Mask of Innocence

Chapter Thirty-six: The Price of Love

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"Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong.

No matter how fast light travels it finds the darkness has always got there first,

and is waiting for it."

-Terry Pratchett

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Thranduil and the Orc party that detained him reached the outskirts of Dol Guldur in the late afternoon of that same day. By the time they had reached the twisted gates of the small, city-like stronghold Thranduil had begun to feel strangely, as if he was suddenly being watched and someone was breathing down his neck. His sudden apprehension must have startled his raven-haired stallion that carried his child still, for he whinnied and tossed his head anxiously as he trotted near the king.

Thranduil hushed him before the Orcs grew angry. "Dîn, sador," he murmured comfortingly, letting his cool gaze calm the horse. "Save your fear for me for when we reach the Dark Tower."

His beautiful stallion obeyed, adjusting his proud stride to compensate for the child that remained sleeping on his back. The king was glad that his child was unconscious; he was not victim to the terrors and darkness that reeked from the cracks of the ancient fortress that they approached. Regret that he had brought his precious son here tugged incessantly at his heart and mind, but he refused to give in to it. He could not undo the past now.

The Orcs slowed as they approached the distorted metal gates at the base of Dol Guldur, and Ologûk audaciously turned a menacing glare on Thranduil. He has grown far too bold since we have started south, Thranduil thought worriedly.

"Welcome to Dol Guldur, King Thranduil," the Orc hissed pompously, and behind him the tall gates swung open beneath the blackened treetops. The Woodland King felt his breath catch as he turned wide eyes upon the fortress and surrounding encampments called Dol Guldur. Black smog surrounded the upper-most pier of the dark tower that loomed over the surrounding tattered camps. It was as if permanent darkness had settled over Dol Guldur, engulfing the Hill of Black Magic in eerie shadows. Red fires glared out from several of the clusters of Orcs upon the hill. On the looming tower were carved crude red symbols and letters, and when Thranduil's eyes were set upon them he felt an icy chill seize him suddenly, and he looked away from those foreboding words.

Thranduil was yanked brutally back to the outside world when Ologûk addressed him roughly. "Mount your beast."

"I do not take orders from the likes of you," he retorted sharply. But Ologûk responded with a vicious ferocity and leapt at the tall Elf with a drawn blade.

"Do it!" the Orc screeched, eyes alight with untamed fury. A split-second later Thranduil's emerald eyes closed briefly in an attempt to numb the sharp pain from the blade now embedded in his shoulder.

"Blades do not rule me," Thranduil answered quietly, his green eyes flickering over the Orc defiantly. His face betrayed no pain. Ologûk snarled furiously; his patience was thinning perilously with his prisoner. With no gentleness whatsoever he ripped his crusty blade from the king's left shoulder and stalked to Thranduil's stallion, yanking Legolas' head back to expose the perfect white throat. The dripping knife lay threateningly over the artery there, where blood pumped steadily beneath the fair skin.

"Do not harm him!" Thranduil lunged forward as best as possible with wounds and ropes fighting against his body, but his eyes did what his body could not. If glares had the power to kill, Ologûk would have been incinerated the instant before he had touched the king's child. But if I had my way the beast would have died the very moment I set eyes upon it, the Woodland King thought wistfully.

Ologûk's grip on Legolas tightened; Thranduil's power and might obviously no longer frightened him. "Then mount the horse!" he snapped. It was with great reluctance but incredible devotion for his child that Thranduil stepped forward and demanded his bonds removed so he could mount. Ologûk complied with a grunt, and after a moment of massaging his chafed wrists Thranduil settled himself upon his faithful stallion, untying his child and cradling the boy close.

"I missed you greatly, little one," he whispered consolingly to his oblivious child. With a gentle kiss Thranduil adjusted the blankets that for the most part kept Legolas warm and comfortable, and wheeled his horse about to face the gates. "Take me to Sauron," he ordered stiffly. He was in command once again. Ologûk's eyes flashed, but with anger or anticipation the Elf could not tell.

"Your wish is my command, Thranduil King," he sneered quietly. He gave a mock-bow, and the king's eyes narrowed. This Orc was much too confident now. This made him fear Sauron all the more, but he resolved not to give into that fear.

