Chapter 14

Thank you for the reviews and kudos!

Some folks were indignant about Miriel's belief she had nothing to apologize for and Thranduil was totally in the right. While he was definitely the more overt romantic here and she's kind of oblivious (perhaps willfully oblivious), I feel like the person you've rejected previously making another attempt, then being kind of a jerk about the rejection (again), isn't great! Especially if their previous partner was your bestie. That's just a lot of complicated feelings and I can't totally blame a person for being "nah" over it.

CW of canon-typical violence, though not especially violent violence.

…

On the last day of their journey, he was ready to orchestrate a means of approaching the stubborn elleth. Not to apologize — even if Thranduil had not been her king, he was not prone to admitting his faults so ready — but to try to persuade her they could at least be friends.

Rage burned hot and bright in Thranduil Oropherion. But for her, his fires couldn't bear to blaze long. Every instance of their passing in hostile silence had torn at his heart. He could not stand the way Miri's gaze studiously slid over him, how she carefully avoid his path whenever they were forced near one another in the evenings.

Thranduil watched her move through the routine of preparing camp, saddling and unsaddling the mounts, entertaining bored Legolas on quiet stretches of the ride. The whole time there was a shadow to Miri's countenance; she appeared strained. He could not help but grow concerned, especially with the knowledge her weariness was perhaps his doing. Clearly, she was suffering as much as he — which gave Thranduil hope they might muddle their way towards repairing the split.

"Did you have a disagreement?" Galion had ventured quietly the first morning of the journey. Thranduil had dearly hoped their lack of contact would be easily missed in the bustle of travel. Alas, it was not to be. And if Galion noticed, he was willing to be Carwegeth also saw the gaping wound between himself and his seneschal. And if Carwegeth saw, then Tuigalen would no doubt also quickly notice. Which only meant once they were back within the embrace of their forest home, all would be aware of his falling out with Miriel.

Thranduil's jaw tightened. How tedious.

"It is of no concern," was all he said.

Galion, too used to Thranduil's temper, did not flinch at the bite in the elfking's words. He merely nodded and spoke no more.

It would not be the end of questions. At the minimum, they were bound to hear whispers

His heart ached and ached to see the female he bound his very soul to near yet so distant. When they returned to the Elfking's Halls, he would find a means of drawing her to him, of forcing the issue. They'd both already endured centuries of ill will toward one another. He had no desire to repeat that experience, not for so long, not again. Had he not been so very certain she returned his feelings, Thranduil would not have held his heart out only for it to be thrust away in disgust. Had he thought for a moment she'd once more deny him — and for what? — the elfking would have let the matter lie, confident in time all would be resolved. Now he was not so sure.

If she would not agree to be his mate, they could at least still be friends, surely?

…

"Are you and Miri mad at one another?" Legolas asked quietly during one of their breaks on the final morning. Together they'd led their gelding and stag respectively to the bank of a nearby river, giving each beast an opportunity to drink.

Thranduil was not surprised the elfling had noted the chill between his adar and his caretaker. Yet the blunt question took him aback. Children are much freer about such things, he supposed, sighing. It was so much simpler, in a child's mind. Though Miriel would probably have scolded him for that view, insisting that the prince had summoned much courage to venture to ask such a question.

"We had a disagreement," he murmured after a long moment. Then, hesitating further, he added, "But it is nothing to worry yourself over, ion nin. Lady Miriel and I often have a difference of opinion."

"I know," the prince replied matter-of-factly. He was on his tiptoes, reaching into his mount's saddlebag for an apple. He passed the fruit to his father, who withdrew his dagger to cut it and returned one half back to Legolas.

"Do you?" Thranduil asked as he sliced, one thick brow rising. He was grateful Miri was downwind of their conversation, standing beside the wagon and speaking with Carwegeth.

Legolas nodded around a bite. "Tuigalen says she's the only elleth who is allowed to vex you."

The king snorted. "There are many ellith who vex me, Legolas. Lady Miriel is merely the only one who has simply ignored my vexation."

Miriel had never fretted when he'd displayed both his bark and his bite. She'd sneer back, preferring to take the brunt of his anger over shying away. Then issue a sharp retort of her own.

The elfling giggled before sobering. "But you still talk to one another, even when you are mad."

Thranduil held back another sigh. They strove to avoid debating in front of the elfling as best they could. Obviously, their tensions were still coming across over the dinner table.

"Sometimes…sometimes our differences are such that we say things that hurt one another. And when that occurs we need space to consider what we've said and done before we can mend what has been torn."

