Mask of Innocence


Sorry for the delay! My wrist is not feeling much better, although I was able to tweak this chapter as I saw fit with minor pain. I have the splint on for another week :( but I will try to reply to your reviews as now replies have been officially outlawed in chapters. Now there is a feature through which I can respond to you given that you are a registered user. For those of you who aren't, I'll still get your reviews, and thanks again!

P.S. I managed to hurt my other hand since I last spoke with everyone: 2nd degree burn from the metal tip of a hot glue gun, and the blister won't heal! (winces) You betcha - lots of fun indeed. ;)

Glad to be back!


Chapter Twenty-eight: Dark Words

Darkness came quickly to the Woodland Realm that night. Darkening clouds were rolling in with the gusty winds, the first of spring's heavy storms that always plagued the area this time of year. The sun had not quite fallen yet, so the trees were still visible in the dimming light when one stepped outside into the suddenly chilly air. The rain would not fall for an hour or so, but in the meantime the clouds were gathering above the forest, casting the world into shadow. The dark leaves on the great trees began to shake and tremble in the breeze that was steadily growing greater, the beasts of the forests chattering and howling quietly as they took shelter from the upcoming storm.

All this Gandalf observed from the great windows flung open in Thranduil's study, his fingers drumming absently on the beautiful oak wood that lined the windows. He knew he was earlier than he should be, but he knew that Thranduil would not mind if he took a peek or two at some of the things in his study while he waited. And so the wizard strolled slowly about the room, picking up a map here and dusting off an ancient book there, all the while taking note of what he saw. Thranduil, it seemed, paid attention to detail but kept things somewhat unorganized. Papers and books were spread out in one corner on a small table, a quill left abandoned on a half-finished letter, and books were out of order on the long line of bookcases that housed anachronistic texts. Several things, however, were in perfect order; for example, above the great fireplace hung a great shield and a sword as a reminder of his late father. They were spotless and shining; looking like that had just been finished yesterday when in fact they were thousands of years old. Several paintings lined the wall, all in perfect order without a spot of dust on them. A painting of he and his late wife hung there, of them in the forest together under the shining sun. Another was of his child, several years younger than Legolas was now, smiling and bright. And yet another was hung nearby also, a portrait of a fair-haired youth together with raven-haired Elf of the same age. Crimson and yellow leaves fluttered to the ground behind them, near the sparkling white buildings that stood tall and fair. They both were smiling, light-hearted and proud in their youth. Gandalf smiled faintly when he saw it, recognizing the valley they were in and who the Woodland King's Elven companion was.

Gandalf meandered about the room, pausing here and there to investigate things further. And then he stumbled across something interesting; a leather book lying upon the desk. It appeared very worn and well-loved, the leather scuffed in some places with ink droplets splattered in one corner. Curious as to what its use was, Gandalf carefully peeled it open, flipping to the first page, and began to read:

Ada gave this to me today for my begetting day celebration. I cannot wait to fill it up! Imrathon and I had a great deal of fun today; we went swimming in the river even though it was as cold as ice! Nana did not get mad at us, though! I was so happy. She said it was because today was a day for celebration, not for chastisement. But alas, not all that happened today was something joyous. King Thingol has set Lord Beren on a quest; Ada says that Beren will not return. I am sad, for I loved Lord Beren dearly. Often he would take me out with him to walk in the forest. I think he has found a melethril; he always asks me about Lady Lúthien and if she speaks of him. Nana is one of her maids and closest friends, so I know the lady well. 'She sends her heart and best wishes,' I always say to him, for that is what she tells me every morn. I still am confused though, for a maiden cannot live without a heart. How can she give him her heart without dying? I shall ask Beren of that later, when he returns from the quest that I know he shall succeed in. Beren is strong, he will be fine. Perhaps I will help him and Lúthien get together; they seem perfect for each other. Nana and Ada do not think so, although they will not tell me why. 'When you are older, child,' they always say with a frown, and immediately begin to speak of something else. Many strange things have been happening here in Doriath, but I shall get to the bottom of it soon, that I will try.

