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Aragorn's mind did not have a chance to register shock as he found himself bowled over and pinned harshly to the ground by two muscular elven bodies, who kicked away his weapon and held a knife to his throat. He had not even heard them enter the glade.
"Wh-what?" he managed, eyes widening. Alarm bells were going off in his head. "Áirúlas—Belthan—what do you mean by this? Are you hurt? What do you mean by your actions? Let me up!"
"Your charade has come to an end," came a cold, steel-edged voice, and Aragorn felt shock as Legolas, missing Prince of Mirkwood, came striding towards him. His posture was rigid and unfriendly, and his eyes were flinty.
"Legolas," Aragorn practically gasped. He made an attempt to rise but was pressed firmly and not gently into the ground by the two elves.
"Stay," Belthan ordered harshly. "Do not move."
Aragorn lay still. He knew this was a grave misunderstanding, but what was it? And what could cause Legolas to act so steely? It was better for him to just stay and let them sort it out.
"Legolas," Aragorn said carefully. He was overjoyed to find his friend alive, and more or less uninjured, but he could not understand why Legolas was not reacting the same way to him. "A fortnight has passed since we began our pursuit of you—"
His greeting was cut off by a swift backhand from Áirúlas at a nod from the prince.
"Silence, traitor," Legolas said. "Bring him to his knees."
Aragorn was hauled to his knees, arms held firmly behnd his back. He had no idea what was going on. Legolas slowly walked toward him, circled around him, and fell at his knees beside his father's body. No emotion played in the prince's hardened eyes. Hatred left no room for emotion.
"So you slew him." The prince's voice was flat, and Legolas held up a hand as a shocked Aragorn tried to stammer an explanation.
"Do not," was all he said. He laid a gentle hand on his father's chest. No one would have been able to tell that Legolas was fighting tears and stamping down the roaring emotion trying to tear itself from his chest.
"Life has fled," he said simply. His father was dead. Grief welled up in him but he had no time to acknowledge it. He could do so later in the privacy of his home. Right here, now, when the murderer was on his knees before him, was not the time. Right now he had to deal with the slayer of the King of Mirkwood.
He looked the speechless Ranger in the eye, until the man weakened from shock looked away. Legolas's gaze did not wander as he spoke.
"Kill him."
Áirúlas and Belthan looked at each other and hesitated. Aragorn looked like he was about to faint from the pure shock and opened his mouth to desperately try to explain his innocence, but Legolas made a violent gesture, and the human was punched in the stomach, effectively cutting off his plea and indicating he should talk no more.
"My lord," began Belthan hesitantly, in a hushed whisper. "For many leagues did this man travel with us—this cannot be as it seems."
"You have been fooled," said Legolas coldly. "Surely he cannot have accompanied you the entire time—did you never mark his absence?"
"He was not present unfailingly," admitted Áirúlas slowly. "But, my lord, this man is a friend of yours, surely you would allow him an explanation—"
"Silence," Legolas hissed, his eyes darkened with fury, his normally calm demeanor shaking with rage. The elf fell silent, unused to this treatment from the usually-rational prince. "He is a liar and not who he seems. He has been my captor. In his absence with me he must have traveled with you. And when he left you he came to me. Now I repeat: slay him."
The two elves' eyes widened in shock at Legolas's revelation.
"Kill him!" the elf prince snarled. The elves slowly made to do Legolas's will. Then the elf-prince held up a hand.
"Wait," he said in a tone deadly soft. He unsheathed a knife and walked slowly towards the accused, bewildered Ranger whose eyes shone with confusion and fear. "I will do it."
"Legolas…" Aragorn's mouth was dry. What had been done to him? Why was he behaving so coldly? Why was he about to murder his best friend? Surely he had been brainwashed, tortured into insanity. It was powerful sorcery that must have done this to him, to be able to turn the Eldar against the Adan so totally…
"Do not speak, human, your words are but poisonous lies," Legolas said. Every word dripped venom and hatred as he came closer to the helpless Ranger.
"Please, Legolas." Aragorn's heart dropped faster and faster as the elf neared. Legolas was not play-acting; he was deadly serious. He was going to kill Aragorn.
"Your blood is mine, human," Legolas hissed. He placed the tip of the knife at Aragorn's left ear. Aragorn tensed, and knew what he had to do.
