Summary: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.
Disclaimer: I'm not Tolkien, but I do own a 6" Legolas standee.
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.
Also, plant/animal voices and contacts with plants/animals are portrayed in ~this~ as well. I like to think that animals speak Elvish…
After the Storm
Chapter Eight: Tears of Grief
//He had felt like he was fading. Nothing had seemed to matter any longer, and he was walking in a dream tinged with mist. Life happened, but it didn't. Neither to him, nor to those that he held dear, those he loved above all else. He lived in his world for six months, his painless, deathless dream. It was his sanctuary. He felt no pain, no grief…but he also felt none of his happiness, nor any of the other sensations that made him live at all. It was a compromise that he couldn't feel, alter, or enjoy, but it suited him.
In the beginning, those who healed wounds of mind gathered around him, along with great multitudes of people. They all searched for a cure, one that would not reveal itself to their scrutinizing eyes. Then they stopped caring, and he was left to his own numb devices. He did not mind. He did not care.
Until something woke him up.
It began with the daydreams, more fleeting glimpses of the past, present, or mayhap even future. Images of a young, flawless little Elfling with the most perfect blue eyes had touched his mind, and then passed away, quickly forgotten. Then he had witnessed the living portraits of a fair huntsman fighting with swift, accurate shots, felling great spiders. Sometimes he would spy a thin, disconsolate creature with torn hair and a sad voice, or a dark being wreathed with shadow. Even fewer were the times in which he spied a mortal Man drawing a dirty blade, or the hunter from other dreams with two Man, four small beings, a Dwarf, and what was undoubtedly a Wizard.
All of these came in vast intervals at first, quickly forgotten in the dark oblivion of his mind, and he had only enjoyed a few seconds of pondering them before his thoughts were cleansed away. But soon the visions began to flood him, drowning the Elf until there was only a blinding white light that made him want to scream…
He had opened clouded eyes to the world, feeling weak and miserable. It took all of his strength to call for hot water, undress his thin body, then to slip into the tub. He cleaned his face, and, as he did so, he saw his reflection and froze.
Gone was the proud, strong ruler of Mirkwood, replaced with a tired, disconsolate creature, his hair tangled and skin drawn tightly about his face. His once bright eyes were dead, lifeless and grey, like a strand of grass in winter, and he looked, and felt, plain. Ugly.
He could not imagine why this would be. He did not remember anything at all. He opened his mouth to call for Legolas. His son would know.
A soft croak immerged, unlike his melodious voice, and he closed his eyes, slipping some warm water and rising from the liquid. He dressed, with trouble, and called for a maid.
A timid maiden came, shaking as she did so.
"M-m-milord?" she asked. "W-what d-do you re-request?"
"Find my son," he ordered, reaching for a bottle of fine red wine. "He should not be far."
He had a sudden urge to kiss the Elf, to have an exquisite new bow carved from the best wood he knew of for him, to hug his lovely child…
The maid squeaked.
"Y-your M-majest-ty," she stammered. "L-legolas has been mi-missing f-for six m-months n-now. He-he is s-said t-to be de-dead…"
Thranduil did not move, clutching the bottle like a lifeline as the memories poured forth, the memories that had happened while he saw far off things.
//Being abandoned, ignored, and left to die…//
Red rage obscured his vision, and he narrowed his eyes as anger began to control him, the dragon of fury eating at his control. He began to shake.
//Meat waved in his face, cold snickers, while others only watched in horror…//
"M-m-m-majesty?" she stuttered.
//Others ruling his kingdom, spoiling his throne, sons of Men, Orc-spawn…//
He roared in answer, hurling the glass bottle at her as the monster within him raged its war. She screamed and ducked. The glass shattered, wine dripping like blood on the wall. He approached her, seething with wrath.
"I remember you," he whispered, grasping the fabric of her dress. "I remember your laughter…"
He knew her abuse and betrayal. All of it.
He took a glass shard and stabbed her eyes slowly, enjoying the sounds of her shrieks, her wild, useless thrashing, and the dark red blood that rushed from her eyes and spilt in a swift river down her white cheeks, warming his hands in torrents.
He tore at them again, and then shoved her out of his door, throwing her against the wall.
