Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR.
Rating: PG – 13
Author's Note: I realize that this is a late update – apologies to those who waited! This time the chapter is extra long. ;) I want to say thank you to all who give me reviews, and an extra thank you to those who come back to give me reviews without fail! You people are the reason I keep writing. ;)
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by Kasmi Kassim
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From Twilight to Dawn
Chapter 14: Hell
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The corpses were almost all cleared out of the path when hoof beats invaded the forest. Thranduil raised his eyes and stared into the darkness of the trees. Elven warriors fanned about him protectively, bows raised.
Like a dark mirage of a distant dream, two brown steeds appeared from the depths of the woods. The riders were draped in dark cloaks, one of them holding a limp figure in his arms. Steady eyes, reflecting the gentle silver haze of the fading light, regarded the king. The elven warriors around the king tensed.
When they got near, one of the riders, the one who did not hold the limp body, held up a hand.
"Hold, mighty warriors of Mirkwood. We come in peace."
Relieved breaths could be heard here and there as Thranduil stepped forth, his gaze glowing quietly in response to the unfaltering eyes of the approaching elves. He touched his heart with a slight nod.
"Forgive our inhospitality, sons of Elrond. You are most welcome."
As the rest of the elven warriors bowed behind their king, the two riders leaped off of their mounts, and bowed deeply with their hands upon their hearts. Their eyes had already finished assessing the trace of battle around the calm warriors.
"Well met, King Thranduil. It is an honor."
Pale blond hair gently tapped the armor-clad body as the king neared them with a weary smile, his movements gliding with practiced ease that radiated strength and weariness. He halted when he recognized the form in Elladan's arms.
"Legolas?" The king quickly took the body from Elladan, an urgent light in his eyes. The youth moaned softly. His eyes were shut as if in pain.
Elladan and Elrohir fell in pace with the king when the king swiftly turned and hurried toward the castle. The twins's demeanors transformed ever so slightly, into those of youngsters once again facing an elder after a long time of solitude and self-reliance.
"We found him healing an orc," explained Elrohir.
Thranduil halted in his tracks. Bewildered eyes turned toward the younger elves before him. "From the beginning, if I may," he said quietly, briskly.
Elrohir glanced at Elladan, who bit his lip. The trio began to move once more.
"We had been following a pair of men who sought to infiltrate Imladris in search of Legolas," explained Elladan. The three swiftly entered the courtyard, and the brothers barely had time to gesture a greeting toward the guards as they entered the palace. "Their tracks led to Mirkwood, so we entered, seeking your knowledge in this matter."
Elrohir glanced around at the walls, recognizing the hallway that led to the House of Healing. "We saw a man left in ropes near the borders, and he told us that he was left to die because he sighted a struggle between an elf and men-"
"-So we hurried here as fast as we could-"
"-And we saw a luminescent light, and realized that it was a healing light-"
"-So we got there to find Legolas crouching by a dying orc-"
"-Healing not only its injuries but also its heart and memories-"
"-And when we interrupted, the orc broke away, and fled-"
"-And Legolas collapsed at the spot."
Thranduil's facial muscles were tense. Elladan quickly opened the doors to one of the healing chambers, and the king strode in with a nod of greeting toward the surprised healer. He gently rested the prince upon the bed.
"Foolish child," he muttered, standing back to allow the healer to fuss over the prince. He turned toward the worried expressions of the brothers. His shoulders suddenly dropped, sagging from a release of heightened tension.
"Forgive me," he said wearily. "I have been a shameful host."
The twins hastily waved their hands. "Think nothing of it, my lord," said Elladan, embarrassed to be a recipient of the older elf's apology. "We heard the battle long before we arrived. And with Legolas in such a state-" glancing toward the prone body on the bed, he was at a loss for words; he opted to turn back to the king with an uneasy smile instead. "We were worried about him as well, and..."
"Our father sends you his regards," cut in Elrohir, jabbing Elladan's ribs inconspicuously with an elbow.
Thranduil nodded, and gestured toward the door. "You must be tired. Let me guide you to your rooms."
"Oh no, that is hardly necessary," said Elladan quickly. His concerned gaze flitted toward Legolas' motionless body. The healer was cleaning his wounds. "We would rather stay here with Legolas." Elrohir nodded in agreement.
Thranduil sank down wearily on one of the empty beds, and the twins also took a seat on a bed facing him. With a long-suffering sigh, Thranduil tilted his head.
"Do you know what this all means? There have been humans about lately, threatening my life."
The twins grew silent, mouths agape. After a quick glance at each other, they turned toward the king. "No, my lord," said Elrohir uncertainly. "That is certainly a surprise. Our father told us that there was a shadow of danger looming over Legolas, but..."
"We hoped that you could tell us," added Elladan softly. "Humans had come looking for a certain Lord Legolas in Imladris as well. But it did not look as if they had ever met him."
The king sank into thought. His mind was reeling.
Humans thirsting for revenge, driven mad by hatred and greed.
Humans who sought out Legolas, though they did not know what he looked like.
An old man who conveniently appeared in Legolas' time of self-doubt and clouded his mind with a revelation...
