Summary: Legolas and Aragorn ride ahead to Mirkwood to celebrate an
occasion but never make it.
Disclaimer: I don't own them for their own good.
A/N: Written for a challenge issued on Mellon Chronicles.
Chapter 6
Thranduil saw the smoke from the fire, and wondered what and who it was. The guards had not been sent to this part of the forest in some time as it was free of spiders. He honestly didn't care what it was, but something told him he should check it out just to be sure. He was about to lead his horse in that direction when the trees spoke of danger.
Thranduil unsheahed his sword then, holding it in his right hand while he guided the horse onward to find out what was ahead.
Elrond and the twins could also see the smoke. "Ada, are the guards usually out this far, for I have never seen them?"
Elrond could not recall the guards being this far out in over a hundred years, as Thranduil, he and the Lorien elves had rid the forest of all the spiders that dwelled near there. "There is a feeling in the air," Elrond said.
"What feeling is it Ada?"
Elrond mused for a second, "Fear, and pain," he said, taking his sword from its sheath. "Be leery, for whatever is up ahead it is not friendly."
Aragorn was still caught up in the darkness of unconsciousness, but Legolas was slowly waking, his vision blurry, and yet he could make out the man standing over him, a wicked smile upon is face. Legolas wanted to scream at the man, but his tongue had swelled from dehydration, almost choking him. He watched as the man removed each boot from Aragorn's feet, and then he watched as the remainder of his shirt was cut away by the knife. It was as the man leered down at Aragorn that Legolas had to turn his head. He couldn't face the reality of what was happening.
Legolas did not get to hide from anything as one of the men walked slowly over to him. "Such a pretty elf. Such a shame that you must die. Well, we can't let you totally go to waste now can we?" Legolas knew this man's intentions and yet he had not the strength to even fight him. The small whimpers coming from Aragorn did nothing to ease his mind, as his own slipped once again into the blackness of safety.
Legolas' prayers were answered when he heard the sound of elvish voices. He wanted to open his eyes to see if it was only his imagination, but the thought of staring into the eyes that were there kept his own eyes shut tightly.
Elrond rode into the clearing from the north as Thranduil broke through the treeline on the west. The sight that awaited them both was horrific. Tied to stakes in the ground, were their sons. Elrond leapt from his horse, sword in hand in one swift motion, Thranduil doing the same. The twins ran to Aragorn and Legolas, their own swords held high to cleave the heads of those who had done this.
Just as Elrond turned one of the men came up behind him, dagger held in his hand. "So the father returns, the healer who brings nothing but death to his patients. Welcome Lord Elrond to what is sure to be your final day on Arda."
"What have you done? You will die for your transgressions against my son."
"It is you who will die, but not before you watch your son die slowly. I will show him no mercy, as you showed my brother none."
Elrond's rage flowed through him, bringing a sense of evil that had not crept into him since the day he watched Gil Galad fall before him. That day he had killed over and over, trying to wash away the pain he felt in his heart. Orc after orc fell to his blade, and when all was over he felt nothing that resembled closure as the pain still remained.
Thranduil was busy with his own demons. Before him stood a man, one that was responsible for many of his guards, his friends being slain. They had left the bodies to rot in the woods, ravaged by beasts, they were only recognized by the few parts of their faces that remained. Now this man stood between him and his son.
The man brought from his belt a dagger, the steel blade glinting in the sun. "You wish your son yes, but I wish to see the look in your eyes as I take his life. Kill me if you will afterwards, but not before."
"What is to keep me from killing you now?" Thranduil said, taking a step forward. The elven king blocked out the battle raging all around him, focusing on he man who knelt next to his son.
The man held the knife to Legolas' throat, running the blade down till it reached his chest. "As you can see I have the upperhand. Take a step in this direction and your son shall die swiftly. Perhaps if you linger there while I torture him, you may get to hear him profess his undying love for you before I kill him."
Thranduil clenched his sword in his hand till the knuckled turned white. "You shall die this day, that I swear to you."
The man smiled, and then turned his attention back to Legolas for a second. He pushed the blade in only a fraction and then ran the length of of down Legolas' chest. It looked to be no more than a mere scratch, until the blood started to ooze from the cut. Thranduil could not take watching his son being tortured and stepped forward, his sword raised.
"I told you not to move or you would regret it!" Legolas face scrunched up in pain, and yet his parched throat could only whimper as the blade cut his flesh. Thranduil watched as the man wrapped his arms around Legolas' throat, applying just enough pressure for him to struggle. Stop this at once! He has not wronged you. It is I that you wish to kill!"
The man released his grip on Legolas' throat, and the color returned to his face. "Nay, he was born and that is reason enough to kill him. My brother would have been a father by now, his son a man, but you saw fit to kill him. Do not think that your son will fair any better." The man raised his hand, slapping Legolas hard across the face to waken him. "You shall not go quietly to death! Your father is here and wishes to hear your last words."