"Be gone from my sight," he hissed. "Let the blindness tell you what I shall see of your face, hereof."
Her fellows crowded around her, trying to staunch the blood. Thranduil cackled like a madman.
"You came to her, but you abandoned me when I had need of you most! What friends, what army, and what fellowship do you truly hold, then? You shall heal the wounds of body, but you neglect the insane or lost? Look upon my face, then, and see the heart of grief! See yourselves, if you can! See your fate! Dare you look madness and death in the eyes?"
He slammed the door, flooded with emotion. He snatched another wine bottle as sorrow threatened to take him, pouring it down his throat as if to drown his pain. All that he could see was a sea of wine, and all that he tasted was sweet, seducing liquid.
He cradled the tenth to his chest, stroking it and sobbing like the child he felt. His beloved Elfling had been taken from him, far, far away. There would be no life this night. As he felt the cool, soothing glass, he whispered to himself soft words that only he could hear, far into drunkenness, but so very far to go.
"Tonight, you are my only baby," he mumbled. "You shall be the thing that I cherish most, immortal one, and you shall receive all of my love."
Thranduil placed stained lips to the bottle and tipped it into his mouth, knowing that he would drink himself close to death. He did not care.
He wanted to feel the bloody tendrils of mortality, to be kissed by death with cold ice, and to feel pain as he had never known.
He wanted to suffer for his child. His beautiful Legolas; his only source of comfort, and the only one who could be given his undying love was his perfect, blessed little baby.
Where was his glorious offspring? Why had he not returned to his father's arms?
The next bottles began to choke him, making him ill, but he had lost all reason. The wine spilled down his face as his sight blurred and he missed, spreading on his rich garments ones that used to prize so greatly.
Coughing and sobbing, he sank to his bed, dropping the liquor and clutching his sides. His baby…his baby…
He could not feel the aura of beauty that was his son within his mind.
"Y-you w-w-were my only l-l-love le-eft," Thranduil slurred as his breath hitched.
Then all went black.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He survived, of course. His family had always inherited a high tolerance for wine. Or perhaps the Valar wanted him to live. Thranduil did not know, but the miracle did not keep him from mourning in his own, twisted ways.
Refusing food until it was an eat or perish circumstance, drinking himself to sleep, dressing in black, and never leaving the confines of his room…
He never let himself take the coward's way out, but he loved his son so greatly…
He spent his time reflecting, wondering how he could have been a greater father, if he had ever really needed to punish his child that badly, or if he had ever felt lonely when his father was away.
He was convinced that it would always be his fault.
Time passed again, and he drank less and ate more, leaving his room from time to time in order to preserve his people, or at least those whom had never betrayed him. He worked on documents, perfected battle tactics, and tried, oh how he tried, to fit his mourning in at night, for then it was never cast aside.
He still missed his beautiful Elfling, and he mused over his first reaction if he came home. Would he be angry? Perhaps cold and silent? The most obvious to him would be to take him into his arms and kiss his head, weeping with joy. Would that embarrass him? What if he had truly left only to escape him, and now he hated him?
What if he never returned?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They had continued.
Estel proved himself as cold as he was gentle, and they continued at the same pace, sometimes even harsher. Thoron did not speak any longer, or even look anyone in the eye. This lasted four long days before Estel spotted him talking quietly to Thalion, nodding or frowned here and there within the silence where the horse 'replied'.
That night, Thoron spoke up again around the campfire, this time to question.
"The forest here is wide," he spoke, apparently to no one in particular. "We could wander for days, weeks, or months, or meet a quicker end in starvation. Here you must plan, or we will surely be lost."
"Why do you care, Aragorn? Why bother? You'll only die, either way, always."
Estel sat up straighter immediately at the reappearance of the silky, cruel voice that he knew so well.
'Then what are your preparations?' he asked the voice.
"None. Let yourself pass away, like dust upon the wind. By sword, suffocation, poison…die. The Elf shall live on."
"Surely, you mean to keep traveling," the Elf continued. "If we halt here, we could be caught by any sort of foul beast…"
Seeing the glaze over his companion's eyes, he whispered, "Please."
The soft plead caught his attention, just as Thoron's harmonious voice had done so many times before, and he willed the voice away.
