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Chapter 52: Feared
Second Age, 3420:
A fire broke out on the eastern border of the forest, and Oropher sent his son to investigate. Thranduil suspected men had trespassed into his king's woods and started the fire, through carelessness or mischief. He did not know which and did not care. All he knew was that fire destroyed part of the Woodland Realm, his lovely homeland, and he was angry beyond measure. When he and the other elves arrived, parts of the forest still burned in areas. There were places the ground was so hot, the soil could burn right through the soles of a boot. Everywhere, gnarled and blackened stumps of trees dotted the landscape; it was beyond ugly in Thranduil's eyes. A terrible waste.
He scouted the perimeter of the burned out area and found the remains of a small cabin. Only the posts and frame still stood; the rest lay in ashes and heaps around the hearth. Thranduil swallowed thickly. Men. Curse men and their foolishness! It was too much to ask that they might suffer for their ignorant ways, but no—Instead, these woods, these trees, had paid the price for man's stupidity.
A rustle on the edge of the woods broke his dark thoughts, and Thranduil looked up. He must have seemed a veritable terror that day to the people huddled on the edge of the woods when he emerged from the trees. His eyes blazed in the uncanny way of elves, bright blue against his ash streaked face, and he unsheathed his sword in one long pull as he strode toward them.
"Who are you to trespass in the Elvenking's realm?" he demanded, taking in their careworn faces, their simple clothing, and finding he felt little to no sympathy for their fearful expressions or the children huddled behind a woman and an elderly man.
"Prince Thranduil." He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was his friend Beriadan; long had they been in service to the king together. He lowered his voice. "You're scaring the children."
Thranduil turned, that dangerous glint still in his eyes. "Let them be afraid!" he cried. "They squatted on my father's land and from their carelessness, destroyed all these trees."
Beriadan shook his head. "We had Avedir speak to the surviving trees. A lightning strike started the fire, not these people." His expression softened as he looked at the family. "They are victims too."
Thranduil turned away, his heart bitter at the sight of the blackened forest, the ugly remains of the little house. He sheathed his sword. "Tell them they must leave these woods and never return."
Beriadan nodded at Thranduil's command, for they were friends, but he was still the king's son. "Yes, my lord. It will be done."
Thranduil left him there and picked his way through the fallen smoking logs and ash. As he passed the crumbling cabin, he heard Beriadan speaking to the elderly man. The woman started to cry, a choking sob. Thranduil turned, just enough to see Beriadan reach into his vest and pull out a pouch and hand it to the old man who wrapped one arm consolingly around the crying woman's shoulders. Then Beriadan said farewell and walked back up the hill to where Thranduil watched him curiously.
"Why did you do that?" the prince asked, his voice incredulous. "You had a full month's wages in that pouch, Beriadan!"
His friend shrugged, his eyes drifting down to the bleak looking family, the elderly man, the quietly crying mother, the three young children. "The children's father died trying to put out the fire," he said, meeting Thranduil's eyes. "They really have lost everything. I pity them."
One of the children had wandered away from his brother and sister and stood watching the elves. Ash streaked his simple clothes. He had no warm coat, no shoes on his feet.
Thranduil sighed. Then he reached into his vest and pulled out his coin pouch as well. They had just gotten paid only that morning too! He pressed it into his friend's hand. "Not a word, Beriadan."
Beriadan dared not smile, at least not until after Thranduil walked away. Before they left the woods that day, his prince found a way to leave the family with a horse and the elves' supply cart, not to mention all the food they brought with them.
"Do you think your father will disapprove, Thranduil?" Beriadan asked quietly as they rode away.
But Thranduil did not answer. The memory of those children, shrinking against their mother when he walked out of the woods, sword in hand, consumed him. They feared him, and they had been right to do so. If Beriadan hadn't stopped him… No, he shook his head. He would not have harmed them. But he did not like the look of fear in their eyes, like he was a some kind of monster to be feared. It was a memory which would haunt him for a long time.
March 15th, 3019:
They all heard the battle before they could see it through the trees. A loud roar and a shout thundered through the trunks and branches followed by the bugling of many elven horns, a call to battle. Narylfiel heard it, her heart growing wild with fear and the desire to find her king. The battle had begun. Elfir heard it and urged his horse toward the sound.
