A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Thyndolhen who was my 100th reviewer. She wanted to see Thranduil being badass, and I had meant to post a piece written for Part 2 which took place at the Last Alliance. But that episode wouldn't take place for some time and it is still being rewritten, so I give you this instead. Enjoy! And, a big thank you to all my readers, especially to those who took the time to comment, favs and follow this story. Thank you so much.


THRANDUIL squeezed his eyes shut even though it was not necessary. The darkness was complete, and he could not even see his hands in front of his eyes. Thranduil took in a breath and focused on the heat inside him.

Astarno.

The name echoed in his head. After Sirion, Thranduil tried to convince Lord Cirdan to go after the retreating army of Maedhros, but the council had decided not to pursue them. Thranduil had not understood. They had taken the twins, Elwing's children Thranduil had hidden inside a cave before chasing after the three Noldorin warriors.

And those three warriors in red armor. Those three had taken from Thranduil his sun and the moon, never to shine again in Middle Earth. The grief of loss he felt at Sirion surged like a typhoon and crashed into his heart sucking the breath from his lungs. Thranduil gritted his teeth as the tidal wave of emotion threw him into the impenetrable blackness of the vast sea. Darkness closed all around Thranduil, calling him into its black embrace.

"Thranduil?"

A hand reached out in the darkness and grabbed his arm, pulling Thranduil out of the black sea.

"Are you well?" Elrond's concerned voice whispered next to him.

Thranduil took in a lungful of air and shook off Elrond's hand. How Elrond saw through the pitch darkness and found him, Thranduil did not know. But he took in a long breath to control his turbulent emotion. This was not the time to drown in his memories. He needed to focus.

As if Elrond knew Thranduil was back in control, the Half-Elven did not say anything further.

Thranduil took in a deep breath and sent out his senses all around, focusing on the minutest changes in the air around him.

Thranduil remembered back to the sword training with Captain Himion and his surviving officers. One of the first things they did once Thranduil was apt enough with his long daggers was to blind him.

"Your senses could fool you, Thranduil," Captain Himion said. "Especially your sight. Do not rely on one sense alone. Use all. There may also be a time when you may not be able to use one or the other of your senses. Develop all of them so that if one is lacking, you could still depend on your other senses."

Thranduil reached out through the darkness, his senses all alert now, every hair on his body standing on its end. He could hear the rough breathing of the cadets next to him and the slow, even breath of Lord Istuion. However, he could not feel Lord Gilmagor.

Thranduil opened his eyes to look ahead. Lord Gilmagor glowed as if he had an inner light burning inside him. The commander was the only one Thranduil could see in the darkness.

It was then that he felt a slight tremor under his feet. It was hardly discernible, so slight it was. Had his senses not been alert, he would not have felt it.

"They are coming," Thranduil said.

"On your guards," Gilmagor said. "They are coming from both east and west."

Thranduil directed his senses toward the river. Sure enough, the movements were coming from both the river and from the valley where they had descended this afternoon. Thranduil's heart clenched when he realized there were too many feet, much more than he had expected. He had anticipated about twenty at the most, but what he heard sounded more than thrice that number.

"That is no pack or two," Gelir said somewhere far right. It was hard to mistake the fear in his voice.

"I thought they were mostly used as scouts," Oron said. "I never heard of wolves or wargs attacking as a horde and in such large numbers."

Erfaron cursed, and Saldor who was stationed farthest from Thranduil swore, his mumbled profanity doing little to hide the quiver in his voice.

Soon, the ground trembled and a loud rumble of sound resounded from both east and west. Along with the sound of feet thundering on the ground came a loud howl and growl of many beasts.

"Steady, cadets!" Gilmagor's voice ripped through the darkness. "You are the scions of the great warriors of First Age. Show your fathers and forefathers what you are made of, lads. Do not let these beasts frighten you. Stand steady!"

Thranduil knew Gilmagor's words were meant to arouse spirits and boost the cadet's confidence. Battles were fought on two fronts, mental and physical. No matter how well trained, if soldiers hearing a battle cry of their enemies were seized with fear and left paralyzed, the battles were lost even before they started.

