Disclaimer: Characters and locations are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I do
not own Mirkwood, Thranduil, Legolas, Gimli, or elves in general. I'm just
playing in the sandbox, and I'll put everything back when I'm through.
Title: Dishonor
Dengar ducked a tree branch as his horse sped through the forest. Anxiously, he glanced behind him, searching for pursuers. Tightening his grip on the sword he carried, the young man urged his horse to a greater pace.
Suddenly, the trees dropped away and he was in a small clearing. Ahead, smoke poured from several buildings. Dengar pulled back on the reigns sharply. His horse danced with fear from the smell of the flames, but Dengar didn't notice. His eyes were filled with the sight of destruction.
"Dengar!"
He turned toward the shout. At the edge of the trees was another rider. His pointed ears indicated his race.
"This way," the elf shouted, motioning to the trees behind him with a long bow.
Dengar put heels to his mount and followed the elf into the trees. Pulling alongside, he had time to shout only a single query.
"The king?"
The elf shook his head, sadness in his bright eyes.
"It is over," thought Dengar, captain of the guard to King Andonlil.
It was truly over. The Eastern realm of the elves was destroyed. They had fought bravely to preserve their home, but the orcs and the cursed Uruk-Hai had overrun them. After Sauron's defeat, these creatures had turned their sights east, and this small kingdom was lost.
Dengar shook his head, trying to remove these thoughts. He must continue on; it was his duty. He was captain of the guard, and his king was dying. He looked up at the entrance to the cave where the king lay.
Walking into the opening, Dengar felt his heart squeeze. To see his lord in such surroundings; to see the one he had sworn an oath to laying on the floor of this cave nearly sent him mad. Dengar knelt quickly beside the fallen elf, and gently lifted a pale hand.
"Dengar," the king whispered, his voice almost nonexistent.
"I am here, my Lord," Dengar responded quietly.
"My daughter," Andonlil asked, his eyes opening in the dark cave and peering about.
"Here, father," came the calm voice, as the princess stepped near. She, too, kneeled by the king and took his other hand.
Dengar looked across Andonlil at the princess. Aeariel's eyes were unreadable in the dim light, but the captain could see that she had not escaped the battle unscathed. A dark bruise marred her pale cheek, and blood darkened the sleeves of her tunic.
"Aeariel, you must take our people and flee," Andonlil said quietly.
"Flee," Dengar exclaimed, turning his shocked eyes to the king.
"Yes, father," the princess responded.
"Take them," Andonlil began. A fit of coughing stopped him. Aeariel took the time to gesture Dengar to silence. "Take them to the west. Go to Mirkwood, my daughter. There you may find a measure of safety."
"I will do what you wish," Aeariel responded firmly. "I will protect our people."
The king nodded, and in relief closed his eyes. His breathing slowed and faltered.
The king was no more.
Dengar stood outside the cave. Around him activity continued as the injured were bandaged and placed on horses. Weapons were checked, and fresh arrows were distributed to those who would use them. The princess was walking towards him with three well-armed guards. She was gesturing urgently as she spoke.
"We take only what we can carry. No treasures of any kind," Aeariel said, meeting the eyes of each warrior to be certain her message was clear. "We must travel swiftly."
"Travel where," Dengar questioned as the group reached his position before the cave.
The princess turned to him in surprise. Her jaw tightened and a frown appeared between her arched brows.
"To Mirkwood, as my father commanded," Aeariel responded, her voice tight with emotion.
"My Lady, there is no reason for us to abandon our realm," Dengar began, stepping nearer the princess. He had known her for years - nearly his whole life. He had been a great friend to the princes, her older brothers, and felt their sister was almost his own relation. "We merely need to regroup and consider a strategy."
Dengar looked at the others for support, but the princess interrupted.
"A strategy," Aeariel repeated. "Tell me, Captain of the King's Guard, what strategy do you have in mind to recapture our burned out village when we are outnumbered nearly one hundred to one."
Dengar flinched from Aeariel's query. Other elves had approached and listened anxiously to the discussion.
"We cannot just leave," Dengar appealed.
"It is madness to do anything else," the princess replied forcefully. When she saw that Dengar was going to continue to argue, Aeariel raised her voice in a final statement on the matter. "My father is dead! I am your ruler now. I have decreed that we will seek aid from the elves of Mirkwood." In a softer voice she continued. "If you do not wish to accompany us, Captain Dengar, you are free to choose your own path. There are cities of men in the south where you would be welcome. I do not hold you to the vows you made my father."
Dengar shook his head in denial of the idea of leaving the elves.
"The people of the eastern realm have been my people since the age of eight years. I cannot imagine another life."
