, the one he remembered as being lively and jovial, must have sailed away with his fading mother.
"I see trees." Elladan pointed. "We can have cover, escape being so exposed."
"Still no closer to home," Elrohir muttered.
Legolas held onto Elrohir's leather Terkmar armor as the twin kicked the mare and sent her galloping forward. The sound of her hooves pounding against the snow was muffled, but still loud in this flat field of nothing. The frosty air bit at Legolas's exposed cheeks, chilling his already freezing body, making his bones shiver. He looked over at Mala. Her head lolled to one side. She was unconscious.
"Stop!" Legolas commanded. "Stop now!"
Elrohir and Elladan didn't.
Legolas heard more pounding. He turned as far as he could and spotted a black smear of at least six other horsemen.
Terkmar riders.
Where had they come from? He didn't believe they could have snuck up on them. They would have been seen from miles away.
Elrohir drew his sword with a metallic hiss.
"Mala!" Legolas called, a fear settling into his chest, paining his heart, his muscles. "Mala!" He didn't understand what happened to her.
Terkmar commands carried across the shortening distance between them. Legolas watched them from over his shoulder. They called to the Dragon. Panic overtook him at the thought he might become a prisoner again, chained and whipped and starved and beaten. He had never felt so small, so less than everyone around him, less than even the dirt. He didn't want that helplessness to return. He would not be a slave again.
"Who is that?" Elrohir pulled on the reins, slowing the mare.
Legolas peered around his bulky uniform. Standing like a lone wolf was a woman dressed in black just before the tree line. Her white hair ruffled in the breeze. She was tall and something about her made Legolas want to both fall to his knees as well as run in the other direction, which is probably why Elrohir had only slowed their mount, not stopped her.
Elladan drew his sword.
"Keep going!" he shouted at his brother.
So both kicked their horses. The Terkmar gave chase, spreading out behind them like demons.
Elladan shouted and veered away. Legolas jerked his attention forward and it felt like another Terkmar soldier kicked him in the chest, knocking his breath away with an unyielding steel toe.
In place of the strange woman towered a dragon.
It was taller than Dekriem, but not nearly as large as Kagnirrok. This beast fanned its sweeping wings, the skin between the bones thin and almost transparent. Scales glittered on black scales like stars. What stood out the most were the crimson, glowing dragon flesh from the jaw, down the arched neck, and under the narrow chest. A slithering tail, pocked with an array of thorny-looking horns, curled around the beast. It stretch itself for only a moment before claws scraped snow and ice as its massive wings pushed it off the ground with an unholy screech.
Legolas covered his sensitive ears and sought inside himself for the dragon rage. A blast of heat scorched his back and sent their mare jolting into the forest, which was startlingly dark compared to the glaring snow plains they had been trapped on for days.
"Elladan!" Elrohir shouted. "Brother!"
Horse snorted to their right. Elladan and an unconscious Mala rejoined them. Neither twin hesitated or looked back, but rather kicked their mounts to keep running.
But Legolas looked back as Terkmar men screamed the screams of dying men. Having seen more men die than he could remember, he wondered if they shit their pants or wept before the dragon jaws tore them to shreds.
Horse screams joined the terror the twins rushed to leave behind. Legolas felt for the animals more than the soldiers. He wondered if any had cracked the whip onto his back in the past year. Even still, he could not bring himself to be glad.
O
The road back to Mirkwood was long. Thranduil gathered his anger, his dragon rage, the closer they rode the dark path snared with tree roots and spider webs. The darkness that destroyed Greenwood the Great was growing and deepening. He carried those shadows with him and wondered how offended the elves would be, if it was even wise to rule with such evil.
It didn't matter.
This throne was his to take back.
The east gates were closed. Thranduil stopped his stallion beneath the cover of trees. One by one, he listened to the hooves of his army halt as well.
"Ada?" Kasslad questioned beside him.
Thranduil turned and evaluated the crown prince. The wildling tunic and braids suited him well. It was a breath of new life into Thranduil's soul to see that he looked nothing like Oroduil dressed like that, absent of the knight colors and robes. Kasslad didn't shine, but rather stood out as strong, if not too thin.
Thranduil turned back to their kingdom.
He rode forward.
O
Glorfindel smelled blood.
