The ground was covered in blood. Red and black rivulets ran under and over the damp, autumn leaves, staining the ground. The seven Elves who had been left alive were covered in the sickening stuff, blinking at the slaughter.
How many orcs had attacked them, unawares? Thirty, it seemed like. Perhaps fourty. There had been no time to count before, and a good few of them had fled, as soon as they realised their leader had fallen.
The leader, with a soft 'oh', fell to his knees beside a fallen comrade. He stroked the dark hair gently and closed the warriors blank, staring eyes, but he did not weep. Had he wept for every lost friend, he would create enough for a waterfall, tumbling down in to a deep, deep lake. There were too many deaths to cry for now, and more and more followed with each passing day. Standing up again, he looked around at his fellow survivors.
"Pile the orc bodies up over here. We must take our dead home."
Obligingly, five of the Elves began to heave the heavy bodies in to a large pile. Gruesome, twisted faces which were contorted in to vile grimaces and half screams of death were flung on top of each other. Missing limbs, broken weapons and bloodied rags were also flung carelessly on to the pile. Soon, a thick smoke would rise above the tree tops.
One of the warriors, however, knelt on the ground still. His face was shielded by an unruly tangle of blood-matted, dark hair, and there was a large wound down his side. He held his white, shaking hands out in front of him, slender fingers tracing the ground, occasionally touching the body of the gigantic orc captain, whose head was nowhere to be seen.
"Brother?" The leader, an orc carcass slung over his shoulder as though it was nothing more than a sack of potatoes, paused in his work.
"Where is my sword? I cannot find it."
Confused, the leader dumped his orc on the pile, stabbing its throat as it twitched, coughing up black blood.
"It is by your hand, Astaler. Can you not see it?"
The leader, youngest son of King Thranduil, watched as his brother crawled forwards slightly, continuing to feel around until his hand touched the blood soaked blade. Fumbling, he drew the sword in to the firm clutch of his shaking hands, but he did not stand up.
"Astaler?"
The blonde prince flung a contorted arm, still clutching its broken blade, on to the quickly growing pile, and picked his way through the bodies to his brother. When his brother did not turn around, the young prince picked a blood drenched acorn from the floor and flicked it at Astalers back. His brother twitched and swung around, but did not stand up. His face still hidden, he reached out a hand slowly.
"Legolas? Is that you?"
"I am standing right in front of you, Astaler. Of course it was me."
The prince, still sitting on the ground with his hand reaching out in to the still air in front of him, turned his head away quickly.
"I… I cannot see."
It was barely more than a whisper, but by now Legolas realised that the other five warriors had paused in their creation of the hideous pile, standing still to watch. Legolas crouched down, and reached his hand out so that it was no more than an inch away from his brother's.
"If you can fid my hand, I will help you up. Otherwise you shall have to do it yourself, brother."
His hand was steady, unmoving in the air as Astaler turned his head to face Legolas. The young prince and the warriors gave startled cries and jumped back, Legolas leaping to his feet. Still clutching his long, blood covered sword on the ground, Astaler pulled away, scrambling backwards until his back came in to contact with the headless captain. His breath came in shudders, and for a long, long moment which felt like eternity, there was silence in the clearing. Not even the usual, chattering sounds of the forest wildlife could be heard; wolves, squirrels, birds, spiders. All silent. At last, Legolas whispered;
"We need to get you home."
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Walking towards his main chamber, listening seriously to a councillor drone on about the disturbances of the trade links with the men of Dale due to the rapidly increasing movements of orcs and spiders, Thranduil contemplated the deteriorating state of his beloved realm. His son Oroweth strode beside him, frowning at the state of affairs, hands clasped behind his back.
"Perhaps we ought to increase the number of warriors patrolling the river and the eastern border?"
Thranduil shook his head glumly. "They are hard pressed enough everywhere in the realm, especially in the south. Send a messenger to Dale explaining to Brand that we cannot spare any more warriors. He has permission to send a few of his own men to watch the river, if he feels the need. There is naught else we can do."
As they were about to enter Thranduil's study, the king noticed two of his sons, accompanied by a warrior, appearing from a different direction. He smiled, comforted by their appearance after a month or two of being on patrol deep in the western parts of the realm, before realising that they were still covered in blood which had encrusted itself on to their clothes. He paused and came forward to greet them, but they froze, as if scared.
"Legolas, Astaler. You are back early."
