Disclaimer: Must I really write this? Thranduil, Legolas, and their whole universe are the exclusive property of J.R.R. Tolkien. The original characters are mine. Or I'm theirs. Either way.

I would like to dedicate this Chapter to Aislynn Crowdaughter, my very first reviewer. Without her lovely reviews, I might have given up on posting entirely.

And to Daw the Minstrel and Gwyn, thank you for your encouragement. I hope that you will continue on this adventure with me.

-4-

Of Anticlimax and Folly

Thalgaladh raced through the halls of the palace, his mind shuffling through possibilities. How could they defeat this enemy that used their own air ventilation network against them? If they blocked the vents off, they sealed off their supply of fresh air. The keep was big, but there were many elves dwelling within the walls. How long before their air was gone?

To be perfectly honest, a lack of air was the least of the General's concerns. The likelihood of perishing at this unknown and unpredictable enemy's hands was far greater than that of suffocation. The plague of insects that were unleashed upon them was little more than a first wave: a warning. The new occupant of Dol Guldur had begun his attack upon the elves of Greenwood, and it was a battle for which they were woefully unprepared. The entire keep, indeed the entire kingdom was in disarray. Weapons that normally stood at the ready within the armory had been packed into crates for the migration. They'd spent the past weeks consuming their food supplies and packing up that which could be preserved for the journey. A prolonged siege of their mountain fortress would find the elves weakened with hunger, even considering the many carts of food. They could not afford delay. With redoubled urgency, Thalgaladh turned a corner only to slam directly into two elven warriors. He sprawled clumsily on the floor and lay stunned, staring at the deep cracks in the ceiling.

Could anything be less dignified?

The General sat up to glare at the other elves, taking a deep satisfaction in the fact that they too, lay flat on their backs. A pained groan issued from one of the fallen elves and Thalgaladh chastised himself for so ignoble a feeling. He stood smoothly (refusing to even inwardly acknowledge the overcompensation) and glided toward the fallen elves. One hovered over the other, whispering reassurances so low that even Thalgaladh's keen ears could not detect them all.

Sensing their unwitting assailant's approach, Verenaur spat "You should watch where you are going!" The other elf knelt beside his fallen brother and Verenaur decided to punctuate his statement with a hateful glare.

His eyes widened as he met the unreadable eyes of General Thalgaladh. The silver haired elf arched a sly eyebrow at the young warrior and remained silent and stoic. He didn't smirk at the comical expression on the young warrior's face, though in truth, it was no easy feat. He saw the deep blush creep over the other elf, watched as the delicate pointed ears caught fire, before the platinum head bowed. "Pardon me, Lord Thalgaladh. I spoke out of turn."

Thalgaladh waited a beat, allowing the young warrior to marinate in his misery a moment before chuckling and saying, "Nay. You are correct. I should watch where I am going." He patted the young elf's shoulder as a gesture of reassurance before glancing down at his other victim. Humor melted into concern as he took in the condition of the fallen elf. "What has happened?" he gasped, placing a comforting hand on the injured elf's brow. A low moan of pain greeted the gesture before the elf pressed into the palm and fell silent once more.

"We were caught in the hail."

Thalgaladh nodded at the revelation and his brow folded. In truth, he hadn't given much consideration to the freakish weather, though now that oversight seemed foolish. Such a storm was indeed perilous. How many of his warriors had been caught in that hail? How many fell victim to the brutal tempest? His thoughts lighted upon the absent prince and missing search parties. What had become of them under such an evil sky?

Luinaur twitched in an attempt to get upright, the sudden movement distracting Thalgaladh from his dark thoughts. The General pressed him back down, cradling his injured head and whispering, "Lie easy, little one. You've taken quite a knock on the head."

The injured head rattled a denial that Thalgaladh felt more than saw. Luinaur was weak, but quite obviously very determined. "We must help Legolas." Luinaur whispered, casting desperate bleary eyes at his brother. "We left him. How could we leave him?" He was mumbling and whimpering to himself, oblivious of his present surroundings.

