Thranduil sat in his tent, his lips soaked in a goblet of wine. Gandalf paced before him as he sipped.
"If what you say is true, Mithrandir, the orcs will be upon us soon."
"You appear unconcerned," the wizard snapped.
"I have my people behind me and fire before me," Thranduil answered, playing with a vine of flame. "My sons and Raileen—" he gestured to the air bender— "with the aid of the dwarves will be enough to meet any army headway."
"There are legions!" Gandalf shouted. "Wine dulls your senses!"
"There really is no need to shout," Thranduil objected.
Raileen chuckled from his seat on a low stool, the sleeves of his green tunic falling back to his elbows as he rested them on his knees. The air bender blew a tangle of red hair from his face. "Wine is Thranduil's friend, Gandalf, and dares not dull him."
"Mirkwood is secure in the hands of my wife, Mykar and Legolas," Thranduil said. He smiled. "With Ciran and Ellhamier to further watch over it and us here to send the orcs packing, what could happen?"
Thorin glared at the identical faces staring up into his before he allowed himself a smile.
"Indeed, my cousin Dain marches forth," he said. "We will need him if Gandalf is not rambling for once."
"Wizards may be extraordinary, but we have never known one to lie," Brenen said. "Legions of orcs—I like the sound of it."
"Legions are not a joke," Realn admonished.
Thorin glanced up at the place above his throne with a small sigh as the brothers bickered. The Arkenstone—it should be there to twinkle down at him.
Realn noticed his face and said, "I am sorry it is lost."
Thorin patted the elf on the shoulder as he strode past, his cloak a symbol of how heavy his heart lay in his breast. "I am grateful for your uncle's searching of the bottom of the lake for the beast. I am baffled by Smaug's disappearance, to say the least."
"We all are," Brenen replied. He and his brother fell into step beside the dwarf king as Thorin made his way down from the high levels of Erebor to the base of the mountain, where his party gathered.
"Ada thinks it may be black magic," Realn said. "It would take great power to make the dragon and the Arkenstone vanish. Great power."
Thorin shook his head, unused to hearing the king of Mirkwood referred to as a simple "ada". "I do not care for black magic."
"Neither do we," Brenen agreed. He grinned. "Come now, king under the Mountain, it is time for your next bending session. I found your showing against Smaug sad really."
"I will be wiping that smirk off your face, as sure as Durin's beard," Thorin growled. "I will not have you forget I saved your life!"
Legolas squinted at the sky as he hovered above the bending branches of the trees. Mirkwood lay cold and desolate at the heart of autumn, leaves blown mercilessly across the ground while wind hammered at windows, begging admittance.
The window of his father's office would be locked but Mykar would be at the desk.
The thought of desks made him remember why he was here. He moved past the tree line and swept his eyes over the crumbling stairs and twisted bits of metal. An old human fortress had once occupied the land, until orcs had driven them out. The orcs were gone, courtesy of an old and bloody elven war, but scouts had reported movement among the area.
Legolas saw no light at the misshapen windows. No sound echoed among the fallen rock. He turned to leave and glimpsed bones in the courtyard; white bones long and thick of size, rotting flesh attached to the infected tissues and muscle remnants of the corpse.
Legolas shivered, pitying the victim, and thrust himself into the wind, flying homeward. By the time he reached it, two days later, he was glad to drop onto the strong boughs making the roof of the palace. In summer, the vines snaking through made a canvas dotted with honeysuckle but now the vines lay black.
The elf coasted down and landed outside the doors to his home, nodding to the guards as he passed through the gates and into the palace. Out of habit, he headed for the throne, then remembered Thranduil no longer sat there, and turned his feet toward the office.
The Prince of Mirkwood left behind the open section of the palace and exchanged the flat boughs for halls of smooth wood. Mykar looked up from the King's great desk as Legolas invaded the office. Cinwe stood behind him.
Legolas paused; aware an argument was in full sway. As Mykar said his piece and Cinwe retired with a smile to offer him a hug, Mykar cleared his throat and straightened from his slouch.
