This story is dedicated to my Legolas,

you know who you are, Mellon nîn.

"No, my heart will not yet despair. We may stand,

if only on one leg, or at least be left upon our knees."

-Peregrine Took

"Ada! Ada!"

Thranduil paused, his hand still outstretched for his swords. He knew what was coming far before he turned to see Legolas watching him, his elegant little face full of childish demand. Hardly even forty years old, he was already nearly as stubborn as his father.

"Why must you go?"

Thranduil went down on one knee, taking hold of one of those tiny, delicate hands, Legolas's pale blue eyes searching his. "I need to lead our people, my little leaf."

The elfling frowned. "Lead them in what?"

"Against the orcs." Thranduil squeezed his son's small hand gently. Over a moon had passed since the first skirmish at the northern border of Greenwood and the foul creatures had not since given up. Thranduil had lost one of his trusted captains only four nights ago. Maligon had taken a black arrow through his chest whilst defending a fallen warrior. Though it had missed his heart, he had died soon after- choking on his own blood. The orcs had since been relentless, realizing that the elven forces could be harmed. Now, hardly half of Greenwood's soldiers remained, weary and battered, but still refusing to give up.

"Will you come home, ada?"

Thranduil roused himself from his thoughts and gave Legolas a hug. "I will. We shall go riding through the trees when I return." He looked deep into Legolas's eyes. "Can you be brave for me until then?"

"I can try, ada," said the little elf, his face deeply serious. "Will you be alright without me?"

Thranduil nodded. "I shall have to be." He rose and slid his swords home, making sure his black armour was strapped tightly.

"Ada."

He glanced down at Legolas as the elfling held up his silver circlet, the diamond-shaped crystal shimmering like a blue tear as the soft light caught it. "You need a crown."

Thranduil took it from him, placing it on his head, feeling the steel cold against his brow. "What would I do without you?"

"I do not know," said Legolas quietly, before clinging to his father's leg. "Be careful, ada," he whispered into the steel, his little fingers white.

Thranduil ran a hand through his son's hair. "I will, ion nîn."

He left the room, feeling Legolas's eyes on him as he made his way to the elven gates. A soft light spilled from the trees of Greenwood the Great and Thranduil took a deep breath, tasting the sweet scent of blooming Athelas on the slight breeze. The air was thick with falling leaves and birdsong. This was what they fought for: their home. No orc would enter his kingdom whilst he was still breathing.

"My king."

Thranduil turned to see Saeros standing by his side.

"The soldiers await your command."

"The yrch march on the Elven Path," added Celondir from his left. "They move faster than we thought."

Thranduil surveyed his remaining captains. Saeros was sindar, like Thranduil, but his hair matched the color of the dappled shadows beneath the trees. He appeared to be waiting for instructions, so Thranduil inclined his head. "Take them to the bridge. Wait for me there."

Saeros bowed his head, before striding off, his armour gleaming. Celondir made to follow him, but Thranduil caught his arm. The silvan elf paused, his long honey-colored hair floating in the breeze.

"Gather a small group of warriors," said Thranduil. "We will attack from behind."

"Yes, my king." Celondir halted. "If they drive us off…if they are too strong…" his voice faltered.

"They may well be, Celondir." Thranduil put his hand on the elf's shoulder. "If they overpower us, we will flee the forest. Saeros and I will hold them back long enough for you to lead our people to safety."

Celondir shook his head. "You are asking me to leave you to die. I cannot do that, my king."

"You can, and you will. If needs be." Thranduil set off towards the edge of the forest. "They will need you. Legolas will need you." He heard the captain fall into step beside him. "Gather a small force and follow behind me."

He watched Celondir go, wondering if today may well be the final light he would ever see. The smell of Athelas turned bitter in his lungs as a dark anger bubbled up inside him. Damn these creatures. Damn them to the dark holes they had been made in. there were too many orcs and Thranduil knew that. They were marching to their deaths. Pride had always been the elves of Greenwood's besetting sin, but this went far beyond mere pride. There was a deep-seated anger simmering within them. An anger that would not see them give up their home to beasts who would only raze it to the ground.

The wind had a chill to it now and it carried with it a scent of decay and darkness. Thranduil narrowed his icy grey-blue eyes and allowed a cold determination to sweep over him.