"I have none," he admitted. "Would you aid me in their making?"
He removed a roll of parchment from a small pouch at his waist, laying it across a stump. Thoron's eyes shone with interest as his thin fingers traced the glossy black ink, through the Shire, along the Bruinen, across the mountains, into Mirkwood, and at last to Rohan. His fingers lingered for a moment longer on Mirkwood, though.
"Why is it called Mirkwood?" he asked, returning to stroke the trees. "How could such a large, green place be made from darkness?"
"Spiders of giant sizes live there, and other filthy creatures, brought with the filth of Sauron," Aragorn explained, finding naught wrong with this curiosity, though his ignorance startled him. Mirkwood was the largest forest on the map, and his friend was obviously a Wood-Elf. "It was once called Greenwood the Great. In these times, it is ruled by King Thranduil, or the Elvenking, as he is known."
His eyes glittered as he spoke the Elf's name.
"What is wrong with this King, that you speak of him with ill will? What cruel deed has he performed?"
"He is a greedy trickster," the Man answered, "who would as soon trade his son for gems as you can blink. I believe that he must be heartless. He doesn't communicate with the Elves of Imladris at all, and, not so long ago, a poor maiden helped by two friends found her way to Rivendell, her eyes gouged brutally by her own ruler!"
"What she do?" he questioned.
"She says that she did naught," Estel replied.
"Why has there not been a rebellion?" Thoron wondered aloud. "If he is truly as cruel as you say, there would have been an uprising."
Next he pointed to Rohan.
"I think that I know this place," he said slowly. "They are famed for their horses, yes? As kind to them as Elvish folk, perhaps. Can we journey here?"
Warm, callused fingers guided his lean hand to a small gathering of trees labeled, 'Trollshaws.'
"Ah, but we are here," he explained gently. "To visit Rohan would be to touch against Rivendell, but all to the west is your dominion."
Thoron shivered and took back his hand, for Estel had brushed a scar across his palm that stirred bad memories.
Estel knew that he had seen almost all to the west of Rivendell, so he gazed further. The Ranger's eyes met the Blue Mountains, and he said slowly, as if hypnotized, "We must go here."
His friend followed his finger and nodded thoughtfully. It was a long ride, true, at least five hundred miles, but the trail beckoned to him as well.
"It will be a wonderful journey, Estel," he said softly.
And far away, the power cackled, for that was just as good, and Vaire kept weaving.
Thalion snorted and nuzzled his beloved Elfling.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~No one has requested my opinion~ the horse informed Thoron, clearly hurt.
He laughed quietly and kissed his head.
~And what would that be?~ he inquired.
After studying the map, he sighed.
~Rohan, I would suppose. There is fresh, green grass there, and enough water and love to go around. Fine horses are worshiped there, I have heard. Imagine it, my little one! Galloping through the long strands as the wind blows our hair, sunlight shining and freedom from our accursed bindings! We would be freed for eternity.~
Thoron closed his eyes and pictured such a place, until he could smell the sweet plants, and taste clear, fresh water like an elixir of life on his lips..
~Yes, but the Blue Mountains are a new adventure, Thalion, and we could fine all sorts of joys!~
~Newer isn't always better~ the stallion argued. ~The desert heat is new, but it brings death. Gems were new, and they bring greed.~
The Elf said naught, for he had always found a strange attraction to jewels, like the finely crafted beryl in the hilt of Estel's sword that he longed to touch, but feared the reaction. But he knew that his friend had a valid point.
~I shall follow my master to the end, however. He fed me when he and I were younger, and I owe my loyalty. Though I do not love him as much as I hold affection for you, he is still my friend.~
He kept rubbing his head against his true master, and all horses' true master, for they served Elves more readily than Men and Dwarves always.
A warm hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched, moving closer to his animal companion and looking up with frightened eyes. Estel held up a hand in a sign of peace.
"I apologize," the Man assured him. "I had no plans to harm you. I merely wanted to know if you wanted an apple. I found a tree nearby."
He handed him the blood red fruit, unharmed by bruises or hungry bugs. Thoron took it gratefully, and found the skin heated pleasantly by the sun.
