Oh. My. God.
What is this? Can it be?! Is it really? (Gasp!) It is! It's an update!!!
Hi there! Remember me? Yeah, that's right. Your incorrigible "Touch of Sight" writer has finally decided to return to her first LOTR fanfic. It took me a while to get back to this after a long hiatus, but I finally did. Thanks to everyone that read and reviewed and kept e-mailing me with pleas for a new chapter and threats to get another update out. Your encouragement and support have been wonderful. Thanks so much to all my readers. Anyway, hope I didn't keep any of you waiting too too long for this and that you like the new installment. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters belong to JRR Tolkien and are not mine, nor are they being used for profit in the telling of this story. If you want to go and try to sue me for copyright infringements, go ahead. But I'm warning you right now, you're not going to get much!
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Thranduil sat stiff and proud atop his great white charger as he watched the approaching group of riders gallop out across the field to meet him. To any, he would have appeared the living example of stoic calm and poise. But inside, a fire raged. The deep, burning anger and hatred he felt smoldering in his heart now for the past five days suddenly seemed to come flaring to life as he watched the approaching delegates from the Imladris forces. His ancient grey eyes were like two pieces of burning coal as he watched them draw nearer, their banners of blue and white snapping in the air above them over their shoulders as they sped out across the field toward him.
It was an ancient tradition that before battles such a this, delegates from either side would meet in the center of the battlefield to negotiate any possible last minute surrenders or compromises between the two forces. But Thranduil had already made up his mind that there would be no such negotiations or compromises made today. Not unless it was for them to hand over the murderous little dwarf that killed his son. He was not going to call off this battle until he saw that dwarf's blood staining the edge of his sword.
The Imladris group was nearing. With a soft nudge of his heels, Thranduil urged his horse forward to meet the coming group of riders several hundred yards out in the middle of the field. Riding out with him followed the Elvenking's nephew, Toreingal, and two of his field commanders, Celion and Eredil.
Flanking the king's right side, Toreingal dispassionately stared out ahead of him towards the group of approaching Noldorian elves. No light or life seemed to shine in his once bright and fiery eyes as he watched them near. All that remained of the once proud and arrogant elf was nothing more than a hollow shell of grief and pain; his cousin's death still weighing heavily on both his body and soul. His skin seemed dulled of its natural elven glow. Even his long, once silken golden hair seemed lackluster and dull as it limply spilled over his shoulders and hung down the length of his back.
Though he said nothing and obediently followed his uncle out into the middle of the field to meet the approaching riders, Toreingal felt strangely numb and disconnected to the world around him. Like he was watching his life play out through the eyes of someone else.
Though he could not say when the actual change had occurred, he no longer had any desire to be there. For he had long ago lost his taste for revenge and retribution on those that resided in the land in which his cousin had met his end. Since returning to Rivendell from his journey to the elven sorceress' cave to find Legolas already dead, Toreingal had long since given up seeking revenge for his cousin's death.
Somehow this war felt wrong to him now. Where once he would have demanded blood in retribution for his cousin's death, such revenge now seemed empty and nothing more than a cruel act of disrespect to his cousin's dearly departed soul. Though grief still hung heavy on his aching soul, he knew Legolas would not have wanted this. He would not have wanted his death to lead to such senseless hatred and violence. He wouldn't have wanted his father to start a war like this and spill innocent blood in his name. That was not what Legolas had stood for in his life and what Toreingal knew he wouldn't have wanted to stand for in his death.
But while Toreingal knew his cousin wouldn't have wanted this war to be the marker of his passing, he doubted that knowledge would ever stem Thranduil's wrath from seeking blood that day. There was something vengeful burning in his uncle's eyes he had never seen before. Something in Thranduil's eyes that both scared and frightened Toreingal with the unspoken promise of bloodshed to anyone that came to stand between his uncle and the one he blamed for his son's death.
Toreingal slowly glanced up out of the corner of his eye to emptily stare at his uncle's terrible and frightening profile. All he wanted to do was go back home to Mirkwood and properly mourn his cousin's death. But somehow he knew that was probably all but impossible now. Thranduil would never relinquish his path of war. Not now. Not when the dwarf he blamed his son's death on stood so close now within his grasp.
Thranduil suddenly pulled back his mount, effectively stopping his nephew and two commanders beside him also. The Imladris riders were now nearing the middle of the field where they already stood waiting. As they rode closer, the four Mirkwood elves finally saw who had come to try and negotiate any possible last minute concessions of peace with them.