"My king." Celondir stood behind him, at the head of a small group of soldiers. "We are ready."

The leaf litter crunched underfoot as they swiftly made their way through the forest, silent as the breeze. He had hung back deliberately so that Saeros would arrive first at the Elven Bridge. They, meanwhile, would cross the river farther downstream- where a fallen old tree created a natural bridge.

"I can smell the yrch," muttered Celondir, face twisted in disgust. "They are near."

"The birds have not yet fallen silent," said Thranduil in reply. "They are not yet that near."

They came to the bank and found the fallen tree still spanning the width of the small river. Thranduil stepped light-footed up onto the peeling bark and crossed, leaping swiftly down onto the opposite bank. The stench of orc was even stronger on this side, and he had to fight the urge to gag as they set off once more.

It was silent as death. Not a leaf stirred in the suddenly windless air, no birdsong rang from the canopy above. A prickling sensation ran up Thranduil's back as he turned to Celondir with a look of question. Do you sense it too?

Celondir merely looked surprised. He stared off into the space over Thranduil's shoulder, a thread of blood sliding from the corner of his lips as he tried to speak. It was only when he had toppled over that Thranduil saw the ugly black arrow that jutted from his captain's back.

"Hold your ground!" he shouted as orcs swarmed from the shadows beneath the trees. "Hold your ground!"

"But Captain Celondir-" said a warrior at his elbow.

"-is dead," said Thranduil grimly. "There can be no help for him."

The orcs surrounded the elves, jeering and baring their filthy teeth. They made no move as a tall, leering orc strode from the trees, hauling a struggling elven warrior with him.

It was Saeros; the captain's face bruised and bloody. The orc had his claws wound into the elf's hair and the other hand on his arm. The monster halted before the trapped elves; eyes dark with a delighted malice.

"Thranduil of the Woodland Realm," it hissed, eyes raking over him from head to toe. It jerked Saeros's head back, and Thranduil saw the deep curving gash across the captain's throat. Blood was still sliding from it sluggishly; Saeros's eyes fever bright. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was a small blood-flecked cough. "You thought to trick us?" The orc smiled. "A foolish notion, Elvenking. We know your schemes."

"Let him go," said Thranduil coldly.

The orc laughed and Saeros let out a scream as his arm was twisted at an unnatural angle. A sickening crack rent the air, and the orc forced Saeros to his knees. The elven warrior's face was white from the pain, but he made no further sound as a small, squat orc drew his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Saeros's eyes fluttered closed: he knew what was coming. Thranduil's hand dropped to his sword as the orc drew back the bow-string.

"You will all die," rasped the tall orc in a voice like crawling spiders. "You should have fled whilst you could."

As the squat orc readied his arrow to fly, Thranduil moved. His gleaming silver blade sliced through the air, hewing the orc's bulbous head from its body. Black tar-like blood splattered Thranduil's face as the now headless corpse swayed, before toppling over with a dull thud. Shock lit in the tall orc's eyes.

Thranduil bared his teeth, his eyes blazing like molten steel. "Let him go or I shall relieve you of your head next."

The tall orc snarled but paused as a tiny, heavily deformed one scuttled up and rasped something in a tongue that grated on the Elvenking's ear. The tall orc growled, but threw Saeros aside, a choking cry escaping the elf's bloodless lips- abruptly cut off as he fell hard with his head against a stone, his eyes rolling back.

"Fall back!" spat the orc, glaring at the elves. "We are to leave Greenwood."

Tranduil watched them go before he ran to Saeros, his fingers feeling for a pulse, for a heartbeat, for anything.

Saeros only moaned once, softly, then fell still and Thranduil felt something deep inside him break.

He sank into a haze as they slowly trudged back through the forest, the stench of orc thick on the dead air. It was as if the very forest had been poisoned by the creatures' foul touch and was now rotting from within. No one spoke. Why had the orcs just left? They had had the elves at their mercy- though they had none.

The elven gates came into view, slowly swinging open as the small group of soldiers followed Thranduil inside. A dark feeling of foreboding entered into his heart as he realized all within were avoiding his gaze. He moved forward and they parted like water about a river stone. He searched for Legolas but could not see him, nor hear the little call of Ada! Ada! A spike of panic lanced through him, and he caught the arm of the nearest elf he could find. A silvan healer.

