Chapter 16: As blood rose on that day

The palace gardens had once been a sunny place, with flowers blooming and butterflies of all colours drifting in the breeze. Thranduil did not like to remember the gardens that way; they seemed so bland, so common, in his memory. The gardens had only attained their true beauty later, when he had brought the tree here. He so well remembered the day when he had first seen Thuraán, deep in the southern reaches of the forest, a true tree spirit if he had ever seen one. Thranduil had not seen one of their wonderful kind since Doriath burned, with their glades burning and their trees hacked down they had vanished. Oh, how he had missed the friends of his youth, who had walked the enchanted woods with the elves, showing them the secrets of the deepest forests and darkest glades.

When he had first seen Thuraán it had been no more than a glimpse at an agile, dark haired figure roaming the forest. Once spotted the Huirorn had fled swiftly vanishing into the deep forest. Thranduil could not hold it against him, his kind had been badly hurt by the wars the elves had fought. But he had been so happy that day, knowing one of their beautiful kind had survived. During several more hunting expeditions he had spotted him, always form afar, always fleeing when he saw the elves.

Eventually Thranduil had dismissed his guards, courtiers and other companions; alone he began to roam the southern forest, leaving even his weapons behind, except for his bow. And in a deep dark part of the forest he had found him: a shadow willow standing by a dark pool, branches softly whispering and stroking the waves on the water. Having known the Huirorn's mystic trees in Beleriand Thranduil had not been taken aback by the dark surroundings, many of the forests most beautiful things grew in the darkest spots.

For weeks he had sat under the tree, speaking, singing, never losing patience. The first time the dark willows soft swishing branches had embraced him while he rested, had brought him back a gift he thought lost with the deep woods of Doriath. After months Thuraán had dared to show himself for more than scarce moments, the first time they had spoken had been the night before Thranduil had to leave. He had been pained, not wishing to part from this new found happiness, but he needed to return to his people. Still shy and fearful Thuraán had gifted him with a willow branch.

Knowing this to be the greatest gift, a sign of trust, Thranduil had put the branch in water and once it showed roots he planted it in the royal gardens. The young tree took hold there and within a year a beautiful dark willow sprang from it. Of course the gardens had changed, shadow willows did not like the sun and they needed water nearby. But the changed gardens were so much more beautiful, so much more alive with their dark waters, shadow orchids glowing in the night and whispering shade grass, caressing the feet of those wandering the soft pathways. The gardens became Thranduil's refuge, his home, his place of strength, Thuraán's trust and friendship a wonderful gift, much as others would not understand and wanted to steal it from him.

Thranduil guarded his dark willow jealously, not allowing any harm to come to Thuraán, he had felt the panic in him when the dwarves entered the woods. His willow tree remembered the burning of Doriath, the fire and pain the dwarves had brought to his kind and Thranduil had so well understood what was paining Thuraán. But this was taken care of, the Dwarf King was dead and he would do away with the rest of them once he knew what their plans had been.

Approaching the tree the King leaned his feverish forehead against the cool bark, feeling the branches touch and envelop him. He closed his eyes, reveling in the protection, the cool shade the tree offered. While Thuraán's spirit form was truly beautiful, nothing compared to this true form, this dark tree. Sighing relaxed, Thranduil sat down, close to the tree, leaning into the willow's embrace; he finally had found a place to rest.

ADL

Bilbo crept through the hall, careful to evade the guards. Ever since Elrohir had caught him in spite of being invisible, the Halfling was especially careful. The elves had keen senses and others might hear him as well, luckily the guards were not particularly attentive, they did not expect someone to break into the armory. Bilbo began to feel like a real burglar now and then, he had already snatched some lockpicks and other useful items from various places in the palace. Now he needed to get the weapons he had promised to find, he still had a bad feeling about this. He could not delude himself about what Boromir would do with these weapons, and even while he shuddered at the thought the Halfling could not evade this, not with what had happened to his friends here. Still, it was a difference to scout out a few Orcs for his comrade who would kill them, and stealing the weapons that would be used to kill some elven guards.

Stop being a fool, Bilbo Baggins. He told himself sternly. You saw what they did to Thorin. He could not leave his friends in their hands, so he would have to accept his complicity in the deaths that would follow. He tiptoed past the last guard and into the main armory. Armor and weapons were orderly stacked on racks, all of them the same the elven guards used. The sight of them made Bilbo hope that Elrohir's friends would be able to retrieve the dwarves' weapons and armor. He had especially mentioned Orcrist, he would hate to see the wonderful elven sword stolen from Thorin.

