Mask of Innocence

Mae govannen! Yes, I know I am late in posting. I hope you accept my sincerest apologies. I wish to revoke my earlier statements that claimed that I would post every two days, and instead replace it with the fact that I will start posting once every week or so. I have hit a very serious, delicate situation in Chapter 24 andspecial care is required for the following chapters, so I am visiting and revisiting those chaps as to make it as powerful and well-written as possible. Bear with me on this, as school is already beginning to add up and it is difficult to find time to write amidst homework and other extracurricular activities that I am currently involved in.

Chapter Twenty: Someone at the Gates

December 14th, 2062 – One month later

Legolas watched silently as his father worked at the Council Table scribbling over several sections of parchment and muttering to himself. It was almost midnight. The prince had indeed survived; whatever signs of poisoning disappeared within a day of Daernesta's diagnosis. He had been given medicines and herbs to help, but none of them did anything to help the young Elfling. Instead, he woke up the next morning in as perfect health as one that had been beaten and terrified half to death could be.

But instead of death taking him, the Shadow slowly was winning.

The young prince waited patiently until Thranduil finally finished and stood with a sigh. The king let out an ungraceful yawn and turned around, only to find a pale Legolas directly before him.

Thranduil stepped back in surprise with a gasp. Just as quickly he relaxed with a nervous chuckle and scooped his child into his arms.

"What is it, Legolas? I thought you were asleep," The king asked concernedly. Legolas' eyes were dull and void of light, as usual nowadays. The child pointed in the rough direction of the palace doors.

"Is there something at the gates I need to see?"

Legolas nodded once.

Thranduil started out at once, his graceful, long strides carrying them both quickly to the steps that led to the great gates, went through them, down the long stretch of steps, and stepped at last down in front of the bridge. The starlight cast a faint luminescence down onto the snow in the large courtyard, the forest shrouded. But in the center stood an old man, leaning on a staff and cloaked in gray. A low chuckle rumbled from the throat of the man, and Thranduil broke out in a sudden smile.

"Mithrandir?" He gasped disbelievingly, stepping forward. The old man crossed the clearing in several strides, his long, gray beard the only thing one could see in the shadows of his tall, pointed hat.

"Yes indeed, Thranduil," The old man replied, his voice rough but warm. "And it has been too long since I last visited the king of the Wood-Elves."

Thranduil smiled, and stepped forward to greet his old friend. He gently set Legolas down in the snow, the child staying hidden behind his father's regal robes as the king embraced the Istar in friendship.

"Yes, it has been far too long. And you have missed many things, including the birth of the kingdom's first prince," Thranduil answered proudly, his eyes glimmering in the darkness. Legolas remained hidden behind him, clutching at the king's robes anxiously. Gandalf smiled, and glanced down at the Elfling that was barely taller than his knee.

"So you do not count the fact that you were a prince once, eh?" Gandalf inquired, his bushy eyebrows raised.

"Mithrandir, I was not born a prince, and neither was my father born a king," Thranduil reminded him.

Gandalf bent down to his knees, extending a gnarled hand to the shy child.

"And is this the beautiful child that will succeed the stubborn king of the Woodland Realm?"

Legolas did not reply, instead shrinking closer to his father. He glanced up with worry at Thranduil. The king bent down and reassuringly patted his back.

"Indeed. His name is Legolas – Vanya chose the name," he explained, smiling. Legolas cautiously stuck a small hand out towards the wizard, who took the proffered hand and shook it warmly.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Legolas," Gandalf said graciously, but then winked. Legolas did not smile, but cocked his head slightly to one side as if he had become ever so remotely curious about the wizard. Gandalf stood, a soft grunt escaping his lips when his joints refused the motion in the cold.

"Speaking of Lady Vanya, where is she now? Her merry smile shines like the sun, and I cannot help but notice that her laughter is not heard in the forest," Gandalf asked curiously. Thranduil's happiness faded, and met Gandalf's eyes with reluctance.

"There is another event that you missed, my old friend," Thranduil explained softly, and Gandalf's smile disappeared. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, but decided better of it and pressed his lips together, instead giving a small nod. Thranduil glanced away.

"She was killed by the enemy not three months after the child was born, and I bear scars still," Thranduil murmured, not wishing to meet the wizard's keen gaze. Gandalf frowned, troubled greatly by the news.

"I am sorry, Thranduil."

Thranduil nodded, and sighed. No tears came to his eyes now, but his heart was still heavy with newly awakened despair. He opened eyes he had not realized he had closed, and managed a smile. He squeezed Legolas' hand reassuringly.

"Come, you must be weary of your journey."

Thranduil stood and led them inside the warm palace.

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"Is he always like that, Thranduil?"

