T.A. 2941.
"Good morning!" he said at last. "We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water." By this he meant that the conversation was at an end.
"What a lot of things you do use good morning for!" said Gandalf. "Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that it won't be good till I move off." **
Bilbo smiled broadly at the wizard. "See, now you've got the idea! So, do be a good chap and leave me be - I quite intended to have nothing more than a quiet smoke and a cup of tea…perhaps a cake or two…though you've quite put me off my food with all that talk of adventures."
Bilbo shook his head at the absurdity of it - after all, whom did the wizard take him for? Some hare-brained Took?
He gave a small disbelieving chuckle and turned his attention to relighting his pipe, which had gone out as he'd spoken with Gandalf. The Longbottom Leaf caught alight once more and Bilbo took a satisfying pull on his pipe.
"Good morning!"
Gandalf, disgusted by the hobbit's attitude and sensing a lost cause, turned and shuffled off grumbling under his breath all the while about the decline in hobbit society and politeness.
And Bilbo, at last freed of the wizard's disturbing presence and even more disturbing talk of adventures, settled himself down comfortably on his bench and put the entire encounter from his mind.
~o~
T.A. 2951
Sauron felt good; not back to his full unbridled strength, but certainly strong enough to openly declare himself and begin with the rebuilding of Barad-dûr.
He had hidden in the shadows for long enough, and it was now time to begin making moves to, this time, fully conquer Middle Earth.
~o~
T.A. 3011
Gollum, when captured by Sauron's forces, had no tales to tell of "Shire" nor "hobbits".
Instead his life was spared when the Dark Lord found that the "precious" the miserable little creature was so loathe to part with was none other than his One.
His Ring.
Sauron smiled (a devastatingly evil thing that cracked any and every mirror it was turned upon) as he slowly and reverently placed the Ring back upon his finger. Back where it belonged.
The surge of power he felt was instantaneous and intoxicating, and gave the Dark Lord a heady rush that was likely responsible for the rash plan he came up with next.
He would attack Rhovanion; push northwards and conquer those lands so that the entire East would be under his dominion. Yes, it was a good plan to start with, and there was only one who might foil it - Thranduil Oropherion.
Sauron knew, thanks to reports sent by Khamûl from Dol Guldur, that the Elven King was strong, wily, and wilful. He did not give up easily and had instilled a similar attitude in his people, and particularly in his warriors who dealt bloody death to any and all of Sauron's servants.
So yes, Thranduil was a problem - one that would need special handling - for if Sauron could be rid of him then he was certain it would be no time at all before he could subjugate the elven kingdom of the Woodland Realm.
It would be a tricky business to assassinate the Elven King, but Sauron knew just the orc for the job.
"Send for Shakk," Sauron barked, "have him brought to me immediately."
~o~
"Oi Shakk!"
Not bothering to restrain a grunt of annoyance, Shakk looked up and snarled at the one who had interrupted him from sharpening his beloved daggers.
"What is it Burz?"
Shakk's tone was unfriendly in the extreme with the hope that Burz would take the hint and sod off and leave him in peace to continue with the maintenance of his daggers.
They were beautiful daggers, lifted from the corpse of some cocksure nobleman from Minas Tirith, who'd wandered too close to Minas Morgul when Shakk happened to be on patrol. They had hilts fitted with gemstones that Shakk did not know the names of, and blades of steel - not the poorly forged iron they often had to make do with - and Shakk liked to keep them sharpened and polished. They were a great source of pride and enjoyment to him. Enjoyment that Burz was currently spoiling.
Unfortunately for Shakk, Burz showed no sign of leaving. Instead, he strolled up to the table Shakk was working at and leaned down over him - blocking the already weak lamplight and thus forcing Shakk to stop his work and look up at him.
"What is it?" Shakk repeated with a good deal more menace.
"It's the Dark Master - he wants ya to go up and see him."
Shakk furrowed his brow; he could think of no reason for Sauron to summon him - he had been performing satisfactorily - more than, if his recent promotion to Captain was any indicator.
And despite his recent rise in rank Shakk felt shocked that the Dark Master would even know his name…for he was just one among the rank upon rank of orcs in the Dark Lord's army.
With a sense of foreboding, Shakk prompted Burz to speak.
"Did the Dark Master say what it was about?"
"No, just said to summon ya - so ya better get ya flee bitten hide up there."
Burz grinned down at him and Shakk, unable to stand his fellow's overbearing smugness, gave him a shove as he stood that sent Burz flying into the wall opposite.
"Alright," Shakk sneered, "you don't have to crowd me Burz - I'm going and I don't need your company."
Burz growled in inarticulate rage behind him but Shakk was already out of the door and into the gloomy corridors beyond.
On his way to see the Dark Master.
