The War of Light and Shadow
By Freddie23
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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.
Memories are in italics.
A/N: Thank you to all those of you who have reviewed. I appreciate every one of them.
Enjoy this next chapter.
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Chapter 14 – Cast Into Exile
For nearly an hour, Legolas walked around the decimated city, heedless of the thick darkness that had descended, trying to clear his head and ease the painful throbbing in his chest. His mind spun in confusion. The sudden interrogation by his ward had caught him off guard. He had not expected it from the boy.
A sudden memory of the last time they had had a similar argument made him falter in his steps. The last time, Aragorn had run from his notoriously cagey guardian and had gotten himself trapped by cannibalistic maniacs. Surely an Elf's inherent pride was not worth losing the boy over, no matter how important it may have seemed at the time.
And yet Legolas' treacherous pounding heart cautioned him to be wary of the truth that haunted him. Years of pushing down the memories of what had happened in Mirkwood, in those last fatal days of his once beloved kingdom, had made him cautious of revealing the fear that lay deep in his heart.
But Aragorn had been correct about deserving to know at least something about the person he had been entrusted to. The boy was, after all, putting an awful lot of faith in him despite the fact that he had as of yet done very little to really earn it. Yes, he had cared for the child as he grew up, soothed him when he was sad or unwell, tutored him, protected him, defended him, but he had never really given the boy anything of himself. He'd been a silent, enigmatic shadow with no past, walking at Aragorn's side almost like a ghost, prompting him into following the correct course. There and yet irrevocably distant. He liked it that way. Attachments always resulted in pain in the end and, before his reluctant acceptance of the guardianship of Aragorn, he had avoided them at all costs. It had always been so much easier that way. When you had nothing, you had nothing to lose.
But this was his life now. He travelled with Aragorn and the maturing boy was relying on him less and less with every passing season and yet he had to trust his guardian increasingly with decisions regarding his future as King of Gondor. Surely that alone called for a more balanced, mutual relationship than the one Legolas currently entertained.
He didn't like the idea, but he realised as he walked in near-complete darkness, that it was the right and fair thing to do.
Resolved to carry out his decision, Legolas turned back and hurried to the house.
When he stepped inside, he immediately saw the boy laid on the wooden floor wrapped in their own, threadbare blanket. The candles on the table where they had eaten earlier remained lit and Legolas had to take a long breath to keep his irritation at the boy for such senseless waste in check. Instead, he walked on silent feet over to Aragorn. The boy seemed peacefully asleep but Legolas, after his rejuvenating walk, felt the need to talk. So he bent down and shook Aragorn's shoulder to wake him.
"What…?" Aragorn mumbled, opening his eyes blearily and looking up at the disturbance. "You're back?"
"Yes," Legolas smiled slightly, straightening out.
"Are you…alright?" the boy asked cautiously, shoving aside the blanket and sitting up.
Rather than answering, Legolas gestured to the kitchen table, upon which the candles still flickered, and offered, "Come sit with me for a while." Aragorn frowned in confusion and no small amount of trepidation at what might be coming. "Come on," Legolas assured with a smile, "I want to talk to you, that's all."
Getting to his feet, Aragorn padded bare-foot over to the table, taking the seat Legolas had pulled out for him. Instead of sitting down opposite him though, Legolas first wandered into the kitchen and put a pot of water on the stove before digging around in the larder until he found a wooden chest tucked away on the bottom shelf. He then pulled two mugs from the cupboards, unconcerned when the door he had opened fell off its hinges and crashed to the floor in a cloud of dust. Taking a pinch of dried leaves from the chest, Legolas sprinkled them into the pot of now boiling water.
All the time Aragorn watched his actions closely but did not speak, uncertain about what to say.
Legolas eventually poured the liquid from the pan into the two mugs.
"Here, drink," Legolas told Aragorn when he'd returned to the table with the mugs.
Aragorn took the mug carefully and bent over it, sniffing deeply. The sweet, delicious smell was like nothing he had ever experienced before and he inhaled deeply again.
"What is it?"
"Just herbal tea," Legolas told him before taking a long drink. "I have missed this," he then smiled to himself in pleasure at the wonderfully familiar taste. Following his mentor's example, Aragorn sipped at the tea and was pleased to discover that it tasted as good as he'd hoped. "Good, no?"
