Sky sniffled, then glanced over to make sure the tiny sound hadn't startled Thranduil. He was still fast asleep, and thank goodness; he didn't need any more reasons to keep her out of the fight.
But he would notice eventually if she stayed there; he'd feel the way she was shaking, if nothing else. She slipped out of bed, pulling her cloak around her and leaving her crown behind, and went out into the not-quite-sleeping camp, trying to stay mostly unnoticed and to control her crying.
She went up to one specific tent and whistled softly, and after a moment, the entry flap drew aside. "Sky? What's wrong?"
Sky threw her arms around Kilvara, choking out the words, "I miss my baby..."
Her friend squeezed her tighter.
. . . . . .
"Shall I tell Taen we're moving out?" Storm asked Thranduil, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding mountains for any sign of the enemy. It was nearly dawn, and the army was assembling in the narrow valley where they'd camped for the night.
The king raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you ask for orders?"
"You're not trying to impress Silana, are you?" Sky added.
Storm snorted. "By being a good little soldier?"
"Love does strange things to people," she replied matter-of-factly.
Storm stuck his tongue out at her and turned to the she-elf next to him. "At least she likes you, I guess? Better than what your brother's doing."
"Feren likes you; he just feels like he's supposed to threaten you sometimes." Silana bumped against him playfully. "So, Thranduil, what am I supposed to tell my Ada?"
"Yes, we are ready to move out; tell him to wait until most of the orcs are drawn out into the open before he brings his force in."
Silana nodded and darted off, though not before teasingly reminding Storm to be careful.
"You be careful!" he yelled after her, sounding more like he was returning an insult than anything else.
Thranduil turned to his wife. "I do not suppose you would..."
She took his hand. "You know I can't stay behind, but I'll be right next to you the whole time."
Of course. He raised his hand and gave the army—only half, as Taensirion was taking the rest to surround the area where, thanks to their scouts, they knew a large group of orcs lay in wait—the order to march, wondering the whole time which of his subjects and friends would fall in battle today.
At least Eithryn would be close enough that he could defend her, if need be.
. . . . . .
Thranduil parried the weak thrust of the orc's sword, then stabbed straight for its heart, but before his blade could take the foul thing's life, an arrow flashed past inches away from his throat, burying itself in the orc's skull. "You missed!"
"I did not," Eithryn called without bothering to look. She loosed two arrows at once at a pair of orcs charging a trio of elves on the other side of the tall rock she was perched on.
"I meant you missed me," he grumbled, wiping orc blood off his sword. "Well, that is it for this area." All had gone well, and due to their careful planning, very few elves had been lost, just as with every one of the six days they had been waging this war of ambushes. He supposed that technically meant they were winning, but every time he saw another elf die...
Eithryn hopped down from her rock and zigzagged over, retrieving arrows from orc corpses. "You're bleeding."
"Where?" He searched for blood that was red instead of black or a spot that hurt worse than his numerous cuts from the previous days.
She poked him right on the tip of his nose, and her finger came away tinged red. "Right there."
He wrinkled his nose and found that it did indeed sting. "I wonder how that happened?"
"You ducked too slowly." She smirked. "I'd like to point out that you've already lost a lot more blood than I have." Indeed, she only had a scratch or two.
"Yes, and thank you for being careful." He much preferred it when she used her bow rather than her knife and sword. "Ah..."
She followed his gaze, then hurried to help the injured soldier as her friends tried to lift her to her feet. Thranduil followed.
"That doesn't look too bad," Sky told the bleeding elf encouragingly. "We'll get you to the healers, and they'll fix you up."
The elf managed a smile, although her teeth were gritted in pain.
"Come on," Sky urged, and they set off, surrounded by the other elves in their group. The queen soon drifted ahead, leaping up onto rocks and ledges as they crossed the uneven terrain.
Thranduil wondered what Legolas was doing right now. Did he still miss them? Was Galion telling him stories about the adventures they were going on?
A twang from up ahead caught his attention, followed by a sharp cry of pain. An elf lay prone on the ground, clutching her side, as orcs—hundreds of orcs!—charged down the right-hand slope toward them.
Thranduil cried out and drew his swords, trying at the same time to see which elf was hurt.
Twang. Twang. Arrows zipped past him—elven arrows, aimed straight at orcish hearts and skulls. "Thranduil! We can't fight that many!"
He almost gasped in relief as he spotted his wife, half-hidden in the jagged stones up ahead. The injured she-elf was the same one as before; the elf she was leaning on had tripped over a stone upon his shock at seeing the orcs, sending her tumbling to the ground. She appeared to be all right, but they had bigger problems. "Go! Go forward! Taensirion's group is up there somewhere!"
