Title: Battle Beneath the Trees
Disclaimer: I claim none of Tolkien's works as my own.
Author's Notes: VERY IMPORTANT: The rating of this story is now R. Read the warnings and take heed of them! This chapter will also be a bit shorter to do the amount of slightly disturbing material for both you and me.
Warnings: Violence, blood, fire, and POV death. POV death means you are seeing death from the dying person's point of view. As this is done rarely, I hope you will find it interesting.
Chapter Three: Mother, Am I Dying?
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The healer saw the horse coming and saw the person leaning against the animal's neck, a dark shaft protruding from his back. The healer was at the horse's side in seconds. Gently, he lifted the elf from the back of the large horse. The wounded warrior was none other than Prince Taurost. The healer hastened to the small building that housed the wounded.
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As he ran from that place the only thing he saw was the image of a head on a tree branch. It was displayed as though it were a trophy. It was the head of Cúmaen, his own commander. He retched as he ran and he yelled for help. He was running towards the flames, but he did not know where else to go. North was his only choice. He wanted to get back to the palace, to forget about this and lock himself away in a deep room and never look upon the world again. He was heedless of his arm now and had long ago cast away the stone he had taken in hopes of sharpening his sword. His bow, too, he had cast away in a rage of madness. In his hand only the dagger he had taken from the ruined village remained. He did not watch the area around him, nor the ground below him, nor the trees above him. If orc or spider came, he would not care. As far as he knew, it would be better to die than to fight a war he was losing already.
The air grew hot. He knew for sure that flames awaited him now. He heard no cry over the crackling of the fire. He soon saw nothing but red and orange and yellow and blue and a thousand other colors mixed in. His skin was burning and his clothes were about to burst into flame. He wished to seek his end in the flames that lay across his path. But that was not his fate, for just as he was to become a living ball of fire, he found the path through and came to the other side.
He fell to the ground; a burnt image of what was once an elven warrior. All around him, the fighting was fierce. He could neither hear, nor see. He could only smell smoke and he could only feel burning. The only taste in his mouth was that of charred air. His head spun and his stomach twisted cruelly. He no longer comprehended anything. He did know that a healer saw him fall from afar and abandoned his patient to make his way to him. Neither did he feel himself lifted up and carried towards the palace. To him, there was nothing. Not even the burning could he understand now.
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The healer hurriedly tried to stop the blood flowing from the Crown Prince's wound. He gestured to one of the assistants nearby for more bandages and pressed his hands over the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers. Taurost was unconscious. The healer wound the fresh bandages tightly around the prince and cursed under his breath as the blood still leaked through. Taurost's face was ashen and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The healer beckoned another over and together they sought to apply as much pressure as they could on the ugly wound. Their efforts availed them little.
Suddenly, one of the field healers, one of those who went through the battle to find the wounded but living, appeared in the door to the small house and called out sharply for someone to help him. In his arms he held a burned elf. He was conscious it seemed, but not quite aware. The healer caring for the Crown Prince glanced up and shook his head sadly. The probability of this new patient living seemed low. The healer turned back to his own charge and again vainly tried to stop the blood. The healer come back from the fields laid his patient nearby and began to cut clothing away and wash the burns and scrapes. The Crown Prince stirred and groaned faintly, "Nan—Naneth…" ("Mot—Mother…") It seemed also that the newest patient in the building commonly referred to as the "Blood Room" was becoming more aware of his surroundings. His eyes lost the distant look and replaced it with one of fear. The Crown Prince choked and coughed up blood. The healer watched helplessly as more blood seeped through his fingers and the eyes of Taurost glassed over.
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What is this feeling? It hurts. It hurts so badly. Where is my mother? Where am I? What is this? Why can I not see? Why is the only sound I hear nothing? Why can I not breathe? Why am I choking like this? Where is my father? I want to go home. I want this to stop. It hurts, Mother… Where is my brother? Where is Dútawar? Is he here? I thought I heard him. Have you found Legolas yet, Father? Is Leithian all right? Why is Tirn beside me? He is gone…I know he is. Why, why can't I make myself get up? I need air. I need light. I want to see. I want to hear again. Please…what is happening to me? Why is everything so dark? Is that the sea I hear? I don't live there. I have never seen it… What is happening? Am I dying? Mother, am I dying?
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The Queen of Mirkwood opened the door and saw the healer standing before her. His hands were covered in dried blood and his clothes were stained. He bowed to her and she merely stared at him. Her mind was racing. Had he come to ask for help? That had to be it. He couldn't be here to tell her… No, they sent messengers for that. She forced herself to smile and nod the permission for him to speak. He coughed a bit before saying, "Your Majesty, I have come from the building where the wounded are cared for. I have…I have come to tell you that… Crown Prince Taurost is dead." Aduial shook her head and smiled again. The healer looked down at his blood stained clothes and blood-covered hands. Suddenly Aduial screamed. The scream was so raw and animal that the healer stepped back several feet before he knew what he was doing. The queen fell to her knees and cried such a terrible sound that servants came running to see what was the matter. When the healer told them of the Crown Prince's death they went quickly to their queen who had fallen silent as suddenly as she had shrieked. She pushed them away and stared blankly in front of her. The healer left silently and went back to the "Blood Room."
Aduial did not stir until the servants left her. Then she rose and went to her bed. But she did not lie down and weep, as women were known to do. She reached for the knife that was hidden beneath a pillow in case of attack in the night. She held the blade before her and screamed again. Then she plunged the knife into the bed and started to tear at the covers until nothing was left of them save scraps of fabric and fibers drifting on the air and covering the bed. Then she let the knife fall from her hands and she sank down onto the floor. Then she wept. One of the servants returned to her and tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away. She howled and cried and tore at her clothes before finally she ceased movement and tears alone flowed down her face.
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The fight outside the palace was not going well for the elves of the Woodland Realm. The orcs were driving them ever back towards the river and the bridge before the palace. The King weighed in his mind whether it would be better to stay and fight or to retreat into the palace and wait out the siege. He doubted how long the supplies would last if that was his choice, but he also doubted how long his warriors would last if they kept fighting. Already more than he could count had been taken from the field either dead or wounded. And then there was the fire. It was close now and great. It burned everything in its wake be it tree, elf, or orc. Thranduil knew without looking that the fire was slowly surrounding them. And he knew that if they were surrounded, no one would get out alive. He hesitated only a moment before calling out the order to retreat at the top of his voice. All around him, commanders took up the call and warriors fell back. Some lifted the wounded or the bodies of the dead to bear back to the palace. Thranduil kept his eyes on the orcs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an orc with a torch move towards the bridge. Others saw this too and moved to waylay him, but they were too late and the orc threw the torch. The bridge burst into flame.
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To be continued…