He noticed the way that none of them met his eyes, and frowned, wondering what the matter could be.
"Surely… surely you are not all that is left?" He asked, after a moment of silence. At his side Oroweth also frowned. If that was true, the news would not surprise him in the least, but it would still be a blow. There had been twenty good warriors sent out, and if only three had survived, prospects for the Elven realm were blacker than he had suspected.
"No, adar, there are four others. We were ambushed by orcs not far from the path. About thirty, I suspect, though some fled before we could kill them. We came back because we could do very little with only si… seven."
"You were going to say six."
"No!"
The answer came too quickly, and Astaler and Legolas stepped back just as quickly as the answer had been made, realising their mistake. Trying again, desperately this time, Legolas made an attempt to get away from the situation.
"Adar, may we rest? It has been a long journey back, and…"
He gave up, trailing away miserably. The warrior who was with them seemed to have slunk in to the background, as if sensing the beginning of a family argument, in which he had no place. The councillor had also stepped back a few paces, but was watching curiously.
"And?"
Thranduil arched an eyebrow. No answer came from either of his sons. That, in itself, was unusual. Thranduil realised later he ought to have noticed earlier the strange silence of Astaler. Though the boy was not as outspoken as Legolas had a tendency to be, he was never absolutely silent. In the pause, Thranduil frowned again.
"Astaler, take off that cloak, we cannot see your face."
As the prince lowered his hood, Thranduil turned back to his questioning of Legolas. He opened his mouth to demand the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, when he saw his other son, and realised why the cloak had stayed on. His mouth continued to hang open, and his face turned slightly purple. He closed his mouth, opened it, and then closed it again. Finally, he spoke.
"Why, by the Valar, are you wearing a blindfold!? We have no time for games! Take it off this second!"
Again, later, Thranduil cursed himself for not realising what the problem was. For many nights afterwards he cursed himself for being so blindly insensitive. So angry.
"No!"
Astaler recoiled, bringing his hands quickly up to his face. He stumbled back a few spaces before Legolas caught his arm. He suddenly felt like a bystander as a brief struggle ensued between his two sons. Astaler pulling away, away, away, trying to hide himself; Legolas desperately trying to regain an illusion of peace, both their voices raising to desperate cries.
"He will see sooner or later!"
"Then make it later!"
"Stop being a fool, just take it off!"
"No, please…"
The green strip of fabric which had been shielding Astaler's face ripped under the strain of the brief tug of war between the hapless pair, and Astaler fell to the floor, his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with anguished sobs. Legolas knelt beside him, looping his weary arms around the shoulders.
"Just let them see, Astaler. It is not so bad, anymore."
Muffled by the shaking hands, Thranduil strained to hear what it was his second son whispered, but the voice was too faint, like a lost child. He suddenly went cold, and an icy shiver ran down his spine as a sense of foreboding grabbed hold of him.
"Astaler?"
Beside him, Oroweth took a step forward, concerned. He reached out a hand, as though in comfort, but stopped and drew back.
"Astaler, just let them see. Please?"
Slowly, cautiously, the dark haired prince let his hands fall away from his face. Clasping them in his lap, he uncurled his spine, until his back was taught, like a bowstring.
And then… he looked up.
What Thranduil saw next cursed him with nightmares, time and time again, night after night. His son knelt before him, hair curled around his face, as still as though he were made out of stone, and his face… his eyes…
Where his eyes had once been was a mass of ugly, raw, red flesh. It had stopped bleeding, and it had been somehow cleaned on the long journey back home, and perhaps it was just beginning to heal, but it was a sight that Thranduil felt no father should ever have to see.
"Ennyntaur said I will never see again," came the whisper, as Thranduil felt his legs wobble. He stretched out a hand, catching the wall to stop himself from falling over.
"It was the orc captain that did it, adar. I had already killed two, but then he just came down on me. He… he was two heavy. He almost crushed me. When he brought his sword down, I think somebody fired an arrow in to his shoulder. He missed and caught my eyes, instead. I think it was Legolas who killed him, but I could not see. My face hurt too much. I said just before I left that I never wanted to see another orc my whole life," the prince continued, before turning away. Legolas finished the sentence.
"Now he never will."
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A/N: Well, I figured it had been long enough since I last updated anything, and this little bunny had been chewing at my leg for weeks, if not months. The long line of 's's, by the way, ought to be stars, only won't let me upload them.Soooo...yeah. Here it is, all sparkly and new.