Another elf joined the injured elf and her helper, and between the two of them, they were able to move almost at a run; the others joined Eithryn in firing at the orcs, but their arrows hardly made a dent in the mob charging toward them. Thranduil cringed, realizing they were going to have to leave the injured elf behind if they wanted to escape.
And then arrows started hitting the orcs from the side.
. . . . . .
"What have I told you about going off alone?! You are the king and queen, for goodness' sake! The one we captured said they were told to lie in wait for you specifically; what if we had not been nearby?"
Thranduil had never seen Taensirion so angry, and it rather unnerved him; he nodded meekly, as did Eithryn, though both were thinking that, technically, they had not been alone.
"You are the orcs' first targets," Taensirion continued. "By disabling you, they could disorganize our entire army! We lost our last king less than a century ago, and what about Legolas?! Would you have him become king so soon?"
Thranduil patted his hands in the air to calm his advisor before he could burst something (though the bit about Legolas did sting). "Yes, we understand. But have we gotten any information out of the orc concerning who is directing them?"
"No, and I do not think we are likely to." Taensirion took a deep breath. "Please do not go off like that again."
They both held up their hands in surrender.
"And this is what my childhood was like," said Feren, who, along with Felrion, Kilvara, Coryn, Silana, and a few others, was watching the scolding from a safe distance.
Taensirion snapped a warning glare on him.
Feren gulped and ducked his head submissively. "Sorry, Ada."
"Ahem. Kilvara," said Thranduil, trying to change the subject, "would you take a group of thirty or so to scout the area ahead while we finish sweeping what we covered today?"
"I would, but..." She indicated the bandage wrapped around her leg. "I'm afraid I'd slow them down."
"She should really wait a day or so," Felrion agreed nervously.
"I could go."
Everyone looked at Eithryn, and Thranduil's heart sank. Could he say no?
"I'll take Storm, if it makes you happy," she offered hopefully. "And it's not like the orcs would recognize me without my crown." She lifted the elegant, diamond-adorned object off her head. "It's not exactly practical for battle, anyway."
He bit his lip. It was only a scouting mission, mostly surveying the path ahead from territory they had already cleared out, and she might be even safer with her formidable brother beside her than with him; besides, she had humored him so far, but if he kept her cooped up for too much longer, she might explode. If only he was not so busy... "Take forty elves."
She gave him a peck on the lips. "Thank you."
Why did she have to be so adorable when he gave in to her requests? "Just be careful..."
"I will!" she called over her shoulder as she bounced off to assemble a patrol.
Storm started to follow her.
"Coryn!" Thranduil waved him back, and waited until his brother-in-law reached him; the Silvan elf had to tilt his head back a little to meet Thranduil's pale blue eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Promise me you will keep her safe."
"I will," Coryn assured him, the ghost of a smile on his face, as if he were remembering something Thranduil would not understand. "Nothing's going to happen to her, I promise."
An icy chill went down Thranduil's spine as he walked away, but he told himself he was being overprotective.
. . . . . .
"...and a peak that looks like a really squished mushroom," said Sky. "On a more interesting topic, Silana says that if you don't kiss her soon, she'll do it."
Storm's eyes didn't move an inch from the map their cartographer was sketching, but his face turned red.
"You should give her something," Sky suggested, leaning over the edge of the high cliff they were at to see if there were any dead orcs down there. "Like how Thranduil gave me this." She held up her left wrist, showing him the simple, worn copper bracelet she always wore, in which was embedded the emerald Thranduil had given her so long ago.
Storm ignored her.
She snickered. "Are we ready to head back when Isakian's done?" She nodded to the cartographer, who glanced up and smiled before going back to work.
"I think so."
. . . . . .
In the rocks nearby, a goblin sneered, revealing crooked, filthy teeth. It would be rewarded handsomely for finding the she-elf with the shiny bracelet and the hair that gleamed like metal.
. . . . . .
Sky was following along at the back of the group as they walked along a ridge, pretending she could see Greenwood in the distance, when she spotted elves fighting in the distance—they must have discovered a hidden batch of orcs—and among them were Taensirion and Thranduil. "Storm, I'm heading that way."
"Okay." There didn't seem to be any orcs between them and the skirmish, and she'd be fine once she was with Thranduil. "See you in a few minutes."