"Umm, excellent," Aragorn agreed warmly. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
Another of Legolas' long, uncomfortable silences followed as he stared thoughtfully down at the light green, steaming tea in the mug between his hands on the table. When he did start to talk, Aragorn had to lean forward and strain to hear, it was so quiet.
"This isn't easy for me – to talk about…before the War." Aragorn was instantly more alert at this, anticipation fluttering deep in his stomach at what might be said. "But you were right; you do deserve to know about the person you're travelling with."
"Thank you," Aragorn said softly.
Legolas smiled grimly, his eyes moving up to meet the boy's at last, as he said, "I haven't said anything yet."
"Sorry," the teen grinned sheepishly at his guardian.
Yet another extended silence put Aragorn on edge again and he fought not to break it, realising that the Elf needed the time to gather his thoughts before speaking. And his patience eventually paid off.
Legolas started to speak softly, his gaze once more on the contents of his mug rather than on his eagerly listening charge.
"It didn't fall easily. Mirkwood had a formidable army, well trained in keeping the Orcs away from the stronghold formed around the palace and surrounding villages. They fought long and hard in the beginning to protect the realm. And I stood at their side as they did so…"
Mirkwood…40 Years Ago…
They remained strategically poised, in complete silence that only the blessed race of Elves could achieve, in the high branches of the great trees, camouflaged and hidden amidst the green, vibrant leaves that yet survived in the forest of the nevertheless aptly named Mirkwood. For months now they had been losing ground on the stronghold and this was a last ditch attempt to retain the land around the main town where hundreds of innocents dwelt. The warriors, captained by their beloved Crown Prince who had stood at their sides as they fought the massive influx of evil that had swarmed over the forest ever since the might of the Black Lands had grown in power, stood on the front line; the first and most effective defence against the Shadow. Massively depleted in numbers already they may have been but they nevertheless continued to defend the land they loved.
"Alright," Legolas whispered in a voice so low that only his fellow Elves and not the Orcs milling about the sizeable camp that stretched out beneath them could hear. "Spread out. When I give the signal, first wave go down, second wave led by me will provide cover fire from up here. Take out as many of the leaders and Uruk-hai as you can to start with, after that hit anything that moves. Once your arrows are depleted, shift to swords." All around him there were soft murmurs of understanding and consent. Turning shining blue eyes to his soldiers, exhausted from months of endless difficult patrols and battles, Legolas told them, "This is our last chance to protect our lands from the Shadow. We are all that stand between the Orcs and total ruin."
Bolstered by their prince's seemingly unwavering confidence, the warriors of Mirkwood moved swiftly through the trees, fanning out as ordered. Beneath them, the Orcs moved about their camp oblivious to the ambush awaiting them in the trees.
Legolas waited until he heard the subtle calls of his soldiers indicating their readiness, then he pulled an arrow from his full quiver, aware of those beside him mirroring the action. Then, preparing himself for what was to come, he sounded the charge.
Elves leapt effortlessly from their hiding places in the trees, covered by the arrows raining down upon the startled Orcs from their companions in the trees, and charged into them, swords clashing with flesh and bone and metal. Caught unawares, the foul creatures fell easily at first but soon enough they rallied and fought back against the Mirkwood defenders. The ambush progressed into battle. As always when the two sides engaged in battle, it was dirty, disorganised as the residents of Mirkwood clashed with the unprepared Orcs and Uruks. Once their arrows were spent, the second wave of Elves leapt into the fray.
The battle was short. Despite the Elves' superior organisation, the sheer volume of the creatures of Mordor made for a fearsome opponent and as he fought with all his strength, Legolas watched his soldiers quailing under the Shadow.
Despite their best efforts, Legolas was forced to call the retreat.
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"Did you fight many battles?" Aragorn asked, interrupting Legolas' account of Mirkwood's last days.
The Elf looked up in surprise at the question. "Uh, yes, I suppose I did."
"And did you captain them all?"
"Most." Legolas looked darkly at him, then said, "May I continue now?"
"Yes. Sorry."
OIOIOI
"You lost the ground?" the Elven-king ground out angrily, blue eyes blazing in anger.
"We were forced to retreat, my Lord. The power of the Shadow was too great. My soldiers were overwhelmed," Legolas confirmed from his position knelt on the floor before the king's throne. "We had no other choice."