Thranduil felt the cadets tense and knew their hearts were in the grip of fear. Having faced these twisted beasts more times than he would like to remember, Thranduil knew these beasts warranted such dread, but he also knew that it wasn't just the monsters that these cadets feared.

Gilmagor was capable and experienced. But he had, obviously, forgotten that for young and inexperienced cadets, fear of disappointing their fathers or forefathers only added to the pressure they already felt. The burden of meeting the expectations combined with the fear and anxiety gnawed away at their confidence. Thranduil remembered the first time he faced an Orc horde. His fear of disappointing his father, instead of helping, had made things worse.

"Great warriors, indeed," said Thranduil. "Sons do not always take after their fathers. Shall we see who can down more of these creatures? If you can even get to one of them."

"Thranduil!" Elrond hissed next to him, his voice tight and full of warning.

"Challenge accepted, Sinda," Erfaron ground his teeth, first to take the bait.

Thranduil couldn't help his lips curving up. He didn't care for Erfaron, but Thranduil could not but admire the Noldo's spirit.

"It hardly seems fair," Gelir said.

"Just because you have more experience," Saldor harrumphed.

"Let's make it even then, shall we?" Thranduil said. "You four against Elrond and I. Whichever team brings down more wins. Losers do all the chores for a week. You think you could handle that?"

"Absolutely!" Erfaron said. "Oron, Gelir, Saldor?"

"Let's do it!" Oron said.

"Aye!" said Gelir and Saldor together.

"Do you have to do this now, Thranduil?" Elrond whispered to Thranduil.

"Come now, Elrond. It will be fun," Thranduil said, unable to stop the grin spreading in his face, thankful that the darkness hid it.

Whatever protest from Elrond was swallowed up as the red and glowing eyes filled the darkness of the night, fierce and terrible. And along with them, sound of howling and snarling rose like a wild storm in the night.

"Ready!" Gilmagor's command cut through the roar and the cadets took their positions. The pale form of Gilmagor pulsed as he stood like a pale pillar in front of them.

"Release!" Gilmagor shouted, and the arrows of the cadets sang.

Fast as he could, Thranduil's hands moved, each arrow aiming straight for the red glow in the dark. There were so many of them, but Thranduil focused on shooting down as many of the red eyes as he could. Less standing, less he had to fight later.

"Fire arrows. Ready!" Lord Gilmagor shouted as the first sets of the red eyes came near just a few strides from him. Gilmagor's pale form shimmered.

"Ready!" cadets shouted in unison. Thranduil struck the fire stones, the standard army issue, he held in his left hand. A spark ignited the tip of his arrow just as five other fire-lit arrows stood ready from each cadet's bow.

"Now!" Lord Commander shouted as soon as the first group of red eyes reached him.

As previously planned, four flaming arrows shot up toward the sky illuminating the area. Thranduil and Saldor aimed their arrows to the trench previously made by two cadets and filled with dry bushes and branches and soaked with liquor. The instant the fire arrows hit the ditch, the fire burst forth. Flames surged and spread. A circular wall of fire blazed around the stone island where the cadets stood. The beasts, mix of wargs and wolves, screeched to a stop, some veering off but too late. Few of them plunged into the wall of flame.

Lord Gilmagor's hands sprouted two gleaming swords, and Lord Istuion held two long daggers. Both moved like dancers. Their movements, different yet alike, wove through the emerging beasts. Their swords, a glimmer of silver fire in the dark, sliced through the creatures in a deadly dance as the bolder of the wargs jumped through the wall of fire.

All the while the bows of the cadets sang, deadly music to accompany the lethal dance of the elder warriors. The air filled with the thick, sickening stench of blood, burning flesh, and fur.

The beasts pulled back.

Just outside the ring of fire, beasts loomed like shadows, big as horses and dark as the night. Their snarl rose, an angry sea in the pitch blackness of the night. Then suddenly, all sounds stopped as the beasts turned their backs and retreated into the darkness.

