"Ai!"
Aglardaer jumped back from where he'd brushed up against Thranduil, and the blonde narrowed his eyes at his best friend as the Crown Commander stumbled into their strategy sand table and almost tipped it over completely.
"What is wrong with you?" Thranduil demanded irritably as he moved to reposition the pieces Aglardaer had disturbed.
"You…you're so cold Thranduil! Freezing to the touch."
Thranduil pressed the back of his hand to his cheek. "I fail to see what you are making such a song and dance about Aglardaer, I feel nothing."
Aglardaer huffed. "Well of course you won't feel a difference, but trust me when I say you're as cold as any of the many orc corpses out there."
"Charming."
Thranduil rolled his eyes before he continued to reposition the pieces on the sand table. Aglardaer however swept his eyes up and down Thranduil's cloak-clad frame and studied him closely for a moment before he spoke again.
"You don't look so good…you're quite pale…actually, pale is being kind. Ashen grey is a more apt descriptor for your current pallor. Seriously Thranduil, are you well? Or does the suspected poison from that cut you gained still trouble you?"
Thranduil pursed his lips in displeasure. "Duron is a damned gossip."
"That's not fair. Duron only told the rest of us about you being nicked by a suspected poison blade as it is protocol for us to all pool our knowledge of your health. Helps us all to be in the know so that we might properly fulfil our pledges."
Thranduil grit his teeth and said nothing. He knew what Aglardaer said concerning Duron and his divulging of Thranduil's ails was correct, but the blonde was not really in the mood for being reasonable.
He simply could not get warm enough, despite the thickness of the fur-lined cloak that all but swallowed him, and he felt absolutely abominable. What was more, Thranduil knew that he looked it too.
So the last thing he needed was for Aglardaer to rub it in his face and tell him in fine detail exactly how ghastly he looked.
"Perhaps you ought to get some sleep - you more than any of us deserve to take a rest."
"I'll rest when we have rid the Wood of this invading orch scum and not a moment before. So, if you have quite finished with pontificating on my less than stellar looks, perhaps we might get back to the business of plotting our next assault."
"Of course Aran-nin."
The sudden formality grated. Thranduil took a deep breath in and blew it out rapidly in an attempt to stave off the urge to hit his Crown Commander, before he decided to offer up an olive branch - lest his best friend continue to throw him kicked-kitten looks.
"I shall take a small rest once we've got a plan in place for our next strike. Okay Naneth?" Thranduil teased.
It worked, as Aglardaer laughed and clapped him on the back before he stepped up next to Thranduil and the sand table, ready to continue with their planning.
~o~
Thranduil fought back a hiss, even as he could not stop a wince, as a beam of sunlight cut directly across his face as the last of the Commanders exited the strategy tent.
Another two days had passed and Thranduil had more worrying symptoms to contend with. Namely, his newly found intolerance to the sun.
Anor's rays now caused his eyes to sting and hurt, and his skin burned if even so much as a sliver of it was exposed from the voluminous folds of the black-as-night cloak that had become his recent signature.
The new symptoms were worrisome, but so far Thranduil had managed to keep them under control and most importantly under wraps.
Though Duron, and now Aglardaer, both checked in with him no less than twice a day and continually asked if he felt any better, Thranduil had thus far gotten away with vague answers - using his infamous temper if they really pressed him.
He'd also taken to 'resting' during the day - a convenient excuse that pleased his concerned bodyguards and let him cower away from the burning, stinging sun. Come nightfall he was refreshed and had no worries over Anor and its concerning effects upon him, and was able to lead his troops against the ceaseless orcs as indomitable as ever.
And that - the fact that Thranduil had lost nothing of his strength - was a factor that helped keep anyone from looking too deeply into his malaise.
So long as he did not let any further signs of his ailment shine through, those closest to him would remain convinced that Thranduil was slowly - very, very slowly - recovering.
As for Thranduil himself…he did his best to drown out the nagging doubts that plagued him in an attempt to convince his own mind of the same.
He was recovering. He would be well. And damn whatever the orc had said.
~o~
"Are you certain of this Thranduil?"
Thranduil lifted his eyes from where he'd been sighting along his arrow to give his best friend and Crown Commander an irritated look.
"I would not have commanded the troops into this formation were I not sure."
"Yes…I know…but…well…"
"Either spit it out Crown Commander or cease in your babbling lest you give away our positions."
"Well that's just it Thranduil, there's no one there to overhear us. Can't you see," Aglardaer flapped an agitated hand at the dark, thorny area they'd surrounded. "That area holds naught but brambles."
Thranduil shook his head. "Trust me Aglardaer - they are in there - an entire nest of the beasts. So please, please question my commands no more and get yourself ready for my signal."
"As you wish it," Aglardaer gave in begrudgingly, and slipped off to place himself into position and nock his own arrow.
Satisfied with his friend's acquiescence, the blonde turned back to sight down his arrow once more to stare into what truly did appear to be naught but a particularly thorny set of brambles.
But Thranduil knew there were around thirty orcs nestled within, just as he knew there was another cluster of the beasts cowering under the shelter made by two felled oaks some four or so yards away. Just as he knew a large host of them were gathering along the borders of Dol Guldur readying themselves for a fresh attack.
Thranduil had placed three archery troops in the trees closest - ready to shoot down each and every orc with extreme prejudice as soon as they stuck so much as a clawed toe over the border.
Thranduil didn't know how he knew these things - he just did. For he'd awoken that morning with an innate sense of where each and every foul and Dark thing was within his Wood.
