GRIMWINE swung his ax, slashing at anything that moved, making sure his brother kept pace.
"Fly! Fly!" the elf shouted as the flames spread through the tunnel with fearsome speed.
From somewhere the Easterling screamed. But Grimwine did not turn. The spiderlings were everywhere, and the creatures headed toward the opening just as he and his brother rushed to get there.
When he neared the entrance, Grimwine looked behind him.
The minstrel was dancing, each of his movements producing flames. Lithe and light-footed, he sprinted, skipped, and sailed through the air, deadly and graceful. With every swing of his sword, the spiderlings burned and fell.
And in a blink, the elf was before him.
"Let's go!"
They burst through the entrance to the pit.
"Don't let any of them escape," the minstrel roared as he scorched the entrance.
Grimwine looked up, fearful of the mother spider. How could she not awake after that ruckus at the pit? But the vast chamber was silent.
"Where's the spider?" Grimwine asked when he saw Kemik and his men approach.
The four men from the east jumped into the chaos, stamping out the spiderlings which escaped the fire and crawled out of the pit.
"Stop them. We must stop them all!" The elf cut down the spiderlings as more and more of them spewed out of the the underground chamber.
And behind the spiderlings, the fire that raged inside the pit burst out of the entrance. Red flames licked and flicked as they devoured like hungry beasts. It leaped onto the spider webs and sped over the lines, burning everything in its path into a fiery blaze.
Hundreds of spiderlings caught the flame even as they crawled out.
"We must get out before the fire destroys us all." Grimwine fanned away the smoke that filled the chamber. Heat seared his skin, the air becoming difficult to breathe.
"I must kill the mother. We cannot leave her alive," the elf said once he made sure every spiderlings caught the blaze. "Where is she?" He turned to Kemik.
"She ran like a shadow into one of the other tunnels, friend. Let's not remember about her. Let's leave today or we will all burn." Kemik gestured to his men who had been stomping on the spiderlings. They moved toward the way they came.
"Yeah, let us go. I don't feel very good." Grimshod teetered on his feet and Grimwine and Kemik grabbed Shoddy's arms to steady him.
The minstrel hesitated, but he turned away toward the other tunnel.
"You go ahead. I must find and rid of her first. Spiderlings may be gone, but as long as she lives, she will make more of them."
Kemik blocked the minstrel. "Friend, you said you come with us if we help you with the spider's eggs. We did that. It is time to go."
"We will not get another chance to get rid of her. Do you not understand, mortal? I see it. If we let her live today, she will be a dark sentry on this path for thousands of years."
The fire raged, but Grimwine felt a chill that ran down the back of his neck like a cold blade on skin. He did not understand, but something told him the elf saw what they could not see.
Kemik's face darkened. "Honor your word, friend."
The minstrel shook his head. "I will keep my word. But for now, I must go." He turned away from them.
But before the minstrel could sprint away, Kemik's hand flashed.
Grimwine watched horrified as the elf crumbled to the floor.
"What did you do? Why?"
"My master's orders." Kemik took a gold bracelet from his inner pocket, like the one he wore, and placed it on the fallen elf's wrist.
THRANDUIL blinked.
The sword flashed and whistled as it struck a single, wide arc. Blood, redder than the Autumn wine, sprayed over the green grass as her arms slackened her hold on him.
"Mother?" The word throbbed as it spurted out of his mouth. He held out his hands, but she was falling, her golden head glimmering.
He could not hold her. He could not look away as she held his eyes, her face as white as the moon, her smile gentle and full of love.
She whispered, "Arantaur. Á kuita, yonya."
"Mother!"
Someone was screaming. Was it him? Thranduil could not tell. His heart shattered like a glass vase smashed against a granite floor. He prayed for those pieces to turn to dust. If nothing was left of his heart, he would not feel. And he did not want to feel.
Live, my son. Her last words, the words he had buried deep inside, whispered like a wind in the wide wailing woods.
Thranduil's chest tightened painfully as the surrounding darkness surged and reached for him. He shook his head. Part of him wanted to be caught in its grasp, to be torn into pieces. But his mother's words whispered again.
Live, my son.
Thranduil gasped. This pain would never lessen, would never go away.
