Nightfall
I.
It was still dark when they left Rivendell. The air was already filled with sweet scents from awakening flowers, and the birds were singing in the trees, but the elven party of traveller's mood was dark. Elrond had come to dismiss them, but he had been short, and Legolas knew that even his father doubted his decision-their decision- not to send warriors to Gondor, although he didn't show it.
Only when they were already two hours from Rivendell, the king's mood seemed to improve, and he started to talk quietly to the servant riding beside him. Legolas was glad to see this. Not that he liked the servant his father talked to, a mere old, grey and (in his opinion) creepy human which had dealt with diamonds and knew everything about jewellery and therefore was in favour by his father, but he was content that at least his father wasn't brooding anymore.
For they had made their choice, and there was no use of regret it yet, and only the future could prove them right – or wrong. And finally, Legolas thought, his father maybe just was glad to leave the court of Rivendell with his highly educated and civilised inhabitants. He felt a smile creep on his lips. Yes, the thought was not bad. Perhaps his father, king of all wood elves in mirkwood, had feared the role he had to play in Rivendell, the role of the wise, silent and patient elf, and glad that it was over.
Thranduil had a lot of virtues. He had a big heart, he loved the beauty of life (much to his wife's sorrow), he was a great warrior, quick in love and hate and very straightforward. But wisdom (as Elrond may would define it) and patience he did not have, and in the ways of diplomacy he was not used, so the days in Rivendell with their endless councils must have been quite a torture for him. There had always been some kind of rivalry between Mirkwood and Rivendell, and in the eyes of the Rivendell-inhabitants, Thranduil surely was the perfect wood-elf, an undereducated savage, grudgingly admired for his virtues in battle but not more.
Legolas smile grew wider. He knew what the mirkwood-elves thought about the Rivendell-elves. Too civilised, even decadent, already distant from true nature (which meant forests, of course) lulling their senses in a too peaceful surrounding, that were just the most uttered issues.
He watched his father closer, and it seemed to him that the king indeed seemed longing to return to Mirkwood, and Legolas had to admit to himself that he felt the same. There was a silent, yet deep love for his home in his heart, for it's trees, it's waters, it's creatures, and he too longed for the green, protecting canopies they soon would reach. Perhaps he (and especially his father) was just homesick, and the queer feelings they all seemed to harbour would be lost once they arrived.
II.
They rode quite fast and didn't make a stop for the whole day until darkness drew near. Then they let rest their horses and made a camp for the night. No one of them seemed to require sleep, and so they sat beside the fire, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, and quite refreshed they went on with the first rays of sunlight the next morning.
Again a wonderful spring morning awaited them, and the fresh scents and cheerful sound of the spring's mighty return filled their hearts with joy. From time to time one of the riders broke out in a song, and some of the others joined him, as far as they knew the words, and the already powerful sun warmed their faces. Maybe it was the beauty of this day, maybe their hurry to reach Mirkwood which made them inattentive.
Otherwise they would have felt the suffocating presence of evil, and the foul smell of the orcs would have reached their noses earlier. But this was not the case, and the day, which had started with joy and happiness, ended with tragedy and grief.
III.
Two of the guards fell instantly from their horses, black orc's arrows deeply imbedded in their chests, and two further were killed seconds later, when a new wave of black arrows hit them.
Legolas saw all this happen like in slow motion, both his heartbeat and the death-cries of his comrades suddenly seemed to ring in his ears, and a suffocating feeling of fear and threat was in his throat. The elf's horses, although well dressed even in battle, neighed like mad and tried to turn from the unexpected danger, which probably saved their life since they took the next orc's arrows.
"Everyone back!" his father was yelling, and his calm voice brought back Legolas senses. He ducked deep on the horseback and forced it to walk backwards, whispering calming words into it's ears, and after what seemed an eternity, he was able to turn the animal.
After a few steps backwards he turned again, his heart now filled with cold anger and hate, his hands not shivering as he drew his bow, ready to kill every orc that came into reach. After an instant he was joined by three guards, the human and his father. He bit his lip.
This meant that six elves had fallen by the malicious orc's attack. But it was not time to grief yet, for they had to fight for their lives. They still didn't see their attackers clearly, nor could they count their number, for the orc's were still hiding in the forest. For some split seconds, neither the attackers, nor their victims moved.