Until tomorrow,

Thranduil

Gandalf smiled, his eyes twinkling at the thought of a little Thranduil writing this on one of his first begetting days. And to think that this lord survived not only the Fall of Doriath but the Last Alliance and had documented all in this book was incredible.

"If you wish to read something even more interesting, I suggest you read the last entry of this book instead."

Gandalf looked up, surprised that Thranduil had caught him so easily. The Woodland King had just walked in, his robes flowing gracefully behind him as they shimmered in the candlelight. He held a less-worn book, thinner and of a contemporary make, and was extending it to the wizard. His gray eyes scrutinizing Thranduil's features for the slightest clue as to what he meant, Gandalf reached out and took the book. Opening it to the last page that had writing on it he glanced one more time at Thranduil, but still no hint. The solemn, glittering eyes simply stared back at him, giving no suggestion of what the entry read. And so, Gandalf turned his eyes to the fine, cursive print, and yet again began to read:

Legolas is taken to Dol Guldur.

He returns alive, but with a carving on his chest. Is ill. Illness includes vomiting, fever. Heals mysteriously, but is in a terrible state of mind.

Avoids trees – dramatic change in him – is like an empty husk.

Mithrandir helps him, Legolas is almost himself again.

Imrathon dies. Legolas mourns, slips into a state of depression.

Legolas is possessed by Sauron. I try to kill him. Legolas is ill yet again; possesses same symptoms as he did months earlier.

I shall question Mithrandir further on the details of the enemy; he is the wisest here and I will benefit from his counsel greatly. But for now I must look for answers within my heart.

What would be the motive behind Legolas' kidnapping?

Legolas has no political power. He does and will not have enough control to overrule my decisions, even when he is older and wiser, and cannot invoke rules and laws without my permission. The Valar knows that I would never go down without a fight, and seeing as he is only a mere child Sauron would never have enough power in his body to wound me. Therefore, he could not pressure me into obeying him. The Dark Lord, unfortunately, is intelligent enough to realize that. So, in conclusion, Sauron is not using him to overrule my decisions and try to corrupt me.

But would he seek to attack me? Surely he would not...

Thranduil watched as Gandalf's expression grew more and more grave as he read the fateful entry. When he was finished, the wizard's eyes were dark when they met Thranduil's sharp gaze.

"You are sure of this, Thranduil?" Gandalf murmured gravely, staring long and hard at the Woodland King.

"Yes, Mithrandir, I am."

Gandalf gave a weary sigh and turned away, the book still open to the page as he turned to the open window, watching as lightning flickered through the sky. The wind picked up suddenly, whirling leaves about and rushing into the study through the window. The pages in the book were caught in the breeze, and they were whipped over and over, one by one, flipping farther into the book, where the pages where blank. All of a sudden a small note flew from one of the later pages, and as it was caught up in the gust of wind it sped farther into the study and was swept straight towards the flames of the fire. But a swift hand shot out and seized it easily, and emerald eyes came to rest upon it. They hardened when they saw the writing, and in bitter anger Thranduil cast it down into the flames, watching in dark hatred as the paper was engulfed by the fire. Gandalf came over to his side in just enough time to see the words 'You have been warned,' inscribed on the parchment before the paper turned to embers like the rest. An eye glared out from the embers of the papers for the briefest of seconds, and then it was engulfed in smoke, and was lost.

"Where did you find that?" Gandalf said sharply, pointing at the pile of embers.

"Beneath Legolas' pillow, not two days past," Thranduil said, turning away. "In fact, it was yesterday. Sweet Valar, these past few days have seemed like an eternity to me, I can no longer keep track of them."

"Why did Legolas possess the mark of the enemy?" Gandalf's eyes narrowed.

"I thought that was what it was. A mark of the enemy indeed," Thranduil sighed, and continued on, more loudly so as to explain to Gandalf. "That mark is carved upon his chest. It is the mark of Sauron, although why an eye I know not. I believe that Sauron communicated to him through that note, as if the incident at which the note was taken from was not explanation enough…" The Woodland King's voice trailed off, and he turned away from Gandalf abruptly. But just as soon, he turned around to face the wizard again. "Forgive me, Mithrandir. I forget that you know not what I do, at least not yet. Please, sit down, and I shall explain it all to you, and perhaps we can learn more of what is happening to my child."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Half an hour later, Thranduil had finally completed his recollection, and they were both sitting deep in thought, the hard pattering of the rain against the windows the only noise breaking the silence. At long last, Gandalf sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was about to open his mouth to say something when an urgent knocking was heard before the door burst open. Thranduil stood immediately but rushed forward at the appearance of his pale child.