To not attract attention he went deeper into the armory before actually picking up several weapons. The Elven Daggers were long and heavy; some were even longer than his own sword! He smiled; letter-opener indeed. He selected three elven daggers, with their scabbards attached he could carry two on his back, with a third to carry in his hands he had about as much as he could take. Extra careful he slipped out of the armory and made his way back down to the dungeons.

When Bilbo reached Lachanar's cell, he saw the guard just move off, making their rounds before the evening food would be delivered. He waited for the guard to vanish around the corner and approached the bars of the cell door, like before the elven warrior sat near the door, his scarred face impassive. Bilbo noticed a few fresh marks on him, it seemed he had not been left all alone. "Lachanar," he whispered. "it is time."

The Elf neither jumped nor otherwise betrayed that he had heard him. "Good," he whispered back, his hand moving through the bars with practiced ease, putting a small scribbled note outside. "Give this to your friend; it will make sense to him." He had tried to explain the watch patterns and patrol scheme to Bilbo and had hopelessly confused the Hobbit.

Bilbo took the small parchment and put it into his pocket. "I have the lockpicks, Lachanar… are you sure you want to do this? They can't blame you when we are gone, if you are still in a cell."

The elf seemed to nearly look at him, having deciphered whence the voice came. "I am a dead man, Bilbo," he said calmly. "all I can do now is chose the manner of my dying and I would rather die for a warrior who once called me a friend, than through the executioner's blade. Your friends can do with a good diversion."

The Halfling sighed. "I will give you the lockpick under one condition, Lachanar." He said firmly. "If we escape and you are still alive, you will escape too. You will not try to commit suicide in a fanciful manner but you will try and save yourself."

"You are good being, Bilbo Baggins," Lachanar replied. "Very well then, should I survive long enough to see you escape, I will flee as well."

It was the best Bilbo could get, he pushed the lockpick through the bars, his heart was heavy. Deep down in his soul he could not understand the fierce death wish that had taken hold in the elven captain's soul. Wasn't it better to try and reconcile with his former friend than to die nobly? Seeing the elf getting up, reaching through the bars again to work on the lock, Bilbo hurried away to find Boromir and Fili.

Arriving at the cell in the eastern parts of the dungeon Bilbo found both warriors inside ready to go. The Halfling sighed, he had not much practice in lock-picking, what little he knew of that business he had learned from his Took cousins, who always got into some mischief. It took him several minutes before the lock opened, neither Fili nor Boromir had shown any impatience, they had simply waited.

For a short time Bilbo risked taking the ring off, handing Boromir the message from Lachanar. "He said you would make sense of that." He said, hoping the elf had been right and written in a language the Gondorian would actually understand.

Boromir's eyes quickly went over the minuscule notes. "Single grid patrol scheme, half hour rotations and… no secondary patrols? They are more than just careless." He observed. "He even was able to name a few phrases to open their spell doors… if they keep them that long, they must not have had unwanted guests in years."

Bilbo ducked his head, hiding a shake of his head, he had expected a grim critique of how lazy this dungeon was run from Boromir once they were out of this cell, and he was not being disappointed. He weighed the daggers in his hand. "You will need these," he said, his heart heavy.

The two took a dagger each. "Can you get the third to Thorin?" Boromir asked. "We will go to free the others, but I'd feel better knowing Thorin was armed the moment he stepped out of his cell."

"I will," Bilbo agreed. "I wish…"

Boromir squatted down, coming to eye height with him. "So do I, Bilbo. I do not relish in the thought of having to slay elves, but… they made their choice when they put our friends into cells."

"You must think me quite the fool," Bilbo said, feeling even smaller. These were his friends, they relied on him and it was not like the Elves had given them much of a choice. He did not dare imagine what would have happened, if they did not have the help of Elrohir and his riders.

"No, I think you are the better person of us two," Boromir said with a strange smile. "do no not let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Guards are coming… Bilbo… get away from here!" Fili warned them. Bilbo slipped on the ring and ran towards his next destination. He did not try to listen back to the fighting.

ADL

Fili had just cracked the lock on Dwalin's cell when the guards came, they turned on the dwarf at once, not seeing Boromir who had been hiding in a dark niche to the side. They exposed their backs to him, never caring to check whether the dwarf acted alone. Sloppy, they felt too safe and it was their doom. The human warrior attacked swiftly, not taking any chances. Still, when his blade sank into the neck of the first elf, a cold pain sparked inside Boromir's soul, he had never wished to kill one of the Firstborn, and now that he had to it pained him. But he did not let it stop him, making swift work of the both of them.