And so Thranduil entered Dol Guldur, the Hill of Sorcery and fortress of Sauron, his child cradled at his chest and his noble head held high and strong. The Woodland King ignored the jeers and taunts of the Orcs around him as he advanced up the hill as his eyes were locked upon the iron doors that led into the fortress before him. The enemy spat at his feet and brought their weapons dangerously close to his horse and body, but Thranduil did not stop on the long, dark path up to the enemy's stronghold. He stopped at the great black doors and dismounted. He turned the stallion about and slapped its rump, and the steed galloped away through the gates and into the forest where he was safe from harm. And then without a single glance back did Thranduil stride forward strong and proud into Sauron's fortress, his child cradled in his arms.

But he was surprised to find the cold, dark entranceway empty and silent. The king advanced cautiously, a quiet ring resonating throughout the polished corridor as his gleaming sword was drawn. "I have come to speak terms, Sauron," he announced warily, eyes flickering to the shadows, but no one answered. His tenor voice echoed eerily in the hallway. Warrior instinct beginning to kick in, the Elven-king kept moving albeit somewhat slowly and cautiously, and he stayed close to the cold walls. He could hear absolutely nothing of the Orcs outside now. Thranduil followed the red torches in the twisted sconces on the walls up a slick set of stairs that led up in a never-ending spiral. He came out on the second and highest level of the tower. Still not a single sign of life had been produced, but the king could not shake the feeling that someone was breathing down his neck, and his heartbeat drummed loudly in his beautifully-sculpted ears. Thranduil followed the wide length of the corridor, passing dozens upon dozens of locked doors, all the time feeling more and more apprehensive. Something lay at the end of the corridor; that he knew. The darkness veiled the ending, and even his keen eyes were not able to pierce it. He drew closer and closer, sword brandished protectively before him, until he could see great doors towering above him. An eye was carved deep into the obsidian rock, and the very gates reeked of evil.

"The Mark of Sauron," Thranduil breathed. His feet stepped hesitantly towards the entry, but he gathered a deep breath and clutched his child tightly. "Reveal yourself, Sauron!" He shouted challengingly. "I have come to negotiate terms, O dark lord of evil!"

The gates seemed to accept the challenge and appeared to open by themselves, swinging open wide enough for Thranduil to slip through.

"Welcome, Thranduil King."

Thranduil's eyes bored hard into the form that was reclined comfortably in a tall, black throne. The figure was shrouded in darkness and fear, clothed in evil, and stared back at the Elven-king with mild amusement through fiery red eyes. A black cloak hung from the almost-transparent broad shoulders, and one thick hand lay limp in the spirit's lap while the other was tucked inside his cloak at his waist.

"Sauron," Thranduil answered bitterly. The Dark Lord's mouth twitched into a smile.

Sauron calmly gazed back. "Yes, little king, it is I; the Dark Lord Sauron." The shadow's eyes flickered over Thranduil critically, a hint of distaste glowing there. They flashed at the sight of the bundle in Thranduil's arms, and his smile widened. Thranduil was acutely aware of Sauron's discovery and with a hardening stare his hands tightened defensively over his child.

"And this must be the heir of Thranduil," Sauron commented scornfully, studying the prince's still form. His eyes abruptly narrowed and flickered up to meet Thranduil's sharp gaze. "If you have come to demand the return of your child, save your breath; I have given my terms, so take them or leave them."

Thranduil held himself high, eyes dark and challenging. "And I am here to offer mine. Remove yourself from my child and I shall give you my land. But my people and child you shall let free, and they shall be allowed safe passage out of this forest."

Sauron let out a bark of laughter. "Thranduil, I never knew you were so daft. You know my answer, so I need not speak it."

"Then you shall face the wrath of Lothlorien, Rivendell, Rohan, and Gondor, Sauron," Thranduil retorted sharply. "I shall leave this place and demand their aide, and together we shall drive you out of this fortress. The Lord and Lady of Lórien shall accompany us in the siege, and you shall be thrown down from your throne and cast out."