Aeariel nodded her understanding. Dengar had been found some twenty years ago wandering in the woods. His family had been murdered by orcs, and the elves had taken him in. Her own father had raised Dengar. He could not abandon them now.
Title: Dishonor
Dengar ducked a tree branch as his horse sped through the forest. Anxiously, he glanced behind him, searching for pursuers. Tightening his grip on the sword he carried, the young man urged his horse to a greater pace.
Suddenly, the trees dropped away and he was in a small clearing. Ahead, smoke poured from several buildings. Dengar pulled back on the reigns sharply. His horse danced with fear from the smell of the flames, but Dengar didn't notice. His eyes were filled with the sight of destruction.
"Dengar!"
He turned toward the shout. At the edge of the trees was another rider. His pointed ears indicated his race.
"This way," the elf shouted, motioning to the trees behind him with a long bow.
Dengar put heels to his mount and followed the elf into the trees. Pulling alongside, he had time to shout only a single query.
"The king?"
The elf shook his head, sadness in his bright eyes.
"It is over," thought Dengar, captain of the guard to King Andonlil.
It was truly over. The Eastern realm of the elves was destroyed. They had fought bravely to preserve their home, but the orcs and the cursed Uruk-Hai had overrun them. After Sauron's defeat, these creatures had turned their sights east, and this small kingdom was lost.
Dengar shook his head, trying to remove these thoughts. He must continue on; it was his duty. He was captain of the guard, and his king was dying. He looked up at the entrance to the cave where the king lay.
Walking into the opening, Dengar felt his heart squeeze. To see his lord in such surroundings; to see the one he had sworn an oath to laying on the floor of this cave nearly sent him mad. Dengar knelt quickly beside the fallen elf, and gently lifted a pale hand.
"Dengar," the king whispered, his voice almost nonexistent.
"I am here, my Lord," Dengar responded quietly.
"My daughter," Andonlil asked, his eyes opening in the dark cave and peering about.
"Here, father," came the calm voice, as the princess stepped near. She, too, kneeled by the king and took his other hand.
Dengar looked across Andonlil at the princess. Aeariel's eyes were unreadable in the dim light, but the captain could see that she had not escaped the battle unscathed. A dark bruise marred her pale cheek, and blood darkened the sleeves of her tunic.
"Aeariel, you must take our people and flee," Andonlil said quietly.
"Flee," Dengar exclaimed, turning his shocked eyes to the king.
"Yes, father," the princess responded.
"Take them," Andonlil began. A fit of coughing stopped him. Aeariel took the time to gesture Dengar to silence. "Take them to the west. Go to Mirkwood, my daughter. There you may find a measure of safety."
"I will do what you wish," Aeariel responded firmly. "I will protect our people."
The king nodded, and in relief closed his eyes. His breathing slowed and faltered.
The king was no more.
Dengar stood outside the cave. Around him activity continued as the injured were bandaged and placed on horses. Weapons were checked, and fresh arrows were distributed to those who would use them. The princess was walking towards him with three well-armed guards. She was gesturing urgently as she spoke.
"We take only what we can carry. No treasures of any kind," Aeariel said, meeting the eyes of each warrior to be certain her message was clear. "We must travel swiftly."
"Travel where," Dengar questioned as the group reached his position before the cave.
The princess turned to him in surprise. Her jaw tightened and a frown appeared between her arched brows.
"To Mirkwood, as my father commanded," Aeariel responded, her voice tight with emotion.
"My Lady, there is no reason for us to abandon our realm," Dengar began, stepping nearer the princess. He had known her for years - nearly his whole life. He had been a great friend to the princes, her older brothers, and felt their sister was almost his own relation. "We merely need to regroup and consider a strategy."
Dengar looked at the others for support, but the princess interrupted.
"A strategy," Aeariel repeated. "Tell me, Captain of the King's Guard, what strategy do you have in mind to recapture our burned out village when we are outnumbered nearly one hundred to one."
Dengar flinched from Aeariel's query. Other elves had approached and listened anxiously to the discussion.
"We cannot just leave," Dengar appealed.
"It is madness to do anything else," the princess replied forcefully. When she saw that Dengar was going to continue to argue, Aeariel raised her voice in a final statement on the matter. "My father is dead! I am your ruler now. I have decreed that we will seek aid from the elves of Mirkwood." In a softer voice she continued. "If you do not wish to accompany us, Captain Dengar, you are free to choose your own path. There are cities of men in the south where you would be welcome. I do not hold you to the vows you made my father."
Dengar shook his head in denial of the idea of leaving the elves.
"The people of the eastern realm have been my people since the age of eight years. I cannot imagine another life."
Aeariel nodded her understanding. Dengar had been found some twenty years ago wandering in the woods. His family had been murdered by orcs, and the elves had taken him in. Her own father had raised Dengar. He could not abandon them now.