"Hold your arrows!" Thranduil shouted and stashed his bow behind him. Elrond followed, but more arrows whistled past. Thranduil glared at the cadets lined up left of him. But they did not stop until Lord Gilmagor's command sliced through the air.

"Hold! Save your arrows. Ready for battle!" Gilmagor and Istuion moved back near the cadets.

"There's more?" Gelir asked, his voice shaky.

"That was just first assault. Now we fight." Thranduil said and unsheathed his sword. He turned to the cadets. "Now is the time to show me your skill and pride as Noldorin warriors. That is if you have any skill or pride." Thranduil flashed them his teeth, challenging them with his eyes.

The cadets whose eyes wavered with uncertainty and fear hardened, their fear replaced with flames of anger.

Be angry. Anger will save you when fear binds and hinders.

Elrond cursed under his breath and glared at Thranduil. But there was no more time.

As the elder warriors stepped back, the fire that had blazed previously weakened. The black shadows turned as if they were one mass. A lone beast howled. And as if on cue, the beasts jumped over the diminishing flames, one after another.

The swords of the two lords sliced, cut and stabbed, but there were too many of them.

"Elbereth!"

Thranduil shouted at the top of his lung, expelling the breath he held. Fear knotted his stomach and tightened his muscles. No matter how many times he fought these demons of Morgoth, fear nipped at him each time he faced them. But, Thranduil reached into the anger he held deep inside. It had gotten him through many death-defying moments.

Thranduil ran down the hill, half growling, half shouting, aiming for a creature thrown back by Lord Gilmagor. Lord Commander stood his back to Lord Istuion, and they were surrounded.

A creature snapping at Istuion turned to face Thranduil. It hunkered down, then leaped. Yelling, Thranduil ran to meet it, throwing his body back to sail below the underside of the animal. Thranduil thrust his sword into the underbelly of the beast, cutting it open as he slid past it.

The Sinda rolled to the side and was on his knees when he felt a beast behind him. He thrust his sword up to block the snapping jaw, grabbed onto the beast's fur, swung up onto its back and plunged his sword into its head.

He leaped off before the beast fell, flipped in the air to land on his feet.

Thrust, slash, leap, flip, plunge, block.

The air filled with the stench of the beasts and the blood. Thranduil moved through them, sinuous and deadly.

But, these were living creatures. No matter how experienced, unexpected things, deadly mistakes, happened.

Thranduil rushed, aiming to cut the beast into the half. He leaped, plunged his sword just behind the beast's shoulder. As soon as his sword hit, Thranduil knew his aim had erred. But he was in the middle of a flip that he could not stop. He knew he could not hold onto his sword which embedded itself into the creature's bone having missed the gap in its joint. If he did not let go, the force of his motion would either break his wrist, the sword or both.

Thranduil let go. He reached for his dagger as he landed on the beast's back when he was knocked off by a mighty swipe from another warg.

Thranduil sailed backward and slammed violently against a boulder. His lung expelled air as pain exploded on his left shoulder and head. His head rang, and his sight darkened. Thranduil struggled to sit up, grunting, once his body slid down the boulder onto the ground.

Everything hurt.

When his eyes cleared, the warg stood over him, his sword still sticking out just behind its left shoulder. It snarled, its red eyes savage with fire. Thranduil fumbled for his dagger, but it was not in his hand or his sheath. The Sinda pawed his back and realized the bow was not there. Even if it was, it was not his bow. All the weapons they carried were issued by the army. His double daggers wouldn't be there.

He had nothing. When the realization hit, Thranduil chuckled.

The warg growled, its lips curled back, teeth exposed.

"Let's see whose anger is greater, beast. Mine or yours? You want to kill me? Do it. Do it now. I have no regrets!" Thranduil growled back.

That wasn't quite true, but at least, Thranduil did not regret leaving this world. This world had given him nothing but pain.