Stray sunlight from somewhere lit up the room. Thranduil squeezed his eyes tightly and turned away from the light. A groan escaped his lips as pain thudded in his head, asserting into his awareness.
A gentle touch. Fingers light as a kiss of a butterfly skimmed over the painful throb on his head. Warmth filled him as the pain subsided.
"Mother?"
His throat scratched, his lips parched like the dried winter leaves left to wither. And even as he called for her, Thranduil knew she was not there. She was far away now, in the land of the Valar, behind the doors of Mandos. Part of him knew that, but he still wished. There was so much he had not said to his mother, all the words he did not have time to say. But the figure moved away.
Time flowed like water, transient and endless at the same time.
His mother came to him with a bowl of clear water, and Thranduil drank and quenched his thirst.
Wake now. Someone spoke, but it was not his mother's voice.
Thranduil struggled to open his eyes. His lids pressed down on him like boulders on a hillside. But he struggled to open them. When he managed, another groan escaped his lips. His head pounded. He moved his hand to touch his forehead but found that he could not move them.
Squinting, Thranduil pulled at his hands, but something held them firmly. He turned to look and found he was bound to a tree trunk. And while the rope that bound him to the tree was thick and rough, another, more delicate rope held his wrists and palms together in a tight bind.
Thranduil tried to pull away from the ropes, but he was bound from the shoulders all the way to his waist, making it impossible for him to move.
"Let me go," Thranduil whispered to the tree that held him, but the tree trembled. It felt terrible, but it couldn't do anything about the ropes.
Thranduil knew the tree could do nothing. There was a limit to what a tree could do, even if it wanted to do so.
"What the hell is happening?" Thranduil murmured.
His mouth was dry, and there was a strange taste on his tongue. Willing his foggy mind to wake, the Sinda studied the area. He was inside a rectangular chamber where three sides were made of stone. The stone walls were hewn, too smooth and too perfect to be natural. The pine onto which he was tied was a tall tree whose roots bore through the stone walls. Its twisted roots dug into the ground and ran down to his right which was open to the forest.
Bright light intermingled with mists. It was morning outside. Thranduil could see tops of trees which meant the open side was a cliff. High above, twice his height from where Thranduil sat on the ground, the tree's thick branches overlapped to form a ceiling, blocking out most of the light except occasional shafts of light through the dense foliage. And where the lights touched, the ground was overgrown with nameless plants.
He could not tell where he was or how long he had been down here. One thing was certain. If it was two days later, Aron and Durion would come looking for him. And if they were on his trail, they would find him.
Calmer now, Thranduil listened. From above him came the sound of someone sharpening an iron against a stone. And there were at least two other people. They were lightly dressed because they were almost silent. It was only through the tree that Thranduil could feel them. Whoever they were, he did not know why they had captured him. He had arrived in the Greenwoods less than a year ago and had remained quiet at Amon Lanc.
He rubbed his right boot against the floor, then scoffed, more out of relief than anything else. They had taken his double daggers, but they had missed the knife he carried in his boots for an emergency. Sloppy work on their part, but a blessing to him.
He drew his legs toward him. But he realized it was useless. He was tied so tightly, he could not bend. And his hands were tied together like a useless lump.
Sloppy they may be, but not stupid. Why did these things happen to him? Why now when he had so precious few days to himself? Why couldn't the Valar leave him be?
Thranduil grumbled and thought back to the last thing he remembered.
There was a woman. She threw him a pouch with a strange powder.
Thranduil closed his eyes, trying to remember the details. There was something familiar in the minty, herbal scent. It reminded him of the incident with Elrond when they first ventured into Eriador to look for the tree herders. He was certain it was the same herb. Perhaps that was what triggered his dream. He had not dreamt of his mother or brother since he arrived in the forest.
The woman must know something about the herbs. But who was she? He had been careless because she seemed familiar. He should have known better than to let down his guard. But it was too late to regret it.
Someone moved the branches of the tree overhead, and bright sunlight poured from above. Thranduil turned away from the brightness. When his sight adjusted to the light, he looked up. Two dark shapes looked down.
"Oh, lookee, he wakee wakee." A heavily exaggerated voice spoke.
