A/N: So, this is the first in my twisted little series. Please note I play fast and loose with cannon events and the timeline in this one to suit my purposes – Tolkien purists you have been warned :) though I hope it won't put you off too much and you'll have as much fun with this Dark AU tale as I did when writing it. Enjoy - KimicT
Dark Beauty
"The Prince, the Prince! Somebody help! Sound the alarm! The orcs have got the Prince!"
~o~
Thranduil finished hurriedly pulling on his leather gloves and leapt upon the back of Diomedes.
"Gwaem!" He shouted backwards toward his Elite and all the other warriors that had volunteered to go with him, even as he wheeled his great stallion round and out through the stronghold gates and into the forest beyond.
The pounding sound of hooves upon cobblestone and then packed earth filled his ears but was still not great enough to drown out the beat of his panicking heart.
It had all gone so wrong so quickly. It had only been a week since they'd taken in that vile beast and though Thranduil had felt deep in his bones that something would go wrong eventually, he had not expected it quite so soon.
Damn Mithrandir and that Ranger Strider. And damn that creature they had foisted upon his people. He should have told them to sod off as his instincts had told him to. Now look at the mess he found himself in…look at what had befallen his son.
The thought of the horrifying message that had been brought to him at the palace only a mere half hour ago rang loud in Thranduil's mind: The orcs have got the Prince!
Thranduil grit his teeth, leant down closer against Diomedes' neck and urged the warhorse to go faster still. He would have time for ruminating in his regrets later.
For now, he had a son to save.
~o~
It had been the last task of a day that, up until that point, had been utterly normal.
Said task being to take the Gollum creature for a walk. For it cried ever so piteously and whined and wailed and generally made a nuisance of itself if it was not taken out at least once a day, so that it might scurry among the brambles and the bushes and dig the dirt and catch and eat whatever bugs that it might find. (On their very first walk it had caught and scarfed down a black squirrel in a macabre display).
The walk seemed to calm the beast, and after an hour or so of it scratching about in the brush and the muck it was generally more docile, and happy enough to let them put it back into the cell that had become its new home in Thranduil's dungeons.
If only Legolas had known the true purpose behind the Gollum creature wanting to go out to walk and scrabble about in the bush he'd never have allowed it.
Alas for hindsight…
Though truly, how could he have ever been expected to know that the creature (who thus far had seemed a maddened, wild thing incapable of even the most basic speech in the Common tongue) had been plotting and planning its escape all the while long. Leaving well-hidden markings, scratchings and instructions for those who knew how to read them.
And how could he have known that those who knew how and where to read them would be orcs. Orcs that had been watching Estel and Mithrandir ever since they had taken the convenient bait that the sudden 'finding' of the Gollum creature presented. Orcs that had been biding their time; steering clear of the area in which they took the wretched little beast for his walks whilst they were there in the day, yet scouring over it at night to read and check that all was still on track and their ghastly plans still firmly in place.
Legolas had been none the wiser to any of it until it was too late.
And so they had proceeded as though everything was normal, as though this was just another walk to get the creature to behave itself for the night, and therefore hadn't noticed the evil amongst them.
Not until Thoron fell from his lookout perch, and landed with a heavy thump that broke his neck which had already been pierced clean through with an orcish crossbow bolt.
They'd hardly had a moment to process seeing Thoron's very dead body appear so suddenly before them, when his fellow scout Celegil also fell from her perch to land beside him in a similar crumpled heap - a massive crossbow bolt, fletched with greasy Crebain feathers, through her slim throat.
All was pandemonium then as they sounded a delayed alarm, but as with everything that afternoon it was too late.
Orcs had already swarmed upon them from the shadows where they had lain in wait, hidden amongst the bushes and brambles and festering Darkness. They burst forth, scimitars raised and proceeded to unleash bloody hell upon them.
And they fought back. Legolas and his maethyr, they fought back viciously and with all they had but alas it was not enough. Not when there were ten orcs for every one of them.
