The Mountain of Light
Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. *sighs*
Warning: Character death.
AN: The next chapter will be the last chapter and after that i'll write up an epilogue. I can't even describe how wonderful you guys have been. Thank you very *very* much for supporting this fic!
Chapter 12
Thranduil quickly pressed himself against the wall, hoping against hope that he was not noticed by a few of the dwarves who went past the corridors. He narrowed his eyes and was about to turn when much to his dismay, the hilt of his sword softly touched the walls.
The dwarves quickly stopped in their tracks and came very close to the spot where Thranduil was hiding, as they muttered something in Khuzdul.
Thranduil once again found his heart racing. He surely could take those inferior dwarves however, their deity had gifted them with a shrill voice and a deafening scream and he knew that not knowing these wretched walls, he'd soon be outnumbered by more soldiers who'd love to hack off his head.
"Oi, did you hear something?" Came from one of the voices, which became louder as the owner approached.
Thranduil drew in his breath as silently as he could and narrowed his eyes. He prayed to the Valar to aid him while he very slowly lifted up his weapon, should need arise.
However, when the dwarf decided it was nothing but his ears playing tricks on him, he retreated and led the others away from there.
Thranduil released his breath and sheathed his sword before quickly getting out of there.
He followed tunnels and shortcuts. All they did— apart from disorienting him— was leading him to what seemed to be the royal chambers.
He didn't know if it was a bane or a boon in disguise—so long as the others were busy downstairs.
His heart suddenly twitched as his mind raced back to his men. They chose to be left behind. They chose to give him some time.
It had to be done.
He shook his head to discard those thoughts so that he could focus on his escape. However, if he got rid of one depressing thought, his mind reeled in another one.
If Thrór wasn't coherent enough to command, then who was it that had been so perfect with his strategies? Who could hate him so much?
Who indeed except the one he had just betrayed?
He exhaled as his face twisted in pain.
He didn't mean to. Thorin got caught up. He certainly didn't mean to betray him!
His eyes suddenly stung as restlessness gathered in his heart. He couldn't get the image out of his mind—the image of Thorin looking so let down and so deceived while he mercilessly threw away his love.
Thranduil stooped down behind a pillar and waited for more guards to pass as he now was in what seemed to be like the House of Dignitaries.
As he waited, his thoughts haunted him again and his chest grew painful with burden as his mind retraced those last moments he shared with Thorin. He felt so bad.
Guilt ate him up inside and no matter how much he tried and consoled himself, he felt filthy. The dwarf professed his love for him and he threw it away.
He threw away the love he too felt for him.
I didn't mean to do so, meleth. He thought in desperation as his eyes stung at the corners. Forgive me.
When he was certain that he could not be seen, he gingerly came out from behind the pillar and quickly scanned the great hall for any hidden passage. The hall seemed to be lavishly decorated—too much for the commons to witness.
Therefore, if it had been designed for the dignitaries to meet, then there would definitely be a passage to lead them safely outside, should any grave danger arose.
He tapped the walls and felt them carefully with his hands.
When he could feel nothing but smoothness and plainness beneath his palm, Thranduil snarled and cursed in his native tongue, swearing those wretched creatures and their wretched means of secrecy.
Deciding not to use up much of his time, he quickly focused on another part of the hall. He had no distraction in his mind. The only thought that rang was that he had to get out.
He barely had any chance to react when he heard a blood curdling scream followed by the sight of a blurry figure pouncing on him as his sword glistened mercilessly.
Moments before he could meet his fatal end, Thranduil quickly dodged the attack and drew his sword out.
He could hardly conceal his surprise as he took in the form charging towards him.
Thrór somehow found him. However, it wasn't the Thrór he had met just minutes ago. It was a more demeaning version of his.
This Thrór had an ominous look set about him, the shadows of the hall enhancing the madness that clearly overtook his mind. This Thrór had that despondent look shinning in his eyes.
Desperation mingled with pure madness flared in his eyes as he stroke with his sword.
Thranduil swore that the dwarf's power increased each time their swords clashed. So much in fact that the elven king found it increasingly difficult to keep on blocking his attacks. Not only that, Thrór's very movements clearly spoke how desperate he now felt.
