Disclaimer: Do you actually think Lord of the Rings belongs to me?! You're
crazy!
Author's Note: Yay! New fic! This time with lots of slashyness! Yummmm! Figure out the pairings yourself. *grins* Shouldn't be THAT hard.
Twilight of the Elves
The Last Heir
~*~*~During the Last Alliance 2500 years ago~*~*~
"We will no longer aid you in your conquest!" shouted Thranduil mastering his fear.
He tried to look strong as the Dark Lord with his full power walked towards him. "You WHAT?!"
Thranduil took a step back and swallowed hard. He also felt all the fear that his soldiers felt as they stood silently in their ranks behind him. "We-Are-Leaving!" His clear voice rang out purer than any that had been heard in the barren land of Mordor.
Flames leapt from Sauron's blood-red eyes. "Pathetic warrior!" he hissed as he reached the defiant Elven King. "You shall pay for your insolence!"
The Dark Lord drew his sword in one swift motion and made to strike the King. Thranduil whipped out his own sword and blocked a strike. At once, all of his warriors surrounded their King and pointed their bows at Sauron, arrows perfectly notched and ready. Sauron eyed the warriors with his red snake-like eyes. Even at his full power, he could not challenge 10000 armed Elven warriors. Fury flowed through Sauron's veins and he struggled to master his anger. They had dealt a lethal blow. The Elven armies had made up almost one-forth of his army.
Breathing heavily, Sauron reluctantly sheathed his weapon. "This is your mistake Thranduil. Only I can grant you power. Only I can give you what you truly want."
Thranduil glared. "You lie!" he hissed. "You promised me my own kingdom but you took everything." He turned his back to the menacing figure. "I will not slaughter my own kin, Sauron." His eyes scanned the fields westward of them. His far-seeing eyes saw that the Elves and Men were now fighting side- by-side. He knew he should go join them.
"Go then, and find your own death on the fields."
"It is you who will meet your doom," whispered the great king, his back still turned.
Sauron only scoffed and he walked away towards his own tower to get ready for the final war that would cover the entire Middle-Earth in darkness. But before he was out of sight, he pointed his staff at the king and a dark aura encircled the King.
The warriors moved to aid their King and some let fly their arrows. Sauron crackled and a dark bubble appeared. The arrows struck the shield and fell harmlessly to the ground, bent and twisted. Thranduil crumpled to his knees as the spell encircled him. Mocking laughter filled his head.
'Don't think you can walk out on me this easily, Thranduil,' the Dark Lord's voice said in his head. 'This is only the beginning. Your heir will also bear this curse and your house will fall into darkness. You will always come back to me, Thranduil. Always.'
Thranduil forced himself to stand up, with help from his soldiers and forced the voice away. His heart filled with fear for his unborn sons. 'Now is not the time,' he thought as he shook his head.
He tried to clear his head of everything except for the battle to come but something lingered on at the back of his mind. The thought of wanting to go back to his master and serve him stayed with him. The seed of the curse has been planted deep in his mind and will grow over time. It will grow stronger and stronger until he finally surrenders himself to Sauron or end his own life. The West will offer no peace to him now.
Thranduil knew none of this. He only had a feeling that someone was watching him and pulling him towards him. He shook his head to get rid of it as he pulled on his armor. He brushed his pure golden hair out of his face and fashioned them into the traditional warrior's braid. His fair features twisted in worry as his nimble fingers flew with a life of their own. He picked up his helmet and then discarded it. 'Sauron will see the face of the one who defeats him,' he thought grimly.
He walked out of the tent and surveyed his warriors. Discipline was the foundation of his army, so even though they knew they were never going to win, they never despaired. All of them would prefer an honorable death than living in shame or darkness forever more. He thought back to Luthien, his wife back home and if he would ever see her again. She was safe with his unborn son and he vowed that he would protect his family even if it cost him his life.
His white horse was brought to him by one of the foot soldiers and he nodded his thanks. In one fluid movement he mounted. His loud clear voice floated over the plains as he issued battle commands. Within seconds, all his troops were ready. The sound of hooves filled the clear morning air as swords were sharpened and quivers were restocked.
Thranduil observed their grim faces as he rode in front of them. His heart was also heavy but he did not despair. He was fighting for all he loved on Middle-Earth. "Take comfort now," he shouted, "for the Dark is almost upon us! We shall ride to Mt. Doom and make the towers of Barad-dur shake! Know that your life has not been wasted! Fight for those that you love! If we shall fail, there will be no tomorrow!"