And so though they tried, ultimately it was the orcs who prevailed. It was elven blood that was spilt and it was he who found himself being roughly shoved down onto his knees, his hands clapped in brutal irons before he was thrown over a shoulder and then they were away.
The orcs were running away with the Gollum creature skipping gaily between their feet, suddenly possessed of perfect speech as it sang a taunting song at Legolas, maniacal laughter clear in its eyes and in the large grin it sported.
Legolas turned his gaze from the creature lest his rage at its trickery swallow him whole, and instead gazed solemnly and sadly back at the wanton destruction the orcs were now so desperate to get away from.
Red blood was splattered across every tree and bush and mixed thoroughly in with the dirt. His fellow warriors all in crumpled, crushed repose as they lay in death caused by the madness and unchecked evil of the brazen yrch.
Saddest of them all was Aeglosson, his best friend from elflinghood turned bodyguard, who had tried so desperately to keep him safe when it became clear the orcs had intentions to make off with Legolas. He'd fought hard and frenziedly and now his body lay in the dirt with his silver-haired head some few feet away - severed by a particularly large scimitar - an unjust reward for his loyal bravery.
One tear and then another slowly slipped down Legolas's bloodied face before they turned a corner and the sad scene was removed from his view; though the Prince knew it was one that would live on in his mind for the rest of his days upon Arda.
~o~
Legolas found himself thrown uncaringly to the ground and kicked for good measure by the orch that had been carrying him. They were at the very edge of the Wood now and the orcs had stopped seemingly to catch their breath given how hard they were all blowing, some even frothing at the mouth.
"Can we eat 'im now?" The brute that had carried Legolas demanded of a large orc.
Said large orc had two scars that ran from temple diagonally down to chin and intersected across the beast's nose and seemed to be the one in charge of the band of yrch.
"No, no eating the elf."
The orc that had been carrying him growled and stomped its feet petulantly for a moment before it perked up again and leered at Legolas.
"Can I have some fun with 'im then?"
"No! None of that either. The Dark Master wants 'im intact and you know 'ow elves go when you try and 'ave a bit of fun with 'em. They go giving up their worthless immortal souls and alls you're left with is a shell of an elf. So no! No fun! We're deliverin' him to the Master alive."
"Graarrgh!"
The orc gave an incoherent growl of rage at being denied before he leaned down to grab Legolas, who had been doing his best to stay still and remain unnoticed, by his shirt collar. The beast jerked him upwards so that he was kneeling before it, grasped his chin firmly and forced the Prince's head backwards.
"What if I just used 'is mouth?"
The orc leered down at Legolas; with one hand keeping a firm grip upon his chin whilst with the other it fumbled at its drawstring trousers.
All at once the type of 'fun' the orc wanted to have with him became clear to the Elven Prince and Legolas felt his stomach flip at the thought.
No! He most certainly would surrender his soul rather than be sullied by an orc in such a way.
He tried to jerk backwards and away but the orc's grip was firm and unrelenting. True panic filled Legolas as the orc's one-handed fumblings at last saw it free from the confines of its trousers.
Legolas closed his eyes both against the ghastly sight and the tears that threatened. He would not cry…he would not…he would endure…
"Put it away Skraglar - I said no fun with the elf! Using 'is mouth or otherwise!"
There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh then, and when Legolas peeked open his eyes it was to see that the leader orc had landed a solid punch on the one who'd intended to have 'fun' with him.
The orc of course did not take the beating for the reprimand it was and promptly lashed out at its leader only to be smacked down to the ground with an even harder blow.
The other yrch were seemingly unable to let this little show of violence pass them unremarked and set about joining in the fray. In less than a minute all was chaos as the orcs fought and battered one another with Legolas left unmolested and apparently forgotten about.
Legolas was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth and immediately dropped himself on the muddied ground and began to slowly crawl away from the violent brawl towards the safety of the Wood proper.
He'd managed to wriggle, bound as he was and as stealthy as he was trying to be, all of four yards when a boot landed solidly upon his shackled wrists.
"And where do ya think you're goin'?"