"Thank you," he said quietly, taking a bite and savoring the white flesh, the delicious juices, and even the smell of his lunch, for he had been taught to appreciate meals the hard way. Estel watched him with curiosity.
Finally, Thoron squirmed and looked at him with furrowed brows.
"What did I do wrong?" he asked in worry. "Do you plan to toss me from your sight? I know that I am weakened, but I can do other things for you-"
"Close your mouth," Aragorn ordered, and, to his surprise, the Elf shut his lips tightly as if slapped. "I was only observing you," he continued in a softer tone, "because you interest me, greatly so. I have never met anyone quite like you. You are so different from Men and Elves alike, almost a different species entirely."
He looked away in twisted shame, looking at the ground with hard eyes. He knew every possible meaning of what had just been uttered.
Aragorn saddled Thalion's strong back. Thoron climbed behind him, and, as they rode away, he hurled his apple far into the woods. His heart hurt too greatly to finish it.
Thalion felt him withdraw, stiffening with alarm. He nudged the fringes of his friend's mind, only managing to make him curl further inside himself. He was slipping into the very state of mind that had made him want to kill Estel that night not so long ago, a perfect condition for the power that desperately longed to repeat his orders. Orders that would spell death.
But the insides of his body were already frosting with cold malice and shame. His Elfling would do something foolish, very soon indeed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Behold! My masterpiece! Well…kind of.
I had NO excuse for updating this late, and I am SERIOUSLY sorry! Please forgive me!
I don't actually type each story out before posting each chapter, I wing it, really, and, thusly, the result! I do, however, have plans of a sort for chapter 9, so updates SHOULD be faster, but I can't promise anything…
(I did, however, type Oialë, so that should probably mean something…)
Whoa! 61 reviews! This must be a dream…I should sleep more often, if this is the result!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
whitewater-spirit: Thanks! You're the only person on this list whom I didn't let down… :(
Mysterious Jedi: I'm glad to here it. Thanks for reviewing!
Lady Laswen: It's nice to have a sympathetic ear. Last week, my muse tried to actually mutate reviews out of pieces of tuna fish/spinach/ banana casserole, but I can't really blame her…no other use for the stuff. Sorry for the lateness!
marbienl: Yes, all animals can both talk to Thoron, and every creature of nature loves him-who can be blamed? It is, however, an exclusively Elvish trait, so Estel's left out. Thoron *might* tell him about the voice, but, knowing me, I probably won't stick to plan… I *love* the length of your reviews! Thank you so much for replying!
Astievia: I love talking to cuddly bunnies, myself…thanks!
leggylover03: Well, merry (belated) Christmas to you as well! Sorry about my s-l-o-w update…
Snuffles2: I'm trying to portray Thalion as a sort of horse-father to Thoron, and a great tapping source for angst-hint, hint. I like the scene, too, and actually added it at last minute. You have to love it when they're all so forlorn…Thanks for the review!
Das Blume: Hmm. That's what I was considering, but I think that he'll need to remember the hard way. Or maybe a nice nightmare… Thanks for the review!
Shanna: ¿Soy uno de sus favoritos? :):) ¡Eso es tan impresionante! Estoy alegre que usted está gozando de la historia. ¡Gracias!
Elenillor: I'm on your list of good stories? Wow…:):) I feel so special! Thanks for reviewing!
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9 reviews for this chapter! Thank you all *so* much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now for my special muse bulletin:
As I'm sure you'll recall, my muse was last seen making a weapon of nuclear war…
Muse: Yes! I have done it! Now, all will bow down to me, the supreme warrior and ruler of this puny planet! First, Papa John's, then, Fanfiction.net, then, those weird robot operators that have creepy voices, and then, the world! Muh ah ha ha!
(A crash rings through the air as FBI agents break through the windows, holding out cards)
Muse: (squinting at the cards) No interest or taxes for 10 years at Rooms to Go?
Random FBI agent 1#: Uh, no.
(Everyone flips cards around, revealing the other side)
Random FBI agent 2#: We've come for the device!
Muse: NEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Hijacks fancy sports car, straps device to the back, and drives away, laughing hysterically)
Muse: You'll never get me alive, coppers!
End bulletin:
I seriously wish that I could say that this was the first time something like this has happened…
Darn…
Next edition: Meet the Doomsday Device!
