Chapter 12:
Arminas' Battle

No, I can't hurt him. Arminas thought for the hundredth time. He now lay on his own bed, curled into a ball, trying to block out his master's insidious voice.

:You read him one bedtime story and you've lost your nerve? How weak. How PATHEDIC: It came through none-the-less, taunting and mocking.

What made it worst was that it was true. How could he go soft after something as small as reading? What was it about this elfling that completely disarmed him?

:There is nothing about the stupid spawn of Thranduil. You are a weakling. Any elfling brat could make you go soft. Why? Do you see your own little brat in them: The dark voice dripped with disdain. :Do you remember how weak he was? How easily he fell to the least of my minions:

HE WAS NOT WEAK! Arminas mentally screamed at that most hated voice. He had never been weak, not even on the day of his birth! He had always been strong, stronger even then his father…

flashback

"You worry too much, father!" Tathar laughed, taking a few practice swings with his new sword. The blade caught a sunbeam as it cut the air.

Arminas felt his spirits lift slightly. Tathar always had that effect when he laughed, bringing light to the most grievous situations. Even when his mother's lifeless body had been cut down from a spider's web, he had recovered quickly and saved his father from grieving himself to death. He had laughed and said that she was looking down on them and sighing in exasperation at how ridicules they were being.

"You are still too young for a battle." Arminas made a half-hearted attempt at arguing. It really was no use. Tathar was the undisputed king of stubborn will and argument.

"We're not going into a battle." He reminded his fretting father, continuing to test out his sword.

"It is starting to look more and more like we are." Arminas said, staring off into the thick woods. Tathar only laughed again, shaking his golden head.

Tathar had always resembled his father in many ways. Both shared the same deep green eye color, stubborn chin, and fine raised cheekbones. But unlike his father, Tathar had a head full of golden blonde hair instead of dark brown. He had reached an age that he was permitted to become a soldier. Eager for the opportunity to fight with his father, Tathar had volunteered for this journey soon after Arminas had. Torn between paternal protectiveness and loyalty to Mirkwood, the older elf had reluctantly promised his son that he would not unvolunteer for his sake.

The party had left King Thranduil's caves only a few hours before, traveling southeast. They were headed to the place in Mirkwood where shadows were the deepest and the trees grew the thickest. It was believed that the spiders and all of the other evil creatures plaguing Mirkwood had come from there. These elves were not there to fight. They were spies. But the more Arminas thought about it, the more likely it seemed that they would be spotted and possibly be forced to fight for their lives.

As the weeks past, the small party found that the further they traveled into the forest, the thicker the trees grew and the shorter the days seemed. Soon, they were traveling in what seemed to be an endless night. Birds and other good creatures were left far behind, never daring to venture into this place of deepest shadows.

A rustle, coming from somewhere beyond their sight, caused the small group to stop suddenly. No one breathed. Another rustle, this time closer. A hissing sound was heard in the trees above them, then everything fell silent.

Arminas peeked out of his sparse cover of branches and leaves. Nothing. They stayed in their positions for at least an hour, waiting for something to spring out at them. Yet, nothing did. Signaling for the rest of the party to follow, Mahtan, the leader of the group, crept out of his own hiding place.

They traveled on for a few hours, tense and nervous as what little sunlight they received in this overgrown part of the forest faded. That was strange, since it was only noon. It meant they were getting very close to the source of the shadows.

Tathar was defiantly the most nervous, all of his previous enthusiasm worn off. He made it a point to stay right next to his father. That was fine, since Arminas would have been angry if he had done otherwise.

He shouldn't be here… The older elf thought guiltily. He should have insisted that he be left at home! He should have made him stay! Well, no help for it now.

"Look!" One of the other elves whispered urgently.

They had just come to the edge of what had at first looked like a natural glade. Upon closer inspection, they realized there was nothing natural about it. Trees had been cleared out, making what seemed to be an enormous perfect circle in the forest. The trees just ended suddenly, giving way to a patch of barren land that allowed nothing to grow. Bones littered the useless dust, from both wild animals and things that walked on two legs. In the center of this circle of death stood a tower. Hideous statues circled the place, spikes and sharp edges everywhere else. It 0was made of some kind of smooth black stone. Despite the large break in the trees, hardly any sunlight could get through. An unnatural darkness hung over the place.

"Eru…" Another elf whispered, astonished.

A war cry, coming from the throat of some fell creature, snapped everyone out of his or her shocked immobility. Swords were drawn and the elves turned back the way they had come. Instead of the tower, they were being attacked from behind. In no time at all, the harsh voices of orcs could be easily discerned.

Looking out of the corner of his eye, Arminas could see his son shaking. Stepping protectively in front of him, he brandished his sword at the approaching orcs. They were hopelessly outnumbered. The sound of metal on metal rang out. There were only ten of them, and three went down immediately. The harsh grunts and screams of the orcs drowned their dying cries out. Arminas fought on, but to his horror, realized that he and his son had been separated. Searching around franticly, he found him just in time to watch a crude sword pass through him.

Screaming in rage and grief, Arminas rushed to his side, slaughtering the orc responsible and many others who took its place. One orc was not content to die without doing some damage. As it fell to the ground, it raised it's sword one last time to chop at Arminas' shoulder. It was not a fatal wound, but it was enough to knock him to the ground next to his son. Believing him dead, the other orcs turned their attention back to the few elves who still remained standing.

"Father…" Came a weak voice. Arminas ignored the agony in his left shoulder to sit up as much as he could. Tathar's blood pooled about him, and his face was contorted in pain.

"Oh God, Tathar." Arminas said brokenly, seeing that the wound was fatal. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

His son, his brave son, smiled for the last time, and he even managed a small laugh.

"Don't be…" But that was all he said. His labored breathing stopped and his eyes closed. Wanting to scream, but unable to, Arminas' last sight before he passed out was of Tathar's face, as peaceful as if he was sleeping.

End Flashback

Arminas' eyes flew open to meet the ceiling of his room. Tears, which still rolled down his face, stained the pillow. He turned over and buried his face in the damp pillow, suppressing the urge to kill something in his anger. Anger gave way to the sobbing of someone without hope or comfort.

Tathar. My poor, brave son.

A/N: I was writing that chapter on and off for about a week. Several boughts of depression, as you can imagine. Please review!