Leading the small group rode the twin sons of Elrond, their long dark hair streaming out over their shoulders and playing in the growing headwind of the brewing storm that was quickly sweeping in over their heads from the east. Behind them rode their mortal foster brother, Aragorn, and beside him the wizard, Gandalf, astride his great white stallion, Shadowfax. There was no sign of the dwarf Gimli; he had been left at the Imladris defensive line while the others had gone to try and reason with Thranduil and negotiate last minute peace. All wore grim expressions as they drew close and slowly pulled their mounts back to a stop about a yard from the Elvenking and his entourage.
Taking lead of matters, Elladan was the first to speak. "Lord Thranduil, we are here to negotiate for the cessation of hostility against Imladris–"
"There is nothing here to negotiate!" Thranduil spat, quickly cutting off the oldest heir of said elven realm, "I have already made my demands clear. I will not cease hostilities against this land until you hand over the murderous little dwarf that killed my son!"
"Thranduil, please," Elrohir pleaded from his brother's side, "Gimli had nothing to do with Legolas' death. What happened was an accident. It wasn't his fault. He was even one of the ones that went to try and find a cure for him!"
"And yet he did not return in time to save my son! Just like he is not here to face me now for his crimes," Thranduil noted acidly with unrepressed anger dripping off every word. "He poisoned my son! And you want me to just forget about it as though nothing happened at all?!" the Elvenking exclaimed. "No. I will not forget what that dwarf did. He murdered my son! I will see justice done for the crimes he's committed!"
"Thranduil, your son's death is tragic and regrettable," Gandalf finally took that moment to speak up, his voice flowing in slow, calming words meant to try and stem the growing tension in the air between the two groups, "But it is not right to pay blood for blood like this. As Elrohir said, Gimli is not responsible for Legolas' death. It was only ill-fate and misfortune that led to your son's passing. This war you are waging in attempt to place blame on one individual for such a tragic loss is unjustified. This is not justice. This is Kinslaying!"
Thranduil seemed to literally bristle around the edges at this declaration, his eyes narrowing to two dangerous slits of undeniable hatred and contempt. "Unjustified?" he hissed, "Perhaps you are right for once, wizard, for nothing can justify the loss of a child. But if this is the way I must go about avenging my son's murder, then that is what I will do! If that dwarf is not to be held responsible for Legolas' death then who is? Who?!" the Elvenking demanded, raking his fiery blue eyes across the four representatives from Imladris as if daring them to actually answer him. "That dwarf stole my son from me! I want his head for what he's done!" Thranduil then screamed, his voice beginning to take on a slightly hysterical quality to it as if all the pent up grief and pain he had held inside himself since first hearing of his son's death was finally starting to boil over past his defenses and iron will to keep them hidden and contained. "Hand him over! You have no right to harbor such a murderer in you lands and grant him sanctuary from punishment! He must pay for what he's done!"
"I am sorry, Thranduil, but I cannot allow such a thing," Gandalf said, his voice strong and even as he undauntedly held the king's fiery gaze with his own, "Gimli is innocent of these crimes you charge him with. And thus, we will protect him."
"Then once again I proclaim war on the elven realm of Imladris for harboring the known murderer of my son, Legolas Greenleaf, prince of Mirkwood!" Thranduil bellowed, his loud, commanding voice carrying far and wide out through the damp and heavy air to either side of the large, grassy field where both armies stood anxiously watching, waiting to see what last minute peace might yet still be negotiated between the two warring realms. But at Thranduil's renewed declaration of war, hope seemed to all but dwindle away to nothing.
"Legolas wouldn't have wanted this!" Aragorn desperately shouted, drawing the Elvenking's attention to him next, "You are doing your son's memory a disfavor! He would have never wanted his death to lead to such hatred or violence."
"My son also didn't want to die," Thranduil bitterly retorted, his sapphire gaze boring into Elrond's mortal foster son as if somehow also blaming him for his son's death, "But he is not here anymore to say what he wants or not. So it is up to me now to see how best to avenge his murder."
At this, hope of Thranduil peacefully reconciling with the elven realm of Imladris finally did disappear. For it seemed nothing short of dwarven blood staining the edge of Thranduil's blade would stem the grieving father's wrath.
"Thranduil, you are being a fool!" Gandalf cried in waning patience for the king's unrelenting quest for revenge, "This war will not bring your son back!"
"No," Thranduil relented with a flash of pained regret in his eyes before it was quickly swallowed behind his shield of anger again, "But at least I can have the satisfaction of knowing that after I pierce that dwarf's heart through with my own sword today that he will finally know in his last few moments of life what pain I have suffered and will feel for the rest of my life."