Legolas looked up to see the ugly scarred face of the orc leader snarling down at him.
Ere he could do or say anything the orc stomped down hard on Legolas' wrists. The snap of his bones breaking and the sharp pain that flared stole the Prince's very breath and he lay panting, unable to make a sound as the orc ground his heel down upon his now mangled wrists for good measure.
"I didn't want to 'urt you elf. But I also can't 'ave you escapin' see? Now do be a good elf and don't try that again. The Dark Master wants you as whole as can be, so be good and don't let me 'ave to break anythin' else of yours again. Alright?"
Legolas stared unseeing as the pain in his wrists resonated up his arms. He was brought back to his rather unpleasant present situation with a start when the leader orc snatched a handful of his hair and jerked his head backwards so he could stare into the orc's hateful, rheumy eyes.
"Do we 'ave an agreement elf? No more bad behaviour? No more tryin' to escape?"
It galled Legolas to the very core of his fëa but he nodded his head before he brokenly choked out his agreement.
"N-no more…I…I will be…good."
~o~
The dread that Thranduil had been feeling for the entirety of the mad dash he and his maethyr had done through the forest multiplied tenfold as they at last burst into the clearing used for the Gollum creature's walks.
The scent of blood - elven blood - was strong upon the air.
And it soon became very apparent why…
Every tree, bush and bramble in sight was liberally splattered with red blood, and the Elven King could not stop the gasp that escaped him as he entered the clearing fully and took in the horrific sight before him.
He was not the only one so shocked at the sight, as all around him his Elite and the rest of the accompanying warriors began to exclaim and cry aloud.
Thranduil paid little attention to their despair and heard nothing of what they said, as he let his eyes roam the small glade - searching desperately for any sign of Legolas. He did not truly want to find his son here – in amongst the bloody, mangled corpses; yet the thought of him being carried away to some orcish lair was also too much to bear.
Orcs were not known to treat their captives well, especially when said captives happened to be of elven kind - and if they knew who Legolas was…then it would most certainly be better for his son to be dead.
But Thranduil could not stomach that thought - that Legolas might be no more, and when he saw no evidence of his son amongst the broken bodies that were all that remained of his son's troop…well, he could not deny the way his father's heart lifted in sheer relief.
It was a short lived relief. One that faded as he truly took in the destruction before him. His son's troop - eledhrim he had gotten to know so well over the centuries through Legolas - were all dead. There were crossbow bolts shot through necks and grievous wounds dealt by scimitars. And worst of all…Aeglosson.
"Oh Aeglosson." The words left Thranduil in a broken rush of pained air and he sank to his knees in the blood riddled mud beside the head of his son's erstwhile bodyguard.
Thranduil stared. The sheer horror of Aeglosson's particularly brutal death stunning him into silence. How would he explain this to the boy's Naneth? Even worse, how would he explain it to his Regent and right-hand ellon, Lord Arahaleon, who was Aeglosson's grandfather?
Thranduil reached out a gloved hand with the intention of sliding Aeglosson's staring, open eyes shut but pulled back at the last moment unable to let himself touch the severed head of his son's best friend.
"Ai Valar! Aeglosson!" Aglardaer sunk down next to Thranduil with a ragged shout.
But the Elven King could not spare so much as a glance for his best friend and Crown Commander transfixed as he was by the horror before him.
~o~
Thranduil did not know how much time passed as he knelt in the cold, bloody mud in silent shock but it must have been long enough, for there were now hands trying to pull him up and to his feet.
Urging him to get up, telling him they needed to move, needed to get going ere they lost the sun…
"Please Aran-nin, we shall never track down Ernil Legolas if we do not start after him now!"
Yes…Legolas…
It was the sound of his son's name that snapped Thranduil out of his rigid shock and back into action.
He had a son to save.
And orcs to slaughter in just as violent a way as they had seen fit to murder his warriors.
Thranduil stood to his feet, teeth clenched against the rage that surged through him.
He would make them pay.
