Notes: Lily Lindsey-Aubery and OneSizeFitsAll: The song is "Bloodletting" by Concrete Blonde. It's a vampire song. You can listen to it if you want, but I had to stop after the first thirty seconds or so, as it was too creepy. 2MFriedmanFreak (now Phillip Callaway ;)): Okay, *spoilers* he's not going to die. But I haven't entirely decided exactly what will happen to him.
Incunabulum 22: Death under Leaves
"Your majesty, we face grave danger." Elrohir paused and then banged on the door for the third time. "You absolutely can't lock yourself up in your room just when we're facing a crisis," he said without attempting to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Did you hear me? Lothlorien has been assaulted. Forces are moving north. And why was it that we never got a warning through to Dale and the Lonely Mountain about the Haradrim threat on their eastern flank? We knew about that weeks ago."
Thranduil's voice came through the heavy oak door imperfectly and the only part of his reply that Elrohir could distinguish was the word "imbeciles."
"Very well, your majesty," said Elrohir. "I have tried reason, but the time for action has come."
He picked up a nearby chair and commenced battering the door down. From inside the room a new sound mixed with the familiar crashes made by falling furniture. It sounded like elven shrieks.
The door gave way all of a sudden in a shower of splinters and Elrohir rushed into the room. The scene was one of utter disorder. Tables and bookshelves lay in various attitudes of destruction interspersed with overturned chairs, while the whole room was liberally sprinkled with books, candles, and articles of royal elven dress.
"Your majesty, what is happening?" called Elrohir, looking about vainly for the missing Thranduil. Another crash came from the master bathroom, the door of which stood ajar. Elrohir slowly poked his head through the doorway and froze with horror. Thranduil was nowhere to be seen, but a huge and pale-coloured orc stood in front of the sink, feverishly searching through the medicine cabinet.
"You monster!" screamed Elrohir. "What have you done with the elvenking?"
"Shut up, you fool. I am Thranduil."
Elrohir stood as if petrified, uncertain whether to be more astounded over the fact that Thranduil was an orc, or that he had forgotten to put "elvenking" after his name.
"Don't just stand there!" said Thranduil impatiently.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Help me look for my medication. It can't be all gone!"
"Is this it?" asked Elrohir, holding up an empty bottle.
"Yes, yes, but I thought I had some more."
"But your majesty," said Elrohir, searching frantically among a huge stash of prescription medications, "please tell me what has happened. How did you - get - that way? You are quite sure you're Thranduil, aren't you?"
The large orc had finally located a bottle behind the shower curtain and poured its contents down his throat. A brief paroxysm ensued involving a lot of kicking, and when at last the creature regained its feet again it wore once more the form of the elvenking. Elrohir, who had watched the transformation open-mouthed, reeled and caught hold of the door frame to keep from falling. Thranduil glanced austerely at him and straightened his bathrobe.
"Yes, I am quite sure of who I am," he said coldly. "I regret losing my poise like that, but you caught me off guard. And I am not good at administering the medication - I came to rely too much on Legolas doing it. If only he were still here."
Thranduil ended with a sigh.
"But your majesty," gasped Elrohir.
"No one must know of this!" cried Thranduil, turning on him fiercely. "Swear you won't tell anyone!"
"I swear!" Elrohir squeaked.
Thranduil went back into the bedroom and observed himself in the mirror. Elrohir collapsed beside the bathroom door and commenced nervously running his palms through his hair.
"This started coming over me some years ago," said Thranduil. "At first it was only my face, and it would only happen in moments of extreme agitation - like the time I tried to question that stubborn dwarf. I tried to fight it back and it worked for a while, but gradually I started requiring medicine to recover my normal form. I put all my best scientific minds to work on the problem of unwanted metamorphosis, but they can only prescribe temporary measures."
"What about my father?" said Elrohir. "Have you asked him? He's wise in herb-lore."
"It's too disgraceful," said Thranduil. "But yes, I have thought about it. I grew so desperate a few months ago that I asked the Lady Galadriel to speak to him about it, but she hasn't gotten back to me."
"But he must be able to do something," said Elrohir. "This is terrible! And that orc...that orc you had executed - you just didn't want anyone to know so they wouldn't find out about you, didn't you?"
"That's none of your business, insolent puppy," said Thranduil.
"And he tried to warn us and everything," Elrohir went on. "Wait! I almost forgot. They're coming! And we've got to muster the elves and attack them. You feel up to it I hope, now that you're in your right form?"
"Saddle my elk," said Thranduil.
Etwol reached up and pulled himself to a higher branch. Almost in an instant his head was above the thick foliage and he could see for miles on all sides. To the north he could see the smoke from the fighting at Erebor and Laketown. He sniffed the air and then scrambled back down to the ground where his makeshift army waited.
"All right," he said, poking them to make them straighten the line. "We're going to find the enemy and attack them before they get a chance to form a battle line."
It sounded like sound military strategy to him but he had no idea what it really meant.
"How do we find them?" asked Ghashbug.
"Well..." said Etwol, uncertainly.
A sudden scream arose on the air, making Etwol jump. The scream was followed by a host of shrieks, roars, and orcish battle cries amidst the clanging of metal.
"Sounds like they've begun," said Ghashbug. "So much for attacking before they're ready."
"Solves the problem of finding 'em though," said Etwol. "Come on!"
Even he, who had seen many battles, was astonished by the size and intensity of this one. Among the trees two great armies had clashed and were now mingled, elves and orcs indiscriminately slashing each other. Etwol could see the elvenking on his elk at the forefront of his troops fighting fabulously.
There was a chilling war cry as a horde of orcs poured over the hill directly behind Etwol and his zombie army. Etwol spun around to face them. It was not that he was eager to kill orcs so much as he simply wanted to see the expressions on their faces when they saw the vampires. It was not a let-down.
The attacking orcs paled and then ran in all directions to escape the flying creatures. They were so busy looking over their shoulders that they ran straight into the zombies who were too slow to have caught them in any other way. Havoc reigned - particularly as each time an orc got bit by an elven zombie or elven vampire it immediately morphed into an orcish zombie or orcish vampire. The latter were very terrifying indeed.
Etwol was delighted over the success of his plan (although he hadn't exactly planned to turn the orcs into zombies and vampires) when he suddenly heard a howl in his ear and turned to find himself staring into the face of Borg, his old nemesis. He screamed. He saw Borg's blade swing. And then everything went black, the battle sounds faded into silence, and Etwol knew nothing more for a very long time.