"Get away from him, Seed of Morgoth!" Elrond ran up the hill, leaped up, stepped onto Thranduil's sword still sticking out from the warg and flew onto the beast's back.

When the warg lay dead, Elrond pulled out the sword embedded in the warg and threw it to Thranduil.

"Stop sitting around, Sinda! There are still more beasts." With that Elrond turned and rushed to slay two wolves behind him.

Thranduil got up, snapping his dislocated shoulder back in place with a grimace.

"Yes, I was just sitting around playing with the warg which slammed me on a boulder. How remiss of me!" Thranduil swore out aloud.

Nursing his aching shoulder, Thranduil looked around. Lord Gilmagor and Lord Istuion, Thranduil knew they could stand their own, but they were surrounded by wargs and wolves and could not help the cadets. Cadets were holding their own, but barely. They were clearly overwhelmed.

It was then that Thranduil noticed Erfaron. He had made the same mistake. A snapped piece of Erfaron's blade was buried on the side of the warg in front of the Noldo. It was apparent Erfaron's sword hand was unusable. It hung limply on Noldo's side while with the other hand he held a dagger out in front of him. Thranduil knew the dagger was not enough to defend against a warg, but he was too far from Erfaron to be much help. And other cadets were all engaged.

"Erfaron!" Thranduil threw his sword to Erfaron who looked up. The sword flew through the air. Erfaron threw away his dagger, leaped up and caught the sword. He turned in the air to plunge it into the warg's head.

With nothing in his hand, Thranduil ran down the hill where he had buried several stakes. The fire inside the trench that had ignited the branches there was just flickering flames now, useful only as a source of light for the warriors.

As Thranduil was about to reach one of the stakes, a wag and two wolves blocked his way. Thranduil took out the wineskin attached to his belt, the ones rationed to each cadet. He leaped up to soar above the creatures, dousing them with wine. As soon as he landed next to the stakes, the beasts lunged at him. Grabbing one of the stakes, Thranduil stirred up the burning branches and flung them at the creatures. The warg and the wolves caught fire. They yelped, running madly as flames erupted on their backs and sides.

"Elrond! Douse the beasts!" Thranduil yelled to Elrond who was the closest to him. He continued to stir up the burning branches and threw them at the beasts.

Elrond looked up, saw the warg and the wolves flaming and running wild.

Once Elrond caught on, it was relayed to the cadets with surprising speed, and soon, many of the wargs and wolves were aflame. Even the ones that didn't catch fire cowered and ran. Tide changed. Wargs and the wolves fled, a flicker of fire and smoke in the dark of the night.

Thranduil looked around, calming his breath. The ground as far as he could see in the faint light was covered with the bodies of the animals.

Lord Istuion, accompanied by Elrond addressed cadets' injuries. Erfaron's wrist was sprained, but not broken. Gelir's left arm was torn, and Saldor's leg was bitten, but his armor limited the damage, and the injury was minor. Oron, only one among the cadets, seemed unscathed.

Once their injuries were bound and medicated, the cadets were ordered to finish any animals remain living. Elven warriors killed cleanly, but in the frenzy of the kill, sometimes they missed the vitals that killed instantly. But, killing a helpless and injured being, whether animal or otherwise, was a harder thing than killing them in the heat of a battle. Regardless of how evil they are. No matter how necessary and how many times Thranduil had done it, it was and will always remain the most difficult part of the aftermath of combat.

When they finished and piled the animals to be burned, the sky in the far east glowed pale. The sky cleared and stars appeared.

Along with the rest of the cadets, Thranduil moved toward the misty river. No one spoke. But each one of them was drawn to water to wash off the blood. Blood meant death and death meant darkness. The dark blood of the creatures bred by Morgoth more so than any other. Their blood was filth and corruption.

The moorland between the river and the site of the battle was wide and covered in thick mists. But the faint light rising in the east was enough to light their path. They washed in a stream of water. And once cleansed, they offered their song of thanks and praise to the Valar as the sun rose and the mists melted away.