The cell door opened and he tossed their swords to Dwalin and Bofur. "Fili, take Bofur to get the others, Dwalin you are with me," he decided. "We are going down deep to free Kili."

The dwarves took the weapons and followed them. "Kili is held somewhere deep?" Dwalin asked, as they hastened down an empty hallway, thanks to Lachanar's help Boromir could predict most of the guard's patrols and evade them.

"He was taken for interrogation. Bilbo is already on his way to Thorin." Boromir informed him, he stopped, recalling the description of the path that Bilbo had gotten from Elrohir and related to him. "This way…"

Dwalin growled. "If I meet that Elf King again, he meets my axe." Anger and hurt were very clear in the warrior's eyes; even the news that Thorin had survived the stabbing had only marginally tempered his rage.

"Hate is a wasted emotion… at least that's what I keep telling myself." Boromir said in a low voice. "and I need your clear-headed now, Dwalin. If breaking into their interrogation chambers does not raise the alarm, I don't know what will."

They followed a narrow tunnel down towards the lowest level of the dungeons; they found the way that had been described to Boromir, only to step into a nightmare.

ADL

Kili could scream no longer, his throat unable to produce that kind of noise anymore. For a while he had lost all will, letting the Orcs do with him what they wanted. But when their pale leader approached again, he knew what was coming; the Orc took great pleasure in breaking Durin's line. There was a part of Kili that wanted to die, even if his besmirched soul would be wandering the Grey endlessly, it would be better than this, than being an Orc plaything. But somewhere in the deep of his soul there was another part that still hung on, that knew there was something beyond the nightmare, beyond the endless torment. There was a light shining beyond the darkness and Kili would not surrender as long as it was there. Still… he could not tell how much more he could take, the pale one always was the worst. Closing his eyes Kili sought for the light in his mind, trying to find a place where they could not reach him, the light that shone beyond the pain and the degradation.

Snapping from the illusion Kili found himself in the elven chair with his interrogators present, they were startled he had woken, their eyes wide with shock. Unarmed against four elves Kili knew he had no chance, even unchained as he was. But he did not care any longer; he would die like a warrior should, not scream his life out in their magic toy. He shot forward, using the moment of their shock, to grab the dungeon master's arm, spinning him around he yanked the elf's dagger free, ramming it into the side of the one who controlled the chair. He pushed the dungeon master down, tackling the guards first.

His mind had gone all cold, he did not feel anymore, neither pain nor the torment were present any more, only an icy detachment as he assessed the guards coming at him. There was no room for thoughts of feelings, only facts entered his calculations; within seconds he had seen their attack angles and weapons, the positions of the four guards, and was already racing across the far side of the room to draw them in the right directions. Pieces of the plan fell into place within seconds, the first guard threw a knife at Kili, as did Number three, while Number two was changing from knives to his heavy broadsword, and the fourth was effectively blocked by the dungeon master trying to get back to his feet.

All seemed to stand still, only his heartbeats ticked down slowly.

The first heartbeat came and the knives missed Kili who had ducked, by a hair and hit their unintended targets; guard number one had killed number four, and in turn number three had killed guard number one only a second after. Fast and clean.

The second heartbeat came quicker and Kili reached guard number two, his dagger meeting the elf's bracer, deftly Kili spun around and delivered a kick in the stomach that threw the elf backwards and into the next blade of guard number three, he died in blood impaled on his comrade's sword.

The third heartbeat, nearly as quick as it should feel came and Kili threw his dagger at number three hitting home into his heart, The elf died, collapsing into a puddle of blood on the floor.

It hadn't taken more than three heartbeats it seemed but they felt like hours to him. He had killed the four guards seemingly without effort. His hands were bloody, and he did not want it any different. Raising his bloodied fingers, Kili drew them across his face, starting above his left eye and ending under the right one. Coming around he hit the dungeon master hard, throwing him back to the ground, pinning his shoulder with the man's own sword to the ground.

"Father!" He heard a horrified shriek, spotting a young elf who had just entered the room from the other side, if that didn't look like dungeon master's brat… "Come in, my boy," Kili drawled. "Your father has something to show you."