"I will help him, Luinaur, but you must stay here." Verenaur soothed. The injured youth moaned a protest, once more trying to drag himself vertical. Two sets of hands held him down until all the fight drained from him like the color from his face.

Thalgaladh's spine straightened at the exchange, his heart stuttering in his chest. Events were quickly shifting from bad to worse, and the General had the distinct impression that their situation would continue on its trend of deterioration for a long while yet. "What's this about Legolas? Where is the prince?"

"Stay here." Verenaur said, easing his brother against the wall. Luinaur bobbed his head once in affirmation, resigned in his fate to be left behind. Thalgaladh was hovering impatiently over the brothers, his question still hanging in the air unanswered. A brief brush of fingers over wounded forehead nearly sent the millennia old elf into an impatient tantrum, but Verenaur rose and said, "Come, my lord. We have little time. I will tell you on the way."

-------------------------

"Rats, you say?" Thalgaladh said incredulously. Of course rats were no strangers to the mountains. Rats are not strangers to anyplace that might house food. In and of themselves, they are not evil beings. Foul perhaps, but not as Verenaur said. Not carnivorous swarms.

Swarms. The word tugged at the unraveling ends of his composure. Bugs and Rodents? Where is the common thread?

"Thousands. And no ordinary rats, I tell you." Verenaur replied with almost as much haste as he moved. "They were fell beasts, servants of this shadow."

"Let us not get ahead of ourselves." The silver haired lord replied, ignoring the young one's exasperated harrumph.

"I am telling you. Never have I seen their like before. They were large and fierce."

And you have seen so much, young one? The condescending reprimand remained safely tucked away in a corner of his mind. But like all wily beasts, it rattled at its cage for any chance of escape. "Rats, like all else, come in a variety of sizes." The General replied sagely, seeking to reassure them both.

"Why do you not believe me?" Verenaur finally said. "Do you think me so craven that a mere infestation of vermin would cause me to turn tail and flee like some child? Do you think the squeals of a mouse might frighten me enough to abandon my prince? Do you think the prince so weak that I might worry for his safety against a ferocious field mouse?"

The General checked his rising irritation. He understood that the elf's insolence as the offspring of fear and injured pride but Verenaur was testing the limits of his thinly stretched patience. With a mighty sigh of concession, Thalgaladh said, "I do believe you, Verenaur. I have seen much this night that makes me leery. I am simply trying maintain an open mind. It is best when looking upon something to dismiss our preconceptions, lest we miss the truth of the matter."

Verenaur nodded grudgingly, simultaneously glad and sorry for the peaceful end to the dispute. In truth, he wanted to fight. He needed it. His anger was multiplying at an alarming rate, tinting his perceptions in hues of red. A strong grip on his shoulder cleared his vision and mind, and suddenly the feeling was gone leaving only a vague imprint of itself on his heart. A footprint of sorts. "You speak true." With a lightness he did not feel, Verenaur joked, "It was fortunate that you ran into us, my lord." A smarmy smile spread across the young warrior's face.

Thalgaladh accepted the young elf's acknowledgment and ignored his joke. Under different circumstances he would have joined in with the humor, chiding the youth and telling him that in fact, they ran into him. But with their home under such an odd assault, and with the prince in apparent danger, the General was in no mood. His heart urged him forward, demanding that he quicken his pace to reach the prince.

Thalgaladh's stomach flipped when they reached the heavy sealed door. He could hear them scratching and tapping at the doors, tearing through wood with claw and tooth. If the vermin had made it as far as the door and Legolas was not on this side, that meant that he'd been overtaken by them. Not the Prince! He could not let this happen. Desperate gray eyes scanned for anything of use while his mind howled within him for action. Legolas could be dying, or worse, and left as food for rats. His eyes passed over the tapestry of the Royal Crest hanging on the wall and fell on the lit torch.

Making a decision, the Thalgaladh tore the tapestry from the wall. Verenaur stared with wide uncomprehending eyes as the General handed him the torch.