Thranduil paused then and seemed to try and collect himself, his slightly heaving chest the only indicator as to the inner turmoil of emotions that swirled around inside him like a raging storm just beneath his slowly crumbling facade of outer calm.
"You had best go prepare your troops," he then acidly suggested, lifting his chin in the general direction of the Imladris army of elves where they stood positioned just beneath the outer boughs of the field's surrounding forest, "For we will show no mercy to those that stand in the way of justice..." At this, Thranduil then sharply wheeled his mount around and began to move back in the direction of his army's line, his nephew and two field commanders close behind him.
But he did not get far. For at that moment there came an excited murmur of shouts and indiscernible cries of exclamation ripple though the ranks of stationed elves on the Imladris side of the field. Pausing, Thranduil slowly pulled his mount back to a stop and looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the stir, as did everybody else there For a moment, no one could discern what the cause of the sudden commotion was until those watching from the middle of the field saw a small section of warriors in the front line quickly part as if to make way for something before a streak of white and gold suddenly shot out from their ranks and sped out into the open field.
A collective gasp went up on either side of the field as the outline of a golden haired rider sitting astride a powerful white warhorse came into view as he shot like a loosened arrow out across the field in the direction of the small group standing together between the two opposing armies.
"Glorfindel!" Aragorn was the first to find his voice and shout in shocked disbelief at the ancient Balrog slayer's sudden appearance as the golden haired elf sped towards them.
"Stop!" Glorfindel began to frantically shout and wave as he finally came within range of the small group of leaders in the middle of the field. "Stop! Don't fight! He isn't dead! Legolas isn't dead! Don't fight!"
"What are you saying?" Gandalf demanded as the elf finally pulled a charging Asfaloth back to an abrupt and sudden stop only several feet from the amassed group of riders.
"Legolas!" Glorfindel repeated desperately, his bright blue eyes shining with some emotion no one there could quite accurately describe or name– perhaps some kind of mix between panic, disbelief, joy, and lingering shock? "He's still alive!" the ancient warrior cried again in growing distress, "Elrond just sent me to tell you he's not dead! He's still alive!"
An excited murmur of gasps and exclamations of disbelief ran through those listening.
"What do you mean Legolas isn't dead?" Thranduil incredulously demanded, sharply wheeling his horse back around to face the golden haired warrior.
"That he's still alive!" Glorfindel exclaimed in mounting frustration and desperation to make himself understood, "The Lady Arwen went to visit Legolas' body earlier this morning and found that the poison we believed to have killed him was still spreading. Elrond gave him a drought of the magical water Gandalf, Gimli, and Toreingal retrieved from Eronel's cave, and broke Legolas from some spell cast over him to make us all believe he had actually been dead! He is still alive!"
"Are you sure of this?" Gandalf demanded.
"Yes! I was there when he woke!" Glorfindel cried, "I heard him speak! I heard him call for Gimli! He is still alive I tell you! You must stop this fighting! He is not dead!" he pleaded, desperately raking his eyes across the group of stunned faces staring back at him in varying degrees of shocked disbelief.
For a moment, no one said anything, everyone there too stunned or skeptical to believe such a miracle like the one Glorfindel attested to having witnessed could have actually occurred. But the disbelief of such a thing possibly being true was quickly overrun by a soft, tentative flicker of fledgling hope.
"My son is still alive?" Thranduil softly asked in a somewhat hesitant tone, as if afraid of Glorfindel suddenly revealing this startling bit of news to be nothing more than some sort of cruel joke.
"Yes, Thranduil, he is," Glorfindel once again confirmed, holding the king's uncertain, questioning gaze with his own, "He is being tended to right now by Elrond and Arwen. He is weak and disoriented, but he is alive."
"I want to be taken to him. Now," Thranduil quickly said, his order a mixture of commanding royal authority and pleading parental distress. "I want to see my son..."
"Of course," Glorfindel nodded with no small sigh of relief at the king's acceptance to at least momentarily cease open warfare against Imladris and go to his resurrected son's side. But as the golden haired Balrog slayer was about to turn Asfaloth back in the direction of the Last Homely House with Thranduil close behind, both elves were suddenly stopped by a loud and ringing voice call out from behind them.
"It's a lie!"
Both elves and everyone else there stopped and looked back over their shoulders to see Thranduil's female commander urge her horse forward several steps into the center of the group. "It's not true!" she yelled, her face twisted with rage, "It's a lie! There is no way he can be alive!"