Their horses shot through the trees, already thick with smoke from the fire burning to the west, their keen noses leading them to the edge of the forest where the air was clearer.
"The field is overrun!" Narylfiel cried, gasping from the smoke and riding, for her eyes beheld the battlefield, full of Dol Guldur orcs, goblins, trolls, and Easterling men. A thousand shining elven helms amid a sea of black malice. "I cannot see the king. I can't see him!" Her heart pounded hard enough to tear itself from her chest. She could not see Thranduil. There was no sign of him among the elven line of defense.
"Narylfiel, wait!" Melui pleaded, but it was too late, for her queen had already dismounted and begun to scale the nearest tree, pulling herself up into the higher branches for a clearer vantage point on the battle.
Once she was high enough into the tree canopy, Narylfiel watched the orcs surge across the battlefield toward the golden spread of elven warriors defending the tree line. The tree tops there burned hotly. Still, her people fought bravely, from the trees with arrows, from those holding the line against the brutal wave of orcs and their cruel lances on the ground, and those atop horses. There were so many, so many on both sides, dark and light, and all of it was terrible and awe-inspiring to behold.
And flying across the field in a streak of gleaming silver was her king. Thranduil! Riding his elk Taurion into and through the enemy's lines, the Elvenking's sword cut down any orc foolish enough to cross his path. As Narylfiel's eyes traced the arc of his trail from the tree line, she realized with equal parts horror and admiration that Thranduil headed for the host of Easterling men, for Maubûrz.
It was too much like her dream, the horrible memory of her husband falling in battle, for comfort. Narylfiel quickly climbed, half-slid her way down from the height of her outlook. "I've seen him," she said, mounting her horse, and in the next instant, she was gone, a blur of brown toward the battle, leaving her guards no choice but to follow.
"Thranduil!" she cried, as she plunged into the battle, but the battle was too loud, too deafening for him to hear her, so on she rode in a straight-edged line toward the Easterling host. It was too much to hope, of course, that her sudden entry into battle would not attract the wrong kind of attention. Narylfiel had her long hunting knife and a stolen sword she had just swiped from an orc, but just as she despaired being overrun by goblin foot soldiers, Elfir and Melui caught up to her quickly, flanked her sides along with the two other guards who had come with Elfir.
"To the king," she shouted, her eyes sweeping to the right of the plains where her king deftly fended off enemy after enemy with the wide sweep of his sword and Taurion's deadly antlers. "Thranduil!"
The king checked his sword midswing, pushed a goblin away with the brunt of his heel, and then changed directions. Taurion veered left and away from the Easterling forces and toward Narylfiel and her four guards.
"Narylfiel!" cried Melui. "Haste! I think he sees you."
Her queen turned in the saddle from dodging a jab from an orcish pike, and her eyes widened—Thranduil had, in fact, changed direction and headed toward her.
The Elvenking and his queen met on a ridge crossing the field where the gentle slope of the field broke away. He slid off his elk, and she, her horse, and the pair of them went to work clearing the ground of the enemy standing between them. Thranduil's sword cleaved through those orcs as if they were little more than air between him and his beloved. Narylfiel knew he saw the enemy, but it was almost as if he looked straight through them; as he cut them down, one by one, his gaze never left her. When the last one fell, he slung the blood from his sword and sheathed it before Narylfiel collided into his arms. And despite everything—the battle, the fire, the smoke, the enemy all around—he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
"I had to find you," she said breathlessly, wrapping her arms around his neck, threading her hands through his hair.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her forehead, in between words. "I am glad you did," he said, "so glad."
"I had to tell you I escaped."
Thranduil's only answer was to slant his mouth over her own, all heat, all warmth, and reassurance that she was there in his arms.
"And Maubûrz didn't—" Narylfiel met his eyes, and Thranduil stilled.
"I know," he said quietly, "I know." Then he kissed her deeply once again, drinking her in, feeling her safe and whole in his arms, and Narylfiel knew the battle raged around them from the ridge line to the trees, but right then all she cared for was the feeling of her lord's arms around her.
Thranduil broke away first, taking her hand and leading her to her horse, where Elfir and Melui defended against encroaching orcs.