Legolas considered as he finished off his half of the apple, blue eyes on the sparkling surface of the river. Thranduil suspected he understood, on some level. Legolas had spoken of spats between himself and his classmates, Nemmeth and Sandis, on more than one occasion.

"We'll figure it out," Thranduil said gently. "We always do, Legolas. We've been sparring with one another since before you were born. However, we are always united in our love for you."

He could not tell if his son was reassured. At the very least, the prince nodded seriously at his father's words.

…

It happened so quickly. Hours later, he would struggle to piece together the chain of events leading up to the attack. There was a sudden, eerie quiet. A mare towards the rear of the party began abruptly rearing and shrieking just as he was straining to hear what lay beyond the near-silence. The stark scent of death overtook the valley. Then the rumble that signaled an approaching enemy.

Orcs, descended from the north. A hunting party.

His sword was in his hand instantly. Without prompting, Galion urged his gelding forward, placing himself beside the prince. Miriel did the same, moving to the other side with no prompting. Together they caged the prince, boxing him in an attempt at protection. Miri also withdrew her sword, though with significantly less self-assuredness.

Bleakly, he recalled she had only a rudimentary training. A short lesson with Rovain years ago, so Thranduil could at least feel at ease with her bearing a blade when she was beyond his caverns. Rovain had at least been confident she wouldn't be prone to hurting herself when wielding the weapon. They'd fought over those lessons, Miri only grudgingly accepting them when Thranduil accused her of being unable to protect Legolas, let alone herself.

His thoughts grew bleaker still when he saw his son's hand wrapped around his small bow.

"Get him out of here," Thranduil roared, gesturing them onward.

Before Legolas could protest, Miri had snatched his reigns and spurred their mounts forward, kicking her legs and clicking her tongue to push them on. She steered them eastward, towards the edge of the forest towards the east. They'd take shelter among the trees. He prayed the undergrowth would be enough to shield them.

Galion followed suit, urging his own gelding to catch up. He cast his king a look of promise before he turned in his saddle and sped off. His silent vow had been clear: they would both protect Legolas with their lives.

Thranduil turned to the guardsmen behind him. His secondary concern was being dealt with. Carwegeth and the valet in the wagon. They'd already been pulled onto the backs of horses, a safer position than sitting helplessly in a wooden box on wheels in during a fight. Everyone had a weapon in hand. Swords glinted in the afternoon sun. Carwegeth held a dagger, looking fiercer than he could have ever imagined. If he'd had the time, he would have been proud to recognize how quickly their party had sprung into action.

But they had been out of time the moment they'd heard the heavy feet marching nearer and nearly.

There were at least half a dozen orcs descending upon them. It was a ragged crew, their grey skin and worn leathers signifying low ranks even from a distance. Two were on wargs — likely a neophyte group of hunters, then, as a more experienced pack would bear more mounted riders. This was in their favor, then. The elves had six mounted, skilled fighters. If they were steady, they might make it out with no loss of life.

Within seconds the gnashing teeth and putrid scent were upon them. And shortly following that, the sounds of steel upon bone.

He cut and cut and cut. His blade sang as it tore through flesh, muscle and sinew sliding away with each strike. Blood flew in wet black arcs. One of the foul beasts fell, then another. He slid his sword against the throat of a stony-skinned orc bearing a heavy shield and rusted hammer, causing the creature to groan before sinking to the ground. Twenty feet away, another let out a gurgling shriek as a trio of arrows struck him in the back.

The only sound in Thranduil's ears was the pounding of his own heart. He was deaf to the chaos. Black blood splattered, soaking his skin and leaving a sickly, oily sheen. His muscles began to burn in protest. It did not matter. There was only his sword and the lives he sought to protect.

Long, agonizing minutes passed before the fury halted. The din of battle faded to moans and gasps. They'd lost two mounts. His own stag had sustained a slash to his rump — likely superficial. Carwegeth and his valet were shaken, each having drawn blood. One guard had a nasty cut on his shoulder, but he would live. They'd lost no elven lives. The king surveyed the bodies around them, taking note of two or three who still thrashed in the final throws of death. The leader — a hulking figure whose face had been painted a muddy red — had been felled by Thranduil and two guards — lay center, tiny eyes open and glassy.

His eyes slid over the warg at the edge of the carnage. It had fallen with a shriek, crushing the leg of its rider, who was then taken out by an arrow to the throat. A relatively easy elimination of a warg —

Thranduil froze. He spun his stag around, scanning the bloodied ground once more. No no no no no…

"The second warg?" he barked. "Where is it?"

"It fled," someone called in a hoarse voice. "East, I think."

