Chapter 44

The rustling of leaves and a soft breeze across his face brought Thranduil back to himself once more. Surrounded by tall trees, deep within his forest home, his body surging with life and power he breathed the air in deeply, savouring the scents of the forest, reveling in his heightened senses as he listened to the sounds of life that surrounded him. With a slow turn of the head, he surveyed the area before him then, just as he was about to move away caught a shadow of movement between the trees and froze. He was not alone. Standing stock still, head held high and proud he sniffed the air and waited puzzling over the scent. The figure was hazy and faint, as if only the ghost of a person with the most confusing of odours rolling out from its insubstantial form. Moss, bark, the fresh, clean smell of a forest after rain, all these sweet and pleasant essences vied with those of corruption, death, decay and rot. Yet, for all its strangeness Thranduil felt no fear only the need to be still and wait for whatever would transpire. He did not wait for long. Slowly the figure began to sharpen, take shape, as it moved hesitantly towards him one hand held out tentatively before him, a look of wonderment upon the now recognizable and beloved face. Legolas.

The young elf walked forwards as if in a dream, one tentative step after another and Thranduil dare not move, afraid that if he so much as twitched his son would take flight and disappear back into the trees. Closer and closer he came bringing his warped scent with him, looking for all the world like a nervous elfling out in the forest for the first time alone. How the king wished he could speak, could whisper words to soothe and calm this most precious jewel of all but in this form he could not. The Great Stag may allow him to merge his spirit with its own but he was merely a lodger here. Oh, he was given leave to walk where he may and survey the forest, watch over its inhabitants and even guide those in need but a stag had no need for speech and more importantly no wish to, so Thranduil could only watch, watch and project all his love, hoping against hope that it was enough.

~o~

How long Legolas sat he did not know but eventually he forced himself to rise. A strange sense of loss lingered within his heart, as if someone close to him had died and he mourned their passing and he wondered if he would ever feel whole again. A faint, lingering scent of corruption briefly teased his nose but was soon washed away by that of the anemones which surrounded him, bruising under even his light weight as he stood gathering his wits to determine his next move. This part of the forest seemed unfamiliar and strange which lent him an aura of unease as he thought his extensive travels had shown him the whole of his home. Including that to the deepest south, where the darkness now thrived and reached out insidiously to infect more and more of the realm. He shuddered as a memory stirred and tried to surface but managed to push it back down after a glimpse of himself looking down upon a pack of squabbling orcs, pleasure coursing through his body at the bloody spectacle as he did so. He knew he would have to face up to what he had done eventually but now was not the time. A sense of urgency tugged at his very being and he knew he should not resist its call. Warily eyeing the trees in order to ascertain the way to go he thought he saw a faint light in the distance and for the lack of any other pointer began to move slowly towards it.

The light enlarged, brightened then began to coalesce into a shape as he grew nearer until finally he stood at the edge of a circle of tall trees in the centre of which waited a now familiar figure. Moving slowly, on legs suddenly weak with the fear of rejection, he approached the magnificent beast who watched him with gentle brown eyes which seemed to encourage him on. Closer and closer he drew, feeling like an elfling unsure of his reception after disobeying his father and running out into the forest alone before being returned, bedraggled and soaked to the skin after being fished out of the river by a pair of silvan hunters out for game for the kings table.

Without conscious thought his fingers reached out to smooth gently over the soft velvet pelt covering the animal's cheek and he breathed out a sigh of relief as the stag did not flinch away from his touch. A wave of pure, unconditional love rolled over him and as he closed his eyes to allow it to sweep him away he heard a soft, melodic voice whisper his name. His father was calling him home.

~o~

"Estel! Please. Be still!"

Aragorn was unaware he had again begun to pace until his brother's harsh words forced him back from his contemplations and looking over to where Elladan sat, emanating exasperation, he briefly wondered how many times the elder twin had made the same request. He just could not keep still however, his whole body thrummed with the need for action.

"There must something I can do 'Dan!" He cried out in frustration. "I can not stand this endless waiting." He swung around to point at the firmly bolted door. "People may be dying out there whilst we stand here, doing nothing…"

"We are doing what Thranduil wills." Elrohir broke in gently. "What Thranduil needs us to do." He smiled as Aragorn scowled.

