They forced him to his knees, hard stone cold against his bruised shins as. His arms were pulled painfully behind him and his head was yanked back, long fingers tangled in his hair and gathering it away from his face.
He could see the knife on the edge of his vision… white hot and glowing, melting his skin even before it caressed his cheek and dug in…
Chilling, shrewd grey eyes studied Kili intently, revulsion filtering through Thranduill's impassive mask. The Elves did not evade the detestable language of the foul beings that crawled beneath the Misty Mountains. They did not live for centuries after the Dwarves to remain ignorant of the ill tidings of the darkness. Thranduil recognized at once that it was more than a cruel symbol of derision or insult that was etched into the slave's features.
It was a mark of defilement. A sign of the dirtiest, most despised creature to worm its way out of the depths of Middle Earth. Flesh eater. Mauler of its own kind. More than a fighter: a beast that would rend and tear and drown in the blood of its murdered kin. A monster more deadly than the spiders of Ungoliant. This was no petty title inscribed on the face of an escaping prisoner. It was a warning. A dire alert that this one that should never be released to the peaceful lands of light and sun. This was no Dwarf kneeling before him. Were it a creation of Morgoth, it could not be fouler.
"Get that thing out of my sight."
Thranduil swept his robes out of the way, his flashing eyes scouring the ground the creature had soiled. The beast yelped and snapped at the Elf restraining it, its protests dying with a whimper as its bound hands were yanked behind its back. Thranduil spared no pity for its pain: the Dwarves might have been ignorant, but he knew what devastation could be wrought if the monster were unleashed in his kingdom.
"Take it to the borders of the wood and dispose of it."
"No!" The fair haired Dwarf, the one who had been jabbering and begging since the creature was dragged into the throne room, the one who called the foul being brother: even now he pleaded for the killer's life. He bucked and kicked, writhing until two more Elves came to their companion's aid and buckled him into submission. How futile and desperate pitiable were the Dwarves, that they would fight for the vile serpent that would just as soon recoil and destroy them all.
Surely they could see the dangers now. Five elves were required to drag the slithering beast away. It writhed like a viper in their grasp, sinking its teeth into one guard's arm and snapping the ankle of another with a lucky smash of one bare foot. The Elves bore it to the ground, struggling and snarling like a maddened dog, until a cloth was wrapped around its face and its ankles were lashed securely. Sightless and immobile, it surrendered the fight like a wolf that had been trapped and muzzled.
"Do not let its foul blood soil our land." They had endured enough rot in their precious forest as it was.
Raw, agonized screams filled the cavernous room. Kili's voice echoed his brother's, muffled by the length of dark cloth. Together Thorin and Dwalin nearly broke away, but if was Bifur who slipped free of his single guard's hold. Dori called for him and tried to wrench him back, chains tangling around his hands and feet as Bifur pulled a sword from another guard's hands and sank it deeply into the one bearing down behind him.
A hush filled the room and Thranduil froze as the Prince of Mirkwood staggered. Legolas' eyes flew wide and he clapped his hands around his stomach, blood pooling around his pale fingers.. Thranduil's face went white and he hollered in denial, pushing his guards aside as he raced forward, catching his son just as his legs gave way beneath him. Legolas struggled to remain upright and then sank back with a moan, staring in baffled uncertainty at the wound that had felled him. A healer was at his side in an instant, and with a holler of outrage Thranduil leapt to his feet and pointed to the ones who had desecrated the peace of his realm.
"Take them below!" he charged as the last of the Dwarves were restrained once more. "If Legolas dies, they shall pay with their own blood."
"Do not touch him!" Thorin's roar of fury as the fair-haired Dwarf was pulled aside was lost in the fray as the Dwarves were dragged to the halls below.
Thranduil waited for the moment that the doors slammed shut behind them before he hastened to his son. Without mind to the blood pooling at his feet he knelt beside Legolas and grasped his son's hand in a feverish grip. Glazed, pain filled blue eyes sought his own and Legolas clung o his father's hand, pale, sweaty fingers growing weaker as darkness tinged his vision.
"Hold on, my son…. Hold on…"
Legolas' eyes flickered and slid shut. His skin held a grayish tone now, and for a moment Thranduil saw his beloved queen lying on the crimson stained grass, blood spreading across her waist as she screamed against the orc blade buried in her stomach. Darkness clouded Thranduil's brow and he rose to his feet, calling to mind the fair haired Dwarf – the one that called the lashing scum brother. The one whom Thorin shadowed and watched over as closely as a father. The one who bore a resemblance to Thranduil's own son.
If Legolas does not survive the wound they gave him, Thranduil in his fury swore, That one shall be the first to shed his blood in payment.
Thranduil was not a king devoted to vengeance. With his only son's life wavering between darkness and life, however, he had no mind to negotiate. The opportunity for peace was swept aside and vanquished. Betrayal lay thick and jagged between their two kingdoms, and Thranduil would not face war this time. Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror would never see the light again.