"Time to cook him, yes?" another asked. This one sounded female, although Thranduil wasn't certain. She sounded as if her nose was clogged and she could barely breathe.
Behind them, a third person came to the edge brandishing a long knife.
"Knife sharp and ready?" the Exaggerated Voice turned to the one with the knife.
"Uga uga. Yeesss. We Orcs likes some Elf-flesh."
Uga uga?
Thranduil squinted up at them, but the sunlight was too strong. All he could see were three shadows.
"Which part first? His precious hands? Or that sleek tongue of his?" Clogged Nose asked.
"Uga uga. Let's cut his evil tongue. Yes. The tongue" said the Exaggerated Voice.
The Knife Wielder swished the knife around.
"What say you, Elf?" the Clogged Nose asked.
"Come down and we'll talk. You can't cut me from up there, can you?"
The two figures looked at each other.
"He not know he in trouble," Exaggerated Voice said.
"Trouble? Oh, I must disagree. Ask anyone. I know trouble."
"We Orcs!" the Knife Wielder looked down at Thranduil as if the Sinda had not heard.
"And? You still have to come down here to cut me." Thranduil turned away with a sneer. "Come down here. Or, are you afraid, little Orcs?"
The Exaggerated Voice growled. "We not 'little.'"
"Don't!" the Clogged Nose reached out to stop the first one, but Exaggerated Voice dropped from above, landing lightly a few feet from Thranduil.
The shadow lay about him, his head covered in a sort of helmet with what looked like bones hanging from it. He held a wooden club, covered in armor made of bones or what made to look like it.
"People call me Trouble. What are you called?" Thranduil grinned ear to ear.
Exaggerated Voice raised his club and flourished it about him. "Club to Knock You Out, that's what."
Clogged Nose jumped down. "Beating him won't help," she said to the Exaggerated Voice. "
The third one dropped down, and the three of them held their hands, chanting. But they were not powerful enough. Thranduil threw down the veil of their spells and laid bare their disguise.
Before him stood a lanky elf and two elf-women, one taller and the other shorter than the rest. All three of them wore forest green hunter's leathers. And over that, they had a gray hood over their heads, their faces in shadow.
"How long did you think to fool me? Did you truly think your illusions are powerful enough to blind me?" It was obvious these Elves knew nothing about what the Orcs were truly like.
"What do we do now?" the shortest one whispered to the Clogged Nose.
"You are bolder than we gave you credit," Clogged Nose said. Her voice changed in cadence and clarity to that of a thrush and oddly familiar.
"You three are in a lot of trouble. Now get me out of this." Thranduil looked down at his ropes.
Both turned to the taller of the two women.
"We are not done with you, yet." The taller woman shook her head.
"But Ti…" the shorter one stopped talking as the taller one raised her hand.
"I don't know what are the rules of your people, but among mine, abducting and imprisoning people against their will are serious offenses."
"Among mine, making false promises to young ladies and turning her away from her betrothed will do as well."
"How is that an offense? When is anyone allowed to interfere in the matters of hearts? And even if it was so, what is that got to do with me?"
"You… you bag of weeds and useless briar. You vile creeper that chokes other plants. You spewed your foreign nonsense into her head and changed her. We don't want your kind here In our forest. Go back where you came from." The Elf youth took a step toward Thranduil, his hands fisted.
The taller woman stopped him.
"We have witnesses who heard you laugh with your Sindarin friends, talking about how naïve she is after you convinced her to break the betrothal. Then you dared to seduce her sister afterward, going as far as to propose to her. I don't know how Sindar are supposed to behave, but such behavior is considered base in ours."
"It sounds to me the real problem is the fickleness of the elleth in question." Thranduil shrugged. "But as I said, none of that is to do with me."
"How dare you lie so blatantly to my face?" The woman held her head high like a queen.
Thranduil felt his hairs rise. "Do not call me a liar, woman. I am a lot of things, but a liar, I am not."
"Oh, no? Tathari confided to me, that you two exchanged rings, that you have asked her to go away with her. Will you deny it?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about. I have never asked anyone to marry me. Ever."
"So, it is true. You propose then you pretend it never happened." The shorter woman said, sounding as if she could not believe what she heard.