"I see," Thranduil mused, pacing restlessly before his son and heir. "And what of the town?"
"I have evacuated the most vulnerable parts. There were a few casualties but no civilian fatalities. Troops have been posted around the town and the army remains on high alert."
"Good. I want regular reports from those guards."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Continuing his rhythmic pacing, Thranduil's hard blue eyes ran over his son with obvious disapproval. "I am disappointed in you, Legolas. I expected more. I thought at least you would hold the line."
"We did our best, sire."
"It seems that your best is becoming increasingly inadequate," the king retorted sharply.
"My Lord…" Legolas started, recognising the king's frustrations; they had lost so much land and so many good people of late that it was causing considerable strain from all sides.
"Be silent," Thranduil commanded.
Lowering his head, Legolas did as ordered.
"This was no small loss. The stronghold has been breached." There were muffled murmurs of unrest amongst the gathered advisors who stood around Thranduil and the prince, listening to his dire reports from the front. "Our people are more vulnerable than ever and today I gave permission for yet another convoy to leave for the Grey Havens – they are losing confidence in our ability to protect them," the king's voice boomed out clearly for all to hear. Pausing in front of his son, he demanded, "Now tell me, as commander of my army, what are you planning to do now?"
"I…" After spending his past few days in the town organising defences and patrols, Legolas had had little opportunity to consider what his next move should be.
"Well?" the king challenged. "You have no plan?"
"My Lord, if you would just allow me some time to form a suitable strategy…"
"We have no more time! Already reports have come that Lothlorien is besieged and Rivendell is close to collapse. We cannot fall also. I will not yield this realm to that abomination Sauron," Thranduil yelled in anger.
"I will not let that happen," Legolas protested quickly, his eyes fixed upon his father.
"And yet you lost the town."
"Your Majesty…"
"I have heard enough." Thranduil raised his hand to put a stop to his son's excuses. "I want a full, written report from you and your fellow captains by tomorrow evening as well as an outline of what you plan to do next."
"Your Majesty…"
"You are dismissed."
Legolas got to his feet, offering his king a quick respectful bow, but he lingered rather than leaving as the advisors filed out. "Your Majesty?"
Thranduil turned back to him, question written on his features. "What is it?"
"I lost three soldiers this week alone. Two of them were new recruits."
The king's eyes hardened defensively. "Your point?"
"They gave their lives for the defence of this realm and I don't believe it was all for nothing. We are doing the best we can against impossible odds and depleted resources." Thranduil left the side of the advisor he had been about to speak to about food distribution for the troops and walked steadily down the steps until he stood in front of his straight-backed, confident son. "I will not believe those soldiers died for nothing. I can't believe it. It has to all be for something. And as long as I have breath in my body my soldiers and I shall defend this kingdom to the very last," Legolas told him. "I will not disappoint you again, Father."
A small smile came to Thranduil's lips despite the grimness of the meeting they had just concluded and his hand came to rest on Legolas' shoulder. "I know that." Legolas nodded, looking down from the king's eyes sadly. Turning to his remaining advisors, Thranduil told them, "We're done for the night." To Legolas he then said, "Come with me, son."
Legolas walked behind his father to the king's office. Once the door had closed behind them, allowing for privacy, Thranduil turned to his only living son.
"Are you alright? You're not hurt?" Thranduil asked in concern, gesturing for Legolas to sit.
"I am not hurt, Father."
"You look tired," the king commented quietly as he poured them each a glass of wine.
"It's been a long few months," the prince sighed deeply.
"Indeed." He handed Legolas one of the glasses, half full of potent red wine. He then lowered himself gracefully into the chair and took a long, indulgent drink of one of his best liquors. "Things will get better."
"They can't possibly get any worse."
"Elrond of Rivendell says that Imladris is holding up remarkably well despite…Well, you heard about the fall of Hobbiton?"
Legolas nodded wearily, finishing off the last of his wine as he pondered on how once he had not even known that a place filled with what his father referred to as 'little Men' existed. Now he knew of so many strange places, all set upon by the Shadow. How he longed for the ignorance of the past when he didn't have to read death and casualty reports from varying cultures from all across Middle Earth as well as his own kingdom.