Sky skidded down the ridge and leapt from rock to rock, pulling out her bow as she hurried to join her husband. She was almost there when, skidding around a corner, she came face-to-face with a tall, black-robed figure, clearly not an elf. She'd barely noticed it before an arrow was flying at its spiked helmet...
...in which she couldn't see a face, just a black void. The arrow seemed to hover in midair, trembling as if held in a shaking hand before clattering to the hard stone.
"Dragonslayer," a dead voice rasped. "Killer of the wyrm Chysa, a valued servant of my master. How considerate of you to make such an easy target of yourself..."
The hairs on the back of Sky's neck stood straight up. This... thing was not natural. A servant of Sauron, it said...
Oh.
The wraith drifted toward her without further hesitation, a terrible flail clenched in one jagged gauntlet, the spiked head of which was far larger than Sky's own skull, and a tarnished sword in the other.
Sky drew her sword and long knife; she could only hope those blades would damage this horrid undead creature when her arrow had not. She could run... but did she dare lead this abomination straight to Thranduil? Could she outrun the monster?
Elves would die if she didn't defeat this creature, or at least seriously wound it. She knew what it—what he—was.
But surely it would gravely injure her in return. "Help me, Eru..." she whispered. Then, "THRANDUIL!" And she charged the wraith, hoping to damage it before her husband arrived... if he'd heard her.
It swung the great flail, letting out an awful laugh. Sky had to fall flat to the ground to avoid the weapon; she knew that if it hit her, she'd be dead.
The wraith thrust its sword at her, but she leapt straight up from the ground and backflipped, landing a few steps to the side; she struck with her sword, and the faceless thing parried. Her knife darted under its arm with snakelike speed, but the monster's flail came across, and she had to backpedal, leaping back in behind the deadly spiked ball, but its sword was there, blocking her strike—
She quickly grasped the creature's fighting strategy: lure her in, parry her blows, and sweep the flail across, hoping to crush her skull; it almost succeeded time after time, but she dodged by a hair's breadth again and again. As the minutes passed with neither queen nor undead king landing blows, it became clear that no one had heard Sky's shout over the sounds of their own battles. She was alone, unable to catch her breath to shout again; she knew the slightest hesitation would mean the end of the fight.
She had to win. For Legolas, for Thranduil, for Storm, for Kilvara and Felrion, for every soldier in this dark land and every elf waiting in Greenwood, she had to win.
It became a pattern—she moved in and struck, the wraith parried and swung the flail, she dodged and came in again, each of them at the edge of disaster at every moment. Over and over and over, modified here and there by some trick or another, but always following the same pattern. Strike, parry, swing, retreat.
Until Sky broke the rhythm. This time, instead of retreating, she went forward—springing up and over the wraith in the very same maneuver she'd once used to show a cocky young Sindar that Silvan elves weren't the naïve, helpless creatures he saw them as. Just as she had then, she flipped upside-down, this time driving her sword into the thing's shoulder, avoiding the helmet she might not be able to strike through.
The wraith shrieked, a more awful sound even than a dragon's roar, its sword-arm disabled.
And Sky screamed, hitting the ground hard as a blinding pain flared up her arm.
. . . . . .
The elves finishing off the orcs over the next ridge heard the keening of the wraith, but only their king recognized the source of the second sound.
. . . . . .
Sky staggered to her feet, clutching her arm as it spasmed, the veins turning black. Her sword lay under the wraith's booted feet, but a knife was still clutched in her hand.
The wraith hissed as it recovered, turning to face her. "You cannot win."
She spat at its face.
The monster swung the massive flail, and she leapt out of the way, but her balance was off, the curse stiffening her right arm; it clipped her and sent her spinning with a gash on her hip. She ran in behind the weapon anyway.
The fighting was desperate now, especially for Sky, who knew she only had so much time before pain and shock rendered her helpless. She was getting dizzy...
She realized she was flying before she ever felt the explosion in her side. She crashed to the ground, and the wraith stalked in, its flail wet with blood.
Sky clawed her way to her hands and knees and stayed there, trembling, one leg pulled forward as if to stand. The ground around her was slick with blood.
The wraith laughed and drew back its flail.
And Sky, with strength drawn from pure hate, shoved off the leg she'd coiled beneath her, slamming into the wraith and plunging her knife into its chest.
Another dreadful shriek, and the wraith was gone.
Sky fell limply onto the ground, staring up at her namesake as the world spun. There were patches of blue between the dark clouds, blue the color of Legolas's eyes...
Legolas. She'd promised him she would come back...