~o~
"Ah, Captain Shakk - a pleasure. Do be seated."
Shakk sat. Sauron's voice was deep, commanding and sent small shivers of fear racing up and down Shakk's back.
Shakk did not like being in close proximity with him; he was more than happy to do the Dark Master's bidding - and always did so with excellence (if he did say so himself) - but he did not like having direct contact with the Dark Lord. For Sauron was a dark, eldritch horror that oozed malevolence. A malevolence he often turned upon his orc servants in his many fits of rage.
Many a good orc had died by the Dark Master's hand, and Shakk really hoped he was not about to become one of them.
And so Shakk sat and he listened. Listened as Sauron expounded upon a plan to take all of Rhovanion; starting with taking down the elven kingdom of the Woodland Realm by first assassinating their King - an assassination Shakk was being put in charge of.
"So Captain Shakk - I trust you understand now what is expected of you…and I trust that you will not fail me?"
Shakk opened his mouth once, then twice and finally at third attempt was able to emit the shocked sounding words.
"You want me to kill Elven King Thranduil Oropherion, Dark Master?"
Sauron nodded, a pleased look upon his face. "Exactly that - once you take care of him I have no doubt his kingdom will then fall and be mine. You shall have full command of two battalions -"
"Two battalions, Your Malevolence?"
Shakk could not hold in his surprise, and instantly flinched backwards upon realising he'd interrupted the Dark Lord. Sauron however paid no attention to his egregious slip in decorum and only nodded before he continued.
"Yes, two battalions will be needed - we want to draw out the Elven King - and he will not come unless he deems the threat to be sufficient enough to demand his presence, for he has much trust in his patrols and army. And so you shall lead your orcs to march en-masse upon the Woodland Realm - two thousand orcs will certainly be enough to get Oropher's whelp to come running. Then you shall kill him. I won't demand you bring me his head or anything of the kind but I do expect you to kill him in a timely manner. As for the manner of Thranduil Oropherion's demise - I shall leave that entirely up to you, for I have heard much tell of your quick-wittedness which is why this task is being given to you, along with the new rank of Commander that will be needed to take charge of the battalions. Now, is everything understood Commander Shakk?"
Commander…
Shakk was reeling. He had no idea what he had done to end up in Sauron's plans, to be trusted with a task such as this, to be given a new rank apropos of nothing, and worst of all he had no idea how he was meant to kill Thranduil Orc-Bane. He had heard the tales, and the Elf King and his army were foes Shakk had hoped to forever avoid. Yet here he was being commanded to not just face them, but to kill their much famed and feared leader.
Shakk withheld his sigh and snapped off a quick salute. "Of course Your Darkness, I understand what is required and will see it done."
For what else could he say?
Sauron gave a smile that threatened to turn Shakk's knees to jelly.
"Good. I will send the summons out to those who are to make up your battalions and have the quartermasters prepare things for you all. You are to depart for Dol Guldur in three days' time and make it your base of operations. You are to report to Khamûl on your arrival but the command of the battalions is yours and yours alone - you will direct this campaign upon the wood elves as you see fit. I shall follow behind in due course once I have dealt with a few things here. Now, dismissed!"
Shakk gave another sharp salute and strode from the room, mind awhirl.
~o~
Waiting until he was well outside of Sauron's earshot, Shakk stomped his way through the eerily glowing corridors in an aggravated and aggrieved manner.
Kill Thranduil Orc-Bane indeed! And Shakk supposed he was just to wiggle his claws and his wish would be granted.
Shakk rolled his eyes; the Dark Master made it all sound so simple, so easy but he knew it would be anything but. Sauron had praised Shakk for his cleverness but the orc knew that the Elven King was just as wily as he, if not more so.
Shakk knew he needed to come up with a plan - something intricate and detailed. But alas for him his mind was still far too preoccupied with the fact that he was now a Commander of not one but two battalions, and the appointed assassin of Thranduil Oropherion.
Blessed Morgoth take him.
Shakk came to a decision; he might not yet have a plan for killing the Elven King, but he could at least prepare himself for doing so, and with that thought foremost in his mind he made for the armouries of Minas Morgul.
It didn't take Shakk long to get there and even less time for him to bark out orders about which weapons and poisons he wanted to the armoury quartermasters.
As he waited for them to gather what he'd requested, Shakk strolled over to the old trestle table that the ironmongers tended to use to display their latest work. Shakk let his eyes roam over the display with no true interest in anything until his eyes alighted upon a dagger right at the very end.
Its hilt was nothing special - nothing at all like his own precious, bejewelled trophy daggers - just plain black, ridged leather that gave way to a long, narrow blade that was made of steel.
Shakk's eyes gleamed at the realisation and he picked up the blade for closer inspection. Good steel blades were such a rarity.