~o~
Night had fallen, and though Legolas had no idea where he currently was, he had a horrible suspicion as to where they were going. For they were still very much in the Wood; and though it shamed him that he knew not exactly which part of the Wood they were in, he knew they had not yet left his homeland.
Which left only one possible destination.
Dol Guldur.
The yrch were taking him (on what he suspected was a purposefully long and winding route) to the dread tower - of that much the Prince was certain and he fought not to give in to his despair and weep aloud.
Dol Guldur - once his Daer-adar Oropher's capital - it was now a place spoken of in hushed and fearful whispers. To be dragged there was every maethyr's worst nightmare.
So much so that every warrior, when assigned to the Southern Patrol, was made to wear a necklace with a simple charm; a quick push of a hidden button on the charm would cause a pin coated in poison to be revealed. The poison was powerful and it would be only a matter of a seconds to a minute before anything the Enemy or his minions wished to do to a captive elf would matter no longer.
And oh how Legolas wished he'd been wearing his. He'd have long pushed the button and released himself from this living nightmare where his swollen, still-shackled, broken wrists had been joined by a broken nose, dislocated jaw and several missing teeth after three more failed attempts at escape.
Alas for him, he'd not been going on the Southern Patrol but on a simple walk with the Gollum creature, and therefore his poison necklace was safe back in his chambers at the palace and of no use to him now.
What a damnable pity.
Pain rolled through Legolas; starting in his face and resonating down through his arms. His fingers were turning purple, his mouth tasted of iron rich blood and his head ached abominably. He stared hard at the back of the leader orc's head and wondered if he tried to escape again whether the beast might finally have mercy and kill him.
Twas a tempting thought that got stronger with every pained step the Prince took.
~o~
Time began to blur for Legolas. He'd lost track of how long it had been since he'd been captured. He thought it might only have been two or three days but he couldn't be certain.
The orcs did stop every now and then to take rest - particularly once the sun was up high enough in the sky to breach the canopy. Yet even those obvious signs of the passage of time had been lost on the Prince, for seemingly the only thing his mind was now able to focus on was the sheer pain his body was in.
He had even more wounds now - for it was against his nature to keep his word when it had been given to one as worthless as an orc. And so Legolas had tried to escape twice more.
The first time earned him a beating that had left him with a cracked rib (or quite possibly three judging by the wheeze he'd since developed).
The second escape attempt had angered Ruhsuk (as Legolas had learned the leader orc was called) so much that the brute had had him held down before forcibly putting a ring through his nose.
"Since you won't behave yourself gulug and keep tryin' to escape like some flighty, empty-headed beast then we'll treat you like one. A ring through the nose - yes! A ring through the nose and maybe you will learn to come to heel."
That had been an ordeal that Legolas found it best not to think upon. For it both saddened and angered him. Sad in that he had fallen so far, and angry that the yrch thought they could just lead him around by a rope through the nose as though he were cattle. The indignity galled him.
Just as the fact that he was still a captive appalled him.
His escape attempts had been brutally thwarted at every turn - the orcs outnumbered him by far too great an amount for him to gain any advantage over them.
And Legolas felt ever worse about the prospect of being rescued. He had no doubt he'd been found to be missing and the scene of his troops' slaughter discovered by now, but the path the orcs were leading him upon was dark, shadowed and convoluted. Their own horrible, twisted little highway through the forest in the dankest depths where it would never occur for any would be rescuers to look.
Legolas despaired. How had it come to this?
~o~
More time passed and they trudged ever further South. Legolas knew they'd entered the southernmost part of his Adar's kingdom for he could see how mangled, oily, dark and dank all the fauna and flora were in this part of the Wood.
And where the sight of his beloved home succumbing to the Enemy's evil miasma saw Legolas fall deeper into despair, it seemed to give the yrch new life. They were louder and in a state of orcish happiness as they revelled in their ever darker surroundings. They no longer seemed to be as cautious and afraid of being apprehended as they had been, and that made real dread form within the Prince's heart.
For the orc's carefree manner could only mean they were drawing closer to the place where they would feel safest - Dol Guldur.