"Athlorn," he said softly, "where is Legolas?"

She raised her glass-green eyes to meet his. They were full of sorrow. "He was killed, aran nîn." She caught him as he staggered, the color draining from his cheeks. "He wandered out to keep a lookout for your return. We think the yrch found him."

Another silvan healer, Garthlan, held out a lock of ash-blonde hair stiff with dried blood and Thranduil sank to his knees with a weak cry, a ringing beginning in his ears.

Al…

He dimly heard Athlorn saying something to him, worried, but the darkness clawing at him was simply too strong and with a moan, Thranduil allowed it to take him as he collapsed.

In the moons that passed, Greenwood began to fester. You could taste it on the air: a dark undercurrent of rot and decay. It lay thick on your tongue and clogged your lungs, making every breath a struggle.

Days bled into months, and then years. The people of Greenwood retreated from the forest, closing the Elven Gates. Afraid that some new horror was on its way.

It was.

And it came.

The spiders came.

Thranduil led the forces of Greenwood against the creatures, intent on destroying their nests and driving them from the forest. They fought bravely and with much valour, but the foul beasts came back again and again. Their glee at slaughtering the elves was unmatched by silver blades, and finally, weak from their venom, Thranduil called a retreat.

Sounds were too loud in his ears as he led the elven warriors at a run, the spiders giving chase. The trees blurred as the bite on his arm throbbed- venom flowing through his veins like sticky molasses. A cry rang out from behind them, followed by the sounds of thrashing and Thranduil drew his sword as he turned, driving it deep into the spider's head. It squealed, trying to pull free, black liquid spraying from the wound as Thranduil hung on grimly, standing over the fallen elf.

"My king!" shouted a warrior.

"Go!" Thranduil drew his other sword. "Get back to the gates!"

"But-."

"GO!" Thranduil's second blade found its mark and the spider screeched, thrashing. He could hear its fellow creatures growing nearer and pulled his swords free, leaving the spider to crash to the leaf-litter, wailing, its legs scrabbling at the ground.

"It burns! It burns!"

Thranduil hauled the fallen elf to her feet, swiping at the spider as it lunged for them. It recoiled, squealing, its remaining eyes fixed on the silver blade of starlight. "Run for the gates," murmured the Elvenking to the soldier. "Fast as you can. Men! Menthî!"

He swung at the wounded beast, driving it back, but them the venom finally took him over and Thranduil fell to his knees, the blade sliding from his numb hand. His body trembled, all over hot and cold.

"It is feeling sick," mused the spider with glee, blood still sliding from the stab wounds in its head. It knocked Thranduil over with a long leg and the Elvenking twitched, foaming at the mouth as the venom slowly drained all the feeling from his limbs. He felt the spider prodding at him with its spindly legs, rolling the elf onto his back. Thranduil lay prone, unable to move and the spider's mandibles brushed his face as it sniffed at him, smearing him with black slime.

It suddenly leapt back with a howl, blood splattering from the stump of one leg as the hewn appendage thumped to the floor with a dull sound. It scrambled round, flicking its pincers wildly as a shadow fell over Thranduil and someone stepped lightly over him. He caught the gleam of a familiar sword as his saviour faced off with the beast.

"Elves, elves, elves!" it squealed, thrashing its remaining legs in a fit of anger. "You will all die! We will feast!"

"Go back to the darkness from whence you came," said the Lord of Rivendell, his sword dripping black ichor. "None shall feast here. Not today."

The spider hissed but scrambled back slowly. Elrond waited until the creature had vanished into the gnarled trees before dropping to his knees beside Thranduil. "You have become reckless since Legolas's death, mellon nîn."

Thranduil could not move. The venom had by now fully taken hold of him, and a foul taste seared in his throat. He felt Elrond's warm hand close on the spider-bite, the peredhel murmuring under his breath; a soothing coolness seeping into his body, burning up the poison that held him fast. Thranduil turned his head to see Vilya glowing softly on Elrond's finger and tried to sit up.

"Lie still," cautioned the Lord of Rivendell, pushing him back down.

"How did you know?" Thranduil croaked, his mouth tasting like sand.

Elrond frowned. "I have the gift of fore-sight." He smoothed tangled hair from the Elvenking's brow. "You need to be more careful, Thranduil." His dark eyes softened. "It will not bring him back."