With that, he kicked his horse into a gallop and the thundering of hooves upon the plains filled his ears. He rode swift and light towards the dark mountain that filled the sky. He saw the battle had already started. Blood has been shed. Elves, Men and orcs fell on either side. He heard gasps of horror and disgust from his troops behind him. "Now is the hour, when we make our final alliance," he said to those close by.
His mighty sword slid free of its confines with a metallic clang and it shined in the dark of morning. "Ride now!" he cried and his horse reared its white head before racing into the battle.
The thunder of horses was heard and creatures on both sides turned in wonder to see. An Elf with hair as bright as the sun raced into battle followed by a huge army. The Men cheered and their hearts filled with new hope when they saw Thranduil. The armies of Mordor shrank in fear as their doom came. Thranduil's sword flashed as he cut down orcs. Behind him, his army trampled hundreds of orcs with their horses. Thranduil seemed to be everywhere. His sword was black with blood of orc but he cared not. He fought towards the Elven ranks until he saw his old friend Elrond.
He leapt off his horse and greeted him. "You came back," said Elrond as he was swept up in a tight embrace as if they were long lost brothers.
Thranduil nodded. "I was never gone. Talk another time. We got orcs to kill!"
He lifted his sword high. "To me!" he shouted. "To me, all who would take the fight into orcish ranks!"
Elrond immediately joined. Seeing two great rulers standing there, all the Elves rushed forward to stand behind them, swords drawn. "Well, oh mighty King, will you lead this charge or shall I?" teased Elrond.
"We go together," he said with deep gratitude. Then, because he could not resist teasing him in kind, he added, "But do try to keep up."
Elrond's laughter was lost in Thranduil's ringing battle cry. The Wood Elf warrior scrambled up the wall of fallen orcs and flung himself into the next wave of attackers. The creatures' fangs bared in fierce grins as they came at the Elven warriors with renewed vigor. Orcs enjoyed killing Elves in any number of ways, but few things were as satisfying to them as hand-to- hand combat.
The nimble Elves darted and spun amid the churning melee, making several hits for every one the much-slower orcs managed to land. Thranduil was everywhere, his sword flashing as it turned aside the battle axes of his foe. And where he went, so did Elrond. He was not as skilled a fighter as he, being a healer, but the mind-and-soul rapport the friends shared enabled them to work together as smoothly as if they were tower-trained magi melded together in the casting of a single spell.
But as the battle raged on and on, Thranduil began to wonder if this had been a wise strategy, after all. The Elven warriors were pinned between the dead orcs and the host of attackers. Fortunately, the orcs' own vast numbers seemed to work against them. So eager were they to engage their Elven foes that they al but clambered over the orcs in front of them to get at their preferred opponents. As often as not, their axes and swords bit into orcish flesh-either by accident, or in sheer impatience.
Just when the tide of the battle was turning, Sauron emerged from his domain and his presence sent fear rippling among the ranks. Men and Elves died as they tried to get near him. One brave king of Men decided to charge him but was thrown hard against the mountain. His young son raced over to him but found him dead.
Sauron's eyes now turned to the young Prince and advanced on the frightened man. Isildur reached for his father's sword but it splintered as Sauron crushed it into the rock. A dark gloved hand reached out to choke the precious life from him but he, in vain swept the broken shards of Narsil up. But chance, the sword cut the golden ring from Sauron's finger.
The treacherous foe writhed and the very ground shook. Sauron tried to cling on to his life but the Ring was gone. His very essence was gone. With a blinding flash, he disappeared and the armies of Mordor collapsed. A burst of energy was released and all that had been done by the Ring's power passed away, but not forever.
Elrond and Thranduil pushed their way through crowds of cheering Men until they reached the young Prince. "Come," said Elrond. "It is not over yet."
Young Isildur clutched on to the Enemy's Ring. "What more is there?"
"You must destroy it, Isildur," commanded Thranduil. "This is the chance to end all evil."
The two regal Elves led the Prince up the slopes of Mt. Doom and ordered him to cast it into the fires from whence it came. Thranduil felt voices in his head. The Ring was calling to him and Sauron wanted him back but he forced them all away. "Cast it into the fires!" yelled Thranduil over the roar of fire.
But a strange light came to the young Prince's eyes and he turned from the bridge. "No," he said softly. And walked away, cursing himself, all Men, his linage, and Thranduil.
"Isildur!" yelled Elrond. But he could do nothing.
Thranduil felt a pulse from the fires. He felt his master's calling and his presence but he gave little thought to it. It was time for Legolas Thranduilion to be born and share the fate of his father.