"I think," Thranduil took in a long breath to calm himself, "you have mistaken me for someone else."
"Oh no, Master Tharanduilin. I know exactly who you are."
"You think I am the minstrel? Me? Elbereth, help me. Where do I look like the bard to you?"
"We all saw you when you were singing at your camp. We were all there." The girl gestured toward others.
"Ah, so it is true that Silvans are blind as a bat. You can't tell one Sinda from another. Why does that not surprise me?"
"You are even worse of a person than I thought you were at first. We saw you from far, but I went to your tent to make sure."
The shorter woman grabbed the taller one. "Don't reveal yourself."
"I am not letting him get away with lies." The taller woman took off her hood. "You remember me?"
She was taller than the other woman, but she was an average Silvan. She was past her majority, but too young to have passed a century in age.
"Should I? You look like any typical Wood-elf. Nothing special about you. Well, except that you are trying to hide that streak of white hair under the pile of dark ones."
The girl flushed red as she pushed the white strands into the plaits in her hair.
"You worse than I heard about," the shorter woman said, pointing a finger at him. "Puck right, my lady. We should let them take him. He no good. We not change him. He not sorry."
"Listen to her," the youth said to the young woman. "He rotten. Not good for our forest. We give him to them."
"We will do no such thing. He may be a foreigner, but he is still one of our kin. He is our problem, not theirs."
"Look here, elflings. I don't want to interrupt your dribbling, but you have the wrong person. And let me remind you that what you are doing, no matter who I am, is unlawful and punishable."
"You are stubborn as you are terrible," the girl said. "I was the one who came by your tent. Remember now? You tried to seduce me. Will you deny it, Master Tharanduilin?"
Thranduil cursed under his breath.
"Look, that wasn't me. I mean, it was me, but I am not the minstrel."
"Oh, so you just happened to be at the minstrel's tent when I came by? "
"I…It's a long story."
"We have time." She crossed her arms. "You are not going anywhere."
"I know it sounds like a lot of coincidences, but I swear to you I am not who you think I am."
"You even gave me this." She took out a harp from under her cape and waved it in front of Thranduil. "You remember now? You were playing it when I was outside your tent."
"Yes, I remember." Thranduil let out a long sigh. "But that does not belong to me. You see, I was just there at his tent to avoid something."
"And you just happen to walk in, pick up the harp and play it just as I got to the tent?"
"Ye-ah. That is exactly what happened. Sometimes coincidences happen for reasons we cannot fathom."
"Really? Oh, of course. And I am the Queen of Greenwoods."
"Well, Your Majesty, you have the wrong elf." Thranduil smoothed his voice, trying his best to sound sincere. "I demand justice and freedom."
"Do you not see?" the Elf called Puck said. "See how well he wags his tongue. It no wonder Tathari became deceived."
"Your problem, Puck, if that is your real name, is that you don't want to admit that your beloved had a change of heart. It happens, elfling. Read the unfortunate story of Lady Finduilas. Oh, sorry. You Silvans do not read. Hmmm. I know it must feel terrible that she found someone she likes better, but you must move on, little one."
"She not like that. And who you calling little?" The elf's fist flew at Thranduil, but as sitting as he was, Thranduil dodged.
"Aw!" the young Elf screamed as his fist struck the tree behind Thranduil.
"If you don't know how to punch, you should not strike," Thranduil scoffed.
"You bag of rotten weeds!" The young elf would have swung again, but the young woman stepped in front of Thranduil.
"Beating him will not change anything."
"He doesn't deserve to be here. He doesn't deserve her. Or this forest."
"Better listen to her, lad. While you keep me here, the real minstrel would be with your beloved, whisking her away. Is that what you want? Go check for yourself, then you'll know that I am not he."
The youth's breath was rough, his fists trembling and turning white. But he turned and climbed out of the chamber.
""I am going to go check on Tathari." Once on the upper ground, he looked down at Thranduil. "But, you, you don't deserve to be here whether or not you minstrel. I make sure you not here."
"Wait, come back," the girl called after him, but he was gone.
"Nell…" the young woman looked at the shorter woman. "He is not himself."