There was some wear upon the blade; it was pitted and scratched in places, but after a thorough examination, Shakk's experienced eye assured him that despite its somewhat battered and old look it was still a very serviceable dagger.
One that Shakk decided he would be helping himself to as both recompense for the Thranduil-shaped trouble that was about to come his way, and as a congratulatory gift for his unwanted promotion to Commander.
"Yer weapons are ready!"
Feeling pleased for the first time since he'd been summoned to see the Dark Master, Shakk secured his new dagger to his belt before he turned to collect his personal arsenal, the problem of Thranduil Orc-Bane rolling round and round in his mind.
~o~
Shakk cautiously picked his way across the active battlefield; he did not stop, did not allow himself to look in the direction of the numerous sounds of shouting, cursing, weapons clashing, grunting and pain. He had a singular destination in mind; he would let nothing sway him from it.
For just ahead, a mere three or so yards away, was Thranduil Oropherion - Shakk's target.
The blonde Elf King was distracted, busily fighting away with the orcs Shakk had commanded to set upon him. Likewise, the King's bodyguards had also been engaged - Shakk having ordered that each one of them be set upon by ten orcs.
Shakk dropped to lay belly down on the ground and observed the scene before him for a moment. He was dead proud of his boys; they had done exactly as he requested and were keeping both Thranduil and his guards busy, as well as slowly separating them from one another.
A fact neither party had yet noticed and Shakk decided that this was his moment. He would move in now and attack Thranduil. He was not likely to get a better shot at it than this. Especially not since the Elven King was rapidly mowing down Shakk's brave warriors - indeed only two of the ten that Shakk had set upon him remained. The orc Commander needed to make his move - now.
Still remaining upon the ground, Shakk crawled toward the Elven King (who continued to fight viciously - his back to Shakk all the while) with his newest dagger in hand.
Shakk never brought his jewelled daggers to active battle scenes like this lest they be lost, but he had no qualms about using the one he'd found back in Minas Morgul - worn and battered looking as it already was. It would be no great loss were he to misplace it.
Shakk tightened his grip upon the weathered, leather wrapped hilt and inched just a tad closer.
He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, willing his rapidly beating heart to calm, and as Thranduil dispatched his final opponent, Shakk jumped up and stabbed his dagger hilt deep into the King's upper thigh, getting him just below the hip.
The Elven King yelled in pain even as Shakk quickly yanked the dagger free, only to watch in utter confusion as the blade melted away into mist and left him holding naught but the leather bound hilt.
Shakk was so puzzled and distracted by the sight of the disappearing blade that it very nearly cost him his life, and he only just managed to throw himself to the ground once more to avoid a swing of Thranduil's blade that would have seen him decapitated.
Shakk rolled to avoid another thrust of wicked elven blades toward his middle, before he picked himself up off the ground and ran as fast as his legs would allow. Behind him, Thranduil Orc-Bane cursed in incoherent rage and Shakk pushed himself to go all the faster toward the thick, prickly brambles that marked the boundaries of Dol Guldur and the safety it promised.
Something flew past him - an elven arrow - and Shakk forced himself to pump his arms and legs all the harder.
It had all gone so wrong; the Elven King was supposed to be lying on the ground and bleeding out - for Shakk had been sure to aim for that upper area of the thigh that he knew held vital arteries. But the sodding blade had let him down - had melted into nothing somehow… perhaps it was one of those cursed items that could not abide the Light of the elves?
Another arrow whistled by, so close that it grazed the tip of Shakk's ear and the orc Commander took a diving leap into the brambles that were a few feet ahead.
The night was a disaster - one Shakk would not see further exacerbated by being pierced through with one of Thranduil Orc-Bane's arrows.
He crawled along the ground for a long few moments into the ever thickening brambles and brush until he was certain that no arrow, regardless of elven aim, would be able to find him.
Breathing hard and frothing at the mouth, Shakk pulled himself into a seated position and stared down at the hilt of the dagger he still clutched.
There remained no blade… not even a hint of where it had once joined to the hilt. It was completely gone as though it had never existed and Shakk had never seen anything of the like.
He sighed long and deep and resisted the urge to fling the useless dagger from him. The Dark Master would be expecting a report, and it would be best if Shakk had definitive proof of why he had failed in his task of slaying the Elven King.
~o~
"Shakk," Sauron nodded as his Commander walked into his audience chambers. "I trust you bring me good news from the battlefield - news that our dear friend the Elven King has passed on, perhaps?"
Sauron felt that was a reasonable assumption to make seeing as Shakk was muddied, his armour in total disarray, and he had a thin trail of blood running down the side of his face - seemingly originating from his ear.
Shakk bowed low before him.
"Forgive me Your Most Excellent Terror but I'm afraid I have no such news for you."