"Listen very carefully. I am going to open this door and go in. Burn anything that gets out, count to five toss in the torch and seal this door behind me." While he was talking, Thalgaladh busied himself with shaking out and positioning the tapestry.

"What is your plan?"

"I do not have time to explain. Just do as I say." Thalgaladh snapped, trying not to be harsh with the distraught warrior.

"How will you get out?" Verenaur asked, mesmerized by the General's actions.

"We must keep this vermin from invading our home. Legolas and I will find another way out," his voice belying the grief that already gnawed incessantly at his heart. Until he found the prince he would not despair. And if his actions cost his life, then at least it would not be he who had to bring more ill news to his already overwrought king. His arm tensed on the door pull and Verenaur held his breath. Thalgaladh turned back to the young elf and said, "You must tell the king. Tell him all you've seen, and assure him that I will bring Legolas back to him."

Verenaur nodded and whispered an elvish prayer. Thalgaladh tore open the door and darted inside, casting the tapestry like a net.

----------------------

Opening his eyes was like peering through a gossamer veil. The hard stone behind his head grounded him, centered him. He couldn't just sit here and do nothing! He may have been knocked on the head, but he was lucid enough to comprehend that their home was under attack.

Planting his feet and clutching the wall, Luinaur levered himself upright. Through the ringing in his ears he heard a strange hissing. Luinaur held onto the wall with both hands and moved toward the sound. The ground shifted beneath his feet and the wall trembled beneath his hands. Luinaur almost fell over, and he leaned his head on the wall. A small vibration tickled the flesh of his cheek. "What's this?" He murmured to himself before turning his head and placing his ear against the wall.

The stone whistled an odd melody, intermittent tapping and humming keeping time. Had the notion not been so preposterous, or the head wound more severe, Luinaur might have believed that singing dwarfs had taken up residence within the walls of their home. And despite its ridiculousness, (or perhaps because of it) Luinaur could not shake the image of tiny dwarfs singing merrily as they hammered their way into the sputtering king's bed chambers. The bleeding elf snickered, closed his eyes and lay his head back against the wall.

The vibration against his cheek reminded him of what had induced the amusing image in the first place. Tamping down his ill advised sense of humor, the elf concentrated his addled brain on the sound. Perhaps the rats have invaded the walls. The idea certainly had more merit than tiny dwarfs. But there was no squeak and squeal, nor the tapping of claws on stone. No, he decided. The sounds of the rampaging rodents would forever haunt him, and this was not they.

Puzzled, Luinaur lifted his head from the stone. The sound within the walls was faint, still buzzing beneath his hand. Without his ear pressed so intimately against stone, the sound became simple background noise. Maybe my brain is swelling and inducing hallucinations. He didn't particularly favor the idea, but it seemed the most likely.

A new noise drew the injured elf's attention. Something overlaying the rattle and hum of the walls, although his brain couldn't place it. It sounded like steam and arrows interwoven with dried grain in a rolling barrel. An odd mixture of sounds for a certainty, and Luinaur could not resist its call. With stiff, pained movements, Luinaur traced the sound to its source, gripping the wall tightly for support. The stone continued its strange vibrato beneath his hands. He ignored it and moved on. Dancing Dwarfs be damned.

The pursuit led him through the winding corridors, the odd sound growing louder and more distinct as he approached his goal. Dread swept through him, lifting the injury induced fog from his brain as the elf realized exactly where the ominous sound was leading him: the Royal Chambers.

