Thanks so much to Em2323 and Gionareth for your sweet reviews! :)
Just in case I've got some young readers, this chapter is the reason this story is rated 'T'. It's not anything too bad but there is character deaths and some violence.
Arthonnen's name means 'golden one', if my memory serves me correctly.
Chapter 8: The Storm Breaks
Summer's taunting scents threaded through the long grasses, spreading hazy warmth about the meadow. Mirkwood's homes just showed over the tree's leafy peaks.
One exuberant shriek followed by a peal of laughter broke the lazy stillness and moments later a child burst into the clearing, chubby fingers grasping at a brilliant orange butterfly just out of reach.
The deep blue eyes of the child fairly glittered with the excitement of the chase. A cherubic face framed by a dark mop of curly brown hair glowed with each leap and bound he took.
"Ada! Nana!" he yelped, nearly grasping the delicate butterfly.
Two figures appeared from the forest's edges, the taller of the pair laughing merrily. "You must move faster, penneth, but with silence! /little one/" he encouraged the child lightly.
"Perhaps you should stress the importance of silence more, my love." The she-elf smiled as she watched the young one bounce about the grasses.
"Ah, but what would be the fun in letting him catch it so soon?"
She pulled a face and would have smacked his shoulder if he did not claim her hand with his own. "You would have our son lose this match with such a foe?"
"No, meleth nin, but I would have him spend some of his boundless energy here than at home while heading for bed."
At remembrance of the last night's chaotic events when they had tried to coerce their willful offspring to sleep, she rethought her first assessment. "A valid point."
"I quite agree," he concurred smugly.
"My Lord Legolas, you have too much of that wood elf pride in you," she scolded impishly, knowing how he would take the lightly meant jibe.
"And you, too much of the Noldor solemnity about you, dearest 'star, making us even." He laughed and leaned in, placing a tender kiss on her lips.
"To think I married you," she teased after he had pulled away. "How did you ever persuade me?"
"A combination of dashing good looks, chivalry, and…amongst other things, a well timed question."
"Very well timed," Arwen continued the banter, mirth tugging at her lips. "You tried to die on me and one can never tell a perishing soul no."
"Indeed?" Legolas brows rose and he feigned consideration of the idea. "I think I shall have to come dangerously close to perishing more often."
"No, you will not. You have a family to think of now. No near death experiences for you anymore," she insisted firmly.
His return was earnest and tender. "And I would wish no troubles upon my family."
"Ada!" the child's voice was not merry this time. This was a cry of terror.
Legolas leapt towards his son and in an instant was by his side, large hands on the small shoulders to calm the terrified elfling. "What is the matter, Arthonnen? There is nothing to fear here."
"Yrch!" The elfling hid his head and clung to his father. "The trees fear them, Ada. They're coming." He was trembling terribly and would not loosen his grip on the soft cloth of Legolas' shirt save to point behind him.
Legolas gently pulled him away and looked gravely into the wide blue eyes so like his own. "Arthonnen, go to your mother. Tell her what you saw. She'll know what I want you to do, understand?"
As soon as the elfling had fled the scene, Legolas turned back to the forests his son had been staring into. He could not see them but he could hear them, the faintest growls and curses.
"My Lord!" An elf burst through the trees. "My Lord!
"Yes? Istuion, what is it?"
"An orc force has been sighted near this place!"
"Iston…/I know/"
The soldier glanced uneasily towards the woods. "There is also news from the south. But I cannot tell of it now. We must leave this place."
The two elves began to flee the area and yards ahead Legolas could see his wife leading Arthonnen to their home. "Istuion, tell me, is this news good or ill?"
"Ill, my lord." Istuion fidgeted slightly as if he could not bring himself to say the words. "Minas Tirith has fallen."
Legolas' eyes drifted shut, looking terribly pained. Edoras had fallen only days before to Sauron. "And what of Lothlorien? Does she still hold?"
"No, my lord," the elf reported sadly. "She fell only hours before."
"Imladris?" his voice fell to a whisper, a deep lump lodged in his throat.
"Elrohir and Elladan hold strong but I fear their doom will not be prolonged for many more days. The shadow now holds so much strength."