Sauron took in a deep breath and held it - he would not kill Shakk on the spot - it was far too hard to find and train good Commander-worthy orcs. The Dark Lord released his breath slowly. He would instead let Shakk speak and see what the orc had to say in regards to his abominable failure.
"Speak!"
Despite deciding to spare his Commander an immediate death, Sauron's command was terse and it pleased him to see Shakk's knees knock together.
"It was a faulty weapon, Your Horror. I took a blade from the armouries of Minas Morgul - a wicked looking steel one, and I thought all would be well - but it failed me. The blade simply disappeared and did no harm to Thranduil Orc-Bane whatsoever."
"It disappeared?"
Shakk nodded earnestly as Sauron narrowed his eyes down at him from where he sat high on his spiked throne, and the Dark Lord suddenly had a funny feeling about this so-called 'faulty' weapon.
For his own dagger - known for its temporarily disappearing blade - had gone missing. He had been most aggravated when time had come for him to depart Minas Morgul and his Morgul blade had been nowhere to be found.
He'd had his servants search the eerily glowing tower high and low, and had even questioned the eight resident Nazgûl on its whereabouts.
Yet despite this the blade remained missing and Sauron had reluctantly taken his leave, though not before leaving strict instructions for Minas Morgul to be thoroughly searched from top to bottom.
Alas for his servants, they would be engaged in a pointless task; for the blade had not gone missing after all it seemed, but had been appropriated by an enterprising orc Commander.
"Show me this dagger with the disappearing blade," Sauron snapped.
Shakk, with a slight tremble to his hands, held forth none other than the hilt of the Dark Lord's very own Morgul knife.
Sauron growled in aggravation. "That is no mere mortal dagger - but my own enchanted, Morgul blade. When a victim is stabbed the very tip of it breaks off and remains in the wound whilst the rest of the blade disappears into mist. Why did you take it? Where did you even come upon it?"
"I - I'm sorry Your Monstrosity, I meant no harm. I found the blade unattended in the armoury and decided that as it was good, sharp steel it would be the perfect tool to help me dispatch the Elven King. Had I known it was yours I would have brought it straight back to you Dark Master."
Shakk threw himself onto his knees and bowed his face to the cold, black stone. "Please forgive your servant for this blunder. I will make it right, I promise."
Sauron continued to stare down at Shakk even as he mulled over the current turn of events. It was not what he planned, not what he wanted, but he could work with it. It was not a total loss - for even now the Elven King would be slowly being poisoned, and with any luck his healers would not be able to stop it in time.
Indeed, if things went well, Sauron would have his first ever elven wraith.
And what a wonderful thing that would be - to have Oropher's whelp in his thrall.
The Dark Lord felt a frisson of excitement - such a thing had never been done before, they hadn't even bothered with attempting it before - elves always proving far too wily for any of his Nine to get close enough to stab them. Who would have thought that all one needed to do to make a wraith of an elf was use an orc?
Sauron let a slow, wicked smile cross his face.
"Arise Shakk, neither worry nor prostrate yourself any longer - for all is not lost."
"It - it's not?"
"It is not and you shall indeed make things right," Sauron intoned, before he explained with ever increasing excitement the process of wraith-making…
"…and then once Thranduil Oropherion is showing sufficient signs of the wraith-poisoning, you will report it to me and I will take care of everything else."
The Dark Lord watched with satisfaction as Shakk gave him another deep and obedient bow, before the orc Commander turned to depart for his newest task.
~o~
Shakk slumped out and away from Sauron's lair with an air of bewilderment, as he wondered for the umpteenth time since Sauron had first summoned him, just how he'd ended up in this predicament.
What had he done to deserve all this? To first be put in charge of two very loud, very rowdy, very ill-disciplined battalions; then to be assigned as would-be assassin of Thranduil Orc-Bane; to now having been saddled with a task that was effectively baby-sitting - watching and waiting for the Elf King to succumb to the wraith-poisoning.
Shakk let his feet drag upon the cold stone floors of Dol Guldur's shadowed corridors as he made his slow, resentful way back to the battlefield, silently bemoaning his lot in life the entire way.
~o~
Thranduil stared after the audacious orc that had now disappeared into the thorny brambles that marked the borders of Dol Guldur, and gnashed his teeth in annoyance. It would be difficult and beyond foolish to chase after the orc any further.
Feeling aggrieved and in no small amount of pain from the stab wound the orc had inflicted upon him, Thranduil stomped his way back over to the elven side of the battlefield.
His initial anger at being stabbed by the orc was fast being replaced by his worry over what the orc had stabbed him with…
"Aran-nin manen le?"
The concerned question came rather predictably from his worry-wart bodyguard Arodon, but Thranduil was quick to brush him off. He had no desire for any to see just how much his encounter with the orc had rattled him.