Disclaimer: I'm not Tolkien, but I do own a 6" Legolas standee.
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.
Also, plant/animal voices and contacts with plants/animals are portrayed in ~this~ as well. I like to think that animals speak Elvish…
After the Storm
Chapter Eight: Tears of Grief
//He had felt like he was fading. Nothing had seemed to matter any longer, and he was walking in a dream tinged with mist. Life happened, but it didn't. Neither to him, nor to those that he held dear, those he loved above all else. He lived in his world for six months, his painless, deathless dream. It was his sanctuary. He felt no pain, no grief…but he also felt none of his happiness, nor any of the other sensations that made him live at all. It was a compromise that he couldn't feel, alter, or enjoy, but it suited him.
In the beginning, those who healed wounds of mind gathered around him, along with great multitudes of people. They all searched for a cure, one that would not reveal itself to their scrutinizing eyes. Then they stopped caring, and he was left to his own numb devices. He did not mind. He did not care.
Until something woke him up.
It began with the daydreams, more fleeting glimpses of the past, present, or mayhap even future. Images of a young, flawless little Elfling with the most perfect blue eyes had touched his mind, and then passed away, quickly forgotten. Then he had witnessed the living portraits of a fair huntsman fighting with swift, accurate shots, felling great spiders. Sometimes he would spy a thin, disconsolate creature with torn hair and a sad voice, or a dark being wreathed with shadow. Even fewer were the times in which he spied a mortal Man drawing a dirty blade, or the hunter from other dreams with two Man, four small beings, a Dwarf, and what was undoubtedly a Wizard.
All of these came in vast intervals at first, quickly forgotten in the dark oblivion of his mind, and he had only enjoyed a few seconds of pondering them before his thoughts were cleansed away. But soon the visions began to flood him, drowning the Elf until there was only a blinding white light that made him want to scream…
He had opened clouded eyes to the world, feeling weak and miserable. It took all of his strength to call for hot water, undress his thin body, then to slip into the tub. He cleaned his face, and, as he did so, he saw his reflection and froze.
Gone was the proud, strong ruler of Mirkwood, replaced with a tired, disconsolate creature, his hair tangled and skin drawn tightly about his face. His once bright eyes were dead, lifeless and grey, like a strand of grass in winter, and he looked, and felt, plain. Ugly.
He could not imagine why this would be. He did not remember anything at all. He opened his mouth to call for Legolas. His son would know.
A soft croak immerged, unlike his melodious voice, and he closed his eyes, slipping some warm water and rising from the liquid. He dressed, with trouble, and called for a maid.
A timid maiden came, shaking as she did so.
"M-m-milord?" she asked. "W-what d-do you re-request?"
"Find my son," he ordered, reaching for a bottle of fine red wine. "He should not be far."
He had a sudden urge to kiss the Elf, to have an exquisite new bow carved from the best wood he knew of for him, to hug his lovely child…
The maid squeaked.
"Y-your M-majest-ty," she stammered. "L-legolas has been mi-missing f-for six m-months n-now. He-he is s-said t-to be de-dead…"
Thranduil did not move, clutching the bottle like a lifeline as the memories poured forth, the memories that had happened while he saw far off things.
//Being abandoned, ignored, and left to die…//
Red rage obscured his vision, and he narrowed his eyes as anger began to control him, the dragon of fury eating at his control. He began to shake.
//Meat waved in his face, cold snickers, while others only watched in horror…//
"M-m-m-majesty?" she stuttered.
//Others ruling his kingdom, spoiling his throne, sons of Men, Orc-spawn…//
He roared in answer, hurling the glass bottle at her as the monster within him raged its war. She screamed and ducked. The glass shattered, wine dripping like blood on the wall. He approached her, seething with wrath.
"I remember you," he whispered, grasping the fabric of her dress. "I remember your laughter…"
He knew her abuse and betrayal. All of it.
He took a glass shard and stabbed her eyes slowly, enjoying the sounds of her shrieks, her wild, useless thrashing, and the dark red blood that rushed from her eyes and spilt in a swift river down her white cheeks, warming his hands in torrents.
He tore at them again, and then shoved her out of his door, throwing her against the wall.