Boromir could hardly believe what he was seeing. The guards in the interrogation room were dead, blood staining the floor, the dungeon master nailed to the ground by his sword through the shoulder and Kili stood in the center of the room, blood smeared on his face. His hand around the throat of a young elfling he had lifted off the ground. "You don't like your father's games, do you?" The dwarf asked, seemingly cheerful. "But we have just begun to play. Maybe he will show you what he really likes… just a little… a taste."

He looked down at the dungeon master. "You would enjoy that, wouldn't you? I saw your pleasures after all…"

"Please… no," The elf pleaded. "don't…"

"Maybe I should toss him in the chair," Kili mused. "Maybe the pale Orc is still there, he certainly would enjoy some Elfling sport for a change."

The dungeon master was shaking, fear in his face. "Please… not my son," he pleaded. "Kill me if you must, but please… not my son."

Kili put his foot on the elf's throat. "Why not?" he asked. "Why should I show you any mercy?"

Boromir could see the rage, the raw pain and the sheer darkness in Kili that moment and he understood him, he had been put through too much and was lashing out at his tormentors. Jumping down from the ledge the Gondorian landed in the middle of the room. "Because you are not a killer of children," he said calmly, trying to reach Kili through the bond. From the other side of the bond, he could feel things so horrible and so painful; he needed every bit of his strength to not block it out. He did not allow himself to recoil from it, Kili needed him now, and he could not let go. "Because you are better than them."

His words broke through the haze Kili was in. "Boromir?" The word was whispered, disbelievingly. He looked at the elfling in his grip and threw him away like a rag doll, yanking the blade out of the dungeon master's shoulder, ready to go for the hurt young elf. "Watch him die."

"Kili, no!" Boromir stepped right in front of Kili's sword, trying to find dwarf's pained gaze. Green eyes meeting smoldering black. "Kili… what they did to you was unforgivable, but killing a child does not make it right." He wanted to rip these elves apart, to avenge his friend, but Kili did not need vengeance, he needed a friend. "You are better than them, stronger. I know you, Kili, you would never forgive yourself slaughtering a child, no matter the reason. Please… don't do this to yourself." Kili's blade nearly touched Boromir's chest and he faced him calmly, unafraid.

The young dwarf's hands began to shake, the pain breaking through the rage and the blade slipped from his fingers and cluttered down on the floor, moments before Kili nearly collapsed on himself. Boromir caught him, holding him as Kili broke down in painful tears. Wrapping both arms around him, he cradled Kili against his chest, just holding him, letting him know he was not alone in the pain. He knew that Dwalin was guarding the entrance to this place, grateful the powerful warrior was here with them.

"They hurt me…" Kili's voice was painfully hoarse. "They hurt me… so bad… I just want to hurt them back…"

"You want that now, but you would only hurt yourself if you did it," Boromir did not know if Kili even heard him, it was better for the pain come out like this than being bottled up. "Don't give them this power over you… they are not worth it."

Slowly Kili stilled, the tears stopping and his breathing evening out. He pulled back from the embrace, able to look at Boromir again. "Thank you," his voice was still raw but he was back in control. "You helped me to break free… and … you prevented me from…" he could not say it.

"That's what friends do for each other. Warbrothers owe each other their lives and they'd not have it any other way." It seemed ages that Boromir since had heard that sentence, and it was the only answer he could give.

Kili wordlessly put a hand on his shoulder, understanding echoing in the bond. He pulled himself up. "We better get out of here before they discover the mess."

ADL

It was easy to tell that the alarm had been raised, Thorin thought, as the patrol rushed past them. He hoped that the others had made it out of their cells and were on the way to the meeting point. Bilbo's plan had worked impressively well so far, and the Halfling had shown is burglar qualities again. Still, they were not out of this yet. The stairwell leading out of the dungeon proved a nasty surprise with three elven guards coming out of the shadows cutting them off. Growling Thorin raised the dagger, he wished he had a sword to take them on, but he would fight nevertheless, even if his chances were bad.

The sharp hiss of arrows cut through the air, as an archer on the upper stairs shot two of the guards. Thorin lunged forward, killing the third of them. Looking up he expected to see Kili but was all the more surprised to see Lachanar, who had turned and shot two more guards above them. "The tunnel is clear," the elf told them. "hurry, I will draw them off."

Bilbo and Balin hastened towards the indicated path, Thorin stopped before leaving the stairs, his eyes finding the elf. In this moment the dwarven leader could not even begin to say what his feelings towards his former friend were. "Lachanar… thank you." He said before following the other two into the tunnel.