Instead the Elven King filled his voice with a confidence he did not feel in that moment.
"Im maer - do not trouble yourself. The orc escaped me but it is of no consequence. Now come, I believe the archers wish for some support on the west side."
"Of course Aran-nin. Lead on."
~o~
After what felt like a small eternity that had been filled with him barking orders, and fighting off yet more of the accursed yrch, Thranduil was at long last alone in his designated tent for the night.
With his worry now an overpowering and almost tangible thing, Thranduil made quick work of unbuckling his belt and loosening his trousers so that he might get a proper look at the wound he'd been dealt earlier…
With trembling hands the blonde King pulled down his small clothes and looked at the wound in the upper junction of his thigh just below his hip.
It bled sluggishly, but apart from that it looked exactly like any of the other stab wounds Thranduil had dealt with over the course of his long life. The sight should have been a relief to him - to see no obvious sign of infection nor poisoning - but the blonde couldn't shake the feeling of unease he had in regards to the weapon he thought was used to inflict his wound.
For Thranduil thought he'd seen the orc's blade disappear into mist when it had been pulled free from his skin.
And if that was indeed the case, then that would make Thranduil's wound a Morgul one…
But surely that could not be right…for what on Arda would a common orc be doing with a Morgul blade - feared weapon of the Nazgûl?
Thranduil looked at the slowly bleeding wound again before he gave a firm shake of his head. He was being ridiculous. Of course he hadn't been stabbed with a Morgul blade, and by an orc no less!
Nay, that was an entirely ridiculous notion.
It had been dark when Thranduil had tangled with the orc. Dark and shadowy and the adrenalin had been pumping hard through Thranduil's veins. What he thought he'd seen was simply the product of a stressed and overworked imagination.
He would clean and bandage the wound himself - there was no need to get his overly concerned bodyguards involved - and put the entire matter far from his mind.
All would be well.
~o~
As soon as it was light enough to see clearly, Thranduil sat up from the pallet bed upon which he'd tossed and turned and gained no meaningful rest the previous night. For he hadn't been able to fully convince himself that the blade the orc had stabbed him with had not dissipated into grey mist.
He'd spent the entire night worried about the wound he'd been dealt; debating with himself on whether or not it had been inflicted by a Morgul blade, and as a new day dawned bright and clear Thranduil began to tear the bandages away from his wounded upper thigh, eager to check the wound for any signs of Darkness or poison that may have manifested during the night.
Letting the last strip of blood stained bandage fall away Thranduil found himself looking at…a perfectly normal, if still somewhat sore looking, stab wound.
The relief was instant and Thranduil barked a laugh at how utterly silly he was being.
He had clearly been seeing things the previous night. After all, would he not already be feeling some effect by now if he indeed bore the wound of a Morgul knife?
With a chuckle once again at his absurd fears, Thranduil re-bandaged his thigh, put on a fresh uniform, followed by his armour, re-armed himself and strode out of his tent, ready for another day of slaughtering orcs.
~o~
Quick as a flash Thranduil turned his head to where he was sure he'd seen beady, yellow eyes peering at him only to stare into…nothing.
The King gave an aggravated sigh. He was quite sure that the orc that had stabbed him had been in the shadowy corner but a mere moment ago…
Thranduil gathered his cloak tightly about him, turned and began to make his slow way across the battlefield quagmire of bloodied mud. He picked his way across the mess, careful not to step on any stray limbs or other body parts, as he made his way resolutely back toward the elven camp and his designated tent.
The Elven King had had quite enough of everything for one day.
He was exhausted from fighting the seemingly unending waves upon waves of orcs, and if he was being truly honest with himself he felt a tad unwell. He'd felt cold and shivery from the moment he'd awoken - which was why despite it being midsummer the blonde had a light cloak draped round him. Worse, his stab wound had now begun to throb in time with his heartbeat in an abominably painful manner.
And if all that were not enough, in the three days it had been since Thranduil had been stabbed he'd seen the orc responsible out of the corners of his eyes no less than twelve times. At least - he was sure it was the same orc - he couldn't say for certain, as every time Thranduil turned to look at the beast head on he disappeared. It was all very aggravating.
And mildly concerning…
As was the way the pain in his wounded thigh was becoming stronger seemingly by the minute.
Doing his best not to limp, Thranduil at last made it to his tent whereupon he gave terse instructions that he was to be left alone and undisturbed save for any major disaster.
He barely heard the acquiescence of his guards so focussed was he on getting behind the sealed tent flaps so that he might inspect his stab wound once again.
Thranduil made quick work of removing armour, clothing and bandages before he stared in dismay at what was revealed to him. The wound had gotten worse - much, much worse.