"More?" his father offered, lifting the wine bottle but putting it back when Legolas shook his head dismissively. "Of course Elrond was quick to smugly remind me that he has those ridiculous Rangers on his side as added protection to his Haven."
"And two commanders instead of one, and Captain Glorfindel, and they don't live next to a nest of the creatures of Shadow," Legolas added dourly.
"He just sounded so smug in his letter," Thranduil grouched, crossing his legs and readjusting his glass on his knee. "As if we had any control over what those creatures are planning." The king got up and stalked to the window overlooking the gardens of his palace. "He asked for our aid. Of course I had to say no. As if we don't have enough to worry about in our own lands." The king sighed heavily. "We can't spare the soldiers, after all. It makes no sense that…"
When Thranduil glanced around to catch a glance of his son's expected disgusted expression he was surprised to find Legolas' head bowed, obviously not paying any attention to his words. And when he was ranting about the Peredhel as well!
"Legolas?" he asked, stepping closer. However, his chagrin disappeared and he smiled softly when he realised that his son had fallen asleep where he sat. It was no wonder he was exhausted; he had hardly spent a single day at home since this whole thing had started months ago when Sauron had redoubled his efforts to lay claim to the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood.
Stepping up to his son, Thranduil carefully took the wine glass from between lax fingers and laid it on his desk. Then he shook Legolas' shoulder so the prince startled awake.
"What?" Legolas asked, blinking rapidly as he sat upright in his chair. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't catch that last part."
Thranduil smiled kindly, all the dark seriousness that had hardened his eyes earlier having softened now that they were just father and son rather than the publically expected king and prince. "You need to go to bed."
"I need…"
"Come," the king said, dragging his son up from the chair. "Get some sleep. We can talk more once you have rested."
"Thank you, Father." Legolas smiled gratefully as Thranduil pulled him in close for a hug.
When they parted, Thranduil patted his son's arm. "Go while you have the chance."
Legolas nodded wearily, heading for the door and said, "Goodnight, Father."
"Sleep well, Legolas," the king called after him, taking a seat behind his desk to look over the numerous reports that had accumulated during the day.
OIOIOI
"Legolas," Aragorn called as he watched his guardian become lost deep in thought.
The Elf startled, looking up in surprise. He hadn't realised that he had finished speaking quite a while ago and they had been sitting in complete silence for long moments.
"I'm sorry," the Elf smiled shakily, clearing his throat in embarrassment at his lapse in concentration.
"Did you know the king well?" Aragorn asked to call the memories back to Legolas' mind and get him talking again.
"What?" Legolas frowned in confusion for a moment. Then he remembered, as Aragorn repeated his question, that he had purposefully left out any references to his true relationship with King Thranduil – he had referred to himself only as a confidante and captain in the king's army. Despite his desire to be truthful with the boy, he wasn't quite ready to drop the 'Prince' title on him just yet. "Uh, yes," Legolas finally said in answer to Aragorn's ice-breaking question. "I knew him quite well. That is, I reported to him frequently."
This at least was true. Of course, Legolas, being King Thranduil's child and, after the fall of his brothers to the Shadow, his one remaining heir, was loved above all else by his father and doted upon by the king and the residents of the palace. But the moment he took up the title of 'Commander of the Mirkwood Guard', inherited from his brother, he had started to have a more professional relationship with the king. That father-son bond remained undiminished in private but in public, when he stood in the throne room in his uniform, he was a soldier and he treated his king with the same respect his fellow soldiers did.
"Was he frightening?" the boy asked eagerly of the king of Mirkwood, leaning eagerly across the table.
Legolas chuckled gently, lowering his eyes to his now empty mug. "Some thought so but, no, I didn't find him frightening." He had, however, seen many a brave Elf quail under the king's cold, withering stare. "But he is…was a formidable ruler. A great leader."
"You liked him?"
"Very much." A wave of sadness washed over him as he spoke of his father. The deep loneliness that ached in his heart grew and he pressed his hand to his chest for a moment, willing it to pass. Once the momentary flash of pain had subsided, Legolas raised his steady gaze to Aragorn again and he forced a smile onto his lips. "Now, would you mind me finishing, or would you prefer to sit staring at me in silence for the rest of the night?"
"No," the young man said, blushing at being caught staring at his guardian. "Sorry. Carry on."