Thranduil's brows creased. Was it a stretch? Was he thinking too far back? Was the old man's revelation about the orcs just a case of coincidence? After all, he did not have anything to do with this incident...
Another soft moan brought him out of his reverie. The king turned to watch the healer press his hand onto the prince's chest, which was now cleaned and bandaged. Legolas shook his head feebly. "Stop..." he whispered. The healer quickly drew back.
Thranduil stood, and approached the bed. The healer looked up helplessly. "He is rejecting me," he said, despondent.
The king bit his lip. Attempts had been made on his life. His son could have died. All of this happened within the span of his child's internal suffering.
Something in him refused to believe that the old man was unrelated to the incident. His child was lying here, suffering in anguish. Thranduil would have reached to any clue, any clue at all, to wrench out an answer to this.
As the healer looked up at the king in unease, Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other. Elrohir nodded to Elladan, and a look of understanding was exchanged. Elladan stood. "Allow me."
The healer moved out of the way, and the twins approached the bed. Elrohir took a seat beside the king, and lightly tugged on the sleeve of the monarch with childlike innocence. As if awakened from a trance, Thranduil blinked, and slowly sank down onto the chair by the bed. Elladan kneeled by the bedside and gently placed his hands upon the younger elf's chest.
"Legolas."
He closed his eyes. Thranduil watched on, silent, unmoving. A pale light began to glow from within the young elf. The light slowly surrounded Elladan's body, and spread around to frame the figure of the blonde prince. Silent incantations began to weave in and out and around the form of the young Imladris elf. The runes were visible to all occupants in the room except for the king, who was not a healer. Nonetheless, the king could feel the vibrations of the magic just as keenly, if not more. He was, after all, a king. One who inherited the magic of the land.
Legolas moaned softly, feebler than before. Elladan added slight pressure to his heart with his hand. "Let me in, little brother," he whispered. One hand began to slowly stroke the creased brows of the younger elf. "Let me see the horrors you have seen."
The younger elf moaned again, and raised a shaky arm. Elladan opened his eyes. The trembling hand was pushing him weakly away.
The light in the room faded. Elladan sat still, chewing on his lip, as Legolas' moans grew in volume. Suddenly, the prince opened his eyes.
Thranduil leaned forward anxiously, as hazy eyes blinked to regain focus. When they looked around, at last clear and focused, they widened in terror.
Legolas leaped up off of the bed, sheets flying in wayward directions. The four elves surrounding him started. The blond elf was trembling. Looking around wildly, his eyes showed nothing but fear - wild, savage fear.
Scrambling away from the elves, Legolas crouched against the wall, glittering eyes regarding them with mistrust. He bared his teeth.
"Legolas." Thranduil rose, and approached with haste.
Limbs trembling, Legolas struggled to sink deeper into the wall, away from his father. His eyes were no longer seeing. When he saw that there was no escape, he buried his head in his raised knees.
And he screamed.
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"What was it?"
Pale strands of golden threads flew wildly among the trees, whipping against the silent branches.
"What did he see?"
Fire raged in the heated breaths of the elf, bright and terrible. Dark arrows sang through the air, piercing orc after orc, singing death as they flew. As if taunting the orcs, taunting them of their inevitable doom.
The twin sons of Elrond looked at each other, shuddering involuntarily. No living creature could escape the doom that rained from a wrathful King Thranduil. He stormed among the orc alone, wild and terrible and beautiful, a deadly deity of light and darkness. The orcs that milled around him were fools. The king would kill them all, slaughter them alone. Rip them apart as if they were nothing but lifeless dolls and miserable toys.
"What did he see that he cannot recognize his father?"
Bright blue eyes turned to them, gleaming untamed, ferocious. Elrohir drew closer to Elladan. Elladan swallowed.
"My lord," he said softly, holding the frightening gaze, "I believe – we believe – that he lived through the orc's experience of torture and mutilation."
The white stallion stormed up close, and came to a standstill before the brown steeds of the twins. The orcs regrouped and began to pour out from the forest, charging for the distracted elf. Thranduil paid the raging orcs behind him no attention as his intense gaze poured fierce light onto Elladan.
Elladan creased his brows, recalling a memory that had been long cast aside. "When our mother was captured by orcs," he said slowly, feeling Elrohir's nails dig painfully into his palms, "she refused to let our father see what had been done to her." He let out a soft breath he did not realize he had been holding.
Thranduil's breaths calmed, eyes glittering. He nodded in silence.
"She said no one would be able to erase the horrors from my father's mind, should she allow him to heal hers," continued Elladan. He glanced at Elrohir.
Elrohir turned to look beyond the king's shoulder and focused his gaze onto the oncoming cloud of orcs. "Thankfully, Legolas had not finished healing the orc when we interrupted – which means he did not receive all of the orc's memories of suffering."
Thranduil slowly turned, facing the orcs. He readjusted his grip on the long sword.
"Adolescence is a sensitive age," mused Elladan, almost to himself. "It is not surprising that Legolas feels the pain as acutely as his own. Especially if it had been transferred directly to his mind through the healing, and such a degree of it..."