"Thranduil has his reasons, Estel." The younger twin continued, as Aragorn opened his mouth to retort. "He is waging a war of his own and if he loses." His voice wavered slightly. "If he loses, we must be ready to take up arms in his place."

All eyes in the room turned to the father and son at the foot of the dais, still locked in a frozen tableau, blade to blade, eye to eye.

"What will happen if he loses?" Aragorn's lips spoke the question yet his heart already knew the answer.

"We must fight in his stead." Elladan stepped forward his eyes filled with pain, belying the determined set of his features. "So pray to the Valar he doesn't."

Sudden comprehension made the young man's eyes widen with alarm and shaking his head he backed away from his elven brother then found his gaze fixed once more on Legolas and Thranduil. Was it true? Would he be expected to draw his sword against his friend? More importantly, would he be able to? His mind spun in turmoil. Nay! It would not come to that. Surely not, he thought vehemently, but looking back to see the same anguish that he felt reflected back from his brother's eyes he knew he was only trying to deceive himself.

"My Lords!"

Galion's voice cut through Aragorn's painful thoughts and he looked over to where the butler stood, his eyes bright with hopeful anticipation hands half raised towards the royal pair as if in supplication.

"I think…"

The elf's words tailed off as he swept his eyes swiftly between the brethren and his king and prince, fear and longing vying for control of his heart. For a second all three brothers stood fixed in place then, as understanding dawned, moved as one over to the royal pair. Aragorn's heart began to pound in his chest as he struggled to see just what it was that had brought about Galion's reaction but as he studied the pair harder he realised that whereas before, both Thranduil and Legolas had been as unmoving as statues, now there was an almost undiscernible tremor in both blades. Taking a step closer in order to see better he felt a hand tighten upon his arm and looked across to see his eldest brother shaking his head.

"Get back Estel." The elf almost growled. "Stay behind me."

"Nay!" Aragorn tried to shrug off his brother's hold but the grip tightened. "I am not afraid." He spat out angrily.

"Then you should be." Elladan forcefully retorted and pulled him back whilst stepping forwards, neatly inserting himself between his human brother and the duelists.

"'tis Legolas 'Dan. He would not hurt us. You know this!" Aragorn replied angrily trying to release his arm.

"We know nothing Estel." Elrohir moved to the young man's other side. His reasoned tone raising Aragorn's ire further. "We need to take care."

"But…"

"Please Estel. I am only asking that you wait." Elladan interjected before Aragorn could continue. "Just until we know if Thranduil has…" He swallowed against the painful lump forming in his throat before managing to continue. "Has prevailed."

Identical faces stared at the youth and he could see apprehensive anguish etched into both. That these two usually fearless warriors should show such overt signs of concern finally made him realise that perhaps he had underestimated the danger they could all be in and at last he stopped struggling to be free. With a small nod Elladan released Aragorn's arm although he did not relinquish his position.

A soft sigh made them all look to the royal pair once more just in time to see Thranduil's blade slowly begin to lower, leaving the pale expanse of his neck open and entirely exposed to that of his opponents which, although wavering slightly, stayed in position ready to strike. It appeared to the onlookers then that Thranduil tipped his head back, lightly raising his chin in tacit enticement whilst keeping his eyes tightly locked with those of his son. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment they would find out if Thranduil's magic had been enough and Aragorn's heart began to race madly within his chest. Would his prayers be answered and his friend return? He dared not even think about the alternative.

~o~

Surrounded by the clamour of battle yet cocooned within his ring of protection the Witch King began to sway slightly as he stood. If he had had a corporeal body no doubt a sheen of sweat would have broken out upon his skin by now but as it was his conjured form was becoming harder and harder to hold together. He had not expected the Mirkwood ruler to be so strong. All of the information he had collected upon the so called elvenking had painted him as naught but a popinjay, with a love of gems, parties and fine wine. Nothing had prepared him for a battle such as this. The dark lord he served had given no hint of Thranduil being anything but just another annoying little gnat to be swept aside. He shivered at the memory of his masters threats of what would be if he failed in his task. He would not fail. The golden prince was his, he knew he had done a good job there, could still recall their last meeting in the forest and the young one's complete surrender. He bent his mind further to the task, determined to gain his long coveted prize as the bloodshed continued around him. He was not beaten yet.

A/N

Thanks betsam0731 it's good to know someone is still with the story. :) If anyone else is still reading it would be nice to hear from you.

Not much further to go now.