They were away from the dungeons and swiftly approaching another part of the underground palace. Thorin saw Gloin and Óin hasten in their direction; they were covered by two taller figures, two elves with swords drawn. Perplexed Thorin saw Elrohir, using his sword to cut several arrows out of the air, the elf kept between the escaping dwarves and the guards, forcing the guards to risk shooting him instead of Gloin and Óin. His companion – Aelin – did the same, only that his sword was bloody, he clearly had fought someone.

"Thorin, thanks to the Light, you are alive!" Elrohir's voice reflected his genuine relief.

The dwarven King had known from Bilbo that Elrohir was aiding their escape, but he had hardly expected seeing the son of Elrond here, sword in hand; ready to fight his own kind. Elves did not fight their kin… they had not done so since times beyond memory. "Not for their lack of trying, though." He grumbled, as they retreated behind a stone door that cut off the chase for now.

"So I heard," Elrohir sheathed his blade. "And I am all the more glad, you are still with us."

Thorin realized they stood at an underground quay near the river; his people were assembled here, swiftly rearming from a pile of armor and weapons that looked much like theirs. He too was glad to have his armor and sword back. Having them back made him feel more like a warrior and less like a prisoner once again. "Why did you help us?" he asked, he had never seen elves side with strangers against their own kind. Lachanar may be driven by guilt and by a king beyond reason but Elrond's eldest son had neither reason nor obligation to help them.

"Because I do not leave friends to rot in a dungeon," Elrohir replied. "No matter who threw them there. And you as good as accepted my help on your quest…"

Amazed Thorin met the elven Prince's eyes, when he had indicated he may try Elrohir's courage to face a dragon, it had been in a banter between warriors, both testing the other's temper and disposition. He had not expected the elf to take it this seriously. Now, as he met the storm-grey eyes he could only see sincerity in them, as crazy as it seemed, the Prince truly was here to help them, choosing them over his kin from the Woodlands.

Before Thorin could say a word, movement from the other end of the quay interrupted them. "Elrohir, I need to speak to you." The Woodland Prince had appeared there, obviously intending on having a conversation with Elrohir, but his eyes widened when he saw the dwarves. "You are helping them escape…" he said disbelievingly.

Elrohir drew his sword and advanced on the quay placing himself between Legolas and the others. "Yes, I helped them escape and I will see them out of here safely, Legolas." He said firmly. "What your father is doing here, is wrong, is vile. He nearly killed Thorin, he had Kili tortured… were he here this moment I'd sink this blade into him and call it justice served."

"How can you judge him like this?" Legolas asked, drawing his daggers, he knew he was no match for the much more warlike and experienced son of Elrond, but he could not back out either. "He has been through so much…"

"How can you make so many excuses for him?" Elrohir asked back, the elf fell into his favorite combat stance, the Guard of the Winterhawk, that would allow him to defend the spot he stood on well, without demanding much footwork. "Can't you see he is not in his right mind?"

Legolas attacked, Swallows in flight, a swift double jab was his opening, followed by Singing Winds and Falling pebbles, resulting in a barrage of stabs, jabs and cuts, hailing down on Elrohir.

The warrior blocked the attacks as swiftly, answering with Stone Stands, Leaves falling on the pond and Raining tears, not one of the many attacks touching him, each caught by his swift blade. "That's the only answer you have Legolas? Attack because you can't bear the truth? Your father is touched by something…"

"I know!" Pain echoed in Legolas' shout, even as he attacked again. "And I can't do anything! Even if I wanted to… how could I take the one thing that keeps my father in this world?!"

Elrohir advanced, shifting from Guard of the Winterhawk to Lynx runs on ice, a swift, dangerous charge and disarmed Legolas, the daggers cluttering on the stone floor as he flung them out of the woodland elf's hands. "You better tell me what is going on here, Legolas," he said. "For it may be the only way to help your father."

ADL

Legolas sat on one of the bitts at the quay, nearly oblivious to anyone except Elrohir, who had guided him there. The older Elf, could see how distraught and hurt the Woodland Prince was. "What happened to your father?" he asked him, trying to be gentle, curbing his anger for the moment. He could see Thorin speaking to his men, the short conversation between Kili and his father certainly not an easy one. Elrohir was glad to see his friend on his feet, there was so little he could do for him.

"It was the year after my mother… after she faded from this world," Legolas began speaking. "Her loss left father bereft, hurting. For a long time we feared he would fade and follow her. But then… on a hunting expedition he believed to having seen a Huirorn, a Tree Spirit, in the forest, he seemed so much more alive that day… he began to search for the Tree Spirit first with other hunters and then more and more alone. He went deeper and deeper into the Southern forest until he found him. When he finally returned he brought a sapling of a black willow with him and planted it in the gardens. He was so happy, so alive… he seemed better, more willing to remain here." Legolas sighed. "But he changed, he spends more and more time there, with the tree and he changed… you saw him."