"Celion!" Thranduil exclaimed, surprised at his usually quiet and reserved field commander's sudden outburst. "What are you– "
"It is a trick!" she once again vehemently declared, cutting Thranduil off sharply, "There is no way Legolas can be alive! He is dead!" Here she cast her fiery gaze on Toreingal who sat dumbly staring at Glorfindel and Thranduil as if still in shock at the possibility of his cousin still being alive. "Ask him!" Celion then cried, thrusting an accusing finger at the Elvenking's nephew, "He was there and saw the prince's body. He can testify that when he returned to Rivendell with the dwarf and wizard Legolas was already dead! There is no way what this elf here says happened can be true! Nothing can bring a person back from the dead!"
Thranduil paused and seemed to consider this for a moment. Though an almost frantic, desperate hope now burned in his chest that his son might still yet be alive, there was no denying what his commander said. "Toreingal?" he questioned softly.
The elven warrior's eyes darted wildly between his uncle, Glorfindel, and Celion, as if torn and confused by what to say or believe. "I saw him, uncle..." he finally said, his voice trembling with unknown emotions, "When we returned to Rivendell I saw Legolas' body laid out upon an alter as if he were dead. And he lay there so still and lifeless for the last five days, I had no doubt in my mind he was dead," Toreingal softly admitted, but then desperately hurried on to say, "But I never actually touched him or examined him myself, and only believed Lord Elrond's word as a master healer that he was dead! So if there is any possibility that he is still ali–"
"You see!" Celion exclaimed, sharply cutting off the younger elf's speech before he could say anything else, "This is nothing but an elaborate trick concocted by Elrond to try and fool you into lowering your guard and walking into a trap! He is trying to play you for a fool by telling you your son is still alive and that he somehow miraculously cured him! It is nothing but a lie as your nephew just confirmed himself!" she said, pointing a finger back at Toreingal again.
Toreingal began to open his mouth as if to protest, but was quickly intercepted by Glorfindel. "Toreingal cannot confirm such a thing because we were all under the same belief that Legolas was dead! It wasn't until this morning when Arwen saw the poison still spreading that we began to suspect that he might still be alive. And he is! He was never dead in the first place! We were all fooled because he was bewitched to make it seem as if he were dead. But he is alive I tell you, Thranduil! I do not lie!" the ancient Balrog slayer desperately shouted, staring deeply into the Elvenking's torn and confused eyes. Thranduil suddenly felt as if he were caught in the middle of a verbal tug of war and he was the rope.
"Do not believe him! He is lying!" the warrioress shouted next at Thranduil, "Elrond knows he cannot defend the city if we make an all out attack on him, and hopes to trick you into abandoning the attack just long enough for him to escape or to try and attack you unprepared when you go to investigate this claim that your son is still alive! You should attack now and make Elrond pay for this weak attempt at trying to play you for a fool! Do not forget that it was also that dwarf that poisoned your son in the first place. It is because of him that your son now lays dead! Attack them and make them pay! Do it now!" she shrieked, "Attack!"
At this, it was like sudden warning bells going off in Thranduil's head, his inner voice screaming caution. His suspicions raised and his ire slightly pricked at being spoken to in such a disrespectful manner by a subordinate, the Elvenking narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his antagonistic field commander. "I was not aware that I now took orders from my subjects," he said, staring down at the female warrior. "What is wrong with you, Celion?" he then demanded, staring hard into her fiery blue eyes which he could no longer recognize as those belonging to the one he had entrusted to lead his warriors for the past two millennia, "I have always known you to be an elf that strived for peace. Why do you now campaign for war so vehemently?"
The she-elf's face froze, as if suddenly realizing her error. "I am sorry, my Lord," she quickly covered, her voice now suspiciously soft and demur as she bowed her head low to the Elvenking as if her previous display of antagonistic warmongering had never even occurred. "I apologize for my outburst. But I stand by what I said. No matter what your son's current state of being is, you cannot overlook the fact he was intentionally poisoned by that dwarf and is being protected by the elven realm of Imladris from justice. Just because they say Legolas might be alive does not mean that–"
But Celion never got any father than that.
For at that precise moment, the low, but unmistakable twang of a bowstring being released sounded through the chilly, damp air. Barely even half a second later before the sound could actual register in the brains of those gathered there in the middle of the field, the female elf screamed out in pain and limply slid from the back of her horse to the ground, the long brown shaft of an elven made arrow protruding from her back in the center of her right shoulder blade.
All those gathered around the female elf instinctively jumped back and looked in the direction of the arrow's origin. But who they saw standing there on the edge of the wide, grassy field just beneath the overhanging boughs of the surrounding forest astride a powerful white warhorse was no one any of them had ever expected to see as the owner of the deadly projectile.