He woke to find himself laying in a bed, the light coming in through the wide and open windows darkened as he watched. The sound of the three waterfalls beyond quieted. He touched his head and used every ounce of energy he had to push onto an elbow.
After a few minutes of speculation and intense studying of the pale stone walls, he realized where he was.
"A healing ward," he griped.
The memories came to him slowly, the dragon Dekriem, his favorite elfling beaten, the king admitting to having been manipulated into being the one responsible for abusing his own son. As the memories returned, so did his anger.
Before he could rouse himself into going after Thranduil or to go dragon hunting, a commotion in the hallway at the other end of the ward drew his attention. Shouts rose behind the shut double doors, echoing off whitewashed rock walls.
"Valar, this kingdom has been cursed," he muttered and looked again at the deepening darkness spreading beyond the windows.
He gathered himself slowly, easing to sit before taking a breath. It surprised him that he was even still in Mirkwood, rather than with his friend Elrond in Rivendell. The fact that he wasn't home and being fussed over by the lord and his insufferable twin sons spoke volumes at how wrong things must be.
Knowing these halls as well as he knew the ones in Rivendell, Glorfindel pushed to unsteady feet and moved toward the windows. In a hall next to this one held weapons from old, ones used by legendary warriors and kings. Because he had no idea what happened to his weapons, he knew this is where he needed to be.
As he rounded the corner, leaning heavily on the cool stone and taking measured breaths through his nose, he half hoped that Sard would be on the other side. When he saw that it was empty, disappointment joined his dizzy mind. Having the dangerously secretive black magician would have been useful right now.
Instead, Glorfindel was on his own. That never bothered him though.
O
"I've never heard of so many dragons showing themselves quite this often," Elladan remarked as they rested in the underbrush as the sun set.
Mala had been spread on crunchy dead leaves with a cloak rolled beneath her head to serve as a pillow. Elrohir brushed dirt from her cheek as Legolas knelt nearby. He didn't want to get too close in case she woke up. He didn't want to scare her.
"It must be something in the air," Elladan surmised, though Legolas felt his gaze fall on him.
"What's wrong with her?" Legolas demanded, ignoring the other twin.
Elrohir met his gaze, blue eyes filled with sorrow.
"What?" Legolas breathed, heart quickening.
"She is fading, melonin."
Legolas held his heavy stare and shivered. Those eyes grew even more mournful, as if he knew. . . .
"You are too," Elrohir whispered.
O
Glorfindel listened at a small door leading into the hallway outside of the ward, not one used often. He heard nothing, so inched it open.
The hall was scattered with elven bodies, blood pooling like sticky mud around them. The smell invaded his nose and mouth, filling him with the tang of iron. It made his stomach roll.
Keeping his breathing soft and footfalls softer, he kept one hand on the wall as he moved toward the next door down from him. Fingers slid through blood, which was still warm.
When he reached it, the handle slipped in his bloodied grasp. It opened after a second attempt.
"Who are you?"
It took every inch of focus to keep from jumping out of his skin. Glorfindel's muscles held tense as he studied his new companion.
A young elleth, perhaps one from the kitchen if the flour on her cheek was any indication, stood trembling before him wielding a small dagger.
"Were you planning on gutting me with that?" Glorfindel asked.
Her green eyes went wide.
"Balrog slayer," she breathed.
"What is happening outside," he asked and shut the door behind him.
"Thranduil has returned with an army of wildlings," she said, though hadn't lowered the knife.
"Returned?" Glorfindel kept an eye on that blade.
"Lady Inamgia has held the crown since he escaped her dungeons," the elleth said.
"How long ago was that?" Glorfindel suddenly had no sense of how long he had slept.
"One year," she said, then looked concerned. "You've been asleep for two, my lord."
Glorfindel grunted. He'd slept longer than that after too much wine.
"Where are the princes?" He turned away from her to evaluate the weapons on display, though kept an eye on her and that blasted tiny weapon. A poke from that would still make him bleed and he didn't much want to do that right now.
"Kasslad has been imprisoned, though now he rides with his ada," she said. "Legolas . . . he has been missing for as long as you've slept."
Glorfindel closed his eyes as the grief of that reality swept over him.
"Valar." His voice cracked. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the weapon he needed. It was a wide blade, nearly an axe, used for beheading.
Its name: Kingbreaker.