Elrohir could see the pain in Legolas, the shame of his house being so exposed, the fear for his father. The Woodland Prince was young, he had lived a sheltered life inside the forest of his people. "We will find a way to help him," Elrohir said encouragingly. "Aelin… Huirorns?" he asked, having only a vague idea of what creatures they were supposed to be.

"Tree Spirits, they lived in the woods of Doriath," came the prompt answer. "They were creatures of Melian, the Maia who dwelt there and died out after she left. I recall hearing my Lord Maedhros discussing them with Lord Aikanáro of Dorthonion and he said that some lived in his woods as well but he did not trust them to be as well natured as they appeared to be. I doubt any survived the destruction of that land, though."

"You would know," Legolas snapped. "Your destruction of those lands killed the last of them."

Elrohir stopped his anger before it could get any further. "This is not the time to judge the past, Legolas. Aelin is my friend, and he is here for no other reason or obligation, than that. We will need his skill and knowledge if we want to free your father. If the tree was found in southern Mirkwood, I doubt it is a well-meaning creature at all."

"But… what if you slay it, and it also means the death of my father?" Legolas asked, too tired to discuss the presence of a Fëanorian warrior among Elrohir's fighters.

The son of Elrond studied him with a sad expression in his eyes. "It is of course for you to say what we shall do or not," he said. "But what would you prefer for your father? Death and a return to the undying lands, or life in madness?"

Legolas stood pain still clear in him but calmer now. "You are right, Elrohir." He said firmly. "May I ask your assistance in freeing my father? I do not know how many of the people in the palace this thing influences… and what it may do when attacked."

"I will send the dwarves on their way, and then we will join you to free your father." Elrohir decided swiftly. The dwarves should be able to handle the boat without their help.

"Nay, Elrohir," Thorin said, stepping away from Kili to whom he had spoken last. "We will not run like cowards or thieves. We will help you to fight this thing."

It was hard to say who looked more surprised at the dwarven king in exile, Legolas or Elrohir, when he announced this. Elrohir was quicker to find his tongue again. "It is an honorable offer, Thorin, but why?" he did not try for polite inquiries with the dwarf, he knew Thorin was direct. "This matter is none of your concern."

"That's what your people say of mine, don't they?" Thorin said. "That we search for riches and do not care for the woes of others? Not all of us are quite as selfish."

"You have no reason to help us…" Legolas pointed out, not sure what to make of that offer.

Thorin eyed him coldly. "Make no mistake, Woodland Prince, what happened here will never be forgotten, and will never be forgiven. But leaving your people at the mercy of some dark creature would be as great a cowardice and betrayal as you father committed when he left my people to the dragon." It was all he had to say to the son of Mirkwood, once this was done he'd wash his hands off the entire brood.

The proud dwarf's eyes met Elrohir's. "You came to my aid twice already, Prince of Rivendell," he said. "And I will do the same for you."

The dwarf's noble offer truly touched Elrohir, Thorin had no reason to aid him here, and yet he still was offering, because it was the right thing, the honorable thing to do. His eyes went past the dwarf to Kili, who stood close to the wall, pale and shaken. Fili was with him, and of course Boromir. Elrohir knew enough of what the young warrior had been put through. How could he even think of asking Kili to aid them in this? After what had been done to him?

Kili looked up, their eyes meeting. "Thorin is right, Elrohir," he said, his voice rough. "It would be an Orc's deal to leave these people to that creature, even if they deserve it. We don't do that for them – but for you, my friend."

There was a glint of pride in Thorin's eyes when he heard his son's words. Elrohir inclined his head. "It is a noble offer, Thorin, and one I am grateful for." He extended a hand, which the dwarf clasped, sealing their alliance.

ADL

Legolas led them through the halls of the palace towards their destination, Elrohir kept up with him, and the others followed. The whole group of fighters consisted of Elrohir's companions and the dwarves, they were the only warriors they would rely on, in this place. Elrohir could see Legolas was nervous. "You fear for your father," he said in a hush as they climbed the long stairs leading to the royal gardens.

"I have reason to," Legolas replied. "And those coming to save him, bear him little love. I should prefer the help of…" He sighed, knowing that this was all the help he would get. "Let us not speak of it, Elrohir."