"There is nothing in Dol Guldor but bones," Legolas said, cutting off Mykar's coarse demand for a report.
"You must watch your tone, dear," Cinwe exclaimed. "I understand this is your first time bearing up the mantle of Mirkwood, and I am sure you are nervous, but you must remember this is your brother you speak to."
Mykar said, "Ahem! I shall send Ellhamier to destroy the place. The fewer crumbling ruins in Mirkwood the better."
The door opened again, and an elf entered, blue-green hair floating around his shoulders as if water played with the tresses. Clothed in blue and white, he stopped to bow over Cinwe's hand before faced Mykar.
"Muinda Ciran," Mykar greeted. "What news from Erebor."
"Neither Smaug nor the Arkenstone can be found at the bottom of the lake. I searched and turned up nothing. Erebor's throne is no longer empty."
The water-bender turned to Cinwe and added, "Thranduil sends his love."
"You need not tell me, Ciran, I feel it."
Ciran leaned his palms on the desk. "Gandalf reports an army led by Azog marches on the Mountain. Thranduil says to defend it. We feel as if black magic accounts for Smaug's disappearance. There is caution in the wind."
"We shall double all the watches," Cinwe said. She took Ciran's arm. "Come now, Ciran, you have a son to see."
Mykar folded his arms as his mother and uncle glided from the room, two tall and graceful figures. He glared at Legolas as he realized his brother was smirking.
"Mothers," he grumbled and turned to blaze at Legolas, "As for you, hear the voice of your King and descent to order the watch doubled! I will not have you leering at me while I try to work."
Legolas grinned. "Ada would never speak to me so." He slammed the door with a kiss before Mykar could blow fire his way.
Six elves sat around a small fire. If they were nervous being close to Ungol, the fortress of Legolas's exploration, their body language showed nothing but ease.
Rita looked up at the dark wall as she chewed the last bits off a bone and chucked it into the trees behind her. She pulled off her gloves and smoothed her hair. "It looks like another clear night."
"I do not know myself how much experience King Thranduil's appointed heir has," Tial chuckled. "I rather think he is being overly cautious but who are we to object when Legolas comes boiling down and orders us all off?"
"That is Prince Legolas to you," Chei admonished.
"There is good reason for caution," Rita said, the twinkle never leaving her eyes. "We may be young, but war is not to be taken lightly. Show respect for your King!"
"I have never done otherwise," Tial said, winking at her.
At that moment a roar from within the fortress sent bats fleeing from the towers and stone crashing into the trees. Silence fell, pretending as if the noise was a dream.
Rita leapt to her feet, dousing the fire with the dirt waiting on hand and stared up at the wall. Her eyes reflected what she saw as a gleaming star rose above the stone, its light and color unequaled by even the sky. Yet, as she watched, veins of darkness threaded through the light and turned the purity into foul.
The towers fell apart and rained down stone on the tree line. Branches cracked as a storm filled the heavy air. The stars were blocked out as the shadow rose, gliding above Ungol. It circled, the jewel gleaming dull, and the stench of rotting flesh beat down on the crouched elves. Its bat-like wings were riddled with holes while bones made its body, devoid of all but a few maggot infested bits of flesh. The stars shone through the hollowness of the living skeleton.
"Valar preserve us," Rita breathed. She knew there was no time to run before the beast swooped down on them and precious little time to send a warning to the King. She reached for a small slip of parchment and an ever ready pen.
Rita's fingers trembled as she scratched out a hasty message. Behind her, the beast dove toward them, like an arrow from an invisible bowstring. She fumbled to attach the message to her companion messenger squirrel. The little animal skittered into the woods as Rita turned with a sigh of relief.
The squirrel paused and looked back. A flash of blue light lit up the night. He whimpered. The elves had taken their loyalty with them to the grave.
And so it begins.
Much thanks for your kind comments and support; thinking of you always encourages me to write a few words each day.
Next Chapter: The horizon burns.