Having called their horses, cadets prepared to leave. They gathered any unbroken arrows, weapons, and provisions that were scattered. Thranduil was able only to find his quiver containing few arrows. But his bow was broken, and he could not find his dagger. Thranduil was glad that he did not bring the twin knives his father had given him. Those were irreplaceable.

"Your sword," Erfaron approached Thranduil and handed the sword Thranduil threw the Noldo. "I…" Erfaron seemed to search for words. Thranduil saw that Erfaron's bow remained intact.

"If you are willing, I'll trade that sword for your bow and arrows," Thranduil said.

Erfaron's eyes met Thranduil's. Understanding passed between them. Erfaron handed Thranduil his bow and the quiver of arrows, stashing the sword into his empty sheath. He gave Thranduil a warrior salute before returning to his horse.

Once the fire used to burn the carcasses were contained, they left the stone isle at the moors. Lord Gilmagor left a message for the border patrols who were stationed a day's ride away knowing the guards will see the smoke and come to investigate.

The Lord Commander's face was grim, and Thranduil wondered if the commander worried over the unnaturalness of this incident. That many wargs and wolves, it was far from ordinary.

They rode swiftly, no one wanting to linger at the battle site. Thranduil noted that the four cadets who had been light-hearted and lively at the beginning of their trip were quiet and grim as the elder lords. Killing, even of evil creatures like wargs, was never an easy thing. And the night had been long and bloody.

It was not until they reached a waterfall that they stopped to have a meal and rest.

Chewing a piece of lembas, Thranduil walked up to the foot of the waterfall. The sound of water falling was deafening. The cliff was high here, and the water fell from the height of an eight-story building. The water plunged into a deep pool before splitting into several swift streams rushing between large boulders before running down south into the River Lune.

"Oropherion!"

Thranduil turned. Lord Gilmagor stood there.

"This place does not feel safe. We will not linger here," he said. Then, the commander threw something to him. Thranduil caught it. It was a sword. One of the twin blades Gilmagor carried.

Thranduil looked up wide-eyed.

"You need a sword. I am entrusting it to you. Return it to me once we reach the north marches."

Thranduil's eyes met Lord Gilmagor's. No warrior gave away his weapon lightly, even if for a short time. And this was not the military issue as had been the one Thranduil gave to Erfaron. This was Gilmagor's personal weapon. For a warrior, his weapon was his life and nothing less than complete trust would make a warrior relinquish his weapon freely.

Thranduil looked down at the sword in his hand. When the Sinda looked up again, Gilmagor had already moved away, back to the camp set up downstream.

Thranduil's throat tightened as his nose stung. Despite the dire situation they were on, the elder Elf had seen, understood and approved. Thranduil had not sought approval. He thought he had not cared whether anyone approved of him or not, the least of all the Lord Commander. Yet, his chest expanded as long-buried warmth surged in Thranduil's breast.

"Stupid Crooked Nose," Thranduil murmured, but he was immensely pleased. "What does it matter if he approves of me or not," he said, but Thranduil knew that was not true.

His hand trembled as Thranduil pulled out the sword from its sheath. It was one long piece of metal slightly longer than a regular blade. It sang, a clear crystal note, as it cleared the silver sheath. Even under the bright sunlight, the sword glowed pale as if made of starlight. It was no ordinary blade. Even a master Dwarven smith could not make a blade like this. Thranduil swallowed. It was a thing of beauty, and for the first time in his life, he desired a thing a hand of Noldor made.


Lembas (Sindarin, Journey bread)- waybread of Elves made of special corn that grew in Valinor. Orome the hunter of Valar gave it to the Elves as a sustenance in the Great Journey west. Only women, called Yavannildi, made this bread. By custom, Elven Queens kept and distributed the lembas. Queen Melian learned it from Vala Yavanna. And Galadriel learned it from Queen Melian. It was very nutritious and kept fresh for a long period of time.

Chapter 45 Diverging Paths: Thranduil comes to a road where he must choose, the road to revenge or acceptance