What could make such noise? What if it was some fell beast set upon them to destroy their king? Perhaps the creatures in the cave had been sent to devour the prince while something else dispatched the rest of the royals. Blinking his eyes to clear them as much as possible, the young warrior released the wall and began sprinting toward the hallway where the Royal Family resided. What if something had gained entry to the keep? What if the King and Queen had been compromised? The questions fired through his brain, each one upping his fear. Unlike his theory of tiny dwarfs, this one had merit. Something had attacked them tonight, and he had the scars to prove it. Would it not make sense for their unnamed foe in Dol Guldur to try and usurp the regents of Greenwood, leave the people weak and leaderless? The idea tugged at some odd memory of Chess: a game of war and strategy. Is not the main object of the game to capture the king? Does his elimination not cause the defeat and ruin of his entire army? And how, in fact is that usually accomplished? By eliminating the most powerful pieces until the king stood trapped and defenseless?

Though Chess had never been his game, Luinaur felt almost certain that he'd pinned down its objective. And if Chess imitated battle, then could not battle imitate Chess. Dismissing the train of thought as fruitless and pointless, the injured elf spurred himself on, ignoring the pain that pounded fast and ferocious in his head. His legs wobbled, knees refusing to lock beneath him, and Luinaur almost went down on the floor. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple and down his cheek before disappearing into the thick mane of hair. It was too much for his injured body to endure, but the elf pushed through the strain, wiping absently at the blood-tinted sweat that soaked his temples. Luinuar stumbled again before regaining his balance and pushing onward, refusing to slow his pace.

He'd never felt such a mix of anticipation and anxiety before. Yet as he approached the final corridor, the moment of truth, the injured elf couldn't help but wonder if he really wanted to know, after all, what horrid beast could make such an unearthly noise. Pressing back his fears, Luinaur sped up and grasped the corner as he came to it to slingshot around the turn. The sight in the hallway caused him to pull up short and land flat on his butt.

The hall had become a squirming mass of flesh. He'd expected one creature of deadly proportion, but this! The floor rolled rhythmically, undulating like the Long Lake during the stormy season. Luinaur backpedaled, regaining his feet as he gaped at the sight before him. Thousands of snakes! Thousands, lined the hallway, covering every inch of floor and wall with their fat, juicy bodies. Not a foothold to be found in the whole place, and Luinaur suddenly realized how ill prepared he was for this encounter--any encounter, for that matter. Unarmed, injured and alone against a sea of foes.

Verenaur is going to kill me. If I'm not already dead, that is.

A snake wormed toward him, distracting him from his musings. Luinaur gripped it by its rattling tail and sent it flying down the hallway only to vanish into the throng. Without hesitation, he slipped around the corner to conceal himself from the thousands of serpents waltzing in the hallway. He rubbed at his aching head, willing his brain to work. What should he do? What could he do against such impossible numbers? He could not abandon the king and queen to such a fate. A tiny voice of reason whispered that they might not even be in their quarters. It was a fool's errand, a thousand poisoned foes against one unarmed, dazed elf. Still, he could not, would not, take the chance. Besides, his heart told him that if the Royals did not lie beyond the door, these fell beasts would not be so intent on gaining entrance. How do I always get myself into these situations. He just knew Verenaur would never leave off on this one. He could already hear the chiding, the scolding, the rants and raves. 'Did I not tell you to wait, Luinaur? Why do you never listen?'

The injured elf gestured obscenely and definitively at the chiding voice of his brother, refusing to allow him the final word. Once accomplished, he mulled over all possible solutions, tossing out those that were impossible until he was left with the merely infeasible. He must destroy the snakes. A great revelation it was not, he knew, and there was still the question of how he might accomplish so colossal a task. But the logic remained that even if the king and queen were not in their chambers, the threat of the snakes' very presence remained. The one that he'd thrown was poisonous, for certain, and Luinaur had little doubt that they were all poisonous in their own rights. If this many thousands of snakes were allowed to live and roam the keep, the damage would be catastrophic. Hundreds of elves could be bitten, poisoned, perhaps even perish.

No! Luinaur would not allow such an occurrence. Not when he might prevent it.