The royal gardens lay in shadow; shade grass lined the dark pools of water above which the dark willow tree rose. The long branches of the tree touched the water, hanging low. Close to the tree trunk Elrohir spotted a sleeping figure. "Legolas, you have only one task: get your father away from here, leave the fighting to us." He ordered, casting a glance to Thorin.

The dwarven leader eyed the tree distrustful, Orcrist in his hand shimmering softly. "I do not like this," he grumbled. "This place, it reeks of darkness."

Elrohir could only agree. There was something here, something sinister and evil. He watched Legolas lift up the sleeping figure of his father, he obviously had done so before because the tree did not hinder him. Once the Prince had safely reached the exit of the gardens, the fighters advanced, from three sides they went towards the tree.

They had not gone three steps into the garden when something rose from the ground, slinging itself around Elrohir's ankle; he tried to pull free only to see long thin hands rising from the ground, trying to pull them under. His drew his sword, hacking away the first of the ugly hands coming from the ground.

Thorin spat a curse, the whole garden had come alive, and first it was the hands trying to pull them under, followed by thorny creepers like lashes attacking them. Orcrist cut through them like through butter, but there were many of them, they all were scratched and torn when they managed to free themselves of the creepers and advance further.

A sick slurp sounded from the Earth, when the murk released a dozen foul looking worms, when they opened their mouths they spat a pale acid at them, the stench alone was horrible, but he also saw one splash of the acid burn right through Aelin's gauntlet, the Noldor did not pay any heed and attacked the worm all the more fiercely.

Thorin attacked as well, he fought in conjunction with Elrohir, the two of them the ones to lead this foray. Four of the worms came at them, Thorin beheading one before it could spit at them, Elrohir's blade embedded itself in the throat of a second one, they ducked at the same time so the worm spit flew over them. Coming up they finished off the next worms.

Boromir and Kili were the first to reach the tree, they had made it past the worms and sinking murk with the snapping reptiles suddenly emerging from the ground. But once they came too close to the tree, the branches reached out, trying to strangle them, Boromir's sword cutting away the swishing willow branches just in time. Kili spat a curse, dodging the swishing branches. He trusted Boromir to cover him, as he knelt down using the steel of his blade and a stone to spark a fire, the flame of the blacksmith aiding him, setting the tree trunk aflame.

A shriek rose as the tree shook in agony, when the flames licked up the long tree trunk. Smoke rose from the bark, the whole black tree shivered and shrieked. And suddenly the smoke formed a figure, tall and armored, a frayed red cloak draped over black armor. Black hair framing a hard if good looking face.

"Tungar-Sula… it can't be…" Elrohir paled, he had seen this man before, centuries ago in the deeps of Carn Dum.

Thorin saw the Elven Prince freeze in shock and he acted all the faster, he sprinted at the enemy, raising Orcrist, ready to attack. Whatever this thing was, man, sorcerer or apparition, he would end it here. Their blades clashed, steel shrieking on steel, Thorin broke free with one fluid motion and attacked anew. The dwarf fought with the merciless strength of his people, fuelling all his anger, all his wrath into each hit that came down on the figure that had emerged from the smoke. Orcrist battered the armor, cracking the black plating effortlessly. Thorin ignored his own injuries, the danger, with a fierce will he broke his opponent's cover, sinking the blade into him. The figure of Tungar-Sula collapsed on itself, dissolving into a cloud of stinking fumes as the tree burned down to the ground.

Chest heaving heavily Thorin turned around, seeing Elrohir just impaling another crazed plant creature that would otherwise have gotten into his back. The entire garden was a battlefield of plants, boney hands and worms, all their fighters showing signs of battle, but victorious. "You knew that creature?" he asked Elrohir as they shook hands, elated by victory.

"Aye, I met him a long time ago, in Carn Dum," the Elven Prince said. "And I believed that Aelin had finished him off."

So the creature had been older and fouler than they might have known. "Do you think it will stay dead, this time?" Thorin asked.

"I do not know, but I will warn my noble Grandmother about what has been haunting this place. She will need to know, before… before seeing what can be done about Dol Guldur itself."

The battle was over but the war was still ahead of them, Thorin could see that clearly. "Then we better both leave, Elrohir," he said. "I need to bring my people away from this place, preferably before their king regains his senses and blames us for destroying his garden, and you need to warn your great Lady about the dangers in this land."