Where before it had been a raw, sore-looking red, it was now dark around the edges of the wound - with congealed blood so dark it seemed almost black - slowly oozing from its centre. There were also thin black tendrils that led from the wound's centre and spread outwards across his upper thigh, and the skin surrounding the stab wound was a pale, ashen grey and cold to the touch.
The Elven King pursed his lips; it seemed the wound had been poisoned after all - that much was certain. It was likely a slow acting poison - such was not unheard of amongst the orcs. And yet…
Thranduil rested his fingertips against the skin surrounding the wound once more before he pulled back from the icy chill that emanated.
The coldness of the wound gave the blonde King pause, and he again wondered whether his initial, panicked assessment had been correct, and this was indeed a wound inflicted by a Morgul blade. For usually poisoned or infected wounds gave off heat, his skin would be hot to the touch rather than this peculiar and somewhat concerning chill.
But then again this could be some new form of orc poison they'd yet to encounter…
Feeling far too tired (and cold) to give the conundrum any further thought, Thranduil carefully bathed the wound with athelas infused water and redressed both it and himself before he sent for Duron.
Duron was the most skilled healer amongst Thranduil's Elite, and the Elven King decided he'd tell his Avari bodyguard that he'd been nicked by a suspected poisoned blade, and have Duron bring him the standard antidote used in such scenarios.
Hopefully the antidote coupled with a good night's rest would put an end to Thranduil's malady and see him swiftly returned to full health.
~o~
Health was not swift in returning to Thranduil.
In fact the Elven King found that he'd gotten slightly worse if anything; he was continuously cold now and had had the quartermasters procure him a thicker cloak and wrapped himself into its sumptuous folds both day and night regardless of the high summer humidity.
The wound wasn't really healing either, despite the bitter doses of medicine and continuous washings of athelas infused water Thranduil subjected himself to. It continued to remain an open sore that oozed black blood and the inky, black tendrils had spread further across his skin up to just below his navel and down to just above his knee.
The pain had subsided however and that fact was enough for Thranduil to continue to try and handle his healing himself. Time - that was what his wound needed - time.
It was a slow acting poison and an equally slow healing one…or so Thranduil did his best to convince himself, even as he continued to fight and project an aura of strength he did not truly feel.
For the alternative - confronting his fear that this was indeed a Morgul wound - felt far too overwhelmingly terrible for Thranduil contemplate.
He had not the time for it. There was a war to be won. A war that demanded his full concentration.
Concentration that Thranduil found irritatingly disturbed by the continued sightings of his would-be orc assassin.
He'd yet to actually manage to spot the orc directly - the beast only ever seemed to be visible out of the very corners of Thranduil's eyes. It was both maddening and concerning - for was the orc real? Or was Thranduil hallucinating?
Seeing yet another orc shaped flicker in the corner of his right eye Thranduil gnashed his teeth together in determination.
He would put an end to this.
~o~
The next few days saw Thranduil paying rather close attention to each flickered sighting of the orc, all while he was careful to seem as though he were blissfully unaware of his beastly shadow.
Carefully the Elven King took stock of and noticed everything he was able to about the orc that followed him about - for he was certain now that the orc was very real and definitely tracking him - Thranduil - in particular.
The blonde suppressed a smile; he would continue to act oblivious and play hide-and-seek with the orc a while longer. Thranduil was no longer the only one being monitored, being tracked…the orc, though it did not yet know it, was also under studious observation.
Thranduil was patient, he could wait for the opportune moment to pounce upon the orch that stalked him and demand the answers he desperately sought.
The most pressing of which being - what on Arda had the orc stabbed him with?
~o~
Shakk would have sighed deeply and gustily were it not for the fact that it would give away his current position where he had a perfect vantage point for observing the current bane of his life - Elven King Thranduil Oropherion.
Shakk studied his unwitting nemesis; the blonde still looked exactly as elven as he had the night Shakk had stabbed him with what he now knew to be a Morgul blade. A fact that infuriated the orc Commander no end.
He'd thought to see some change in the Elf King by now, yet Thranduil Orc-Bane continued to look as hale as could be, and continued to make a great nuisance of himself by mercilessly slaughtering Shakk's men. He was as strong as ever, and Shakk felt dread begin to creep over him as he thought about the report he'd have to make to Sauron later that night. For Shakk was not the only one getting impatient with King Thranduil's continued non-transformation.
The Dark Master had long lost patience with Shakk and his nightly reports of no change in the Elf King. Sauron had become increasingly volatile and angry with each negative report and the previous night had seen him finally snap and lash out…
"...and so I am afraid that there still remains no changes in Thranduil Oropherion to report as yet, Your Dreadfulness."
"It has been nigh a week Commander - what do you mean there are no changes as yet? Are you certain you know what you are looking for?"