"Be gone from my sight," he hissed. "Let the blindness tell you what I shall see of your face, hereof."
Her fellows crowded around her, trying to staunch the blood. Thranduil cackled like a madman.
"You came to her, but you abandoned me when I had need of you most! What friends, what army, and what fellowship do you truly hold, then? You shall heal the wounds of body, but you neglect the insane or lost? Look upon my face, then, and see the heart of grief! See yourselves, if you can! See your fate! Dare you look madness and death in the eyes?"
He slammed the door, flooded with emotion. He snatched another wine bottle as sorrow threatened to take him, pouring it down his throat as if to drown his pain. All that he could see was a sea of wine, and all that he tasted was sweet, seducing liquid.
He cradled the tenth to his chest, stroking it and sobbing like the child he felt. His beloved Elfling had been taken from him, far, far away. There would be no life this night. As he felt the cool, soothing glass, he whispered to himself soft words that only he could hear, far into drunkenness, but so very far to go.
"Tonight, you are my only baby," he mumbled. "You shall be the thing that I cherish most, immortal one, and you shall receive all of my love."
Thranduil placed stained lips to the bottle and tipped it into his mouth, knowing that he would drink himself close to death. He did not care.
He wanted to feel the bloody tendrils of mortality, to be kissed by death with cold ice, and to feel pain as he had never known.
He wanted to suffer for his child. His beautiful Legolas; his only source of comfort, and the only one who could be given his undying love was his perfect, blessed little baby.
Where was his glorious offspring? Why had he not returned to his father's arms?
The next bottles began to choke him, making him ill, but he had lost all reason. The wine spilled down his face as his sight blurred and he missed, spreading on his rich garments ones that used to prize so greatly.
Coughing and sobbing, he sank to his bed, dropping the liquor and clutching his sides. His baby…his baby…
He could not feel the aura of beauty that was his son within his mind.
"Y-you w-w-were my only l-l-love le-eft," Thranduil slurred as his breath hitched.
Then all went black.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He survived, of course. His family had always inherited a high tolerance for wine. Or perhaps the Valar wanted him to live. Thranduil did not know, but the miracle did not keep him from mourning in his own, twisted ways.
Refusing food until it was an eat or perish circumstance, drinking himself to sleep, dressing in black, and never leaving the confines of his room…
He never let himself take the coward's way out, but he loved his son so greatly…
He spent his time reflecting, wondering how he could have been a greater father, if he had ever really needed to punish his child that badly, or if he had ever felt lonely when his father was away.
He was convinced that it would always be his fault.
Time passed again, and he drank less and ate more, leaving his room from time to time in order to preserve his people, or at least those whom had never betrayed him. He worked on documents, perfected battle tactics, and tried, oh how he tried, to fit his mourning in at night, for then it was never cast aside.
He still missed his beautiful Elfling, and he mused over his first reaction if he came home. Would he be angry? Perhaps cold and silent? The most obvious to him would be to take him into his arms and kiss his head, weeping with joy. Would that embarrass him? What if he had truly left only to escape him, and now he hated him?
What if he never returned?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They had continued.
Estel proved himself as cold as he was gentle, and they continued at the same pace, sometimes even harsher. Thoron did not speak any longer, or even look anyone in the eye. This lasted four long days before Estel spotted him talking quietly to Thalion, nodding or frowned here and there within the silence where the horse 'replied'.
That night, Thoron spoke up again around the campfire, this time to question.
"The forest here is wide," he spoke, apparently to no one in particular. "We could wander for days, weeks, or months, or meet a quicker end in starvation. Here you must plan, or we will surely be lost."
"Why do you care, Aragorn? Why bother? You'll only die, either way, always."
Estel sat up straighter immediately at the reappearance of the silky, cruel voice that he knew so well.
'Then what are your preparations?' he asked the voice.
"None. Let yourself pass away, like dust upon the wind. By sword, suffocation, poison…die. The Elf shall live on."
"Surely, you mean to keep traveling," the Elf continued. "If we halt here, we could be caught by any sort of foul beast…"
Seeing the glaze over his companion's eyes, he whispered, "Please."
The soft plead caught his attention, just as Thoron's harmonious voice had done so many times before, and he willed the voice away.