With very little reluctance this time, Legolas spoke confidently of the past. "The attacks on the kingdom became ever more frequent and more vicious after that victory over the main town. In spite of the efforts of the army, forces were massively depleted after so many attacks and the Shadow eventually took over the stronghold, cutting down all that stood in its path. Against such a swell of evil, the remaining soldiers stood little chance.
"It wasn't long before even the mystical defences surrounding the palace fell to the Orcs and the king's sanctuary was penetrated. With the army all but gone, only a few remained to fight and they defended the heart of the kingdom with their lives."
Mirkwood… 20 Years Ago…
All about him desperate cries echoed as the rooms of Mirkwood's great stone palace were, one by one, breached, their fearful occupants dragged kicking and screaming out into the halls. Fires raged all around, started by the Orcs to flush out the Elves gone into hiding, filling the huge stone palace with thick, black smoke. But there was nothing Legolas could do to douse the flames or calm the panic. The palace was taken. There was no more Mirkwood's prince could do but try to get out as many people as he could before the Orcs completely swamped it.
Herding a couple of frightened young healers along the corridors, which were already littered with the grisly remnants of the small battles going on all around the palace, Legolas headed for the nearest exit he could think of. Although armed with his twin white knives and his bow along with a full quiver of arrows, he made certain to take lesser-used back passages away from the main centre of the fighting in an attempt to avoid confrontation whilst shepherding the innocent away from the slaughter.
Unfortunately, by the time they reached the side door out of the palace, the Orcs had sealed the doors, trapping the remaining Elves inside their burning castle. Dragging the terrified healers away from the Orc guards at the door, Legolas told them to hide and await his return. He planned to get more people this far out, then they might stand a chance at overpowering the Orcs and escaping together; he would make the civilians fight their way out alongside him if necessary.
Running back down the corridors, killing whatever dark creature got in his way, Legolas shoved a couple more panicky Elves in the direction of the hiding healers.
Screaming, wild and terrified, filled the halls now but Legolas was not deterred from his destination. He wanted now to find his father. The king had left his side hours ago, dressed in his little-used full battle gear and armed to defend his palace fort and the people within, and Legolas had not seen him since. Of course he knew that Thranduil could defend himself; he was fully capable of fighting, having spent centuries as a soldier before being crowned King of Mirkwood and even after that, against the fervent pleas of his nervy advisors, endeavouring to protect the beleaguered people of his realm. Even so, Legolas did not like the thought of his father standing alone. And he knew for certain that the king would stand until the very last.
As expected, the throne room, where the Orcs obviously anticipated the king of the Mirkwood Elves would be, was in all-out war. Elves, some of them clearly not trained soldiers, fought with the Orcs and Goblins that had ruthlessly laid siege to the palace. Already the floor was running with the crimson blood of the dead Elves that littered the great hall and mingled with the thick black fluid of the slain Orcs. The cacophony of battle was nearly deafening but Legolas stood his ground, unafraid of the challenge presenting him.
As he lingered unnoticed in the doorway, his eyes darted over the battle. Amidst the flashes of crimson steel and the haze of red, Legolas found what he was searching for – a streak of pale gold. His father fought in the centre of the melee, a frightening and empowering figure to his loyal followers.
Legolas hesitated for only a moment longer before unsheathing his knives and plunging into the brutal battle. At the arrival of their prince, the commander of the army, some of the younger Elves rallied around him, as if in his presence they would be afforded some small level of protection. As it was, it was probably the most dangerous place to be as, at the smell of royal blood, young and vital, the Orcs became even more frenzied and mounted a vicious attack on the prince.
Still, they fought. Even as every one of the well-trained soldiers fell to Orc scimitars, completely overwhelmed by the creatures of Mordor, the ones who seemed innocuous, those who the Orcs weren't too interested in getting rid of as they believed them to pose no significant threat, still guarded their prince and king, who, although exhausted and injured, remained fighting.
Through the seething mass of Orcs it was difficult for Legolas to keep track of his father's progress in battle. When he did finally catch a glimpse of the king though, he froze. The king was now on his knees, sword no longer held in confident hands but rather lying a few feet away from him, useless. Blood trickled through white fingers, which pressed hard against his left side. The king was injured. Orcs had surrounded him and in spite of the bloodlust that must by now have been nearly overwhelmingly potent in them, they held back, snarling and laughing in the face of the dying Elf-king. More joined them as they realised that royal blood had been spilled, abandoning the few Elves who remained on their feet.
