A WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: There will be a graphic description. If you are sensitive to that read at your own risk. Can't handle it, don't read it. There is a reason why this story is rated T.

Out of Mirkwood

Scribbles-on-Parchment

September 7, 2019

Chapter 9 – A Strand of Golden Hair

Estel looked down at the unconscious eldar, for an elf it was. The tops of elegantly pointed ears could be seen through the golden hair that was pulled back from the being's face by several intricate braids. The ellon looked young, maybe not even having yet reached his majority. Pain was evident on his pale face and his breath came in short gasps.

Estel glanced at his brother who was staring at the young eldar.

"I have never seen an elf so young. I thought Elladan and I were the last of our kind to be born on arda."

"Apparently not," Estel shrugged, "I have also never looked upon an elf with golden hair. I wonder where he is from."

"I have heard tell that the Sindar had hair such as this, but they are all long departed from these lands," Elrohir pulled out a small pouch from his belt, "Nonetheless we shall not be able to find out who he is if he dies."

Estel froze. "What do you mean dies? Is he that hurt?"

He watched as the Noldo began to rummage through his small healing pouch, "I am no great healer, but I would say that he was bitten by a spider. Having never been bitten by one myself, I cannot say what it entails, for all I know death could be the outcome."

Estel shook his head. They had only gone on a simple hunting trip. Could nothing ever go as planned when he was with his brothers? Instead of hunting they had gotten attacked by giant spiders and were now having to heal a strange elf they found in the middle of Mirkwood.

He knelt beside Elrohir who was looking at the ellon's left wrist.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Grab his bow and quiver. We need to get him back to Elladan. Out of the three of us, he would be the one that would know what to do."

The Nolor elf gently picked up the limp form as Estel hurried to fetch the beautiful bow and quiver. Soon they were hurrying back the way they had come and away from the despairing elves still searching for their lost prince.

Thranduil waited anxiously by the palace gates. It had only been a little over two hours since the patrols had left, yet he could still not find rest; not while his son was still out there missing.

Thalion put a hand on the king's arm.

"Mellon nín, you need to rest or at least eat something. You will be of no help to Legolas if you make yourself sick with worry."

The Sinda nodded. There was wisdom in the ellon's words and honestly, he was too tired to argue.

"You know the guards will come and alert you as soon as there is something…"

Thalion was cut short by a shout. The soldiers stationed by the gate all jumped to their feet as the giant doors swung open. Before they were even finished opening the great doors, a haggard-looking Silvan darted inside. When he saw the elven king the ellon instantly dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Thranduil was in front of him in an instant.

"What news? Have you found my son?"

The eldar's brown hair obscured his face from view but the sorrow filled voice told all.

"Naethen hir nín. We have found Prince Legolas."

Dread gripped Thranduil's heart as he demanded,

"If he is found, then pray tell why are you sorry?"

"Because we have failed you," the soldier's voice broke, "Your son is dead."

The room went utterly still. It was as if all the air had been sucked from it.

"You lie," Thranduil's voice was icy yet fear laced every word.

The Silvan looked up, tears staining his cheeks.

"I only wish I were, hir nín. But I was sent as a messenger to prepare you. They are bringing his body now."

The Sinda staggered back several steps as if struck. This could not be happening. It was all some sort of cruel trick. Legolas could not be dead. Thalion came to steady him as he managed to choke out,

"Where is he?"

The elf got slowly to his feet before gesturing behind him. The golden-haired elf looked out into the clearing beyond and his eyes grew wide. There he saw a group of solemn Silvans plodding towards the open gates of the palace. Two of the ellyn in the front carried a stretcher between them.

The hall was completely silent as everyone watched the procession approach. Only when they passed through the gates did Thranduil catch a glimpse of the body.

The eldar on the stretcher was burned beyond recognition. The hair, clothes, and once smooth skin were all replaced by blackened and chard flesh. The sightless eyes stared vacantly upward, all the light from them gone forever. The throat of the poor being was slashed, testifying to the brutal manner of his death.

The stretcher was laid before the Sindarin king, who just stood staring in horror at the sight before him. This mangled body could not be his son.

Meldir, captain of the archers and Kélion's closest friend, stepped forward and knelt before his ruler.

"Goheno nin, I have failed you and your son."

However, Thranduil did not seem to heed the pained words

"Ú-chenion. How can this be my son? It cannot be Legolas."

A look of anguish crossed plainly over Meldir's handsome face, "We found his body outside of the barrier in the remnants of a yrch camp. He was still tied to a burned tree."

The commander paused before he opened his hand to reveal a single lock of golden hair, "We found this next to him."

Thranduil looked at the limp strand of silky locks. If could be none other than Legolas's, for no other eldar in all the Greenwood had such bright golden hair.

"It cannot be," the Sinda repeated as he collapsed beside the body, grabbing the chard hand of the dead ellon, "Ion nín, goheno nin. Do not leave me!"

With these words, the heart of the king broke as tears began to stream down his face falling on the dead body of his beloved son.

The light and the hope of the Greenwood died along with the prince that day and the trees began a song of morning for the young elfling.

Kélion felt the change in the forest instantly. A crushing grief overcame his heart, making him stagger and fall to his knees. He understood what this meant immediately; his little brother was dead.

Several leagues away, at the edge of the forest, the youngest prince of Greenwood moaned in his fevered state. Very much alive...

Elvish Translations:

adar – father

mellon nín – my friend

naethen – I am sorry (my sorrow)

hir nín – my lord

goheno nin –forgive me

Ú-chenion – I do not understand

ion nín – my son

yrch - orc