"I have none," he admitted. "Would you aid me in their making?"
He removed a roll of parchment from a small pouch at his waist, laying it across a stump. Thoron's eyes shone with interest as his thin fingers traced the glossy black ink, through the Shire, along the Bruinen, across the mountains, into Mirkwood, and at last to Rohan. His fingers lingered for a moment longer on Mirkwood, though.
"Why is it called Mirkwood?" he asked, returning to stroke the trees. "How could such a large, green place be made from darkness?"
"Spiders of giant sizes live there, and other filthy creatures, brought with the filth of Sauron," Aragorn explained, finding naught wrong with this curiosity, though his ignorance startled him. Mirkwood was the largest forest on the map, and his friend was obviously a Wood-Elf. "It was once called Greenwood the Great. In these times, it is ruled by King Thranduil, or the Elvenking, as he is known."
His eyes glittered as he spoke the Elf's name.
"What is wrong with this King, that you speak of him with ill will? What cruel deed has he performed?"
"He is a greedy trickster," the Man answered, "who would as soon trade his son for gems as you can blink. I believe that he must be heartless. He doesn't communicate with the Elves of Imladris at all, and, not so long ago, a poor maiden helped by two friends found her way to Rivendell, her eyes gouged brutally by her own ruler!"
"What she do?" he questioned.
"She says that she did naught," Estel replied.
"Why has there not been a rebellion?" Thoron wondered aloud. "If he is truly as cruel as you say, there would have been an uprising."
Next he pointed to Rohan.
"I think that I know this place," he said slowly. "They are famed for their horses, yes? As kind to them as Elvish folk, perhaps. Can we journey here?"
Warm, callused fingers guided his lean hand to a small gathering of trees labeled, 'Trollshaws.'
"Ah, but we are here," he explained gently. "To visit Rohan would be to touch against Rivendell, but all to the west is your dominion."
Thoron shivered and took back his hand, for Estel had brushed a scar across his palm that stirred bad memories.
Estel knew that he had seen almost all to the west of Rivendell, so he gazed further. The Ranger's eyes met the Blue Mountains, and he said slowly, as if hypnotized, "We must go here."
His friend followed his finger and nodded thoughtfully. It was a long ride, true, at least five hundred miles, but the trail beckoned to him as well.
"It will be a wonderful journey, Estel," he said softly.
And far away, the power cackled, for that was just as good, and Vaire kept weaving.
Thalion snorted and nuzzled his beloved Elfling.
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~No one has requested my opinion~ the horse informed Thoron, clearly hurt.
He laughed quietly and kissed his head.
~And what would that be?~ he inquired.
After studying the map, he sighed.
~Rohan, I would suppose. There is fresh, green grass there, and enough water and love to go around. Fine horses are worshiped there, I have heard. Imagine it, my little one! Galloping through the long strands as the wind blows our hair, sunlight shining and freedom from our accursed bindings! We would be freed for eternity.~
Thoron closed his eyes and pictured such a place, until he could smell the sweet plants, and taste clear, fresh water like an elixir of life on his lips..
~Yes, but the Blue Mountains are a new adventure, Thalion, and we could fine all sorts of joys!~
~Newer isn't always better~ the stallion argued. ~The desert heat is new, but it brings death. Gems were new, and they bring greed.~
The Elf said naught, for he had always found a strange attraction to jewels, like the finely crafted beryl in the hilt of Estel's sword that he longed to touch, but feared the reaction. But he knew that his friend had a valid point.
~I shall follow my master to the end, however. He fed me when he and I were younger, and I owe my loyalty. Though I do not love him as much as I hold affection for you, he is still my friend.~
He kept rubbing his head against his true master, and all horses' true master, for they served Elves more readily than Men and Dwarves always.
A warm hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched, moving closer to his animal companion and looking up with frightened eyes. Estel held up a hand in a sign of peace.
"I apologize," the Man assured him. "I had no plans to harm you. I merely wanted to know if you wanted an apple. I found a tree nearby."
He handed him the blood red fruit, unharmed by bruises or hungry bugs. Thoron took it gratefully, and found the skin heated pleasantly by the sun.
"Thank you," he said quietly, taking a bite and savoring the white flesh, the delicious juices, and even the smell of his lunch, for he had been taught to appreciate meals the hard way. Estel watched him with curiosity.