The Dark Lord stiffened in alarm. "Celeborn and Galadriel, you say?" A trace of anxiousness crossed his stony face, but it disappeared almost instantly. Long had he feared them, and he suspected that the root of his fears was in perhaps an Elven ring; but he knew not if one of the Three lay hidden in the Golden Wood. But in those fiery eyes Thranduil saw his uncertainty and doubt, and he knew that his plan was working.

"They have the power to destroy you," Thranduil continued, his eyes studying the spirit's reactions closely. "You know this to be true. Accept my terms, and I shall give you something extra."

The Dark Lord's brow furrowed and his attention was riveted once again upon the Elven-king before him. "Something extra? Of what do you speak?"

The Woodland King felt his heart clench, but he ignored the screaming instinct in his gut and answered:

"I shall pay you with my life and body."

Thranduil heard his words echo in dark throne room where he stood and was surprised to hear a faint tremble in his tenor voice. The king drew a shaky breath to steady himself; there was no going back now. Sauron's eyes were gleaming with desire and hatred.

"So if I remove my influence from your precious prince, set him free and allow your people to leave the forest I am free to destroy you and take your land?" There was doubt in the Dark Lord's deep voice, but he could not mask the disbelief and excitement.

Thranduil nodded his head, expression solemn. "This is true," he answered softly.

A wide grin spread across the Dark Lord's face. "We have come to terms," he replied, eyes flashing. He rose from his throne, towering above Thranduil with lust in his eyes, and the king felt dread seep into his heart.

"Release my son first," the king requested softly, holding his ground. "Then you may take me."

Sauron dipped his head with a sweet smile on his face. "Of course, Thranduil."

The Elf sheathed his sword swiftly and opened the blanket that held his child so Sauron could see him. It was with great self-control that he allowed the Dark Lord to reach out with an icy hand and place his transparent fingers upon the boy's forehead. The instant the two made contact Legolas stiffened in his arms. A dark chanting filled the room, echoing loudly and increasing the tension overhead. The prince's father could feel roiling heat emanating from his child and enemy, but he did not recoil. This was something he had to do for Legolas. But his eyes never left his child, ready to pull away the instant something seemed to go wrong. The tension increased rapidly, and beneath his eyelids Legolas' eyes roved back and forth. His breathing grew fast, his heartbeat dangerously high. Thranduil could feel the desperate battle fighting inside his child's mind as Sauron strove to undo what he had done, and he could only pray it would turn out in favor of his child.

But then it was over. The chanting stopped, and Sauron stepped back. Legolas stirred ever so faintly in the king's arms, and that simple movement sent waves of relief washing over Thranduil. His son's aura glowed healthily and strong, and the king heard and felt the Song of Ilúvatar rise up in joy inside the boy. Legolas' faer blossomed warmly, and the child breathed easily.

But is he free?

"Legolas?" Thranduil's voice was trembling, eyes wide. His child's lashes fluttered open to reveal bright sapphire eyes free of the agony and darkness that had plagued him for so long.

"…Ada…" The prince's voice was weak, but there was love in that sweet sound. Thranduil's heart broke, and tension that had built up for nearly a year gushed from his body through his tears.

"Oh Legolas, my child; my sweet, sweet child…" the father wept, and he pressed his son close. "You are free…" He could not stop the tears from flowing, and he wept over his son as the boy clutched at him. His precious son was free at last. Vanya, our son has been saved…Deep within him Thranduil felt his wife's joy and happiness, and he cradled his son all the closer.

"I love you, Ada."

Thranduil thought that he would never be able to hear that beautiful voice or see those soft blue eyes enough in his lifetime. "And I love you, my dear son;" the king whispered, "more than life itself."

"Oh, my heart would break to see such a lovely reunion ruined so quickly."

Thranduil's heart froze when heavy footsteps around him thudded loudly in his ears. Please, Sauron; not yet…He heard rather than saw Sauron's smirk.

"But alas for me; I have no heart, so I shall not feel any pain."

Rough hands clamped on Thranduil's shoulders and tore his child from his arms. "No!" The king struggled futilely against the hands that held him back, his arms reaching franticly for the pale hands flung out towards him. Flesh met flesh for an instant, and the father grasped his child's fingers tightly but an instant later the contact vanished. A dozen Orcs had the king now pinned, and more were ready to take their places.

A feeble voice came from a pack of Orcs: "Ada, help me!"