Again, a grand idea. That only left the question of how. Leaning his head against the wall to still the pain, the injured elf pondered. What could he do? Damn it, he was no strategist, and for once in his life he'd fervently wished he'd paid closer attention to his brother as he'd tried time and time over to teach him the finer points of Chess. But the game had ever bored him, and after three moves, he found himself snatching up every piece he could with his most powerful moves. To always play offense, dear brother, is to leave yourself quite vulnerable. The brief scolding was always accompanied by the word 'Checkmate' and Luinaur would snarl and storm away from the cursed checkered board. Indeed, he was no strategist. He was a simple elf, a warrior, a servant of the king and his subjects…. The thought tickled something in his mind, waking it with a shouting start. His eyes snapped open and a huge grin split his face. "Kitchen duty, here I come."

----------------------

"What is the meaning of this?" The voice was muffled and indignant, and both Thalgaladh and Verenaur stood completely still. The tapestry stood tall and proud, covering the figure beneath it and dragging several yards of material on the floor. The colorful cloth moved and twisted erratically, puffing here and jerking there only to come to rest exactly as it had fallen. "What happens?"

Verenaur's lips pressed so tightly together that they were white, cheeks ballooning out with checked laughter. Thalgaladh tilted his head and smiled into his hand for a moment, unable to contain a small snort.

"I do not see the humor in this situation," the garbled voice stated with feigned dignity, resuming its struggles beneath the heavy tapestry.

Verenaur could no longer control the peals of laughter that erupted from him. The elf grabbed his stomach as tears leaked from his clenched eyes. Legolas harrumphed audibly, which only served to exacerbate Verenaur's hysteria. "Forgive me, Legolas. You look like…like…I do not even know what you look like it's so ridiculous," he said before melting into hilarity.

Thalgaladh was older and therefore more able to control his mirth. "Forgive me, my prince," the silver haired elf said as he tried to peel the tapestry off the struggling elf. But the more Legolas struggled, the more wrapped up he became, and soon Verenaur was rolling on the floor.

"A c…coon!" He hiccupped. Tears leaked through clenched lids as he tried to choke out his determination again. "You l-look like a cocoon."

Legolas grew hot and restless beneath the heavy tapestry. He fought against it in the pursuit of air, but it seemed to only grow more constrictive around him. "I cannot breathe," he shouted, feeling panicked at being so entwined.

"Hold still, my prince." Thalgaladh said, seeking the edge of the material. Once found, he had to unwind it from around the bound prince three times before he was able to pull it from Legolas's head.

"Thank you." Legolas sighed turning to face his rescuers. When they met his eyes all humor dissolved from them.

"Legolas! Ai, are you okay?" Verenaur exclaimed, rushing to the prince. Deep scratches and bite marks were visible all along the elf's arms, neck and face. His clothing was torn and bloodied, in some places shredded, revealing more deep welts on the creamy skin beneath.

Thalgaladh leaned in to examine a particularly vicious bite on the prince's neck. The General swallowed down the rising anxiety at the knowledge that, had the wound been one inch to the right, the prince would surely have bled to death. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to the wound, the General said, "Are you hurt seriously anywhere, my prince?"

"Does my pride count?" Was the sardonic response, and Thalgaladh offered a small smile in response. Sighing, Legolas shook his head. "Nay. But I know not how it is possible. I was overcome by the foul beasts and I thought for certain that they would devour me."

Keeping his pressure on the bleeding neck wound, Thalgaladh scanned the dark cavern before him. "Where did the rodents go?" The General turned back to meet the bewildered eyes of the prince. A head shake and quick shrug was his only response.

Verenaur lifted the tapestry and doubled it up, wrapping it around the injured prince's shoulders like a blanket. Legolas gathered the sides together and fixed Verenaur with a pointed glare. "Go ahead. You know you want to."

To his credit, Verenaur only giggled at the invitation before concern crept back into his blue-green eyes. He traced the wicked path of a gash along the prince's jaw with one finger. "I should not have left you."

Legolas looked like he was going to argue the point. Verenaur placed his arm around his friend's shoulders and steered him from the cavern.

"How is Luinaur?" Legolas inquired, face etched with concern.

Verenaur shook his head. "Ill. I left him to come and search for you."

