Title: Battle Beneath the Trees
Author: Cúdae
Disclaimer: I claim none of Tolkien's brilliant and beautiful creations as my own.
Author's Note: There are only about one or two more chapters of this story and possibly an epilogue (which I am undecided about) left. Also, I am writing a companion story to this one to clear up some of the things about Harndor and Tirn. Enjoy.
Warnings: Violence, death, and a possibly disturbing reaction to death
Chapter Four: Death of a Princess
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The bridge had fallen and with it, the last true hope for the warriors caught on the southern side of the river. The King looked about him, careful not to let show his dismay. The orcs wasted no time in closing in on their prey and immediately began driving the elves back into the water. Some swam and struggled to the other bank, others stood their ground and died before the orcs, still others floundered in the water and were swept away. Thranduil knew he was being pushed back towards the river despite his valiant efforts in the fight. Suddenly, his foot did not hit ground, but water. Forgetting his attacker, he sought to gain a foothold in the churning waters and then to cross taking as many as he could with him.
The feat was easier said than done. Every moment, a new warrior fell into the river. The once clear waters were turned red by the blood of the dead and the wounded. Too many were fighting to reach dry land. Too many were dying as they tried. The King saw a boy, too young to be fighting as a warrior, thrashing about in the water as he tried to come across. The sight struck a paternal chord within the King of Mirkwood and he abandoned his own plight to reach the boy. He grasped him by one of his flailing arms and lifted him above the current with surprising ease. Somehow, not even Thranduil himself knew, he found a way across the river. He set the gasping boy down and looked at him for a moment before waving him off. The boy said nothing and Thranduil recognized him as one of the eastern villagers.
***
The healer commanded a girl nearby to watch over his patient while he tended the more serious wounds of a warrior just staggering in. The girl bent over the burnt warrior. The burns he suffered did not appear to be as bad as they looked. She saw the knife in his hand and gently unclasped his fingers and took the blade from him. She could not stifle a gasp of astonishment as she looked at the knife for a moment before setting it down. The knife she held in her hand was the knife her own brother had pressed into her friend's hand as the orcs razed their homes and the elves of the city came charging in. Inscribed on the hilt was her brother's name. The blade was sharp. Where had he found it? Surely her friend had not survived. She shook her head and placed the knife off to the side, at the same time pushing the terrible memories of the last desperate fight for her home out of her mind.
***
He woke and all around he saw death. His mind raced. Where was he? What had happened? Nearby he saw the body of someone he thought he knew, but the body was covered in blood and a grim healer was covering it with a cloak. Suddenly, he became keenly aware of his own injuries and panicked. He felt instantly that he was to die. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the healer drape the last of the cloak over the body beside him. Then all went dark and he saw no more than the eyes of the dead see. He knew only voices of fever.
He lay in a fevered sleep tormented by phantoms that taunted him and tantalized him and frightened him above all. Remember your father and your sister, they said, killed at the hands of orcs when you stood by useless. They bade him wake and go to his mother. She was dying they said. He cried out, but his voice was lost in the darkness. Over and over he saw images of the dead hand he had taken the knife from and the head of Cúmaen on the branch. In his mind, he reeled and screamed for someone to help him. He felt fire all around him, burning him to ashes. Sacrifice your life! The phantoms ordered him. The King is dead and the Queen with him! The Crown Prince denied the throne and Legolas is seen in his rotting face! Again he screamed and cried out for the voices to stop, but they did not. Instead they only laughed and told him more of the destruction of the Woodland Realm.
***
Thranduil saw that not all was well on this side of the river and saw also the need for a commander. Some orcs had crossed the river, but most that tried drowned. The ones that successfully reached the opposite bank were fought by enraged elves—many of whom were guards from the palace newly come into the fray. For a moment, Thranduil was at a loss. He saw the warriors trying to come through the angry waters and he saw the orcs kicking the dead into the waters. He heard the screams and cries and threats and curses. He smelt the water and the blood and the sweat and the tears. He saw, too, the ever approaching flames even as they spread through the treetops. And he saw the healers fleeing into the palace with their patients.
He could not let his warriors, his healers, his artisans, and his children suffer without hope or strength at the hands of orcs. At the top of his voice he bellowed above the noise and mess of the fight, "RETREAT!" This time it did not simply mean stop pressing forward, it meant, "Get inside the palace as fast as you can." Already, the magical door swung open and servants' doors and side doors were shoved open—and some off the hinges—to allow the warriors in to safety. For a brief second, Thranduil looked about him and searched the faces for either of his sons. But they were not there.