"Ada…I do not feel well…" Legolas whimpered, clutching at his stomach and stumbling forward. He was extremely white and weak-looking as he staggered towards his father.

"Legolas! Child, what ails you?" Thranduil caught the boy as he pitched forward suddenly, collapsing to the ground. He drew the prince anxiously into his arms, rocking him gently as the boy began to tremble and moan from some kind of pain. Legolas huddled anxiously against his father, shutting his eyes tightly. Gandalf had joined them as soon as the prince had rushed in, and now felt his forehead anxiously.

"He has a fever, Thranduil," Gandalf murmured worriedly. The Woodland King looked up at him with anxious eyes before his gaze dropped once again to his child. Abruptly, Thranduil stood, holding Legolas tightly and immediately began towards the door to take him to the boy's chambers.

"Daernesta!" He called anxiously when Legolas began to moan aloud. The healer was there within seconds and took the prince from his arms.

"He is ill again!" The healer exclaimed worriedly. "This cannot be-" He stopped when a scream broken into his sentence. A servant came tearing down the corridor, eyes wide with horror.

"My lord," he gasped breathlessly, pointing from where he came. "My lord, come at once! Something terrible has been discovered!" Thranduil placed a fervent kiss on his child's brow then darted down the corridor, following the servant up the twisting paths, leading him towards the cavern exit. Nothing could have prepared him for what the Woodland King saw next when he rounded the final corner and beheld the scene of horror.

Something glimmered oddly on the wall, and moving closer Thranduil realized that blood had been smeared across the smooth stone walls. But it had not been carelessly smeared across ten feet of the wall, but had instead been daubed in the form of words.

BEHIND THE MASK OF INNOCENCE YOU SHALL FIND ME.

IF YOU BREAK THE MASK, I WILL NOT DIE, BUT YOU SHALL.

TREAD WISELY, FOR BEHIND THE MASK, I SEE ALL.

Murmurs spread like wildfire through the corridor, each fair voice repeating the bloody riddle drawn in large, clear letters across the wall. But the inscription was not the worst of it.

"Look!" Someone gasped.

And there, below the writing, was the bloodied mass left of a body. One of the maidens huddled in one of the clusters of Elves cried out and threw herself to the ground before the body and began to kiss and caress a cold hand anxiously, wailing aloud as she did so.

"Tidurian! My beloved Tidurian!"

An Elf stepped forward and pulled his daughter from her lover's body, and she promptly collapsed sobbing into her father's arms. The girl was correct; the sharp eyes of the youth that gazed in shock up into space were unmistakably Tidurian's. Thranduil stepped forward numbly, gazing down at the sentry that had provided him so much information about his child, the sentry who now lay dead in a pool of blood, his throat slashed brutally. Save for the mournful wails of the distraught maiden, the corridor was deathly silent as people stood in silent apprehension, gazing down upon one of their people who had been viciously murdered. And then Thranduil saw the bloody eye drawn upon on the center of Tidurian's tunic, a cruel mark drawn in blood as a reminder of anyone who drew near that this Elf had been struck down by a terrible enemy. An idea bursting into his head, Thranduil knelt down and hastily ripped open the young Elf's shirt, searching anxiously for what he knew would be there. The maiden, seeing her king search her beloved's body hastily and carelessly, threw herself at Thranduil and ripped his strong hands away from Tidurian, leaving raw red lines on the back of his hands where she had dragged her fingernails through flesh.

"Daro! Leave the dead in peace!" She cried angrily, her eyes shining defiantly with tears and agony. Her fair face was contorted in pain and grief, her flesh unusually pale and flushed. She would have been beautiful if she was not so angry and her heart had not been breaking.