"I need to know you are safe," he told her, lifting her onto the horse. A movement across the battlefield caught his eye. Clearly, he was not the only one who heeded his queen's arrival. Maubûrz rode towards them, followed by many sleek, dark warriors with spears, swords, and lances in hand.
"Take cover. Head for the trees," he said, his eyes straining up to hers. "Go!" Thranduil watched her horse break into a run but only for a second. He whistled for Taurion and swung onto his back, all the while with Maubûrz in his sight. Narylfiel was safe, and whatever wicked designs this man had on her, he would end it today. Thranduil would see it done.
"Be careful!" Narylfiel called behind her, but her words fell short in the terrible roar of battle, legions of swords hacking, scraping, of the dead and dying, of brave elves and fell beasts giving their last.
She could only watch in a few backward glances as the Elvenking and the Easterling prince raced toward one another with weapons in hand, malice in Maubûrz's dark eyes, and the promise of merciless vengeance in Thranduil's. Maubûrz shouted in his native tongue, his dark horse's coat gleaming in the late light, the burnished gold of the man's armor accenting the power in his chest and shoulders.
Thranduil had only one thought, to destroy this man, this menace to his queen's safety. It had been a long time since Thranduil felt his blood sing for another's death, and he would not be satisfied until he watched the life drain from Maubûrz's dark eyes as his body collapsed onto the field.
Thranduil gripped his sword more tightly as Taurion tossed another slew of goblins to the side; Maubûrz and his warriors were less than twenty yards away.
Then at the last possible moment, Maubûrz veered to the left, purposefully evading the Elvenking, giving him a wide berth as he sailed past Thranduil, a mocking grin upon the man's face and a hungry wild light in his eyes.
Maubûrz headed for Narylfiel.
Thranduil watched aghast, pulling up on Taurion, eager to change directions to give chase when he heard a low rumble behind him. Then the whole world seemed to turn on its end in one violent stroke. Taurion flew out beneath him in a crimson halo, and Thranduil hit the ground hard, rolling a few feet away. When he regained his balance and stood, turning to see what befell his elk, the Elvenking's eyes met two enormous claw-toed leathery feet standing but a few feet away from him.
It was a troll, a hideous troll with enormous and cruel maces and chains in the place of hands.
Thranduil's mind barely had time to register the fact before the troll lifted and swung its powerful arms, the chains snapping through the air and the barbs hurtling toward the elf.
Leaping to the side, Thranduil dodged the barbs, and for a second, his eyes drifted down field where Maubûrz gave chase to Narylfiel and her guards. He did not have time for this. If Maurburz reached Narylfiel—Thranduil's eyes searched the field for Taurion, but his elk lay huddled and broken against a growing pile of the dead.
The troll roared and swung his arms and chains once more, and this time, Thranduil neatly side stepped the barbed end, waiting for it to bury itself in the earth, and then he nimbly ran up the chain and onto the troll's arm, then his shoulders. He wanted to kill it then, not only for wounding Taurion, but also because it was a vile creature.
But he supposed even vile, horrid creatures can have their uses, and Thranduil planted his sword firmly into the back of the troll's neck and yanked it toward him. The troll lumbered forward. Then Thranduil tugged his sword to the left, and the troll veered to his left. In this way, the Elvenking rode a troll, lumbering, crashing, crushing orcs and goblins alike toward Maubûrz's path.
Meanwhile, Narylfiel heeded her king's command and headed for the trees. Fire spread through the higher branches, fueled by the wind and heat. She paused at the tree line, just long enough for Elfir, Melui, and the other two guards to catch up to her. Elfir gestured wildly for her to keep moving, and she was about to protest when she caught sight of the line of Easterling riders plowing through the orcs, heading straight toward her. Maubûrz led them.
In the split second of recognizing Maubûrz, Narylfiel commanded her horse to run, to fly. She was a wood elf, of course, and knew best how to navigate through the forest, and any horse bred by the woodelves was nimble and sure-footed even on the trickiest of forest paths. Both of these things naturally worked in the queen's favor, but what she had not considered, nor in fact had the king, was the possibility of the forest fire causing many of its woodland inhabitants to flee.
Including the spiders.