"Legolas!"

His child's cries awoke a terrible desperation in Thranduil. "Let me go! My child…please! Release me!" He thrashed with all his strength against the Orcs, but it was to no avail. Several Orcs fell from his swift blows, and an opening appeared before him. The desperate father lunged for freedom, but several of his enemies leapt for him and drove him to the ground with their weapons. Dazed from their blunt blows, he watched on in sheer horror and grief, held up and yet pinned down at the same time, as his child's feet and hands were bound and tears streaked the little one's beautiful cheeks. Sauron blocked his view abruptly.

"Saes, let me see him a little longer!" Thranduil begged the Dark Lord, still struggling. "Anno nín ion-nín! By Eru, Sauron, you promised-!"

An icy hand struck his fair cheek hard. "I promised nothing of the sort," Sauron's gaze was cold. He whirled around to face the child. Legolas whimpered and struggled anxiously to get away when the Dark Lord advanced with a blade, his beautiful eyes wide with terror. Thranduil's heart was crushed horrendously when he heard the moan of pain from his child and the patter of blood on the floor, and he answered with an anguished sob. Sauron turned back around with a vial in one hand and the other cupped to hold a pool of blood. Uncorking the vial with his black teeth the Dark Lord then proceeded to let a single drop of the mixture land in the pool of blood. As soon as the droplet touched the surface of the blood, Legolas began to scream. Thranduil watched on helplessly as the blood began to swirl and glow brightly before a resounding crack was heard and a perfectly-chiseled large ruby lay in Sauron's hand, a white fire burning in the center. Legolas' screams died to agonizing whimpers, and Thranduil's heart began to beat again.

"What have you done?" he exclaimed in a horrified whisper. "What have you done to my son!"

The Dark Lord grinned mockingly at him. "Look at the crystal and tell me what you see inside it."

Thranduil refused to answer, but his eyes were glued upon the fire flickering inside the ruby's depths. Already it had begun to dim, but ever so slightly.

"The fire represents your precious child's life;" Sauron continued quietly, eyes focused on Thranduil and greatly relishing the father's utter horror. "When it is gone, Legolas - Prince of the Woodland Realm and son of the mighty King Thranduil - will lie dead."

Thranduil's face turned ashen, and his eyes snapped up to Sauron's glinting stare.

…will lie dead…

In an instant he pictured his beautiful little child limp on the floor. He could feel the icy flesh beneath his fingers. He could hear the silence of his son. He could see the cold, lifeless eyes staring back at him. He could smell the corpse, rotting already from the poison eating up his insides. He saw Legolas' body. The father saw his dead child.

"No!" Thranduil screamed, franticly struggling and shutting his eyes against the terrible idea, but his dead child would not fade from his mind's eye.

"Oh yes, dear king, it is true." Sauron turned to his minions. "Let him go." They obeyed, and the weeping father collapsed to the floor and gathered his crying son into his arms.

"Legolas…ion-nín…my precious boy…" Thranduil sobbed into the little prince's silky hair. "It was not supposed to happen like this…"

"Ada, what's happening to me?" Legolas' trembling voice broke in. "Am I going to die?" But his father did not have the heart to answer, and he pressed the little one all the closer to his heart, desperately thinking that if he held his son close enough he would somehow be able to trap the life inside him. I had sworn I would not let death take my child. I had been willing to toss my life and land away just to preserve my little one's immortality. But now I have failed him, and we shall all die for nothing. He vaguely realized that the Orcs were leaving and heard the door grind shut behind them before silence engulfed the three.

"Such a beautiful son, and such a loving father," a dark voice drifted downwards into Thranduil's keen ears. The king shut his eyes tightly as Legolas' quick breathing began to slow, and only seconds later the panicking child fell limp in his father's arms when he passed out from fatigue, terror and the poison. Thranduil tried to make his beautiful child comfortable on the cold floor, and kissed the pale brow.