"Peace, my lady," Thranduil soothed quietly, touching the maiden's shoulder tenderly. "I have no intention of showing disrespect to Lord Tidurian. I only wish to search for what I believe may be with his body. I ask for your forgiveness, fair maiden, in hope that you will pardon a troubled father."

The maiden studied the king long, her blue eyes hard. But then they softened, and her gaze dropped away. She reached for one of Thranduil's stinging hands and brought it to her cool lips in a loyal, submissive kiss. "Nay, it is I who should ask for forgiveness, my king," she whispered sadly. "I acted on the behalf of my anger, and my pain at Tidurian's death, and I have no right to carry my suffering out on others. You have much on your mind, I am sure. With your leave, my lord, I shall retire to mourn in private."

Thranduil nodded his consent briefly, and without a second glance the maiden was gone. Wearily, the Woodland King placed a hand over the still breast of the sentry before him, closing his eyes and sighing as the weight of what had transpired settled heavily upon his shoulders. But then he felt something strange. A rough piece of paper was tucked inside of the tunic, and the king withdrew it with a small gasp. Unfolding the note, Thranduil scanned it hurriedly, feeling his heart sink as his thoughts were confirmed in the writing he found:

This is your one chance, Thranduil. The mask will be cast away once my plans are through, whether or not they succeed. I do, however, give you choices: surrender your kingdom and I shall keep your mask intact and your people I will spare. If you do not wish to do so, I can break the mask just as easily, for it is but a dying autumn leaf in my fingers and will shatter at the slightest touch, and I shall destroy your realm. You will find five thousand Orcs stationed not twenty leagues south of you. Send word to them of your answer. If you fail to do so within a fortnight, I will give the order to attack. You will die and your people will be destroyed. The choices are yours. You have been warned.

Beneath the last sentence was drawn a cruel eye, the same eye that the body and previous note bore. When Thranduil gazed again upon Tidurian, he did not see a dead sentry, but his sleeping child, the loose tunic unfastened and gaping open as he laid quietly, his eyes shut tightly against the nightmares that plagued him. And from the shadows of the open tunic an eye gleamed darkly, carved deep into his flesh.

"My lord?"

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Thranduil shut his eyes tightly, forcing himself not to think of the horrible vision. He turned around, and suddenly Saeldur and Gandalf were standing there, both gazing expectantly at him. He stared back at them for a long moment, his mind working furiously, and he struggled to focus on the present.

"Send my people back to their homes and order them to speak nothing of what they saw," Thranduil ordered at last. "Double the watch on my son; have two guards watching him at all times, even as he sleeps."

Saeldur frowned. "The prince? Surely you mean-"

"Please, Saeldur. Obey my orders without question and trust me, my friend," Thranduil said wearily, passing a hand over his face. "Remove the body and find someone to clean the walls and floor, saes."

"Yes, my lord." With that, Saeldur disappeared, running off to direct orders to the responsible persons. Within moments the crowds had dispersed and filtered back to their homes outside or in the palace, leaving Thranduil and Gandalf alone.

Gandalf watched as Thranduil gazed forlornly down upon Tidurian's body, the king standing in perfect silence save for the crackling torches about him. To the wizard, the Woodland King suddenly looked weary and grieving, the flickering torches casting dark shadows beneath his eyes and making his flesh appear stretched and thin. He has seen too much for a king as young as he; I fear that he will not last long if his son stays in the same condition as he is now.

"Thranduil, do you believe that Sauron has played a part in this?"

"I do. The marking upon the body, it is unmistakable. But true question is: did my child play a part in this? Is he the one behind it all?" Thranduil stared down upon Tidurian, his eyes dark with dread and worry. But suddenly, he turned and smiled wanly at Gandalf.

"Ask me no more questions this night, Mithrandir," Thranduil implored softly, noticing how the words of the wizard's next question seem to visibly die upon his lips. "I shall speak to you in the morning. Then we shall discover what role my child is playing in this terrible game…" the king paused, his eyes still boring into the wizard's, but they visibly softened and his voice dropped low. "…and whether or not I can save him from fate."

And then Thranduil was gone.