Sauron's voice was a low and dangerous rumble and Shakk took a deep, fortifying breath before he replied.
"Aye Dark Master, I know the signs of wraith-poisoning I am to look out for but unfortunately King Thranduil has yet to present with any of said symptoms."
"Which leads me to wonder Commander whether you even actually stabbed the elven bastard! Are you certain you stabbed him and did not just cut or graze him with the blade? For transformation into a wraith will only take place if the victim has actually been stabbed!"
Shakk felt annoyed at the accusations of incompetence that he felt Sauron was hinting at, and in a stupid moment of frustration let a glib answer slip past his lips.
"I think I know the difference between a cut and a stab wound, Dark Master."
Too late he realised his insubordination, yet ere he could say a word to make things right and correct himself Sauron had him by the throat - his demonic power wrapped round Shakk's neck, choking him tightly.
Sauron gave a flick of his wrist and Shakk found himself pulled forward to stare into the soulless depths of Sauron's hate filled eyes.
"Do not think to get smart with me Commander! This entire debacle is of your making and you will put it right. Now get back out there and do as I have commanded you!"
Shakk shivered as he remembered the horrifying feeling of gasping for breath, all whilst Sauron had screamed in his face, before the Dark Lord had finally tossed him into a wall.
The orc rubbed ruefully at a sore spot on his arms caused by his collision with the unforgiving black stone of Dol Guldur; he really hoped that by the end of his watch he'd see even the most miniscule of signs that Thranduil Orc-Bane was at last beginning to succumb. Shakk really didn't want to be thrown or choked again.
Shakk forced the dark memories of the previous night's report to the very back of his mind, and turned his full attention back upon his quarry - only to find that the Elf King had disappeared.
With a small, aggravated huff Shakk shuffled forward a tad more, beady eyes rapidly tracking over the scene before him as he sought out the now rather familiar form of Thranduil Oropherion.
Where had he gotten to? He'd been there but a mere minute ago - Shakk had only been lost in his memories for a moment or two at most - and yet the Elven King was suddenly nowhere to be seen.
The orc Commander scanned the scene before him as he pondered the small mystery and searched out the King's ash blonde hair, when suddenly hands were upon him.
One very firmly clamped across his mouth whilst the other had grabbed Shakk's left arm and forced it at a painful angle up behind his back.
Feeling panicked, for he was deep in elven territory, Shakk did his best to shake himself free; but his captor was strong and unyielding, and the orc Commander found himself forcefully dragged away, deep into the dank shadows that surrounded the elven camp.
~o~
As suddenly as the hands had landed upon him they released him, and Shakk was roughly spun around to find himself facing none other than a very angry looking Thranduil Orc-Bane.
Shakk cringed backwards. The Elven King's Light shone brightly, and coupled with his general aura of Goodness it hurt Shakk to look this closely upon him.
"Please," he whimpered as he threw up an arm to block the painful Light from his eyes. "Do not…do not come any closer - you are…you're hurting me."
The Elven King scoffed and took another menacing step closer - a move that saw Shakk desperately scramble further backwards. He'd never been so close to an elf – never mind one as powerful as King Thranduil - and it was proving to be an entirely excruciating experience.
"Please," Shakk pleaded once more, uncaring of how pathetic he was coming across.
Thranduil Orc-Bane snorted this time, before he leaned down to growl menacingly in Shakk's half covered face.
"Quit your cringing and fawning orc and face me properly! You were happy enough to stab me some few days ago - and yes I know it was you - so stand up and face me now! Or are you such a coward you only attack when your opponent's back is turned?!"
Shakk cowered all the more; could not stop himself if he tried - for Thranduil Oropherion in a rage was a truly terrifying sight - almost, if not quite as bad, as the Dark Master.
Not for the first time Shakk desperately wished he'd never been noticed by Sauron, promoted and assigned this mission. He was a humble orc - he had no delusions nor aspirations of grandeur - he'd been quite happy to be a regular patrolling foot soldier back in the shadowy, comfortable, blessedly elf-free vale that housed Minas Morgul. Yet here he was - facing down a snarling Thranduil Orc-Bane.
"Well orch scum?"
The Elven King had gotten even closer up in Shakk's still half hidden face, and had once again roughly grabbed hold of him - this time by his collar - and Shakk truly began to panic. He did not want to be choked again so soon.
"D-don't -"
His feeble plea was cut off by another growling snarl from Thranduil.
"If you answer everything I ask - truthfully - then worry not orc, I will let you go. But, if you try to lead me astray, if you refuse me any of the answers I seek, I will cut off each and every one of your extremities - slowly - and show you the true meaning of suffering. Am I clear?"
"C-c-clear…only…only please…please back off a little. Y-your Light…it…it hurts."