The king took a deep breath. "I thank you, Elladan. Elrohir." Abruptly turning his horse to face the nearing orcs, he raised his sword. "Please go to him." His voice was curt.
Elladan glanced at Elrohir. Raising an uncertain gaze toward his brother, Elrohir nodded, and turned his horse. As he galloped back toward the castle, Elladan drew his sword, spurring his horse to step up next to the king. Thranduil glanced to his side.
"Legolas will not forgive us if we leave you to stand alone," he said quietly, eyes focused on the orcs, his tall stature calm and steady. The king blew on a strand of stray hair. Elladan thought he saw a flash of a smirk. Not a joyful one. But still.
Blades danced as they launched themselves into the oncoming fray.
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Legolas slowly blinked. His head was spinning. It was so hot. So hot.
Removing the thin blanket resting on top of him, he slowly sat upright. His body moved without protest. Strange. He was so sure that he had been unable to move. Was it chains? Ropes? Poison? He was no longer sure. He could not remember.
He would not remember. He would not. He resolutely shook his head, and looked around.
There was a tray of food lying on the table by the bed. The room was empty save himself. The young elf sagged all of a sudden, realizing that he was famished.
How long had he been in here? Trapped in this room?
Was he trapped in this room?
Brows furrowed, he tentatively reached out and fingered the white wall. It felt smooth and cool to the touch. Nobody was here. No one was torturing him now. But they would come back. Break his brief moment of blissful peace.
This room was a sanctuary. And it was a prison.
Despondently, he leaned forward and reached for the tray. His hand halted in midair, uncertain. Withdrawing the outstretched hand, he inched closer to the tray, peering into the water. What if it was poisoned?
Calm yourself, he whispered. There was no reason for it to be poisoned. They already had him in here; he could not escape. Though the thought was anything but uplifting, it was a small comfort to know that he could trust the food to be real. With a sigh, he took a small sip out of the water bowl.
Click.
His head shot up. He put down the bowl immediately, and flew to the other side of the room. Poised against the wall, eyes glittering.
They were back. They were back to begin their tortures again. The respite was rare, and painfully brief. He bit his lip.
"Legolas."
A dark-haired figure approached. The face was blurry. He could not make it out. The voice...it was calling a name. A name. It came closer and closer. Legolas' body became tenser and tenser, until it felt as if it would burst.
Stop it. Stop it. Leave me alone.
A hand touched his forehead. He jolted, and screamed.
Please no. Valar no. Do not touch me. Not again. Please.
The hand went away. But it would come back. He knew it. It always came back. And did much more than just touch him.
With a howl, he threw himself to the other side of the room, grasping wildly. A cool surface of a bowl came into contact. He grabbed the glass bowl, and threw it toward the blurry life force that had turned toward him.
A shatter resounded in the room. He looked around wildly. The heat was getting more intense. They would burn him again. They would shackle him and torture him again. And they would touch him. Touch him in ways he had never known, touch him in ways that made him tremble and scream. He grabbed the tray of food and threw it toward the enemy. Don't come any closer.
"Legolas!"
The person was saying something. Something in a fast tongue that he could not understand. Desperate words, heated words. No. Do not come closer.
Tears of misery threatened to rise in his eyes.
Help me.
Leave me.
Set me free.
He overturned the table, sending it hurling through the air. Panting, he fell back in exhaustion against the bed. The figure, which had ducked the projectile, made as if to approach again. Legolas wrenched the sheets from the bed and threw them, threw the pillow, anything. His fingers wound themselves around the edge of the herb cabinet.
But before he could throw that too, a clatter resounded by his ear. Surprised, he jumped to one side, only to find that he was trapped. Trapped in a hazy violet smoke. Panic rose to his throat. Were they poisoning him again? Trying to twist his body into further horrors? Coughing, he tried to wade out of the smoke, but to no avail. The figure was gone. And his body felt heavy.
Wearily, struggling against the drowsiness, the young elf fell limply onto the bed.
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When the king of Mirkwood and young lord of Imladris approached the healing chamber, they were greeted by a band of frantic healers. When Thranduil tried to open the door, he was stopped by Elrohir, who exited the room with a torn sleeve and a long gash across his arm. His face and hair were thoroughly soaked with dripping water.
"He has fallen asleep," said Elrohir tiredly.
Thranduil grabbed the younger elf's arm, and dragged him into the next healing chamber.
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To Be Continued
Unsung Heroine: Woo hoo, thank you for the beautiful review! Your professor thinks LotR is a black and white picture? Haha, I guess you could look at it that way if you choose to look at it that way...har har. But yes, I agree that Tolkien is very deep and that his history is very complex with integrations of sorrows and joys. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Rede: Haha, glad you liked it! Thank you!
Brazgirl: Oh yes, our beautiful Thranduil...(rubs hands) hehehe. Hopefully Legolas grows out of his adolescence soon and gets to understand this delicious king a bit better, heh? Thank you for the review!
elvingirl3737: Thank you! I am so very flattered. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!