Legolas looked about him seeking inspiration for either an escape or - quite frankly - a suicide attempt. Alas, he saw nothing that would aid him in either purpose, and besides all that Ruhsuk had a firm hold of the rope that connected to the ring in his nose. All defiance suddenly left Legolas as he decided he did not quite feel up to testing the leader orc's patience just then. He hurt far too much.
The Prince's face had already been liberally bathed in his own blood from a few miles back where Legolas had decided to see if he could push Ruhsuk into murdering him.
Unfortunately the big orc seemed determined to deliver him to the 'Dark Master' (whomever that might yet turn out to be) alive - if not undamaged, and had simply yanked and tugged and pulled on the rope until Legolas thought his very nose would be pulled clean off his face, and he'd been forced to bend to Ruhsuk's will and continue his march to doom.
Ever onward to Dol Guldur.
~o~
"Can't you get 'im to shut up Ruhsuk?"
"Why don't you shut up Meeshlag?"
"I'm not the one makin' all that noise - weepin' and wailin' like a stuck pig."
The leader orc growled in inarticulate rage at his lippy subordinate before he turned and stomped over toward Legolas.
Legolas was weeping. They'd drawn to a stop for a short break before their final push on to Dol Guldur.
Their final destination confirmed as Ruhsuk had pointed to the dread tower in the (not nearly far enough) distance and told his 'boys' rather gleefully that they were nearly home.
It had been too much for the Prince to bear. To know that his doom was imminent - that there would be no rescue and that he was about to suffer a fate far worse than death.
And so he cried; for his loyal troop so brutally slain, for his Adar, sister Rithel and his beloved Thanniel who he'd not ever see again - who were doomed to wonder about his fate forevermore. And he cried for himself - he'd prayed long and hard that the Valar might take his soul - had even tried to give up his immortal fëa, but he knew not how and the Valar did not answer, and so now here he was - on the cusp of his ruination.
"Stop cryin' elf - you're makin' the boys uncomfortable. And besides - it's not all bad. Once the Dark Master frees you to be your true self - unbound by this pansy, pathetic elvishness you cling to…then, then you will see. It'll be alright."
Legolas did not want to be freed from his elvishness - indeed, he was very much enamoured of it - and he sobbed even more.
In an odd and surprising display of comfort, Ruhsuk ran his long claws through Legolas' matted, bloodied hair and crooned to him (in as much as his gruff voice allowed crooning).
"Don't cry elf. You'll soon be free."
Legolas cried all the harder.
~o~
Eleven days. Eleven long days without any sign nor word of Legolas.
Thranduil listened to the latest reports from the scouts who were tirelessly combing the Wood for his son.
Still no news. Nothing. As if he had disappeared from the very face of Arda.
Thranduil held back his growl of frustration lest he further discourage his already dispirited scouts, thanked them for their service, and sent them away to swap out with fresh scouts so that they might seek some rest.
Thranduil waited for the last of them to depart before he too turned to leave so that he might contemplate yet another day of his beloved son being missing in the hands of orcs.
"Adar."
The voice of his daughter - teary, frustrated, angry - stopped him in his tracks.
"Yes Rithel?"
Thranduil's voice sounded weary beyond measure even to his own ears.
"Do not say 'Yes Rithel' as though I am nagging at you for a new dress, or necklace or some other such frivolous thing!"
His daughter was furious. Thranduil was tired.
"I do not know what it is you want or expect from me iell-nin."
"I want you to find Legolas! To bring him home!"
Thranduil lost his last tenuous grip upon his emotions and he whirled round to face his daughter - to meet her fury with his own.
"What in the name of Manwë and the rest of the accursed Valar do you think I am trying to do Rithel?! This is the first day since he has gone missing that I myself have not been out there - and only because Diomedes is lamed with how hard I have pushed him, and I myself hardly fare any better!"
Thranduil immediately regretted his outburst and took a deep, steadying breath.