Just as Narylfiel congratulated herself on losing Maubûrz and his warriors, she rode straight into a horde of fleeing spiders. Her horse startled, and Narylfiel leapt onto a low hanging branch to escape being thrown. The frightened horse bolted through the woods, and Narylfiel honestly could not fault the mare for doing so. A dozen or so of the largest spiders she had seen in a very long time surrounded her. How did that saying go? 'Out of the frying pan…'
She scarcely had time to think of it, for the sound of metal clashing broke the silence of all those dark, beady eyes staring up at her. Melui and Elfir! She heard shouting in the Easterling tongue, and the spiders started to move in their direction, hoping for easier prey, no doubt! She pulled herself up on the branch, balancing carefully as she did so. Oh, what she wouldn't give for a bow and a dozen arrows right about now!
"Elfir, Melui!" she called, hoping her voice could be heard over the din of battle. "Spiders! Watch out for spiders!"
And then a completely different voice answered. "Save your voice for later, my Azirakul."
Maubûrz.
Narylfiel's stomach tightened in a dreadful combination of loathing and fear as she watched him ride into view.
"I had the clever idea of circling around from my men to see if I might find you hiding," said Maubûrz, smiling up at her. "And here you are! What were you yelling about in that language of yours?"
Narylfiel stilled, her hands desperately wanting to go for her knife. He was not close enough to be in any sort of killing range. She cleared her throat, willing him to move closer. "Spiders," she said.
"Spiders!" Maubûrz exclaimed and laughed. "A seasoned warrior afraid of spiders?"
Just then a tortured sounding howl rose the trees behind Narylfiel. A horse screamed, and then a man screamed again, followed by a sickening crunch.
Maubûrz frowned, and his eyes darted nervously toward the forest floor.
"Big spiders," she clarified. "You should leave." Narylfiel stayed on her branch. With any luck, the spiders would catch and eat Maubûrz too.
The Easterling man tightened his grip on his reins. "I think not. Your elvenking is dead, Narylfiel. Bludgeoned to death by a troll—" the man's voice stopped mid-sentence and his face paled as an enormous shadow crossed it. "Troll!" he screamed and kicked his horse's flanks to make him run.
Narylfiel spun on her tree branch to see a large mountain troll lumber through the trees behind her, and much to her disbelief, her husband rode atop its shoulders, prodding the creature to move with his sword stuck in the back of his neck. Thranduil's keen eyes caught sight of Maubûrz fleeing, and decided he had enough of troll-wrangling. He neatly flipped down from the creature's back, delivering a killing slice to the thick meaty part of the troll's neck on his way down. The troll swayed on its feet and then fell with a terrific crash between the trees. Thranduil caught the reins of one of the Easterling men's surviving horses, and raced after Maubûrz through the woods in deadly pursuit.
Seeing Melui and Elfir, Narylfiel slid down from the branch, careful to avoid stepping on any troll parts.. The other two elven guards chased after the remaining Easterlings, and her friends had easily finished off the worst of the spiders, of course, not before several of Maubûrz's men and been attacked and partially consumed.
"Did you just see that?" exclaimed Narylfiel.
"Which part?" asked Melui, prodding the troll with the toe of her boot. "The part where our Elvenking just crashed into the woods riding a troll or the part where that cowardly dog Maubûrz screamed and ran away?"
"Both, I think," said Narylfiel, noticing Elfir favoring his left side. "What happened?"
"Minor injury," he scoffed.
"What about Thranduil?" she said worriedly. "Are you going to go after him?"
"We're not leaving your side, your highness," Melui said firmly. "And Elfir is injured."
"Hardly," Elfir protested with a grimace. "But in this case, I do not believe King Thranduil needs or requires our assistance."
In truth, Narylfiel and her guards would never have caught up to Thranduil, however much she might have wished it. The Elvenking and his Easterling horse flew after Maubûrz who rode as if the very hounds of Morgoth were hot on his heels.