Legolas suddenly appeared weary as though the full weight of his years had been thrust upon him and his shoulders sagged under the powerful weight. But his eyes glinted with the same determination that had shone his entire life. He drew his chin up and spoke clearly. "Prepare the forces, we fight this day. Mirkwood will not so easily be taken."
The elf paused. "My Lord?"
"There is more." It was not a question.
Istuion nodded. "Aragorn was wounded by Saruman's forces."
The air seemed to thicken to the point where it could no longer be inhaled. For a full minute Legolas's lungs ceased to function. Until finally he forced himself to suck in a shallow breath and managed to ask, "Will he live?"
"Orc poison to the shoulder. No healer is left but ours and the men don't have enough trust in our race to let them through the lines. The poison will have taken complete hold over his body by now." Istuion paused, a look of anxiety flitting across his face. "He will not outlast the day."
"Then there truly is no hope for Middle-Earth."
There was a bright white light and the images melded into different colors and shapes. The figure of a wounded elf came into focus.
A pool of blood covered the grasses he lay upon. Each moment that passed increased the red staining the bright green blades, seeping from a long gash along his thigh and another across his ribs and belly.
There was a scream of anguish and suddenly the elf was not alone.
Arwen knelt over him, gently turning his face towards hers with trembling hands. "Legolas! Meleth nin! /my love/"
Her heart seemed to freeze as she caught sight of her husband's wounds and her breath was swept away in the sheer horror of reality.
"No," she shook her head violently and brought the pale lips close to hers. Her heart resumed its beat upon feeling the soft wisp of breath issuing from Legolas' mouth. "Legolas…"
His brow creased. "Arwen?" The virulent blue of his eyes was masked with pain and the pupils struggled to center on her.
"Yes, darling, I'm here." Her words were strangled with tears. "I'm here."
He coughed harshly and a bit of red dribbled down his chin. "Arwen, you shouldn't have come." He inhaled and let out the sharp breath with a low moan.
"Legolas, please, save your strength. We'll get you to the healers. You'll be well in no time."
"Not this time, 'star. It's too late. I can already feel the poison in my blood." Legolas brushed her cheek tenderly and took another raspy breath.
"Legolas, do not give into the darkness!" Arwen clasped his face tightly and immediately felt the cold emanating from him. "Lasto beth-nin! Please! /listen to my voice/"
His reply was soft and in the ferocity of her sorrow she almost missed it. "Le melon. /I love you/"
Arwen choked on her own tears. "Legolas, please…do not leave me."
"Ah, 'star, do not weep for you will never be alone. Give Arthonnen my love?"
"Please, Legolas, no, no, no. You will tell him yourself and be well again. You will not leave us…"
He smiled and seemed almost wistful as his gaze left hers and he stared up through the branches. "Tiro, I Anor hílol. /look, the sun is shining/"
And with Arwen kneeling over him, her tears wetting his face, Legolas Thranduilion breathed his last.
Another flash of light.
An Elven child standing by a cliff, surrounded on all sides by black tides of orcs. "Ada?" he called timidly, his quiet voice quivering as the orcs leering faces moved closer.
"Enjoy your last lungful of air on Middle-Earth, you little rat," the leader snarled, a dark grin on his face. He lifted a massive scimitar and prepared to bring it down.
"Nana! Ada! /Mommy! Daddy!/" the child shrieked.
Another flash, brighter and larger than before.
Arwen stumbled through the carnage, her cloak catching on the sharp weapons protruding from the massacre.
"Arthonnen? Ion-nin?" she called, desperate to find him when her eyes finally caught sight of a little golden body.
"Arthonnen!" Her scream rent the air and as she dove forward, catching the small form of her son, cold and bloody with death.
"No, no." She pressed him close to her heart and rocked back and forth as she did once when he woke with nightmares. "Arthonnen…"
The young face was pale and the intelligent eyes were closed, never to open. He had joined his father.
And in her sorrow, Arwen finally succumbed to the poison in her own wound. Moments passed before, Arwen Undomiel's light had faded and Middle-Earth was truly left with nary a hope to bring it from the shadows.
TBC...