There came another scoff from the blonde being but Shakk's collar loosened, and the overwhelming force of Light receded, and the orc Commander peeked over his shielding arm to see Thranduil had indeed taken a large step backwards.
"Well orc?" The Elven King prodded again. "I will step away no further lest you try and escape, so you will just have to deal with my 'Light'. Now, tell me, why did you stab me and more importantly, what did you stab me with?"
Shakk took a deep breath, lowered his arm fully and willed his voice to remain steady. Squinting in the Elven King's general direction (for the Light still bothered him) Shakk stated his answer simply.
"I stabbed you because Lord Sauron commanded it - he wants you dead so that he may overthrow your kingdom and have complete dominion of Rhovanion and the entire East. He chose me to be your assassin."
"Not really Arda's best assassin now, are you orch?" Thranduil Orc-Bane jeered with ill-concealed amusement.
Shakk hung his head a little and huffed with embarrassment, his professional pride hurt, before he squinted up at Thranduil once more.
"I am a good assassin - you are alive only because Lord Sauron changed his mind - decided to make a wraith of you instead. And so you live, for now, because I stabbed you with a Morgul blade. Soon enough however you'll find yourself counted among the undead, and when that happens I shall report it, and Lord Sauron shall come to collect what remains of your soul, and you shall be forever in his thrall."
"What?!"
Shakk tilted his head and studied the Elven King a little more closely - he seemed in shock or disbelief.
"I know it is a lot to take in, but I suggest you just go with it." Shakk decided he'd help the blonde King with a bit of sage advice. "Lord Sauron is a very fair master - so long as you do exactly as he says. He doesn't take to disobedience very kindly - so as I say, best just to go along with his plans. Being a wraith isn't half bad - Khamûl and the Witch King both have some great powers - so you'll still be quite powerful and -"
Shakk once again found himself cut off but this time Thranduil Orc-Bane was laughing rather than snarling at him.
Shakk felt put out and more than a little annoyed that the Elven King had the audacity to just…just laugh at him. Especially after he'd been kind enough to give him some helpful advice.
"What's so funny?"
"You orc!" Thranduil paused to straighten up from where he'd doubled over in laughter and wiped a tear from his eye. "You are utterly ridiculous. The very idea that the Dark Lord would let an orc of all things anywhere near his blade, much less handle it, is completely absurd. Now tell me truly orch - no more of your games - what did you stab me with?"
Stung, Shakk glared at the Elven King. "I am telling you the truth. I am no common orc. I am a Commander - one of Lord Sauron's most trusted servants - and I am telling you, I stuck you with a Morgul blade."
To Shakk's great astonishment Thranduil only scoffed again - a derisive, pitying noise, before he turned and began to make his way back toward the elven camp.
"Begone orc," the Elven King turned to sneer at Shakk over his shoulder. "Begone, you and your fanciful tales - a Morgul blade in the hands of an orc indeed! It matters not that you won't tell me what new poison it is that you have tried using upon me, for I am already healing from it. Your pathetic orcish poisons will never be any match for elven healing. Now disappear and cease in stalking my steps - for if we cross paths again orc it shall be the last thing you ever do."
Still at a loss over Thranduil's adamant disbelief of him, Shakk stared after the blonde helplessly for a long moment, before he hoarsely called out one last warning to the Elven King's retreating back.
"The truth will out - it was a Morgul blade and the wraith-poisoning has already begun. It's only a matter of time - you'll see."
Thranduil Orc-Bane did not look back, only flapped a hand at Shakk as though brushing away a troublesome fly or some such insect, and Shakk couldn't stop the way his shoulders slumped at the dismissal.
Did he truly seem so duplicitous that the Elven King would rather scoff in derision at his word than believe it? Or did Shakk seem so incapable that Thranduil found it laughable?
Shakk gingerly rubbed at a spot on his arm where Thranduil Orc-Bane had held him firm. The spot burned and throbbed - an after effect of the Elf's almost untainted Light.
The orc Commander sighed heavily. It had been a thoroughly disappointing and painful day. One that was sure to get all the worse when he returned to Dol Guldur to report to Sauron, that apart from a new penchant for wearing fur-lined cloaks in the height of summer, there remained still no sign of the wraith-poisoning in Elven King Thranduil.
TBC.
Aran-nin - My King
Manen le – How are you
Im maer –I'm fine/well
Yrch – (Plural of Orch) – Sindarin for Orcs
Orch - Sindarin for Orc
** Quote taken from The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien – Chapter 1: An Unexpected Party, page 7
A/N: So a new fic in my Dark LOTR What If? AU. I do hope you've enjoyed this first chapter, and my oddly well-spoken, completely put upon, new favourite orc: Shakk! Do drop me a one liner and let me know what you think. Chapter 2 will be posted in a week's time. KimicT