He cursed loudly, already wheeling his mount towards the tree line in the distance. His stag was fast, but no match for a warg. The horses his son and his guardians rode would be hardly better.

If they'd reached the woods, their chances were incrementally improved. They could leave the horses to find their way home and flee to the canopy above. There were plenty of nooks formed by massive, ancient roots where one could easily hide. The undergrowth was thick, too, and would be an impediment to anyone unfamiliar with traversing the terrain. Many places an orc could not or would not think to reach.

Reassurances cycled in his head as he surged eastward. Legolas was well-equipped. Galion and Miriel would not let him face conflict, they would protect him, and guide him. He'd need not draw a weapon unless they were felled. Galion was lethal when the need arose — he'd handily dispatched orcs and wargs in the past. Miriel might not be very adept, but fear made even the weakest of elves a dangerous opponent. There was much on their side.

Thranduil skimmed the edge of the forest, eyes sliding over each trunk, every limb, searching for any sign of a hasty entry. Relief shimmered in his chest briefly when he caught sight of a gap between trees where a few twigs had been snapped, blades of grass crushed under hooves. He urged the stag forward with a nudge from his right foot. They'd been here. With any luck, they were near. He would find them. Whole and hale.

Head on a swivel, the king moved through the undergrowth. Following the trail of injured plants, he was drawn deeper and deeper into the wood. Thranduil soon came across sticky pools of jet along the forest floor. Smears and drops revealed a severe injury. But the pitch color indicated that it had been an orc's blood.

The trail continued into a small clearing, a rare break in the dimness that allowed for a bit of sunlight and some actual grass. A large pallid body lay collapsed off from the center of the space, the brown leather stretched across the torso wet with black blood. Only a few feet away a chestnut horse rested, its large liquid brown eyes open and unseeing. The poor creature had suffered a significant bite to its elegant neck. Its blood soaked the ground, mingling with that of the orc's. In the middle of this carnage sat Legolas.

He was propped on a stump, Galion kneeling on the ground before him, speaking softly. The elfling's gaze was glassy. But he was mercifully alive. Alive, and free of injury.

Is this his first time seeing such carnage? It must be.

The king hardly let the stag stop before he slid from the saddle, rushing to his son's side. Pressing the child's small form into his chest, he breathed in the clean scent of his son's head.

"Thank the Valar," he uttered. He pressed a kiss to the elfling's sweaty brow. "I'd feared —"

Legolas pushed himself back and Thranduil noticed the tears streaking the prince's flushed cheeks. "Miriel's gone," he hiccuped.

Time froze. Thranduil's grip on his heir did not loosen as he absorbed the words. Thankfully Galion interjected once he realized what his prince's words implied.

"She's missing," the ellon explained quickly. "The orc fell off of his mount once he'd been struck and she parted from us to lead the beast away. Legolas's horse had also fallen. She ensured the warg was no longer a threat to the prince."

The world came marginally into focus. "Which direction?"

"North." Galion glanced down at Legolas. "Legolas did very well. He managed to strike the orc twice with his bow, while in the saddle no less. Both arrows fell on the chest."

Pride hit the king in a brief flash. Thranduil pressed his face into his son's crown again briefly. Then he stood, letting the elfling slide from his arms. "The others are still where we were attacked, recuperating. Take Legolas back, make sure he gets something to eat and rest. I'm going to find her."

"The warg could still be out there," Galion protested. "You ought not to go alone."

"Miriel is alone," the king snapped. "And she's in greater danger than I would be. The rest of the party needs to continue on to our halls. We need the cover of the forest. Ensure everyone is within our walls by nightfall."

The other ellon nodded, chastised. He pulled Legolas to his feet and put the elfling on the back of their remaining horse.

Thranduil followed suit, mounting with a suppressed groan. Ceven would undoubtedly have some work when the king returned to his hall. The heat of battle meant he'd neglected to assess his own state — there was hardly time now. Whatever aches ailed him now weren't preventing him from wielding a sword. In Thranduil's book, that was more than enough.

Turning back to Galion and Legolas, Thranduil met his son's eyes. "You have done well, Legolas," he reassured the young elf. Assist Galion in getting our people to safety. I will bring Miri home."

Eyes red-rimmed, the elfling nodded solemnly. "Yes, adar."

He watched the pair sink into the undergrowth, pushing down every sense of dread that threatened to well up within him. Then he and his stag turned back to the expanse of trees.

…

Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows. Posting a few chapters at a time as I realized I've posted up to chapter 17 on AO3 and I've been behind updating here. Apologies.