Thranduil said nothing, and Elrond stood and sheathed Hadhafang with a sigh. "It is seldom that an elfling is lost to war. Lady Galadriel sends her regards."

Thranduil snorted.

"She asked me to bring you to the next meeting of the White Council," said Elrond. "That is my true reason for being here." Elrond frowned. "She asks that you attend without the enchantment on your scars, mellon nîn. I know not why."

Of all the members of the White Council, Thranduil despised Saruman the White most of all. He had never met the istari and did not start off hating them but the barely concealed disgust in the wizard's eyes when he saw the Elvenking's ruined face soon sealed his fate.

"And the orcs withdrew after your son was killed?" asked the one known to all but the elves as Gandalf the Grey.

"They did," said Thranduil from between Elrond and Galadriel. He had forgotten how his scars still seared in the open air, as if the wind flamed the slumbering embers of dragonfire alive once more. It burnt now as a soft breeze swept the council chamber, toying with their hair.

Gandalf made a thoughtful sound.

"Did it ever occur to you that the orcs perhaps drew you out so they could kill your son?" Saruman lent forward, dark eyes narrow, not quite looking at Thranduil. The Elvenking considered him with a look of contempt.

"Tell me, Saruman the White…Do my scars repulse you?"

The wizard blustered. "I…"

Thranduil thrust his ruined face into Saruman's and the istari recoiled. "Not all of us may hide up in the safety of a tower," he said softly. "Out here in the real world, we must all sometimes fight." He stepped back, noting the look of amusement on Gandalf's face. "And to answer you, it most certainly did occur to me." The Elvenking's voice was cold. "Crom glamhoth abin."

After the orcs left.

Elrond placed a hand on Thranduil's shoulder as Galadriel spoke.

"We must ensure that this never again happens to another child," she said sadly. "It is a horrible end to a young elf's life."

"Indeed," said Gandalf. "I wonder, Thranduil, if they did it hoping to break you."

"You are saying nothing that I have not thought of myself, Míthrandir," said Thranduil, forcing aside thoughts of Legolas clinging to his leg. Be careful, ada.

He heaved a breath, struggling to keep his composure as Elrond shook his head. "The yrch have been silent since the death of Legolas Greenleaf. Not one has been seen. It bothers me greatly."

"Why should it bother us, Lord of Imladris?" asked Saruman. "If there are no orcs to be seen, it should be a cause for great celebration. Worry not over such little things."

Thranduil's dislike for the wizard grew. "The orcs are mustering in Dol Guldur," he said softly. "We hear their cries at night."

They were all looking at him now and Thranduil had to fight the urge to hide his ruined face. Instead, he raised his chin and looked to Elrond and Gandalf. They were not laughing or bristling with scorn.

"Since when?" said Gandalf sharply.

"In recent months."

"Thranduil," said Elrond urgently. The peredhel's eyes were dark, "how many?"

"I do not know." Thranduil shook his head. "We hardly even venture out into Greenwood any longer. I have lost too many of my people. I would not risk those that are left."

"If you should ever need aid, Thranduil," said Galadriel gently, "my people will answer."

"As will mine," added Elrond.

Thranduil bowed his head, unable to find a response. He felt his wounds sear with an old pain and let out a relived breath as Elrond laid his hand against the Elvenking's shoulder, the cool touch of Vilya banishing the agony to a tolerable ache.

"We must end this evil now, before it destroys us all!" blustered Saruman.

"You have my blessing," said Thranduil, now weary. "But it is too late for us. Greenwood has fallen. No hope remains."

Hi there all! Just a quick word- this is the first time i have put up a chapter on this place- so i forgot to add this in!

Disclaimer: i own none if Tolkien's work!! And i don't wish i did- because then he wouldn't exist!

So, Mae Govannen!

just a warning that I am a very slow writer, but i shall try to update at least once a week :) i have been working on this story for nearly two years- so I hope you enjoy it!

any questions i will be happy to answer, and please leave a review if you feel inclined!

for Sindarin, i use a Sindarin-English dictionary. Any one interested in it can find it here:

http/sindarinlessons./uploads/8/0/1/0/8010213/sindarin-english_dictionary_-_3rd_edition.pdf

it is the best and truest to Tolkien that i have yet found ;)

Until chapter 2!