Thór was heard muttering in his native tongue and the madness in his eyes simply increased.
Another hit clashed against his sword and Thranduil didn't have a chance of launching an attack himself. Thrór was relentless.
"It's mine." Suddenly, the dwarf spoke and his tone was ever so ill-omened, "It's MINE!"
Thranduil sidestepped another blow and because of his lack of nimbleness, Thrór lost balance as his sword lunged deeply towards the ground, cutting into the air. It was all what Thranduil needed. Seizing the opportunity, he quickly came up behind the dwarf and before the other could gather himself, Thranduil knocked him unconscious with the hilt on his own sword.
He waited for a few seconds, all of his senses on absolute alert, while he caught his breath. A few seconds of distraction and he'd have had his head chopped off. It was a worrying notion and Thranduil had the Valar to thank for not abandoning him.
When it was certain Thrór was out cold, Thranduil hastily went back to search for an exit.
Precious time went by and Thranduil was no closer to finding his way out than he had been before. By now, his heart grew anxious. He had came up empty with the area he had covered so far and the area which lay ahead of him was so vast that it concerned Thranduil gravely if he could make it out in time.
Another dead end.
He swore under his breath and ran to the opposite wall, redoing the entire painstaking process. He became so engrossed that he didn't even register the changes occurring behind him.
Thrór had come back to his senses and sword in hand, he was gingerly approaching the elf who was too preoccupied to notice him.
Slowly he lifted his sword.
His eyes shone in an eerie glint as a wicked smile crossed him.
They thought they could get away with it. But he wouldn't let them.
Cold sweat ran down his back as Thranduil grew more and more desperate. He pressed his palm against the sheet of solid rock and forlornly tried to find any crack— no matter how thin it was—anything at all that'd prove that his efforts weren't useless.
However as time ran by, he felt his hopes tethering on the edge balancing precariously only on his rapidly fleeting beliefs.
Perhaps it was intuition or just a coincidence but Thranduil frowned and quickly turned on his heels, his eyes widened immediately at what he saw.
A sword was driving down towards him with great speed and at that moment, his mind went blank.
All of a sudden, he felt his legs extremely numb and heavy. He couldn't move and none of his thoughts were coherent enough for him to act. All his eyes saw was the gleaming blade plunging towards him and his mind chanted frantically that he was going to die.
"NO!"
Thranduil jolted awake from his trance by another scream. Before long, a blur of fur and hair went past his eyes followed by the sound of a sword being clattered on the floor.
Another blur of grey rose from the ground and lurched towards the other with a feral scream which quickly died down as a sword was pushed through his heart.
It was then that Thranduil's vision cleared up. He became coherent and saw the scene before him.
Thrór lay on the floor in a pool of blood, gasping for air and clutching his chest. His sword lay far away from him and right in front of Thranduil stood a form heaving in the heat of the moment and holding a blade drenched in the dwarf king's blood.
Thrór seemed to be saying something but his voice was far too weak to be heard. He was gasping for breath. Soon after, he went entirely still.
At that moment, the other dwarf threw down his own weapon as his fists were clenched tightly. This was not an easy task for him.
At that moment, Thranduil recognised who it was. The unmistakable stout form belonged to his lover...who saved him from his kin.
Thranduil licked his lips and tried forming words but he was too overwhelmed by the deep and intense feeling which reigned in his heart. His eyes glistened at the revelation of everything and when Thorin faced him, he felt the utmost of shame and humiliation.
Thorin was now looking at him with a hard gaze but there was something about it which told Thranduil that all was not lost. He dropped on his knees and gazed into his lover's eyes, not knowing how to begin atoning for what he had done.
He didn't even remember shaking his head and letting his mask fall off while whispered just three words which he truly meant.
"Meleth, forgive me."
He didn't even remember the strong arms wrapping around him as the other kissed him deeply on his lips.
But what he did remember was what truly mattered.
Thorin loved him. That he was forgiven.
AN: No it's not Thorin launching the attack on the elves. How could he, right? He's a babe! Please review!