"Then we must go to him now."

Thalgaladh closed and resealed the door. The fortunate turn of luck did nothing to allay the sense of foreboding that polluted his soul. In fact, Thalgaladh felt it even more keenly now. It was as if something lurked just over his shoulder and beyond his peripheral vision. Despite the futility of the act, he could not resist the urge to turn his head and seek out the source of the feeling. Cautious gray eyes scanned the area and found nothing, to no great surprise. Still, the feeling of something hovering in the darkness awaiting an opportunity to pounce clung insistently to the forefront of his mind and the General had to tear his attention from the view over his shoulder to the one before him. "I must speak with the King. You two go and take care of Luinaur. Get a healer to look at that head wound, and then come join us." Thalgaladh began to walk away, but paused for a moment to look back at the bleeding prince. His heart grew cold at the thought of some ill befalling Thranduil's youngest. He already felt fully responsible for Belegalad's foolish undertaking, and if something were to happen to Prince Legolas in their halls…the General cast off the evil thoughts. "Take care of yourselves," he stated as he exited the hall.

----------------------

Thranduil stood panting in the middle of his chambers, eyes sweeping the floor for any trace of movement. The chamber was carpeted in a thick layer of flesh and fluid, and Thranduil poked each piece with his sword to assure himself of its death.

A soft touch on his bare shoulder blade alerted him to Linnaloth's presence. The king turned to his wife, scanning her for any sign of injury. "Are you alright?" He reached out for her with sticky fingers, hand pausing before it connected with her face. To touch her with such foul fingers, to besmirch her fairness in any way, was little less than sacrilege in his eyes.

She smiled at him, eyeing the fingers that hovered by her cheek. Sensing his reluctance, Linnaloth leaned into his caress, closing her eyes at the warm touch. She stepped forward and claimed his lips, clutching him to her desperately. After a long, lingering moment in his arms, she broke the kiss and whispered, "Perhaps now we should get dressed."

He smiled into her hair before stepping back to retrieve clean clothes. The king drew on his clothes, fervently wishing he had time to cleanse himself properly. "I told you that I would take care of everything, did I not?"

She beamed at him a moment, before reality crashed on her. "What do we do now? We are quite trapped."

Shirt hanging loose, Thranduil stepped up behind his wife. Talented fingers worked the tiny buttons on her dress, pressing each pearl through its corresponding hole. When he reached the top, he smoothed the wrinkles from the shoulders of the gown and placed a soft kiss on her neck beneath her hairline. "I know not," he confessed to his immense displeasure. "But fear not, love."

"I know. You shall take care of everything," the final syllables sticking and flowing like warm honey.

"Do you mock me, my lady?" The king teased, glad for his wife's improving mood.

She turned in his embrace, small fingers tracing the bumps of his ribs on their path around his neck. She placed a short, wet kiss on his Adam's apple before leaning back to look into his vivid blue eyes. "Always, my lord."

He smiled fondly at her, but the look melted away leaving behind only the hard look of a poised warrior. His eyes shifted to the closed door, all his senses turned toward what lay beyond it. Something was happening outside, and the King's grip grew brutal on his wife's hips.

"Thranduil?" Her voice was small and frightened, and she found herself being ushered backwards through the bedroom.

The closet door swung open and she was pushed inside. Her husband was barking commands at her so quickly that her brain was having trouble keeping up. "Stay in here! Do not come out, no matter what you hear! Stuff the crack beneath the door tightly, so that nothing may get in." From the back of his pants he withdrew the bejeweled dagger he'd given her earlier. "Take this."

She wrapped her fingers around the golden hilt. "What about you?"

"Do not worry about me."

"But…"

"Do not argue," he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. A deep breath steadied him and he explained, "My love, I need to know that you are safe." Wide wet eyes sparkled, and the king could not resist rubbing his thumbs beneath them. "You must trust me," he whispered.

Linnaloth nodded and declared, "I do."

A soft kiss, and the world was black.