"Legolas, wait!" he burst out. The elf instinctively hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Aragorn tore his arms from the elves' grasp and at the same time jerked his head away, so Legolas's blade would not catch his throat.
"I am sorry," he gasped, then drew his fist back and planted it into the head of Áirúlas. No other human could have moved as quickly as he did. Then he did something he swore he would never do and held the elf's body in front of him as a shield.
"My sorrow is unspeakable," he said with labored breaths. "Legolas—I do not know what evil has befallen you and caused you to act with such hatred—I did not kill your noble father. But know this: I am and will ever be your friend. This time will pass and you will know the truth, and at that time I will still be here for you, as ever I have been. Farewell!"
He shoved Áirúlas at them and tore away. He knew he had but a few seconds' head start; the elves would be able to track him easily in the woods. But he knew they were injured, and it would slow them down. It pained him to think he was actually grateful for the injury of an Eldar.
The rushing roar of water met his ears somewhere nearby. It was his only hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, if he could reach it, the current could carry him away faster than the elves could run. He followed the sound and was met with a cliff. Though only perhaps twenty feet in height, rocks lay below caused a possible hazard. Aragorn didn't think twice. It was his only chance of escaping the elves.
He jumped, and was immediately met with black as water rushed into his vision and filled his senses, rendering him helpless and unconscious.
-
Legolas stared down at the raging river from the cliff over which the traitorous human had just leaped.
"Like a coward, he flies," he said softly.
"Shall we follow, lord?" Belthan asked from his side. Áirúlas remained, unconscious from Aragorn's blow, in the glade where Aragorn had first been found. Legolas almost smiled faintly. The guard was so undyingly loyal to the royal family of Mirkwood he was apparently prepared to follow Aragorn's seemingly-suicidal path over the cliff.
"No," Legolas answered. He was still staring where Aragorn had disappeared. It was a mark of his complete and total severance from any good feelings towards Aragorn that he felt not even a twinge of sorrow that the fall probably killed the human.
He turned to the other elf, showing no regret nor sorrow.
"It's time to go home," he said.
-
Upon their return to the glade they encountered another problem: the three injured elves could not possibly carry Thranduil's body all the way back to Mirkwood. Really, they did not even know where exactly they were. Legolas point-blank refused to hire human help, or horses owned by humans, or ask guidance from humans. He did not trust them, even the seemingly-innocent villagers.
"We have but one choice," he said quietly, staring at the king's deathly-still body lying eerily in the middle of the clearing.
"Fire." Áirúlas said it. "Pyres have been used by many of your ancestors, Highness. It is a noble and fitting farewell."
"Then we shall gather wood," Legolas declared, still with no emotion. He seemed to the other elves to be completely cut off from the world, operating only out of habit. He turned towards the wood to do so, but stopped when he noticed the other elves were still standing there, unmoving.
"Why do you hesitate?" he snapped. They did not take offense.
"Before we proceed, there is an order of business which must occur," Belthan said quietly.
"Business?" Legolas echoed, almost in disbelief. The king had just died, they were stranded in some unknown, hostile territory, and they wanted to conduct business?
"It is most urgent," Áirúlas added respectfully and carefully, seeming like he sensed Legolas's foul and irritated mood.
"For Valar's sake, what is it?" the son of Thranduil barked.
Áirúlas and Belthan glanced at one another before simultaneously kneeling and planting their daggers in the ground at Legolas's feet.
The golden-haired royal looked bewildered. "What in the name of all the heavens are you doing?" he demanded, confused and annoyed.
"From this moment on, and forever forth, to the end of my life as it exists on this earth, I pledge my life and service to you, my king, Valar help me and hold me to it," Áirúlas murmured. His head was bowed and the words were hushed. Beside him Belthan spoke the same words.
Legolas stood rooted to the spot. He could not move. Of course this was reality…but it would not have occurred to him for a very long time…
"I am king," he whispered, both electrified and horrified by his own words. He was the king. Being the only child of his father, he was naturally heir to the throne when Thranduil either departed Middle-Earth for Valinor, or passed away. The latter, which Legolas had never imagined would come to pass, had happened. This left Legolas as sole, supreme ruler of Mirkwood.
He stood stiffly while Áirúlas and Belthan remained kneeling. They would not rise until Legolas, as the new king, accepted their solemn life pledges to his service and bade them rise.
He wanted to fall over with the shock and sudden, intense pressure, but he couldn't. Any emotions threatening to spill over were coldly and firmly squashed down. Instead of breaking down, he remained cold and aloof.