It was not fair to lash out at his daughter even if she hit out at him. He needed to keep his head - to offer what little comfort there was to be found. His daughter had only arrived back from patrol the previous afternoon, to the mess and horror that Legolas' capture had left behind. Of course she was scared and lashing out.
Thranduil closed his eyes, took another deep breath in then slowly out, crossed the space over to his bristling daughter and folded her into a hug. He must not have strife with the sole remaining member of family he currently had within arm's reach.
"I am trying Rithel. I promise you I am trying."
Rithel would not be comforted and struggled free of his embrace.
"We need to march upon Dol Guldur. They will be taking him there."
Thranduil shook his head. "I cannot commit an entire battalion to the horrors and death Dol Guldur promises without certainty your brother has been carried there."
"But where else could they have possibly taken him?!"
"I know not the minds of orcs Rithel, for I am not one. I only know neither the Southern Patrol nor the scouts we have sent to watch the path to the dread tower have yet reported any sightings of yrch or your brother."
"But…that is the site of their vile nest…I am sure of it. Where else could they be going?"
Thranduil dragged a tired hand over his face. "They might be going to any of the many dark and dank holes the yrch have scattered across Rhovanion and beyond. They might be headed to the East Bight, or the Misty Mountains, or the Mountains of Mirkwood or even as you say - Dol Guldur. We just…we have yet to find evidence of any of it."
Thranduil shook his head as he again contemplated the mystery that had been set before him. "It is as though they have vanished from the face of Arda. And I know…I just know there is some dark, disgusting little path they will have taken - some road we do not know of…but I promise you iell-nin, we will search until we find some clue - anything to tell us where your brother has been taken to. But until such a time as proof is found I cannot send an entire legion of elves out to Dol Guldur. I cannot risk the lives of many for the one - even if that one happens to be my own son."
Rithel sagged in defeat and Thranduil embraced her once again. Clinging tight to one child even as his mind desperately sought answers about the other.
~o~
Sauron gazed in satisfaction as Ruhsuk and his orcs returned having accomplished their mission of freeing Gollum from the ruthless imprisonment of the elves, and even better and most importantly they'd brought him an elf as ordered.
And what an elf.
The blonde creature before him had evidently suffered some of Ruhsuk's 'hospitality' but it was nothing that could not be fixed and dealt with, and despite this rough treatment the elf's inner light still shone.
Bright, and glorious and delicious.
Sauron would enjoy sucking it from the elf's very soul.
The Dark Lord praised his orc captain and troops before he sent them off to find their rest, fill their bellies and slake their lust.
And then it was just him and the elf who looked up at him with wide, blue, horrified eyes.
He shook and Sauron could not be sure if it was from cold, shock or fear.
"N-Ne-Necromancer."
Sauron smiled. It was an unholy and terrible sight and he chuckled at the name he'd been bestowed by mortals and elves alike, who were too scared to acknowledge who their hearts told them he truly was.
"Welcome my elven friend to Dol Guldur. I am called Sauron. What is your name?"
~o~
"S-Sauron!"
Legolas hated the tremble in his voice but could not hope to stop it in face of the chilling dread that emanated from the dark figure before him. Wreathed with shadowy wisps of Darkness and small tendrils of flame, the being before him oozed malevolence and terror.
And Legolas was completely and utterly petrified.
For this - this Necromancer was no mannish sorcerer as they had presumed all this time, but Sauron himself. The Evil One. The Dark Lord.
Legolas stared, stupefied in terror. He could not make any of his limbs work nor could he find his voice again as the true, ghastly horror of his predicament made itself fully known to him.
"What, has the warg got your tongue?" The demonic being before Legolas taunted - a hint of amusement in the fell voice.
Sauron took several steps closer and even then Legolas could not move - struck by an unholy terror the likes of which he hadn't even imagined existed. He could only stare into the soulless eyes that coldly studied him, dumbstruck.