Her head thudded as though a herd of stallions were running through it. With a soft groan Tauriel pressed a hand against her temple and sat up, wincing as the last foggy shreds drifted from her vision. A slice of pain lanced across the back of her neck and she recalled the creaking of limbs as she whipped around, a breath too slow to block the talon that stabbed not once, but twice past her defenses. Tauriel could not remember anything after that. Only the snick of a blade as she was freed from the horrible tangles surrounding her, and a reedy, pitched voice rising to her defense. Many other voices jumbled in her head, some gruff and some softer, and she recognized the voice of her Prince as he arrested them all. Her eyelids had refused to open, however, and Tauriel could not gather the story from sound alone. She would have to inquire of Legolas what had really happened.
Tauriel rose slowly, testing her limbs and stretching out the last of the numbness in her fingers before glancing around.. She recognized the white walls of the healing room, with the cheery gold leaf designs and vines of cool green. It was nearly empty, even of Tuvel who was usually bustling around insisting that Tauriel rest herself a while longer before returning to her post. Only one of the minor healers remained, tending a child who had likely broken his arm falling off his brother's horse again.
Mildly concerned, but relieved not to have to press aside the insistent Tuvel, Tauriel fetched her bow and quiver from the table at the sid, then quietly picked up her boots and slipped out of the room. Tuvel should have known by now that he would have to tie her to the bed if he intended to have her sit quietly for days on end – even if it had been a more deadly wound than she was used to. Shaking a wave of dizziness away, Tauriel hopped quickly into her boots and hurried away before she could be pent up in the dull ward for good.
Energized by the soft slap of her boots against tile as she strode down the familiar halls, Tauriel searched at once for her Prince and Captain. She was determined not to be kept from her duties another hour. She would report at once, head to her post and slaughter a few hundred of the beasts that had caused her this untimely delay. That would prove to Tuvel how "unsteady" and "frail" she was after a bout of spider venom!
"The cursed urchin will not stop wriggling!" Tauriel quickly recognized Belevha's voice down the hall.
"Hit it over the head if it annoys you so," Lathan responded. "The king said to dispose of it properly: he did not say to gently drag it to its execution."
"I cannot understand why it sees sense in trying to escape," Belevha grouched. "All the gates are sealed: there is no way of escape from the palace walls."
"Just finish the task so that we can return to our duties," Lathan snapped. "I tire of herding squalling Dwarves the same as you."
Finally, a task to get her outside the palace walls and back into the greenwood she loved. Without a second thought Tauriel stepped out of the shadows, head held high and right hand caressing the long knife at her side.
"Thranduil has ordered me to deal with the prisoner," she lied smoothly. "You may both return to your duties now."
"Tauriel…." Lethan said uncertainly, startled by her sudden appearance. "Are you certain you are well? You should be – "
"I will see to it that you are left in Tuvel's care for a month if you finish that statement," Tauriel said coolly. "The king has given me orders: go and tend to your own."
The two guards exchanged a glanced before nodding once and striding away. Their prisoner swayed and would have crashed into the wall had it not been for Tauriel's hand lashing out and steadying his shoulder. She took in the short height, the shackles hobbling his bandaged feet and the cloth tied over his face. A prisoner awaiting execution, then: no doubt one considered as deadly as Gollum, from the urgency in the guards' actions. The prisoner shrank under her touch and Tauriel frowned. It seemed more of a lamed rabbit than a viper. Still, Thranduil clearly had ordered for this one to be killed, and Tauriel never disobeyed an order – even one she assigned to herself.
Grasping the Dwarf's shoulder, she pulled him swiftly down the hall. He stumbled and fought to keep up, his small legs skittering as he blindly followed the hand that guided him. Clearly the Dwarf's patience ran thin, for Tauriel had only dragged him a few steps before the prisoner flung himself into her side, apparently thinking his slim weight could throw her against the wall and knock her unconscious. Clearly the pitiable creature had been graced with a limited sense of intelligence. He should have guessed that even if he had succeeded in his ploy, he could never have escaped with his feet shackled and his hands bound behind him. As it was, the blow scarcely fazed Tauriel. She was merely annoyed enough by the attempt that she pushed back and sent the imp skittering into the far wall. He fell back with a grunt, gasping sharply and then swearing in something that sounded despicably like a mangled goblin term.
Tauriel was beginning to understand why the scouts had abandoned the prisoner to her care with such haste. With a sigh she hoisted the Dwarf to his feet… only for him to plop back down with a muffled grunt and a twitch of his bare toes. More warily, watching for signs that she had thrown him too hard into the wall, Tauriel hauled him up one more by the hood and began to walk. He plopped back down at once and let her drag him a few steps before stubbornly digging in his heels. Tauriel whirled in agitation and he swung forward, tearing his hood from her hands. Rather than make another foolhardy attempt he pillowed his forehead on his knees, blocking her out as though he thought if he was sullen or quiet enough she would leave him alone.
Now exasperated beyond measure, Tauriel nudged the Dwarf hard with her toe. "Get up. I am not dragging you through the entire palace."