"You swore that you would not hurt him," Thranduil whispered warily, his hand straying to his Greenleaf's smooth cheek. "You swore that you would not harm my child!" He whirled around, tears slipping down his cheeks. Thranduil stumbled to his feet, the arrow in his side still paining him. "You swore!" he shouted as he reached behind his back for his long knife. It rang threateningly as it was drawn, and he advanced towards the Dark Lord with anguish and rage flashing in his emerald gaze. He thought of nothing but revenge as he lunged, wielding his sword dangerously. His son was going to die, and it was all because of this thing standing in front of him. But grief and anger blinded him, and he did not see the blade hurtling through the air at him until it was too late.

At the impact of Sauron's blade Thranduil stumbled backwards in shock, his free hand fumbling for the knife embedded in his chest. He felt very little pain as his steps faltered and he fell weakly against a wall. He looked down at his wound and struggled for breath. But he praised the Valar for the craftsman who had created his armor. Without armor he would have been slain instantly. Blood still oozed out from the large puncture hole the blade had made in his flawless armor and there was still an uncomfortable amount of pain, but he was in no danger of dying just yet. With a grunt he extracted the blade from several layers of skin and metal. He started to push himself off the wall and regain his balance, but with a groan he was slammed brutally back into the obsidian rock.

Hot breath struck his cheek as a voice hissed at him angrily. "Your courage is touching, but you remain as blind and helpless as you were a millennium ago." A memory sprang to the surface of Thranduil's mind, a memory he had long tried to bury and forget, and he could not help but hear his father's dying cry as the powerful king collapsed to the ground, speared by Orcs on the blackened battlefield. Thranduil swallowed, trying so very hard to forget that he had been too late to save his father, a fact that had nearly destroyed him years ago.

"But you swore you would not harm him," the Woodland King croaked out as his throat was constricted by an iron grip. An eerie cackle reached his ears.

"Nay, I did not," Sauron replied menacingly. "I promised you his freedom, but you failed to specify what kind of freedom you wished him to have."

"No!"

"Yes, dear Elven-king. And you promised me your life and body, so I only saw it fitting to destroy your heart as well."

The pinned Elf felt tears of frustration slip down his face. Valar, it had all gone so wrong. He had not saved his child at all…but maybe there was a chance of saving those who had come to fight for his and his child's freedom.

He opened his eyes and found himself incredibly close to Sauron's face. He pulled a stony mask over his grief-ravaged features, and fixed Sauron with a dead gaze. "Then kill me," he demanded quietly. "Fight me here until you have had your sport, and then take me outside to die so your minions can see. I have no desires anymore, save to die under the stars with my child by my side."

Sauron glared long at him. "You shall die outside as you wish," he allowed darkly. He stepped back and allowed his prisoner to stand, shoving his sword into his hands. "But take heart, little king. You will not sit chained to a wall to rot away the years until I decide your fate because you bore me. You shall die soon, and under the sky as you wish. But you shall not see the stars when you die. Instead, you shall see the gleaming eyes of my Orcs glaring down upon you as they beat and curse and spit upon your body. And you will scream and beg for death, for both I and my slaves shall make the last hours of your life a living hell."

"Since when does the Abhorred One spare his slaves and prisoners of pain?" Thranduil asked skeptically, rising slowly.

A twisted smile flitted across Sauron's face. "When you strike at a king, you must kill him," he offered with a malicious smile. He then produced a hideous black sword from beneath his cloak and brandished it wickedly, a strange gleam in his eye. Thranduil shook off the aches and throbbing of his wounds and raised his blade in challenge, expression stony and fierce. He would not die without a fight. And with a prayer for a quick death for both he and his child and a fierce cry, the son of Oropher leapt forward to strike the spirit-like form of his captor, and the battle that was certain to be his last began.

TBC

Note: Sauron's last piece of dialogue is credited to Ralph Waldo Emerson who is the man responsible for such a chilling quote. I would like to extend my thanks to ThinkExist Quotations for the excellent quotes on hundreds of topics – it has been wonderful to find a piece of a poem, speech, conversation, etc. that fits my chapter perfectly. Hannon le!

To my reviewers: ...I guess a 'sorry' isn't quite going to cut it for this chapter, huh. Just keepin mind that a dead author can't post chapters and finish writing the story. ;) Thanks to Enigma Jade (a new reviewer - yipee!), EverWindingStairs, luthien thranduiliel, ElvenHope, GreenLady247, Faerlas, & LazloTitan36. I cannot explain how grateful I am to those who take the time to review!