Mae govannen!

welcome to the next chapter! A few things before we begin:

1) black speech will be done in bold italics- i started off with actual black speech, but it was too confusing. Also just disgusting- cause it makes me think of the yrch and eugh...

2) sindarin will be done in the manner of the following example:

-(On one line we will have the words being said, and then there will be an immediate translation on the following line) So:

"Mae govannen!" cried Haldir.

Well met.

If that is too confusing, let me know and i will put it in brackets ;)

Namarie!

and please reveiw :)

"It is memory. Precious and pure."

-Tauriel.

And so, the long, lonely years passed; seemingly drawn out as the wheel of time stretched thin. Seasons came and went, the trees of the forest trying in vain to soldier on, yet more and more were infected by the encroaching darkness. Greenwood, -or Mirkwood, as it was now known- seemed to have passed beyond hope. The spiders ran wild and unchecked, their love for fresh meats limitless as they scoured the treetops for anything that drew breath. They grew in numbers, and so did their hunting grounds. The elves never opened the gates now- they couldn't, for fear of those unholy spawn taking them.

Thranduil spent more and more time alone, often with the young orphaned silvan elf who had begun training to replace the old Captain of the Guard, Sirion.

Sirion had been the latest victim of the spiders; the sindar elf having killed two of the beasts before he was felled, and the creatures had moved in to tear him to pieces. Thranduil could still hear his screams.

The orphan went by the name of Tauriel, and had bright, inquisitive eyes and a head of hair like wild flames. Her parents had been slaughtered by orcs while out in the woods, and she now worked tirelessly to avenge them. Her skill with a blade was not a surprise to him as he watched her train, but more often than not it pained him to see her, for she reminded him of Legolas.

As it was, she found him one evening, many seasons past, alone down in the gaol, listening to the river flowing deep below. Thranduil's eyes were closed, his silver robes glimmering softly, mind far afield, immersed in happier years. Years when the sun had still warmed the forest floor. He heard her footfalls and turned.

"Tauriel."

"Aran nîn." She halted, eyes deep and anxious. "I am sorry to disturb you."

Thranduil shook his head. "Ped."

Speak.

She nodded. "I bear a message from the Lord of Imladris."

Alarm bells began to sound in his head. "What has happened?"

"His advisor, Lindir, has gone missing." Tauriel looked helpless. "As if vanished into thin air."

"Yrch?" asked Thranduil, before watching her shake her head, hair rippling.

"They do not know, aran nîn."

Thranduil let out a sound of anger. "In gûr na, glamhoth!" he spat. Death to the orcs!

"You are sure it was orcs?"

"What else could it be, Tauriel?"

She looked sad. "I do not know," she repeated.

"Why did Elrond send word to us?"

"He asks if the stirrings in Dol Guldur grow stronger."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "And have they?"

"Yes, my king."

Thranduil slowly made his way along the gaol walkways, his heart pounding out a sick rhythm as he struggled for air. If the host mustering in that forsaken fortress came here…they would never be able to hold it off. Mirkwood would fall. He leaned on the stone, nausea rising within him. The darkness was coming. How long before…

"Aran nîn?" Tauriel was now by his side. "Are you alright?"

"No." Thranduil forced back panic, calming himself down. "Take Helluin and scout out the edge of Dol Guldur. Do not let anything see you."

The silence hung quivering in the night like a note unheard to the stars, only broken by the soft pitter-patter of black blood as it fell slowly from the twin blades that gleamed in the moonlight. The tall, ash-blonde elf stood perfectly still, his notched and slitted ears hearing every sound, every in and out of his own, fluid breathing. He said nothing- waiting.

The three orcs lying dead at his feet were slowly leaking their black ichor over the chipped stone. A river of night, devoid of stars, but Prince Legolas Greenleaf simply waited. He was patient. It had been one of the first things they had taught him and had been hard learnt. For, in the end, what was a few moments wait to an elf? But a speck of eternity.

"You are ready."

The voice was low and rough. "At ease."

Legolas sheathed his knives as Azog descended the small set of steps to the rubble of what had once been a courtyard. The massive, pale-white orc's eyes studied him as he stepped over the carcass of the nearest orc. "You approve?" asked the elf.

Azog nodded. "I do."

A ray of weak moonglow caught Legolas's face, displaying the scars that marred the left side of it, stark against his pale skin. They matched the ones on the white orc's face.

"I saw the elf you dragged in yestereve," said Legolas, falling into step beside the pale orc. "A warrior?"

"No." Azog started off, Legolas by his side. "An advisor to the Lord of Rivendell." The orc spat the words as if they caused him pain. "They have given us rather a struggle to contain them."