Author's Note: Yay! New fic! This time with lots of slashyness! Yummmm! Figure out the pairings yourself. *grins* Shouldn't be THAT hard.
Twilight of the Elves
The Last Heir
~*~*~During the Last Alliance 2500 years ago~*~*~
"We will no longer aid you in your conquest!" shouted Thranduil mastering his fear.
He tried to look strong as the Dark Lord with his full power walked towards him. "You WHAT?!"
Thranduil took a step back and swallowed hard. He also felt all the fear that his soldiers felt as they stood silently in their ranks behind him. "We-Are-Leaving!" His clear voice rang out purer than any that had been heard in the barren land of Mordor.
Flames leapt from Sauron's blood-red eyes. "Pathetic warrior!" he hissed as he reached the defiant Elven King. "You shall pay for your insolence!"
The Dark Lord drew his sword in one swift motion and made to strike the King. Thranduil whipped out his own sword and blocked a strike. At once, all of his warriors surrounded their King and pointed their bows at Sauron, arrows perfectly notched and ready. Sauron eyed the warriors with his red snake-like eyes. Even at his full power, he could not challenge 10000 armed Elven warriors. Fury flowed through Sauron's veins and he struggled to master his anger. They had dealt a lethal blow. The Elven armies had made up almost one-forth of his army.
Breathing heavily, Sauron reluctantly sheathed his weapon. "This is your mistake Thranduil. Only I can grant you power. Only I can give you what you truly want."
Thranduil glared. "You lie!" he hissed. "You promised me my own kingdom but you took everything." He turned his back to the menacing figure. "I will not slaughter my own kin, Sauron." His eyes scanned the fields westward of them. His far-seeing eyes saw that the Elves and Men were now fighting side- by-side. He knew he should go join them.
"Go then, and find your own death on the fields."
"It is you who will meet your doom," whispered the great king, his back still turned.
Sauron only scoffed and he walked away towards his own tower to get ready for the final war that would cover the entire Middle-Earth in darkness. But before he was out of sight, he pointed his staff at the king and a dark aura encircled the King.
The warriors moved to aid their King and some let fly their arrows. Sauron crackled and a dark bubble appeared. The arrows struck the shield and fell harmlessly to the ground, bent and twisted. Thranduil crumpled to his knees as the spell encircled him. Mocking laughter filled his head.
'Don't think you can walk out on me this easily, Thranduil,' the Dark Lord's voice said in his head. 'This is only the beginning. Your heir will also bear this curse and your house will fall into darkness. You will always come back to me, Thranduil. Always.'
Thranduil forced himself to stand up, with help from his soldiers and forced the voice away. His heart filled with fear for his unborn sons. 'Now is not the time,' he thought as he shook his head.
He tried to clear his head of everything except for the battle to come but something lingered on at the back of his mind. The thought of wanting to go back to his master and serve him stayed with him. The seed of the curse has been planted deep in his mind and will grow over time. It will grow stronger and stronger until he finally surrenders himself to Sauron or end his own life. The West will offer no peace to him now.
Thranduil knew none of this. He only had a feeling that someone was watching him and pulling him towards him. He shook his head to get rid of it as he pulled on his armor. He brushed his pure golden hair out of his face and fashioned them into the traditional warrior's braid. His fair features twisted in worry as his nimble fingers flew with a life of their own. He picked up his helmet and then discarded it. 'Sauron will see the face of the one who defeats him,' he thought grimly.
He walked out of the tent and surveyed his warriors. Discipline was the foundation of his army, so even though they knew they were never going to win, they never despaired. All of them would prefer an honorable death than living in shame or darkness forever more. He thought back to Luthien, his wife back home and if he would ever see her again. She was safe with his unborn son and he vowed that he would protect his family even if it cost him his life.
His white horse was brought to him by one of the foot soldiers and he nodded his thanks. In one fluid movement he mounted. His loud clear voice floated over the plains as he issued battle commands. Within seconds, all his troops were ready. The sound of hooves filled the clear morning air as swords were sharpened and quivers were restocked.
Thranduil observed their grim faces as he rode in front of them. His heart was also heavy but he did not despair. He was fighting for all he loved on Middle-Earth. "Take comfort now," he shouted, "for the Dark is almost upon us! We shall ride to Mt. Doom and make the towers of Barad-dur shake! Know that your life has not been wasted! Fight for those that you love! If we shall fail, there will be no tomorrow!"