Finally, Thoron squirmed and looked at him with furrowed brows.
"What did I do wrong?" he asked in worry. "Do you plan to toss me from your sight? I know that I am weakened, but I can do other things for you-"
"Close your mouth," Aragorn ordered, and, to his surprise, the Elf shut his lips tightly as if slapped. "I was only observing you," he continued in a softer tone, "because you interest me, greatly so. I have never met anyone quite like you. You are so different from Men and Elves alike, almost a different species entirely."
He looked away in twisted shame, looking at the ground with hard eyes. He knew every possible meaning of what had just been uttered.
Aragorn saddled Thalion's strong back. Thoron climbed behind him, and, as they rode away, he hurled his apple far into the woods. His heart hurt too greatly to finish it.
Thalion felt him withdraw, stiffening with alarm. He nudged the fringes of his friend's mind, only managing to make him curl further inside himself. He was slipping into the very state of mind that had made him want to kill Estel that night not so long ago, a perfect condition for the power that desperately longed to repeat his orders. Orders that would spell death.
But the insides of his body were already frosting with cold malice and shame. His Elfling would do something foolish, very soon indeed.
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Behold! My masterpiece! Well…kind of.
I had NO excuse for updating this late, and I am SERIOUSLY sorry! Please forgive me!
I don't actually type each story out before posting each chapter, I wing it, really, and, thusly, the result! I do, however, have plans of a sort for chapter 9, so updates SHOULD be faster, but I can't promise anything…
(I did, however, type Oialë, so that should probably mean something…)
Whoa! 61 reviews! This must be a dream…I should sleep more often, if this is the result!
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whitewater-spirit: Thanks! You're the only person on this list whom I didn't let down… :(
Mysterious Jedi: I'm glad to here it. Thanks for reviewing!
Lady Laswen: It's nice to have a sympathetic ear. Last week, my muse tried to actually mutate reviews out of pieces of tuna fish/spinach/ banana casserole, but I can't really blame her…no other use for the stuff. Sorry for the lateness!
marbienl: Yes, all animals can both talk to Thoron, and every creature of nature loves him-who can be blamed? It is, however, an exclusively Elvish trait, so Estel's left out. Thoron *might* tell him about the voice, but, knowing me, I probably won't stick to plan… I *love* the length of your reviews! Thank you so much for replying!
Astievia: I love talking to cuddly bunnies, myself…thanks!
leggylover03: Well, merry (belated) Christmas to you as well! Sorry about my s-l-o-w update…
Snuffles2: I'm trying to portray Thalion as a sort of horse-father to Thoron, and a great tapping source for angst-hint, hint. I like the scene, too, and actually added it at last minute. You have to love it when they're all so forlorn…Thanks for the review!
Das Blume: Hmm. That's what I was considering, but I think that he'll need to remember the hard way. Or maybe a nice nightmare… Thanks for the review!
Shanna: ¿Soy uno de sus favoritos? :):) ¡Eso es tan impresionante! Estoy alegre que usted está gozando de la historia. ¡Gracias!
Elenillor: I'm on your list of good stories? Wow…:):) I feel so special! Thanks for reviewing!
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9 reviews for this chapter! Thank you all *so* much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now for my special muse bulletin:
As I'm sure you'll recall, my muse was last seen making a weapon of nuclear war…
Muse: Yes! I have done it! Now, all will bow down to me, the supreme warrior and ruler of this puny planet! First, Papa John's, then, Fanfiction.net, then, those weird robot operators that have creepy voices, and then, the world! Muh ah ha ha!
(A crash rings through the air as FBI agents break through the windows, holding out cards)
Muse: (squinting at the cards) No interest or taxes for 10 years at Rooms to Go?
Random FBI agent 1#: Uh, no.
(Everyone flips cards around, revealing the other side)
Random FBI agent 2#: We've come for the device!
Muse: NEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Hijacks fancy sports car, straps device to the back, and drives away, laughing hysterically)
Muse: You'll never get me alive, coppers!
End bulletin:
I seriously wish that I could say that this was the first time something like this has happened…
Darn…
Next edition: Meet the Doomsday Device!