"Them?" said Legolas. "Is there another?"

They had by this time reached the platform ringed by steel cages up at the very top of the dark fortress. Azog indicated down over the edge and Legolas peered down to see four squat orc soldiers hauling a chained elf along, his blonde hair matted with blood and dust. Steel links bound his wrists and wound up around his chest- tight enough that he seemed weak from lack of breath. He stumbled- legs haveing no strength left- and they tugged him back up, claws drawing blood from his fair skin. Realizing that the orcs were dragging the elf up to where they stood, Legolas turned to Azog. "Is this the one of Rivendell?"

"No," was all Azog said, and they fell into silence, waiting until the orcs had thrown the elf to the stone at their feet. He coughed up a mouthful of blood as Azog snarled, falling back into Westron for the elf's benifit, no doubt.

"Haldir of Lothlórien."

Legolas judged from the look of horror in the elf's eyes, that he knew full well who the pale orc was. "He is from the forest?"

Haldir's eyes found Legolas and shock spread over his face. He spoke in Sindarin, but Legolas only gave him a cold look. "I do not speak your tongue." The captive faltered at the soft menace in the prince's tone.

Azog growled, a small smile on his lips. "He is one of us- an orc at heart." He was referring to Legolas, and Haldir gasped as the pale orc's foot came down on his chest, pinning him, the steel links digging into his pale skin.

"Who do you serve?" asked Legolas. "The Lady of Lothlórien?"

Haldir coughed, heaving a weak breath as Azog called for the four orc soldiers, the bruises on his face a dark galaxy of shadows. He looked utterly weary…defeat struggled to triumph in his eyes. "I serve the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood…yes." This was all he managed before coughing again.

"He is a fighter," Legolas said to Azog, not without a certain dark amusement.

Haldir turned pain-filled eyes on him; a plea for understanding. "Why have you turned on your kin? Who are you?"

Legolas contemplated the bound elf as he tried to struggle out from under Azog's broad foot. "My name is Legolas."

Haldir sucked in a sharp breath. "The prince of Greenwood?"

"I believe it is now known as Mirkwood." Legolas curled his lip, as Azog released the elven soldier and the four orcs seized hold of him once more. Haldir arched against them, but he was too badly beaten to resist as he was pulled away.

"Do you think he knows my father?"

Azog glanced down at the elf. Legolas's voice had rung with a blade of violence, his eyes chips of stone. "Probably," said the orc. "You still wish for his death? To make him pay for abandoning you?"

Legolas gazed out over the ruins of Dol Guldur. There was a look on his face that would make a body shudder from the darkness within it. His voice, when at last he spoke, was a sea of bitter malice born of rage and hatred.

"When the time is right…"

"You went into the enemy camp and spied on them?" Saruman threw up his hands. "Of all the foolish notions in the world, this is the worst, Elvenking."

"I would thank you not to berate me in my own kingdom," said Thranduil in a voice of pure ice. "Keep your voice down."

"I warned you against these reckless decisions, mellon nîn," said Elrond softly.

"I know, and I took heed." Thranduil faced the peredhel, leaving Saruman to splutter indignation. "Tauriel and Helluin set not one foot within Dol Guldur. They merely scouted the borders."

Elrond frowned. "For what reason?"

"I thought they might sight Lindir," admitted Thranduil.

Elrond's face was white as he took a deep breath. "And?"

"They did not see him." Thranduil paused, unsure of how to say it. "…but they heard his screams."

Elrond jerked back as if he had been struck, horror blooming in his eyes like a dark flower. His mouth became a thin line. "You are certain, Thranduil?"

"Yes."

"My king!" Tauriel burst into the small chamber, her face deceptively calm. Only the light in her eyes betrayed her inner worry. "There is a matter I would discuss with…" she broke off, seeing Elrond and Saruman.

"Tauriel-," said Thranduil.

"Apologies, aran nîn," she murmured. "I will take my leave."

"Ped,Tauriel," said Thranduil. Speak. "We are listening."

"Emlin and Faelas have returned from the forest. The orcs have another captive. A soldier of Lothlórien. They could not recognize him, the glimpse was too fleeting, but they say he was badly beaten, my king. He could hardly walk."

She stood waiting as Thranduil thought about this. "Could a messenger make it out of the forest unseen?"

"If they took the river road, they might," she replied. Knowing he was deciding what to do.

"Tell Faelas to bear the news to the Lord and Lady," he said, voice soft. He called her back as she made to leave. "And Tauriel…"

"Aran nîn?"

"She is not to attempt to return." He would lose no more of his people to the darkness. "Tell Faelas she is to remain in Lothlórien."