Then Legolas horse broke down under him with an almost human whimpering sound, for a spear had embedded itself deep in his flesh. Legolas fell hard, but swiftly came to his feet. There was a hideous yell of triumph from the trees behind them, and now some orcs came forth, bloodlust written all over their ugly faces, and they attacked the retreating elves.
Again it was his father whose presence of mind saved them. "Up!" he commanded. "There's no cover there, but at least we have the advantage of height." Only five of them made it up the hills, out of the range of the orcs momentarily, and none of them seemed unscathed, but now they had gained some precious seconds to shield themselves with their horses and to draw their bows.
The orc groups had now joined themselves at the food of the hills, they were at least twenty, and they seemed very destined to finish their task and killing off all the elves. They advanced slowly, shields carefully lifted (for even the orcs knew the elves reputation with the bow) like a black avalanche of evil, crushing everything under it's feet.
Thranduil laughed. It was an unhappy yet determined laugh. "Let's show them how expensive elves sell their lives." He hissed. "The fools! Against four elven warriors! On my command… One, two, three!"
And the elvenbows sang their deadly song, over and over, and some of the attacking orcs fell with hideous screams, but still some of them moved on, for their armour was thick, and they knew to use their shields. Soon the elves ran short of arrows.
Steadily the orcs drew nearer. There were at least six of them alive, and still they showed no sign of fear, no hint of retreat though their ambush had failed, and this was unusual for orcs in these times. Besides him Briphtil, his father's head bodyguard, shot their last arrow.
With a sigh he drew his long elfish knife. "Just come here, my pretty little friends." He murmured. "I'll give you a warm greeting." And with this he dived forward towards the orcs. They leaped forward, too, and now Thranduil joined Briphtil, sword drawn, and Legolas and the other guard followed suit.
Still all their bravery could have been in vain, for the orcs still had their arrows, but they got unexpected help. One of the guard, left for dead, had only been hurt badly, and now he stood proudly erected behind the orcs. He still had his bow, and three of them fell never knowing what had hit them.
The other three orcs turned, and one of them actually managed to shoot one single arrow against the new enemy, but then he was killed by Thranduil and Briphtil within seconds. The guard which had saved them, smiled before his knees buckled under him and he fell on the grass.
IV.
Legolas took a deep breath, and for a moment his knees felt weak, too, as a wave of relief washed over him. They had survived. At least some of them. Then he forced himself to move. Perhaps he could do at least something for the man which had probably saved them all.
His father and Briphtil simultaneously gave a yell of triumph before they joined Legolas to examine the fallen warrior.
But alas- there wasn't much to do: The brave elf had used all her strength to save his king, before he finally succumbed his wounds, or a poison since orc's arrows often were poisoned. Briphtil swore silently, and Legolas hung his head. Six elves had been killed, but what for? Surely they had repaid the orcs, for now twenty of them lay slain on the floor, but still they had had a considerably loss. And the attack had taken place very, very close to the Mirkwood…The orcs were getting more audacious from day to day!
Thranduil raised first. He turned and went back to their two remaining horses, for they needed to hurry up, since they didn't know if there were more orcs hiding somewhere. The human was still hiding there, he wasn't a warrior and had therefore not taken place in the fight. Briphtil still knelt and carefully, gently laid his officer in a more decent position. Legolas watched him, still physically and mentally exhausted, and so both of them didn't see what was happening next. They just heard it.
V.
Thranduil's scream cut the air, more surprised or angry than painfilled, followed by a silent gasp and the neighing of a horse. What they saw let their blood run cold. Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, had fallen to his knees, with his hands clasping his chest. Even from his distance Legolas could see the dagger protruding from his father's body with brutal clarity. Again Thranduil gave an angry cry, then he fell face forward on the grass with a sickening thud.
Both of them stood and watched paralysed as the servant, face contorted in fear, tried to drive on one of the horses to flee from his crime, in vain, for the horses educated by elves, only bore humans if told so by their masters. He gripped something in his fist, which additionally bothered him, and even though he actually managed to get away a few metres, Briphtils first arrow, taken from a fallen orc got him right through his throat, and he didn't even cry out as he fell from the horse's back in an ungracious heap.