"Go!" Legolas commanded, shoving the few young Elves who remained standing towards the double doors, hoping to get them out of the palace whilst the Orcs were distracted.
Before they even reached the doors though, the rusty point of a sword stabbed through their throats one by one and they fell at Legolas' feet, unable to even speak a last word of surprise. Turning in horror to the tall, Orc-like creatures, the Uruk-hair, Legolas stared.
"Well, another pretty prize, boys," one of the huge Uruks sneered through blackened teeth.
Raising his blood-slickened knives, Legolas stood firm. "Get…"
He was barely able to start his sentence before an arrow suddenly slammed into the Uruk closest to him, then another fast succession of arrows took out the rest of the Uruk-hai before they had a chance to retaliate. Still stunned, Legolas felt a hand grab his arm and he spun to find himself face to face with his old friend and personal bodyguard. The older Elf was bleeding profusely from a wound on his thigh and a long gash decorated his brow but he remained determined.
"Come, Your Highness," the guard said urgently, stumbling and dragging Legolas after him.
Gripping his old friend's blood-streaked arm to halt their progress, Legolas ground out above the noise of the baying Orcs, "No. Go, summon all the soldiers you can find and bring them here right away."
"Sir, no, we have to get you out of here." The guard tugged desperately on Legolas' arm, looking through the doorway at the Orcs running along the corridors. Currently, the Orcs within the throne room were distracted by the King, who remained alive but on his knees, staring defiantly up at the Orcs with a cool, level gaze. The prince would be a fine prize for the Shadow, no doubt, and the guard knew that soon they would tire of tormenting the king and turn to the prince for sport. "We have to go now, Your Highness."
"No," Legolas growled, snatching his arm free. "I am not leaving without the king."
He went to plunge back into the fray but his bodyguard held him back. "No, my Lord. You'll be killed!"
"I have to get my father."
Still, the guard held firm to his prince. "The battle is lost. Mirkwood is fallen."
"Not while I draw breath," Legolas told him passionately, his eyes burning.
"That is why you must run."
"No."
"Your Highness, please, I beg you," the tall Elf pleaded desperately, acutely aware that their time was running out. The Orcs were circling the king now, laughing and jeering. He could sense his monarch's time on Middle Earth was drawing to an end; they would not toy with him much longer.
"Get off of me!"
"I will not!" the guard shouted, suddenly grabbing his startled prince and shoving him roughly up against the wall. "Listen to me, you are all that is left now. The palace has been taken, there is no army left to regain the stronghold, the towns are over-run. There is nothing left. Now, you have to go."
"I have to stay. I have to defend…"
"Don't you understand – there is nothing left to defend."
Looking wide-eyed around himself at the devastation that had been brought upon his troubled but beloved realm, Legolas said softly, "Then I have nothing left to lose."
"But I do."
"I can…I can stop this."
"It is too late, my Prince. All is lost."
Legolas shook his head vigorously in denial, "No."
"If all of Mirkwood falls to ruin, give me and your people some small comfort – to know that you are alive." Glaring imploringly into his prince's eyes, the guard continued, "You have to go now, Highness."
"I will not run away." Legolas' hand tightened around the handle of his knife.
"Yes, you will. But you have to go now, sir, please, we're running out of time." All around them echoed the screams of the trapped citizens of Mirkwood. Fires blazed in the once magnificent palace, destroying all in their way. The Orcs had ensured that none could escape. Those still trapped inside would soon be dead and Legolas' mind went to the two terrified young healers he had told to hide until his return. All of Mirkwood was over-run and there was no army left to push the evil out.
Mirkwood was lost.
"I cannot run," the prince said in a softer voice now, resigned.
"You must."
Legolas shook his head, still undecided. "There is no way out," he breathed shakily.
"The security tunnels – they are scattered entrances all over the palace; we can get to one from here. You'll be able to get out of the palace that way."
"The king," Legolas said almost despairingly.
Dropping his gaze from that of his prince, the guard said, "He is already dead, Your Highness. He was dead the moment they laid their hands on him. I am sorry."