He tossed his head languidly, spewed something that sounded suspiciously like a mangled Elvish curse that only the soldiers frequently used, and then flopped onto his side as though daring her to kick him again. The Valar save them from the stubbornness of Dwarves. Little wonder Thranduil wanted this one executed. He had probably spat in the king's wine and created the most vulgar insults until the Lady Galadriel herself would have lost her temper. Pity the guards who had had to drag him all this way.
Sighing in aggravation, Tauriel decided she had endured enough. She grabbed the Dwarf by the collar and hauled him over his shoulder, swearing that she would demand a post of her choosing from Legolas in compensation for the sheer indignity of carrying the miniature troll. The Dwarf himself squeaked – squeaked, of all sounds for a Dwarf to make – and wriggled feebly before thunking his head against Tauriels' shoulder. If he had been trying to maim her he had failed yet again, but it did not prevent him from making another effort. Tauriel snorted at the futility of his struggles.
Warriors born of stone, indeed – this one lacked the strength of a mouse, the intelligence of a grasshopper and the might of a tiny shrew. He weighed less than a sparrow, for that matter, and his mangled fingers were too thin and brittle for him to possibly wield a proper axe or sword. Either he was the ludicrous entertainer of his people or a cunning, child-voiced assassin – and Tauriel was swiftly determining the former. She might as well have been carrying tiny Estel to the healers, and the comparison gave her a momentary stab of pity. The thin mongrel across her shoulders must be little more than a joke among his own kind. Little wonder he had so blatantly courted death.
"Milady Tauriel, you should be resting!"
She would throttle the next soldier who insisted she return to the healers' care. Luckily for Nethan, he was young and inexperienced enough that Tauriel was prone to grant him mercy… just this once. The young guard ran up to her, panting and wide eyed in concern, amber tinted blond hair flying askew from his tightly knit braids.
"Milady Tauriel, I was informed you were injured…"
"I am fine," Tauriel interjected hastily, holding up her hand for silence. "It was merely a spider bite: the healers have tended to the poison already."
"But they said you were ill!" Though he had just reached his four hundredth summer, with his short clipped bangs and wide hazel eyes the soldier still looked like he was trying to reach his first century. Tauriel still wondered how he had been promoted from stable hand to palace guard in so short a time. She made a mental note to speak to Thranduil about the new troops later: some of them should still be riding ponies and waving around knives in her opinion.
"Nethan, I am fine." Tauriel stressed the word, hoping her implications would be clear. Most guards would be exchanging glances and backing respectfully away after one flick of her sharp glance. The younger soldiers had much to learn. "Now, if you will be so kind as to bring me my horse, I must see to the king's orders at once."
"I could do it for you," Nethan offered, sidestepping so that he was standing in Tauriel's way yet again. "I have been released from my post for the day. I would not mind taking another hour or two so that you could – "
"Nethan." Tauriel allowed a tinge of her agitation to show through. "My horse. Now."
"I – I …. Yes, Milady," Nethan sighed. "I will do as you say."
Tauriel gave a clipped nod and followed as Nethan strode briskly to the stables. The Dwarf had given up trying to bruise her and was now clipping his chin methodically on her shoulder. Somehow the incessant tapping was more irritating than the writhing from before. Tauriel almost considered dropping her chosen assignment at once and letting Nethan deal with the imp. Almost. She still intended to bribe her own personal status among the prince's bodyguards in repayment for her troubles.
It did not take Nethan long to bring a horse to her, but it was not her own. "Finuah has not been found since you vanished," he said gloomily. "A scouting party shall be sent out to find her today."
"That will not be necessary." Tauriel's heart panged as she thought of the spirited mare falling prey to the spiders, but she would rather lose a horse than risk the handful of impetuous children Nethan would doubtlessly gather to search the forest. The stallion before her was strong and fast, with enough rebellion sparked in his eyes to suit Tauriel's liking. He would do for now. "See to it that Legolas is informed of my absence," she ordered. She would not take any more chances in case she was attacked alone.
"But – But Milady, he is - "
"Just tell him." Without leaving Nethan time to explain, Tauriel hoisted the Dwarf onto the saddle and then swung up behind him. With a twitch of her fingers in the horse's mane and a clack of her tongue she was off, racing through the courtyard with the wind in her hair and the sun streaming merrily on her face. The gates opened before her and slid shut with a clang, and she was lost in the thrill of the tress whizzing by and the thrumming hooves carrying her on.
Such was her intent on the forest ahead that Tauriel did not notice the whisper of darkness slipping past the gates as she rode through, or the snippet of blue cloth that vanished into the brush. Had she been more aware, she might have realized she had let a power far more deadly than Smaug enter their realm, She might have worried less over the charge over her prisoner and more of what was roaming freely in their halls if she had known what she had allowed inside.
As it was, Tauriel was completely oblivious to anything but the sun and the wind on her face and the freedom of racing through her beloved greenwood.
And that was her first mistake.