"It matters not if you want to keep your elven name from me. For you shall have no need for it ever again. You see, I have nine wraiths of men but have long wanted an elven wraith, have long wanted to taint those who think themselves the purest upon Arda - and you my pretty friend are the one upon whom I shall bestow this honour. I will cleanse you of all your Light and teach you the ways of the Dark. And you shall be known by your new name - Môrbaneth!"
Legolas found it in himself to react at last and recoiled at the new name - Dark Beauty - and the sinister plans that had been laid out for his future. He found new strength then, surged to his feet and turned to run.
He knew of course he could not escape; but the entrance to Dol Guldur was very high up and Legolas knew, elf or no, he'd not survive if he jumped.
Which he had every intention of doing…except…after only a few desperate steps he found he could not move.
He'd been struck immobile - could not so much as twitch his littlest finger, but was instead suspended mid-step and forced to suffer through the chilling sensation of Sauron slowly approaching.
Please kill me, please kill me, please kill me. Oh Elbereth, Yavanna, Mandos please - take my soul - I beg of thee…
Legolas' desperate mental pleas and prayers went unanswered and he was forced to look upon the dread face of Sauron once more.
"There is no escape from this place for you Môrbaneth - not until you have been cleansed from and taught how to resist the Light. Now come."
Legolas felt himself being forced backward into Dol Guldur proper.
"Let us begin."
Legolas screamed.
A heart rending and torturous sound as he despaired over the fact that he was to be shut away and tormented within Dol Guldur, so close and yet so far from his people…broken into an instrument of evil right here upon the very border of his Adar's kingdom.
The great wrought doors of the dread tower shut behind them with an almighty clang cutting off all light.
Legolas screamed again.
~o~
One year later an Elven Princess had sailed; her heart broken beyond repair over the plight of her beloved baby brother, Rithel had taken ship on the very cusp of fading. The grief over Legolas' continued capture had been too much for her kind heart to bear.
The day she'd felt her bond with her brother sever was the very day she'd steered her horse West in the direction of Mithlond and never looked back.
~o~
One year later Elven King Thranduil rode out in wrath and despair - the leader of ever daring and dangerous raids into the very southernmost parts of his kingdom. He had handed over day to day rule of said kingdom to his Regent and spent all his time out on the hunt for orcs, spiders, wargs and anything or anyone else he deemed a threat to his people. He would lose no one else - of that he was determined. And so he fought, day in, day out.
The place in his heart where he'd once been able to feel the love of and bonds with his children now an empty shell which Thranduil sought to fill by his continued quests of vengeance. He would cleanse the Wood of all evil in the name of his children…
Or die trying.
~o~
One year later Môrbaneth, comfortably astride his winged Fell Beast, took to the skies for the first time. He was draped head to toe in black save for his silver, spiked gauntlets and the circlet of white gems the Dark Master permitted him to wear upon his ghoulish head.
He flew high up over the towers of his home, Dol Guldur, before he drove his Beast down and in the direction of the Woodland Realm of the elves. The Dark Master said the elves had gotten bold of late - led by their King ever further south and dealing death to all of the Master's workers.
That could not be allowed to stand. The elves must be taught their place.
Môrbaneth gave an ear splitting, fear-inducing, ungodly shriek as he set his sights firmly upon the Woodland Realm.
A new Nazgûl, the tenth wraith of Sauron, had been born.
END.
Gwaem – Let's go
Maethyr – (plural) Warriors
Yrch – (Plural of Orch) – Sindarin for Orcs
Orch - Sindarin for Orc
Fëa – (Quenya) Soul
Eledhrim – Elves
Naneth – Mother
Ellon – Male elf
Aran-nin - My King
Ernil – Prince
Daer-Adar - Grandfather
Adar – Father
Iell-nin – My Daughter
Môrbaneth – Dark Beauty
Black Speech:
Gulug – (Black Speech) - Elf
Horses:
Diomedes – Thranduil's horse – (Greek) Cunning Warrior
A/N: So do let me know what you think of my dark, little tale. There will be more to come as I find time and inspiration – but for now I hope this first in my Dark AU 'What-If' series has entertained you. Drop me a one-liner and let me know what you think - KimicT.