Legolas knew it was the truth. He'd known it as soon as he'd stepped through those doors into the fight. His father had fallen. The king was dead. But as the truth sunk in, Legolas realised that he had been expecting this, but he had also been expecting that he would fall at his father's side.
Even though he knew there was no time for grief right now, tears pooled in Legolas' eyes.
"Your Highness, we have to go now."
Leaning his head back, feeling the cool stone of his home, Legolas closed his eyes in shame. "I can't."
As his eyes flicked urgently to the door, the guard said softly, "You must." By now smoke was pouring down the corridor and the screamed that had previously resounded so loudly around the palace were now fading. "Come, my Lord." This time when the bodyguard dragged his prince towards the doorway, Legolas did not fight him.
Stumbling after the fleeing guard and very nearly tripping over the grisly remains of the slain, Legolas followed obediently to the other side of the room. He paid no attention to their destination. His eyes were on only one thing: his father. He barely noticed the Orcs that had spotted them and were now heading towards them in anger. He hardly noticed the arrows, slick and black with deadly poison, being released in their direction or the one well-aimed missile hitting his friend in the shoulder. He was almost completely unaware of being pushed through the small gap where once a huge portrait of some ancient Elven king stood.
The prince's eyes were fixed only on his father. Bright blue eyes, shimmering with regret through the clamour of battle, met Legolas'. The look of impending death.
When one of the Orcs still surrounding the kneeling king raised his sword – the king's own glinting blade – Legolas fought to get past his bodyguard, who yelled desperately at him to run from the massacre within the throne room, for he knew that now the king was as good as dead the attention of the Orcs would be drawn to the last remaining Elf of royal blood within Mirkwood.
"No!" the prince yelled as his father flopped lifelessly forward onto his front.
Legolas knew it was coming – he'd known all along, after all – and yet his heart broke in two, his chest pounding in sheer agony of his beloved father's passing.
Now, reality brutally came back to Legolas but even though he was again able to process the attack on the palace and his bodyguard's desperate pleas for him to follow him to safety, he found that he simply didn't care if he should live or die. What did it matter now that the king was dead and Mirkwood left in ruins? So what if he died too? Surely that would be a blessed relief considering the alternative.
"Highness, now!" the bodyguard pleaded, close to tears himself at witnessing the fall of his king and the grief etched onto his prince's features.
"My father," Legolas breathed helplessly as the goblins swarmed over the fallen Elf-king.
Legolas was not entirely sure what happened next. His memory, his very existence it seemed, was curtained by a grief too horrible to dwell on and he could not see past it even in those last few fleeting moments of his father's life if he had wanted to. Somehow a minute later, he found himself standing in the cold, silent security tunnel, one of many built into the palace for the safety of King Thranduil and his princes, next to his bleeding protector and friend. The door, thick and sturdy, had been closed tight although already Legolas could hear the pounding of the foul, murderous creatures of Shadow on the other side, clawing desperately to get another taste of tender Elf flesh.
Anger pulsed in his veins and he withdrew his knife from the sheath at his side. When he made for the door though, intent on seeking revenge for the slaying of his father, trembling hands, terribly weakened in such a short time, held him back once more.
"Unhand me."
"Your Highness."
The previously strong warrior Elf now sounded considerably weaker, his voice fading into a desperate, whispered plea to his prince. And when Legolas had reined in his anger enough to look over at him, he understood the cause of the change. Three long, black-shafted arrows protruded from the guard's torso, all laced with the deadly poison favoured by the Orcs.
"You have to go, Your Highness."
The pounding from the other side of the door intensified and Legolas knew it would not be long before the creatures of Mordor broke through.
"My father…"
"The king is dead." Now was a time for bluntness, if there ever was one.
There was no way back now, Legolas knew. His father had fallen and the palace was over-run. All he could do was run or succumb to death himself.
Nodding decisively, Legolas said, "Let's go."
"You go, sire, I'll hold them off."
"I am not leaving you behind."
Smiling grimly and looking down at himself, the bodyguard whispered, "Forgive me, Your Highness, but I don't think I am going to make it."
"Yes, you are."
"My job, my prince is to get you to safety. Please don't make me fail in my mission."
"My friend…"
"Go, Legolas, please."
And so, the Prince of Mirkwood threw himself into exile from the home he had once loved so very dearly.
To Be Continued…