"Nah. He won't. Would he?" the other woman asked.
"You are faster than I am. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Please, Nell."
"But…" the shorter woman turned to Thranduil. "I can't leave you here alone with him. It's not proper. And he…."
"He's restrained. There's nothing he can do to me. Go now. Take that other route. He doesn't know that one. And if we took the wrong person… just go and make sure. Just come back soon."
"But…" The shorter woman hesitated, then moved closer to Thranduil. "If you dare even lay one finger on…"
"Nell!"
The shorter woman climbed up the tree like a squirrel and was gone before Thranduil could even open his mouth."
"You believe me now?"
"No. I don't believe in coincidences. But, it wouldn't hurt to make sure."
"Which you should have done before abducting me."
"I don't know about you, but you fit every description we have of you."
"Like what?"
"That you are white-haired."
"There are at least a dozen more Sindar who fit that. And my hair is yellow."
"It looks white to me. I know it can look golden at times. I saw it. And he is supposed to be tall."
"Most Sindar are. Only Wood-elves are short."
The girl rolled her eyes but continued as if Thranduil did not speak. "You sing, of course, and play the harp, is beautiful of face and form… at least that is what they say."
"Beautiful of face and form? That is true. At least, more so than others."
"And extremely conceited." The girl frowned.
"Just speaking the truth."
"They say you have a tongue of gold, but I think they meant tongue of thorns. I have never met one who grates on one's nerve as much as you. You bring out people's bad side."
"That is true, too."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you so twisted? You can't seem to say anything nice. I have met other Sindar. Not all of them are as bad as Puck says. Some are very noble and well-mannered. But like many of you, you think you are better than us."
"We are better."
"In what way? Because you know more? Because you come from a more advanced society? How does that make you better? Your kingdom fell while ours flourished. You are immigrants in our land. We welcomed you out of grace of our hearts, yet you act as if this land always belonged to you. How does that make you different from the Noldor, the ones Sindar complaint about constantly?"
"What do you know about Noldor? Don't talk about matters you know nothing about, little girl."
"There you go again, assuming we know nothing. Unlike the way you think, I have read and I have been taught. Not all of us are as ignorant of the world as you think us. I know that Noldor are more educated about things in the world than the Sindar; they are from a far better and advanced society than all the Sindar combined. And they came into your land and took over and ruled over it, making you feel like the second citizens in the land that was once yours. But is that not what Sindar are doing to us? What you hated, you are doing it to others. I think that is even worse. You hated it when others treated you unfairly, yet you do that to those who you think are lesser than you. How does that make you better?"
The sting of her words struck deeply, and for a moment, Thranduil could say nothing. For a long while, silence spread through the chamber. The young woman sat down at the end of the tree root where the chamber was open to a cliff, her back to him.
Thranduil thought back to the many times when Noldor angered him. How unfair he felt they were. How many times did the Noldor underestimate him, thought him lesser? He remembered how angry and bitter he felt, and he was sorry that he made someone else feel what he had felt then.
Prejudice was like an old habit. Unless you are diligent and vigilant, it crept into you unaware and became something you did without thinking, even as you lie to yourself that you are not like that.
Thranduil chewed his lips and glanced at the young woman's back.
"You are right. It does not make us better."
The young woman turned to him. She tilted her head and looked at him silently for a while before she spoke. "My grandfather said we all make mistakes, but a wise one acknowledges and remedies while a fool blames and repeats. Perhaps you are not a fool."
But before Thranduil could respond, he felt a movement from above.
"Several people are coming this way. Heavily armed. Are you expecting a company?"
The girl rounded her eyes and shook her head.
Arandur (Sindarin, Lord of the Forest)—Name given to Thranduil by his mother. Only his mother used it.
Finduilas (Sindarin. Hair of spring leaves (my interpretation))—Daughter of Orodreth and the princess of Nargothrond. She was betrothed of Gwindor, one of the lords of Nargothrond under Orodreth. Gwindor was captured by Mordor during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and escaped maimed and battered after being kept a prisoner at Angband for 18 years. When Gwindor returned to Nargothrond with Turin, Finduilas fell in love with Turin who was young, beautiful, and charismatic. Her love was not returned.