With that, he kicked his horse into a gallop and the thundering of hooves upon the plains filled his ears. He rode swift and light towards the dark mountain that filled the sky. He saw the battle had already started. Blood has been shed. Elves, Men and orcs fell on either side. He heard gasps of horror and disgust from his troops behind him. "Now is the hour, when we make our final alliance," he said to those close by.
His mighty sword slid free of its confines with a metallic clang and it shined in the dark of morning. "Ride now!" he cried and his horse reared its white head before racing into the battle.
The thunder of horses was heard and creatures on both sides turned in wonder to see. An Elf with hair as bright as the sun raced into battle followed by a huge army. The Men cheered and their hearts filled with new hope when they saw Thranduil. The armies of Mordor shrank in fear as their doom came. Thranduil's sword flashed as he cut down orcs. Behind him, his army trampled hundreds of orcs with their horses. Thranduil seemed to be everywhere. His sword was black with blood of orc but he cared not. He fought towards the Elven ranks until he saw his old friend Elrond.
He leapt off his horse and greeted him. "You came back," said Elrond as he was swept up in a tight embrace as if they were long lost brothers.
Thranduil nodded. "I was never gone. Talk another time. We got orcs to kill!"
He lifted his sword high. "To me!" he shouted. "To me, all who would take the fight into orcish ranks!"
Elrond immediately joined. Seeing two great rulers standing there, all the Elves rushed forward to stand behind them, swords drawn. "Well, oh mighty King, will you lead this charge or shall I?" teased Elrond.
"We go together," he said with deep gratitude. Then, because he could not resist teasing him in kind, he added, "But do try to keep up."
Elrond's laughter was lost in Thranduil's ringing battle cry. The Wood Elf warrior scrambled up the wall of fallen orcs and flung himself into the next wave of attackers. The creatures' fangs bared in fierce grins as they came at the Elven warriors with renewed vigor. Orcs enjoyed killing Elves in any number of ways, but few things were as satisfying to them as hand-to- hand combat.
The nimble Elves darted and spun amid the churning melee, making several hits for every one the much-slower orcs managed to land. Thranduil was everywhere, his sword flashing as it turned aside the battle axes of his foe. And where he went, so did Elrond. He was not as skilled a fighter as he, being a healer, but the mind-and-soul rapport the friends shared enabled them to work together as smoothly as if they were tower-trained magi melded together in the casting of a single spell.
But as the battle raged on and on, Thranduil began to wonder if this had been a wise strategy, after all. The Elven warriors were pinned between the dead orcs and the host of attackers. Fortunately, the orcs' own vast numbers seemed to work against them. So eager were they to engage their Elven foes that they al but clambered over the orcs in front of them to get at their preferred opponents. As often as not, their axes and swords bit into orcish flesh-either by accident, or in sheer impatience.
Just when the tide of the battle was turning, Sauron emerged from his domain and his presence sent fear rippling among the ranks. Men and Elves died as they tried to get near him. One brave king of Men decided to charge him but was thrown hard against the mountain. His young son raced over to him but found him dead.
Sauron's eyes now turned to the young Prince and advanced on the frightened man. Isildur reached for his father's sword but it splintered as Sauron crushed it into the rock. A dark gloved hand reached out to choke the precious life from him but he, in vain swept the broken shards of Narsil up. But chance, the sword cut the golden ring from Sauron's finger.
The treacherous foe writhed and the very ground shook. Sauron tried to cling on to his life but the Ring was gone. His very essence was gone. With a blinding flash, he disappeared and the armies of Mordor collapsed. A burst of energy was released and all that had been done by the Ring's power passed away, but not forever.
Elrond and Thranduil pushed their way through crowds of cheering Men until they reached the young Prince. "Come," said Elrond. "It is not over yet."
Young Isildur clutched on to the Enemy's Ring. "What more is there?"
"You must destroy it, Isildur," commanded Thranduil. "This is the chance to end all evil."
The two regal Elves led the Prince up the slopes of Mt. Doom and ordered him to cast it into the fires from whence it came. Thranduil felt voices in his head. The Ring was calling to him and Sauron wanted him back but he forced them all away. "Cast it into the fires!" yelled Thranduil over the roar of fire.
But a strange light came to the young Prince's eyes and he turned from the bridge. "No," he said softly. And walked away, cursing himself, all Men, his linage, and Thranduil.
"Isildur!" yelled Elrond. But he could do nothing.
Thranduil felt a pulse from the fires. He felt his master's calling and his presence but he gave little thought to it. It was time for Legolas Thranduilion to be born and share the fate of his father.