"Rise," he commanded. His voice sounded like he had been king for years. He could hide his feelings well. Especially now, when it was so necessary.
"I—" he cleared his throat and spoke the traditional, solemn words of acceptance. "I, the rightful king of Mirkwood, accept these your solemn vows, and shall forever hold you to them. Rise."
They did as he bade them, silently.
"We will seek out wood for my father's pyre. Valar help us we shall be done with the entire affair and on our way back to Mirkwood before dawn breaks."
They nodded in submission. To them, Legolas's word was now law.
"Bring back your finds in one hour," Legolas said grimly. He refused to name the deed before them or even to look upon the body of his father.
He didn't wait for them to acknowledge him. He just turned and walked silently into the forest.
No tears slipped down his cheeks, though they could have and none would have been the wiser. Hardened hatred and resolve were the only things left in his grey eyes, piercing and cruel as a hawk. The laughing golden boy of Mirkwood was gone.
A cold king with a heart of stone had replaced him. And it had not happened overnight; the heart of Legolas had, not long ago, beat warm and steady. Slowly, though, the warmth was replaced by the chill of evil. It was like a petrified tree; the soft wood slowly replaced by minerals until they built up and the tree actually became made of stone. Such was the case here. It had started a long time ago. This descent into darkness was like gravity; all it took was a little push to get it started. Aragorn's betrayal had been that push. Legolas hadn't known it, but his heart began to turn to stone at that. And the continued torture, the claustrophobia…it had all happened in such small quantities, had hadn't know what was happening. He never realized how his heart was hardening. If he could see himself before Aragorn's betrayal he would have been shocked at the difference. And now, with his father dead, the solidification of his heart was complete.
Legolas would never laugh the same way again. He would never look upon a human again without despising it and spitting in its face. No human would ever set foot in Mirkwood for the rest of eternity. Any human caught in Mirkwood would be killed without question or excuse.
Then without warning, an arrow alight with flame screamed past his shoulder, narrowly missing him. Legolas's breath caught in his breath and he ducked. His eyes furrowed with anger, not fear.
They were under attack.
And that was not the worst of it. They were all injured and weak, and close to weaponless. Why now? Legolas's eyes burned with fury. Could they not even let the elves bury their dead in peace? Truthfully, Legolas did not even know if their current attackers were related to Aragorn's men, but they were close to the compound and it would make sense.
He whistled a low elven signal to his warriors which to any other ears would sound like a bird's call, but which Legolas knew Áirúlas and Belthan would recognize as the retreat signal.
Legolas clenched his teeth. Arrows rained all around him; it was a miracle he had not yet been struck. But still he remained motionless. He did not know if he could live with himself if he were to simply abandon his father's body there. And yet, judging by the sheet of arrows raining down around him, their attackers numbered at least two dozen. It was far too great a number for three injured, nearly-defenseless elves to handle. Legolas's eyes darted around. He saw no conceivable way to take Thranduil's body with them.
Cursing the day he was born, Legolas came out of his reverie and fled.
They met up shortly and took to the trees; there was almost no way for their pursuers to overtake them this way. Injured as they were, the elves skills' in the trees still far outweighed that of the men.
Oddly, their pursuers fell back more quickly than was expected. Legolas was too tired and too screamingly angry to care about the reason for that. They made a quick rope bridge across the river, and cut it swiftly. They heard shouts in the distance, but they didn't care. Now that they had crossed the river, which flowed far too dangerously for a water crossing, the danger was gone. They were still in hostile territory, but safety was not far.
Sick at heart, Legolas turned a last glance in the direction of where he had left Thranduil's body.
"Rest well, my father," he whispered brokenly. He turned back. The other elves watched him silently, respectfully saying nothing. Legolas locked eyes with both of them, and inwardly they shuddered to see the extreme change that had come over him. Legolas spoke, and his voice was cold and purpose-driven.
"We set out for Mirkwood. We slay any humans we encounter."
He ignored their exchanged glances of worry. No, he would not force them to carry out anything they felt bound by morality not to complete, but he knew his purpose.
He hated them. He hated Aragorn, and he hated men. He strode past them, in the direction of their home.
"To Mirkwood," he said.
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The end.
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Evil much? Um…is it presumptuous to ask for reviews, now? Will it help if I say a sequel is forthcoming?
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