Briphtil didn't give him a second glance, but he let his bow fall and followed Legolas which had already run to his father's side. Neither he nor Legolas at this point thought about the humans motifs to attack his master, nor did they care what the man even in death, desperately gripped to. They didn't think about how desperate one must be, being an elderly, weak human to attack an elf and try to flee with his horse, for the servant must have known that he wouldn't succeed. It was fear which had driven the servant to his crime, fear from his true master, but they didn't know this yet, they did not care, and it only made sense to them much later.
Legolas fell to his knees down besides his father, never tearing his eyes from the still form of the king or the red blossom rapidly forming on his chest. Something in his throat hurt terribly, and he felt the bitter stinging of tears in his eyes, but he didn't want to cry, not here, not before his father, not as long as there was any hope left.
Frantically he tried to open his father's tunic, but the elven king caught his hand's. "Don't." he said weekly. "Don't. I know it's too late."
"But…" "Legolas…" his father murmured sternly. "I'm going to… to the shadows." He gave a short laugh, then coughed a little. "Who would have thought…stabbed by a mere human…" His eyes closed. His breathing became more laboured. "Father!" The anxious exclamation would have roused a stone. Thranduil again opened his eyes, his gaze focused on the face of his son. "Tell Saldir…tell Saldir that he is my heir." he murmured. "And Elwyne his second in command. And…that they have been good sons. All of you…good sons…"
His strength was fading fast. Every breath now seemed to be an effort, and there was a painful sound in his throat all the time. "The ring.." he whispered at last. "It's a… for Saldir…here, on my chest…bring it to Saldir…Legolas…ring." His head lolled to one side. Thranduil, king of mirkwood, had just taken his last breath.
"Father!" Legolas cried out loud and buried his face in his fathers tunic, while tears ran down his face freely. He wept, trapped in this kind of grief which makes you forget time, yourself, the world around you out of pain. His heart just didn't accept the fact of his father's death, but his mind already knew that it was true, and no tears, no grief would make it undone. Legolas didn't know it yet, but he already felt a touch of the pain which lessened the elves inner light and killed them in the end if it didn't stop in time.
VI.
Sometime later he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his face. It was Briphtil. He looked very grim (even more grimly than usual) and his eyes were red. This was strangely comforting to Legolas, and he tried to catch his breath and to compose himself a little bit. He didn't ask about the creature that had killed his father. He didn't want to know, and he was sure Briphtil had taken care of it. "This is one of the darkest hours Mirkwood has seen." he said gravely. "We have lost one of our greatest king. I mourn with you, Prince Legolas." Legolas nodded, still too numb to speak.
"But it is getting dark, and we have no possibility to give the last honours to our fallen comrades. We have one horse left. If you ride swiftly, you will reach the first of our outposts in three hours to get fresh horses and to spread the evil news. I will stay here and watch over your father, and no evil thing will lay hand on him as long as I'm alive, until you are back and we can bring our fallen home."
Stiffly Legolas got up. Briphtil was right. Though the pain of loss still ripped unbearably through him, he had to act now more like a prince, like a leader. His brothers and all elves of the Mirkwood needed to know about Thranduil's death. And the bodies of his comrades needed to be tended. Later, after he had done his duties, there would be time for grief. "Thank you, Briphtil." he mumbled, his throat was terribly hoarse. "Your council is wise. May your night be free of more evil."
Briphtil locked eyes with him. "Your's too, my prince." He said. "I'll pray for your safely return." With this words he threw his sword and stood before Thranduil, a still and erect guardian, and very silently sang a lament of loss, and waited for Legolas or the orcs to return.
VII.
Legolas later remembered very little of his ride through the night, for his thoughts were shattered by all the evil that had befallen them in just one evening. Or was it the new horror which awaited him that made him forget the old one? His normally accurate senses must have been very dulled this night from grief and emotional exhaustion, for he noticed it very late. When he saw it he stopped his horse and stared in numb disbelief. Not far from him, in the heart of the Mirkwood, there was a roaring fire, and it's orange light and it's smoke could be seen from far. Mirkwood was in flames. With a cry of desperation Legolas drove on his horse.
To be continued...