***
The women, children, guards, healers, wounded warriors, and others knew what was happening the moment they heard the battle move to the other side of the river. Now the opening of the doors and the warriors rushing in confirmed it. Mothers, sisters, wives and daughters ran to meet their loved ones and too often they fell back, tears welling in their eyes, as their champion did not enter the palace. Leithian stood ever by the magical door, waiting and wishing for her husband to return to her. But he did not come. And soon she fell back among the others. But her sorrow was greater and she desired life no more, so she ran from the hall and out into the fight. She ignored the protests of other women and warriors coming in. She ran through the violence and to the edge of the river. There she cried out, "Sigil, my beloved! Forgive me for joining you!" Then she looked at the bloody water and cried out to it, "I will break my body and free my soul for him! Will you take me?" In an instant, she leapt into the churning waters and was never seen again, save by one.
***
Thranduil found one of his high-ranking commanders, and gave to him the command of the warriors of Mirkwood and the people of the palace. As for himself, Thranduil gathered from servants and passersby that his wife, Aduial, was in her chamber. A few people that he passed regarded him with a respectful pity that he had not seen since Tirn was killed. He was confused by this but paid it little heed and went on to Aduial. He knocked softly on her door and opened it silently. Inside he found Aduial sitting on the floor amid the remnants of bed covers. Tears had left silvery lines on her cheeks. He saw the knife on the floor beside her. He did not understand what had happened but went quickly to her and sat beside her on the floor. He embraced her and asked, "What has happened here?" Aduial pulled away from him and smiled. Her smile was terrible. Thranduil was startled, but said nothing to her. She said, "Taurost, our son, is dead. Is it not fine news for such a day?" Thranduil jerked back as if struck. Aduial laughed and went on, "My dear Elf-king! For years uncounted I have waited for this day! I gave part of my spirit five times with the hope that I would have one child left to me in the end. But, alas, this was in vain, for now they are all in Mandos." Thranduil shook his head and caught his wife's wrist. "This is lunacy," he said to her. But Aduial only smiled and nodded. Thranduil looked at her with despair for he truly thought that his wife had lost her sanity in her grief. Then Aduial laughed again and said to Thranduil, "My husband, do you not understand? My children are dead or dying! But it is wonderful, is it not? It is lovely, this death! Flames and fire and fear and blood! I have never known such bliss." Thranduil was horrified at Aduial's words. He was convinced now that Aduial was insane. "You," he said, "are mad. Quite mad." Then he stood and took the knife, and promised to return later. But Aduial only smiled at him. Thranduil left, horrified and confused by his wife's behavior.
***
He woke again inside the palace. The healer and the girl were both gone. He heard muffled shouts and cries and sobs. In beds and on blankets on the floor were other wounded soldiers like him. Though he could barely move without much pain and burning, he saw that the person next to him on the right was also burnt and on the left, the warrior's head was bandaged and his clothes bloodstained. On of the volunteers helping the healers was coming around, checking on each in turn and answering their half-delirious questions concerning their families and the realm. When she reached him, she saw that he was conscious and asked if he needed anything. He shook his head with a movement so small that it could have been easily missed. But as she started to move away, he used all his strength and caught her arm. She turned back to look at him and he asked, "What has happened?" He was surprised at how hoarse his own voice was. She answered quietly, "The fighters have come inside the palace and the Queen has locked herself away. The Crown Prince—" She vainly tried to disguise a sob as a cough. "The Crown Prince," she continued, "is no more." He shut his eyes. So the realm was to be laid waste.
He fell into an restless, yet strangely peaceful, sleep in which he dreamt of his mother, father, and sister. He dreamt of his family walking through the beech woods and coming to the pinewoods that surrounded Harndor. He dreamt of the music and of the dancers and of the days before he knew what an orc was. He dreamt of that thing called peace. It was a distant memory, but he remembered and dreamt of it. The phantom voices no longer taunted him. Instead, the strong voice of his King spoke. His mother sang in her high soprano voice. He listened as the older warriors told their tales of valor and glory in the Second Age. His mind was at piece. But something lingered on the edge of his dream in reality. Something lingered that he could not place.
***
A warrior was coming towards the palace at a full run. He had stayed long outside fighting, but he was overcome and finally had to retreat inside. He saw a servant woman he knew just inside the door and questioned her saying, "Where is my wife? Do you know?" The servant woman shook her head and replied, "No, your Highness, I do not know." Then he smiled grimly and thanked her. He went inside to find her. The warrior went by the name of Sigil.
***
To be continued…