Together they left the gardens returning to the river gate. Their fighters all exhausted but no one had fallen in the fight at the gardens. When they came to the quay Thorin stopped, turning to his companion. "Elrohir," he did not use any titles, this was not between Lords or Princes, but between two warriors now. "You said you wished to join me on this quest, and should you decide so you will be welcome with me. But… should you be needed to prevent further evil in this land, assist those of your kin who truly fight it." Thorin could well imagine that the High Lady of Lorien would not wish to lose such a fighter in the confrontations to come and he did not wish the elf to feel obligated to join a quest that was not his.

Elrohir inclined his head. "You have my thanks, Thorin. Once this is done, I will find you, you have my word."

ADL

In the deeps of a dark dungeon below the ancient fortress of Dol Guldur a figure manifested from fire and smoke, it was the form of a man of bronze skin and black hair, violet eyes shining into the darkness, his body was scarcely covered and he had troubles standing. He spat a curse in the native tongue of his people, before he was seen and two others hurried to him. "Tarkhaine… you look like you incurred the wrath of someone," the man approaching him said, handing him a cloak.

Trakhaine stretched, it felt good to be in his own form again, after spending so long in a different shape. "You could say that, Val," he said dryly but relaxed. This place was safe, the few living daring to tread it, were all from the east, the best and most loyal entrusted with the secret of Dol Guldur. Val himself had been instrumental in strengthening their Lord to the point of manifestation long ago.

A cold echo whispered through the place, just a wordless touch but he could feel that he was summoned. No other call, nor words were needed. Each of the Easterlings here had been serving for centuries, their lives prolonged through the dark powers wrought upon them. Trakhaine drew the cloak around himself and climbed the stairs from the dungeon up to the highest tower of the ancient citadel. He was expected by a dark figure, armored and vague, like a shadow. He knelt at once, eyes down.

You were discovered?

He heard the question in his mind. "Yes, strangers came. Some Elves and Dwarves, they attacked me directly. One of them wielded an ancient sword that destroyed my Treewalker shape." He did not know where the dwarf had gotten that blade, but it had effectively destroyed the shape Trakhaine had been wearing, the shape that had been given to him when he had been set on his task.

You lost your control of the Elf King?

Trakhaine looked up. "Not yet, my Lord. They made the mistake to take him out of the battle, if I am swift, I think this can be salvaged. But they spoke of attacking you here."

They are already preparing for that, Nighthawk, they think that they can destroy me. My use for the Elf King wanes, but if you can regain control of him….

"It can be done, my Lord," Trakhaine knew he would have to be given the blasted tree shape again. He had lived with that for so long, but he still disliked it. He preferred his own body, or rather the body he had been given when his original form, the body he had been born with expired long ago. This form had been a gift by his Master and Trakhaine was proud of it. "Thranduil is weak, his heart lonely, he longs for the hold the tree offered him. And he has yet to realize what I truly am."

Good. You will return to him and you will lead him to his destruction. It is time to make a pyre of these pitiful elves.

The shadowy figure approached him, touching his head, sending a wave of pure agony through his body. Trakhaine gritted his teeth, not one noise of pain coming from him; he bore his Master's gift gladly and embraced the pain it brought him. When it was over, his own body had once more faded and he was back in the shape of the treewalker.

Go. Destroy the Elf King. Lead him to his doom… make him an example, Nighthawk. When all is done, return to the dark city… this hill of darkness will have burned by then.

Trakhaine bowed his head to the floor, before he rose and left the tower. Even while he had to hurry to return to his mission and to Thranduil's halls, he could not help to feel excited. The time had gone, Dol Guldur might burn in the enemy's fire, but from the flame the Dark Lord would rise again. One age after the lost battles the darkness would rise again.

Stepping to an empty window he changed form, becoming a black Nighthawk, flying north. He had to find Thranduil, he was not through with the Elf King yet.

Author's Notes

With a lot of thanks for the wonderful Harrylee94 for help, suggestions and reading the chapter… sometimes when I write I can practically hear your voice now.

The chapter title was taken from James Fenton's wonderful haunting poem "Out of the East". It is too long to quote here in full, so I will just give the passage I took it from:

"Out of the East there shone a sun

As the blood rose on the day

And it shone on the work of the warrior wind

And it shone on the heart

And it shone on the soul

And they called the sun - Dismay."

Huirorn = Tree-Spirit/ Spirit of Trees; as far as my meager skills in forming Sindarin Words reach. They are an invention by me, no Tolkien material.

Lord Aikanáro of Dorthonion = Aegnor (Eldest brother of Galadriel)