The king finished pouring another glass of wine. They were now in his warm study, having had put Legolas back to bed an hour or so ago.

"You speak of Legolas?"

"Yes. He seems unusually quiet for an Elfling," Gandalf responded quietly, gazing at a beautiful painting on the mantel of a fireplace and accepting the goblet of Dorwinion that was handed to him. "Thank you."

Thranduil sighed, pausing as he raised his glass to his lips. "No, not always. Not before they brought him back." Gandalf's brow furrowed, but he did not speak. Thranduil would elaborate when he deemed it best. The king sank wearily into a plush chair that sat in the corner of his study, gazing out the glass window at the snowflakes that danced in the starlight. He closed his eyes, and many silent minutes past where only the rustle of the tree branches in the forest could be heard. "He was tortured in Dol Guldar."

The glass nearly dropped from Gandalf's hand. "Dol Guldar?" He breathed, steadying himself on the oak table next to him. Thranduil pressed a hand to his eyes but nodded. He sat back suddenly, taking a deep breath to calm his frazzled nerves.

"Imrathon – you remember him, do you not? - had taken him on a hunting trip, a little over a month ago. The first night they were attacked. Imrathon was captured and tortured there in the camp, but Legolas escaped. It was difficult to understand what happened then; Imrathon was in horrible pain and was passing out even as he spoke to me, but I believe that Legolas came back to find him. Then he was taken by the Orcs.

"Imrathon was left to die, and Legolas was dragged off by the Orc party. Nine days later they find the child, bloodied and unconscious, lying the middle of a camp of dead Orcs that had slaughtered each other over a quarrel of some sort. Orc tracks made by the party were found father south all the way to the front gates of the Hill of Sorcery+. One set was six days old, and they had entered the tower with the child. The other set was no more than a day old; they had bore Legolas from the tower and had quarreled with each other after attacking the sentries, eventually killing themselves and leaving the child alone and unconscious. They found an eye carved into his flesh…" At this Thranduil shut his eyes. Gandalf let out a sigh of despair, comforting the young father simply by moving to be near him.

"And so he refuses to speak," Gandalf finished quietly, settling down upon the chair next to the king's. Thranduil nodded, and be bent his head in sorrow. After a moment Gandalf was able to see the horrible pain in his friend's reddened eyes, and knew what would happen if Thranduil's child remained mute, refusing any love or light.

"The trees mourn for him, Mithrandir, and they seem to be frightened of him!" Thranduil looked up, a battle of emotions in his eyes ensuing as his voice began to tremble. "They shrink away from his presence; some even show anger towards me. Sauron stole my child from me," he whispered. "And all that was brought back to me was an empty shell. Legolas has changed, and I fear he will never truly live again. The healers administered many cures for all possible Orc poisons, and although he did not react to any after several days he was fine. At least, he was as fine as a mute, cold, dying Elf could possibly be," he added darkly with tears glistening in the warm candlelight.

Comfortingly the wizard enfolded young king, at least young compared to himself, in his warm arms, and there the king lost himself in his sorrow. "It will be all right, Thranduil. I promise – it will be all right."

Thranduil nodded tearfully. After a moment he pulled from the wizard's grasp and strode to the balcony window, gazing out with tears still shining in his green eyes. He was silent for a while, and Gandalf was about to ask him what was on his mind when Thranduil abruptly spoke.

"I fear I have already lost him, Mithrandir," he confessed weakly. "How long can a child, a Wood-Elf born under the trees, survive like this? He is fading, I see it day by day. Every day he grows quieter, paler, weaker, thinner. And his faer-" A sob suddenly escaped from his lips, and the devastated king sucked in a shaking breath. "-his faer is being replaced by darkness. Something terrible is happening to him, I know it in my heart."

At these words Thranduil's shoulders trembled with sobs and he buried his face in his hands. The king's shimmering gold hair fell like a curtain in front of his face, hiding his shame and tears. "He will die soon. He dies a little more every day. But he must live. I will not survive otherwise. For when I am gone, who will rule in my stead if not him?"

Gandalf stayed where he was, but smiled faintly at the thought of him becoming king. He would be a wonderful ruler, just like his father, even if he inherits the stubbornness of the king before him. "Thranduil, do not think such things now. Do not lose heart already. If you give up all hope, your son will also. You must be strong for the boy, Thranduil. You must be strong."

Thranduil lifted his head and gazed at Gandalf sadly. His voice came out whispering and full of grief.

"I know what I must do, Mithrandir, and I would do it, but I am afraid that I cannot," He raised his solemn, beautiful emerald eyes to meet the ones of the wizard. "And you would not be able to also, not if you knew that your child would die no matter what you did."

TBC

+Hill of Sorcery: translation of Dol Guldar