In his craze to escape the Elvenking's pursuit, the man fled into the thick of the woods where the fires burned the hottest. The heat was unbearable, and the tops of the trees blazed like torches. Fire thundered, roared through the branches, sending hot ash and sparks and burning limbs hurtling down to the earth below, and Thranduil slowed his horse from its gallop. Maubûrz was nowhere to be seen. The smoke and ash were thick enough that the man might have cover to hide, and as Thranduil's eyes searched the gloom before him, a large black war-horse tore out of the smoke and trees and crashed past him on a wild tear. Maubûrz's mount, and it was riderless.
Thranduil slid from his horse, whispered a few soft words of comfort to him and released him, drawing his long silver blade like an oath.
He moved through the smoke and fire and trees noiselessly, his sharp eyes scouring the haze for any sign of his enemy, until he sensed a slight change in the air behind him. Thranduil turned quickly, slicing through the air as he did so, and struck the broad blade in his enemy's hand.
Maubûrz leaned into the hilt of his sword, crossed against the elf's, testing the opponent's strength, his black eyes glittering as the fire danced above them. "Your forest will burn to the ground, Elvenking, and after I kill you, I'll go collect your queen."
Thranduil countered Maubûrz's resistance against his blade, pushing Maubûrz back and away, and the Easterling man stumbled. He recovered his footing and swung out quickly enough to defend himself against the quickness of the Elvenking's strikes.
For the time had passed for Thranduil to hold anything back. That night in the woods outside Dale, Thranduil had toyed with this man during their duel, curious about Maubûrz's claims of grand swordmaster tutelage in the Eastern kingdoms. He had not wanted to kill him then.
Now, on the other hand...Thranduil wanted this man dead, and he felt little need to draw out the ordeal. The swordsmanship of the Elves is a mighty thing to behold, and long had Thranduil perfected his craft. He moved in swiftly, a barrage of a quick strokes that had the man scrambling to defend himself against the onslaught of the Elvenking's long silver blade.
Thranduil laughed mirthlessly at the show of surprise on Maubûrz's face. "Have you forgotten the last time we dueled, Maubûrz?" he said in a low voice. "You will not kill me, and you will certainly never touch my wife again." And before the man could respond, Thranduil slashed his sword through the air with lightning precision, and Maubûrz howled and recoiled.
"My hand!" he screamed, pulling his arm tightly into his chest, clutching it with his other hand, hot and wet against his body. He stared in shock and disbelief.
The Elvenking had neatly sliced his hand off at the forearm.
Thranduil stepped forward, casually kicking to the side Maubûrz's sword, still clutched tightly in the man's severed hand.
Large white ashes floated down from the tree tops, falling like snow around the Elvenking as he crouched in front of the man before him. "Perhaps you mistook our grace and beauty for weakness, Maubûrz," Thranduil said softly, and his ageless eyes flicked up from where the man cradled his ruined arm against his body to meet the man's dark gaze. "But make no mistake of it, the woodelves of this realm are to be feared. We have been called 'more dangerous, less wise,' a saying I have found little reason to discourage."
"Fear you? Pah!" Maubûrz spat out the words defiantly. "You are weak," he said, though his eyes were hot with pain. "You could have killed me the first time we fought. You didn't. And now you won't—" his rasping voice ended in a gurgle as Thranduil pulled his knife and easily cut the man's throat.
He watched the light die in the man's eyes and grimly wiped his wet blade clean against Maubûrz's shoulder and sheathed it. Then he stood quickly, well remembering that the forest burned all around him, and strode quickly toward the path he had taken earlier. A fallen log consumed by flames effectively blocked his way. Thranduil took a few steps back, wondering if he could run and hurdle it. But not knowing what awaited him on the other side could be just as deadly as hesitating now. Flames raged all around him, the smoke, thick with ash, burned his nose and throat.
Thranduil reached back and pulled his long gray cloak up over his shoulders, wrapping it in a fashion like a hood atop his head, swooping it across to shield his mouth and nose from the smoke.
He prayed a prayer to the Valar for his safety, for his kingdom's safety, for Narylfiel.
And then, summoning all his speed, all his strength, he began to run.
Author's note: Whew. I'm worn out from all that.
Thranduil: You're worn out? I just Übered with a Troll! #WorstRideEver #TaurionRIP
Will Thranduil make it out of the fire unscathed? And please let me know what you thought of Maubûrz's demise, Thranduil's troll ride, and that reunion mid-battle kiss!
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