Thunder crashed loudly in the sky overhead, the wind beginning to pick up and whip the air in growing agitation as thick, black storm clouds began to sweep in overhead like a blanket of darkness. A bolt of lightening streaked across the sky, momentarily illuminating a long, flowing mane of bright golden hair and familiar features of a pale, deadly face. Fiery sapphire blue eyes stared down the length of another notched arrow already drawn back for release on the archer's mighty silver bow.
All those standing in the middle of the field stared in disbelief, unable to comprehend the possibility of the one they saw standing there before them as being anything other than a cruel trick of their still grieving minds. For the one they saw before them with his deadly bow pulled back and trained on the small group of riders was dead. And yet, even as they stared in open disbelief at the ghost of their painful memories, there was no denying the identity of the one they saw.
It was Legolas Greenleaf.
"I will not let you manipulate and fool my friends and family anymore, Eronel!" he shouted loudly over the growing howl of wind sweeping in across the field from the approaching storm, "Gimli and I will not play the role of your pawns anymore! I will not let you use those dear to me to harm each other or anyone else! This ends now!"
At first, no one standing there staring in utter shock could understand what Legolas was talking about or why he had shot Thranduil's field commander so unprovoked like he had. But before any of them could inquired about Legolas' actions or why he seemed to think the elven sorceress Eronel was there in their midst, a low, poisonous voice spoke.
"You are very astute, little prince... Annoyingly so..."
Wheeling around in their saddles, Thranduil, Elladan and Elrohir, Aragorn, Gandalf, and the Elvenking's other field commander all turned to see Celion slowly pick herself up off the ground from where she had fallen when struck by Legolas' arrow, and stand to face the elven prince who stood still staring down the length of the notched arrow of his bow that was expertly trained at the she-elf's heart several hundred feet away across the wide, grassy field.
"I thought I was finally rid of you," she hissed, glaring dangerously at the warrior prince. Without even a cursory glance behind her, Celion reached up over her shoulder to grasp the shaft of the arrow protruding from her back and angrily snapped it in half near the base of where it disappeared into her skin, her face never once flinching in pain or her eyes leaving those of Legolas. "I thought you would have passed into Mandos' Halls at least by now," she said, carelessly tossing the broken shaft in her hand to the ground, "But it looks like I'm going to have to squash you once and for all just like the annoying little pest you are. You have foiled my plans for the last time!"
"Show yourself, Eronel, in your true form!" Legolas demanded, his second arrow never wavering from that of the she-elf's chest, "I do not want to fight you while you still wear the form of one of my father's people. Show yourself, witch!"
"As you wish, princeling..." Celion hissed.
As the other's standing there in the middle of the field watched in silent horror, they saw the edges of the field commander's form suddenly begin to waver and glow as if they were looking at a watery mirage. And then, with no other warning, a bright flash of light flared around the female elf. Those standing around her instinctively shielded their eyes from the flash. But when the slowly turned their eyes back onto the scene, what they beheld made many of them gasp in horror.
Celion's body now lay crumpled in a heap on the ground, the broken off arrow wound in her back now bleeding profusely and staining her back and ground beneath her in a growing puddle of vibrant crimson. But that was not what made all those gathered there gasp and rear back in revulsion. For there standing over Thranduil's injured field commander's body stood the horrible, emaciated form of a tall female elf. Long, tangled strands of dirty blonde fell down her skeletal back to the backs of her knees. The torn, ragged remains of a dirty, old fashioned robe hung from her bony body and pooled around the ground at her feet. But the haggard, frightening image of the emaciated elven woman was nothing in comparison to the fiery intensity of the she-elf's piercing blue eyes.
A low, wicked chuckle came from the horrid creature now standing in their midst at the horrified, revolted faces of those staring back at her in shock.
"Are you happy now, little prince?" she called out tauntingly to Legolas across the grassy field, "Because here I am..."
And it was then that those standing there finally realized that the one they stared at and who Legolas had actually released his arrow at before was none other than the elven sorceress Eronel. The one who they thought had killed Legolas with her vile poison, and who Gimli had released from her cave in a vain attempt to save his best friends life...
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To Be Continued...
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Like it? Hate it? Has if been too long to really remember what the heck is going on? Yeah, I kind of had to read back a bit myself to get back into the "Writings on the Sword" mind set to write this latest chapter. Anyway, please tell me what you think. I accept and appreciate any and all forms of response and constructive criticism.
I'm going to try and get another chapter of "They Came Upon a Midnight Clear" next. Don't worry though. I plan on getting another chapter of "Writings" out soon. Thanks for reading and don't forget that review!
Till next time!