It took everything left in her broken body to roll over, but she reached one blackened hand out in front of her anyway, clutching the gravel and pushing weakly with her legs, dragging herself forward, inch by inch.
"Legolas..." she gasped.
She heard shouts. They were coming to help her! Thranduil would be here soon... he'd lift her in his strong arms and carry her to safety. She had to survive... she had to go home... she had to...
. . . . . .
Thranduil fell so many times in his mad rush to his wife's aid that his hands were bright red with blood, but he ran on, barely conscious of Taensirion trying to keep up with him. "EITHRYN!"
He saw a flash of green and raced toward it, his heart pounding so hard he wondered if it would burst out of his chest, and he found no enemies on the small patch of flat ground he stumbled into, just an unmoving, copper-haired form on the ground, covered in blood... so much blood...
NO!
His hands shook so badly he could hardly turn her over. Her green eyes stared back at him unseeingly. "No..." he breathed. "Eithryn, no..."
Someone was touching him, someone was speaking, but he noticed nothing until another green-and-copper shape stumbled to a stop. He looked up just long enough to see every last drop of blood drain from Coryn's face.
"Thranduil!"
He clutched Eithryn to him, feeling her shattered ribs shift under his hands. All his worst nightmares coming true at once... He did not hear the thunder of an untold number of orc boots approaching.
Taensirion did, and somehow the gray-eyed elf snapped himself out of his horror at seeing Thranduil cradling the shattered body of the queen. For the first time in his life, he gave his king a direct order. "Thranduil, come!" And, when Oropher's son did not seem to notice him, he pulled Eithryn's body out of his arms and started to drag his friend away, struggling to move him. "Coryn, Kilvara, help me! We will die if we stay!"
"What about—"
"LEAVE HER!" he barked, shoving Thranduil along—easier now that the shock was settling in.
And they did.
. . . . . .
The wraith watched from the mouth of a cave as his minions chased the elves back to their camp; the elves would leave, just as he had hoped, and would not bother him again for many years. The Witch-king needed that time to prepare.
Sauron would rise again, and his loyal servant would be ready.
. . . . . .
"Stay awake, Thranduil. Stay awake. Remember Legolas. Legolas needs you, Thranduil. Stay awake." Taensirion was no longer pulling his king along; he was half-carrying him. "Do not fade, Thranduil. Think of your son." He had seen elves fade before, and knew Thranduil was within inches of it.
Elves stared as they staggered into the camp. Healers were called, but Taensirion honestly expected Thranduil to collapse and die right there.
Coryn did not look much better, but somehow he had the presence of mind to choke out that they had to flee, and his voice must have penetrated through Thranduil's daze, because the king's eyes snapped open. "You," Thranduil snarled.
Coryn only stared at him.
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KEEP HER SAFE!" Thranduil whipped out his swords and leaped at Coryn with a sudden burst of energy.
The Silvan elf did not move, did not respond, even when Thranduil's blades came within inches of his face before Taensirion and Feren hauled him back.
"It was not his fault!" Taensirion told his friend, but he could not get his attention. "Thranduil!"
The king's eyes blazed. "IF YOU EVER SET FOOT IN GREENWOOD AGAIN—"
"Go," Taensirion begged Coryn, not sure how much longer they could hold on to the grief-maddened king.
Eithryn's brother nodded once and turned around to walk back the way they had come, his face blank.
"TRAITOR!" Thranduil screamed after him, before collapsing into Taensirion's arms. His skin was chilled and clammy.
"Stay awake..."
. . . . . .
"Storm!"
He stopped and turned. "Silana..."
She skidded to a stop, but then only stood there wordlessly. She was crying, just like everyone else.
"I'm leaving," Storm said finally.
She thought about asking him to take her with him, but could she really leave Greenwood?
He came so very close to asking her to come with him, but she belonged in the forest, not the wilds. Just like Sky.
They looked into each other's eyes and knew they were thinking along the same lines. Silana stepped forward, put her hands on Storm's shoulders, and brushed her lips against his; he pulled her a little closer.
Then she stepped back. "Goodbye." They both knew it was final.
He nodded and started off; she watched him go, and saw him look back, just once, and open his mouth like he wanted to say something.
He broke into a run instead.
. . . . . .
As the sun rose, Storm came to the crest of the last hill on the northern side of Angmar; in the distance was the Forodwaith, a perpetually frozen land. A good place for an outcast to live for a few years, perhaps, until he was ready to seek a new home.
His heart ached for Sky, and, of course, he would be sure to check on Legolas here and there, but beneath the grief, there was a sort of excitement.
He was free.
No, it's not over yet.