A/N: The event Thranduil remembers about the Tree Herder and the herb is on Ch100 of Part 1 of WIMtbK.
And in reply to a request from one of the readers (looking at you, Madi), here is the list of my OCs and the meaning of their names. I place a lot of importance on a name and try to pick names that have appropriate meaning to them, so it might reveal much. They are not in a particular order:
Arinariel (S. Morning Sunlight)—Name Oropher gave to his wife
Aron (S. Noble one): Thranduil's friend, Istuion's nephew
Silwen (S. Glittering white maiden)—Gil-galad's love, the lost queen
Istuion (S. Knowledgeable one): Cirdan's nephew, adviser to Oropher
Himion (S. Ever, enduring one, ie, steadfast one)—Captain of the King's Guards under Thingol. Accompanied Oropher and now serves Oropher
Thranarin (S. Vigorous Morning): Thranduil's lost older brother
Durion (S. Dark Son)—Along with Aron, bosom buddy to Thranarin.
Eryn (S. Forest)—Durion's wife, Green Elf
Beril (S. Rose) —Astarno's wife, Green Elf
Lassiel (Q. This is one name (along with Astarno) that I had misspelled and changed the meaning of the name altogether. I meant to use the word "lasta-" which means to listen/hear as someone who listens. Should have been Lastiel, not Lassiel which is based on lasse, Quenya word for leaf.
Fumella (Q. Red Poppy)—Elrond's admirer and later Erfaron's wife
Rodwen (S. Pure Maiden)—Gelir's sister and a jeweler under Celebrimbor
Cendir (S. Perceiver) and Ethir (S. Spy)—the twin special warriors under Oropher
The names I used for Skin-changers are all from the Saga of Hrolf Kraki:
Bjorn (Nordic, Bear)—father of Bodvar
Bodvar —he was the only son of Bjorn in the saga who wasn't deformed
Sif (Nordic, means wife)—Bodvar's wife
Hroar—Bodvar's son. His name was chosen not because of its meaning (Famous Spear), but because Hroar was one of the two young princes in the Saga.
Yrsa (Nordic, She-bear)—Bodvar's daughter
Grimshod (Old English, Grim Shoe—because 'shoddy' used to refer to a better quality textile that changed to mean inferior good—yeah, it only has meaning to me, I think)
Grimwine (Old English, Grim friend)—Grimshod's brother
Dernwulf (Old English, Secret Wolf)—Sauron's middleman
Kemik (Bone)—can't explain w/o giving out too much, so later.
Cadets:
Belegor (S. 'Great Or' as in bel+egor) This one was made purposely to sound like Beleg+or=mighty one although I doubt anyone noticed. ;P
Gelir (S. Happy person)—the cadet whose body Sauron possessed
Glingaeron (S. Sea gleam in the eyes)—Sindarin cadet from the Grey Havens
Cellon (S. Silver one)—Noldorin cadet who befriended Thranduil
Erfaron (S. Lone Hunter)—Belegor's friend, Cellon's brother-in-law and friend to Thranduil later
Lammaeg (Q. Sharp Tongue)—Gil-galad's uncle and the chief adviser
Gilmagor (Q. Star Sword)—Gil-galad's lord commander of armies. Astalder's uncle.
Silmacils (White Swords):
Astalder (Q. Strong and valiant)—Captain of the Silmacil
Astarno (Q. Loyal, faithful—originally Astarmo, meaning bystander, but I didn't notice the typo until many chapters later so I decided to leave it although the meaning loyal/faithful is from "astar" but it was close enough, I figured). Faro, name his wife Beril used to call Astarno means hunter.
Asumo (Q. Friend at need)—Captain of Silmacil before Astalder.
Baldor (Q. Mighty/worthy one)—Silmacil, partner to Thoron
Thoron (Q. Eagle)—Silmacil, partner to Baldor and later Gilmagor's chosen
Rusco (Q. Fox)—the one who succumbed to Sauron
*Dwarves never give their real names to the outsiders, so we never know what their names mean.
Whew. I didn't realize how many OC's I have made. I am sure there are more but I cannot remember them at this time. If I missed anyone and you wish to know, send me a message. Thanks for your interest.