Legolas stared at the man who sat beside him, and then down to his body. It was void of clothing, the bare skin laying on the harsh ground. He wanted to close his eyes and forget the pain, he wanted to go back to the place where the darkness enveloped him, and made the hurt go away, but he could hear the voice of his father pleading with him to stay.
The man again put his hands up to strangle Legolas, but in his zeal to kill him he had forgotten the battle within inches from where he sat. Elladan had been fighting off one of the men, his blade raised to strike the man down where he stood, but the man had moved and Elladan's elbow caught something behind him, something solid. Elladan did not have time to check what it was he had struck, but it was all the opportunity Thranduil needed.
Thranduil's blade was swift, slicing through the man's hand at the wrist. The screams were instantenous, the blood spurting from where his hand had been, but the man was not ready to give up his claim on Legolas. With his other hand he grabbed the elf by the throat trying to kill him, trying to avenge what he thought was a wrongful death. Thranduil again raised his sword, but this time the blade entered the man's heart, and he no longer felt hatred and revenge, now he felt nothing, as death had taken him.
Thranduil pushed the man's body off Legolas, and began to untie him from the stakes. All calls to his sons went unheard as Legolas hung limly in his hands. The fight to breathe had been too much, and Legolas had gone back to the safe place, the darkness of unconsciousness. There was a battle yet going on around them, but Thranduil heard nothing as he cradled his son in his arms.
Elrond Peredhil stood face to face with Bortian. The man sneered at him, daring him to step forward, and Elrond took that dare. "For each step that you make, my man will take pleasure in harming your son."
Elrond was ready to call his bluff, but one glance at the leader hovering over Estel made him hesitate. "As you see you are at my mercy Lord Elrond." Bortian had made a drastic error however, and soon discovered it. Elrohir's blade had entered the back of his neck, the tip of it protruding from his throat. "It is you that have made the error," Elrond said, as Bortian's body slumped to the ground.
Elrond rushed to Estel, and only stopped a few feet from him. The twins were capable of handling he three men that were left, and Elrond knew it was he who would have to face the leader, the man who now sat beside his son, knife raised above his heart. Elrond's feet moved to the left, trying to get a better angle to kill the man, but Notiren's eyes never left him.
"We meet again Lord Elrond. My men are dying or are dead, and yet I still have the upper hand. As you can see even the mighty elven king cannot tear himself away from his grief long enough to help you."
Elrond glanced over at Thranduil and saw him cradling Legolas in his arms. He prayed that Legolas still yet lived, but he did not truly know. "What makes you think you will live?"
"I need not live. You think I value life? I shall be happy to go where my brother awaits me, but not before I take your son with me."
"Men such as yourselves do not grace Mandos' Halls"
This seemed to anger the leader. "You have no idea who graces his halls. My brother was a fine man, and you slayed him, as if he were nothing but filth. Too long have the elves ruled Middle Earth. Too long have men been cast aside by your kind. Hear me now Lord Elrond. I am Notiren and I shall avenge my family!"
Elrond stepped forward as the dagger was ran over Estel's chest until it reached his navel, leaving a trail of blood in its path. He saw the blood, the scars old and new that riddled Estel's naked body. The heat of the day had dried his lips till they had cracked and bled, and his skin was covered with blisters from the noonday sun. Tears prickled in the corners of Elrond's eyes and Notrien laughed. "You cry? You dare to cry now, after what you have done in your life?"
Elrond's fury was mounting. He recalled a talk he had with Mithrandir many years ago after the hatred had overwhelmed him. He knew it was wrong, he knew that hatred should never fuel ones blade, but Elrond was not thinking as a warrior, but as a father. The strangled cry that escaped Aragorn's mouth made Elrond focus once again on what was happening. He stared down at Notrien and saw him running the blade down Estel's thigh, having done Valar knows what in the few seconds he had let his mind wander.
Elrond could stand it no more, the sob escaping Estel sending him over the edge. He raised his sword, as Notrien raised his dagger. Elrond's sword stopped though halfway through Nortien's chest, for it had struck Thranduil's blade. "I could not watch it any longer," he said before collapsing in his own grief.
Nortien fell dead, his plan not accomplished. "Come we must get them to Mirkwood if we are to have any chance of saving them," Elrond ordered.
Thranduil went to gather Legolas, and Elrond went to untie Estel. He noticed the jagged hole through his hand, the dried blood on his wrists as he had fought against the ropes. Elladan and Elrohir came to kneel beside their father. "Ada ..." Elladan said, staring down at his brother. "Will they live?"
Elrond remained silent, for he truly did not know. Their skin is hot to the touch, fevered from the infections and sun. We must ride will all haste, and pray along the way that Mandos does not seek them out before we get there."
They all mounted up, Elrond and Thranduil holding the two injured in front of them. "We shall ride ahead Ada, and warn the healers that you are coming," suggested Elrohir.
"Should you have any problems tell them it shall be my wrath they will face," Thranduil said. They watched the twins race off towards Mirkwood, them following, trying to keep Legolas and Estel from slipping permanently into the world of darkness.