He could sense every oversized spider that scuttled beneath his boughs; could feel the presence of the yrch in each and every one of their many hidey-holes; knew where the black moths rested; where the black squirrels scurried; could sense like never before the Dark, cloying miasma that lingered over this southern part of the Wood. And he could feel a dread, deeply malevolent, Dark presence that could only be none other than Sauron himself.
It was yet another oddity, yet another weird symptom - and one Thranduil probably ought to have been a lot more concerned with.
And yet…Thranduil felt only exultation. For finally he had an upper hand over all the fell things that plagued his lands and dogged the steps of his maethyr. He could use this knowledge and position his troops and warriors at the exact right place, at the exact right time. No longer would any ambush set by the yrch work on them - not so long as Thranduil was around and he could sense them. Feel them the very same way he felt the wind caress his ashen locks.
Nay, he could not bring himself to feel at all worried about this latest development. So far as Thranduil was concerned, it was all but a gift from the Valar themselves.
"Ready, aim…" Thranduil's voice was a soft but commanding whisper intended for elven hearing only. "Fire!"
Arrows rained down from on high and into the seemingly empty brambles.
The satisfying screams of dying orcs rent the night air and Thranduil let a large, smug, I-told-you-so grin spread across his face as he turned to look at Aglardaer.
His friend looked back - face a picture of surprise - even as he moved to stand next to Thranduil once again.
"How?" Aglardaer looked down at the brambles from which their warriors were now dragging the orc corpses. "How did you know there were yrch in there? It looked completely empty…they were so well hidden."
Thranduil's self-satisfied smirk gentled as his mind raced for something plausible he could tell his friend - as Eru knew he couldn't tell the truth. Not if he didn't want Aglardaer to have him forcibly dragged to see the Royal Healer, Calelon.
"Elven King privileges," he fibbed. "As King of the Woodland Realm I have far deeper insight; I feel and sense more than anyone else in the entire Wood. She speaks to me as her protector and gives me knowledge I'd otherwise be hard pressed to come by. The Wood has been troubled by the sheer size of the orc's invasion, and has begun to aid my endeavours more closely."
Thranduil smiled again at his friend, gentler this time, and hoped what he'd said sounded believable. That he'd not waxed too lyrical and so casted doubt on his words.
"Elven King privileges…" Aglardaer shook his head. "I'd never have believed it if I hadn't just seen it. Hail then, O Elven King - may these privileges continue to lead us to victory against the orch scum."
"I'm sure they will," Thranduil said knowingly. "I'm sure they will.
~o~
And his 'Kingly privileges' indeed continued for the next few days.
Thranduil plotted raid after raid and strike after strike with unerring accuracy; to the point that hope began to flow again within the elven camp which had, up until that point, begun to feel somewhat set upon and beleaguered by the size and strength of the orc army they battled.
The string of victories saw morale soar to the highest it had been since they'd first arrived. Or at least it was high amongst the maethyr.
Thranduil however, after the first few days of triumphant raids, found himself feeling more and more conflicted. Ever more uneasy…
For rather inexplicably the Elven King found himself beginning to sympathise with and feel sorry for the orcs.
It was a troubling new development – for he was the Elven King. He absolutely, categorically could not have any sympathies for yrch. It was out of the question, utterly unthinkable.
And yet, even as Thranduil marched out for another night's battle and led his warriors onward to another uncanny victory, he felt ill at ease with the knowledge of the slaughter and destruction he was about to unleash upon innocent and unsuspecting orcs.
The blonde shook his head irritably. Nay, there was nothing innocent about yrch - they deserved to be killed, needed to be erased from the land.
But even as he thought it, something within him twisted and churned uncomfortably with what felt like guilt.
Furious at himself and his duplicitous thinking, Thranduil tightened his grip upon his twin blades and forced himself onward.
He had orcs to kill, regardless of what his suddenly squeamish conscience might feel.
~o~
"Another successful battle!"
"Yes, we will yet turn the tide! It is only a matter of time."
"Indeed, we have the orcs on the back-foot thanks to Aran Thranduil's impeccable planning. We shall win this war yet!"
Thranduil slipped away from the crowd of his jubilant warriors and instead slunk through the shadows in the direction of his personal tent.
Whilst his maethyr were all on a high from yet another uncannily successful skirmish, Thranduil felt utterly miserable and torn in two. He felt happy for his loyal warriors - for to have them be successful, and come out of a battle with their greatest enemy triumphant and without a single fatality (or indeed even serious injury) was nothing short of fantastic. A feat to be celebrated for sure.
Yet on the other hand he felt badly for the orcs who so suddenly found themselves on the back-foot and their numbers ruthlessly decimated. They were a people too, and though they had given themselves to what was evil and had lost their way, surely that was not grounds for their merciless slaughter.
But Thranduil was the Elven King - King of the Elves, not of the yrch - and his loyalties had to be with his own kind. He had to continue to lead them in battle against the orcs, and he had to do everything in his power to see to it that they won. It would be unconscionable for him to do anything that would not see his elves come out on top.
And yet, and yet…
The conflicting emotions within Thranduil as he fought his internal moral battle were draining, and he gave a great gusty and tired sigh as he slumped into his chair upon entry to his tent.
He held his head in his hands despairingly. It was all so disconcerting. Where had all these empathetic feelings toward the yrch come from?
Almost as if in answer, the words of the orc that had been stalking him floated into Thranduil's mind unbidden.
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.
Worry, real and visceral and nigh overwhelming, swept over Thranduil.
What if the orch had been telling the truth? What if he truly had been stabbed with a Morgul blade?
Thranduil reluctantly admitted to himself that he couldn't be sure that what the orc said was a lie. It had been dark when Thranduil had been stabbed and it had all happened so fast…
The blonde King took a deep breath followed by another and then two more until he felt his heart calm a little and his head clear somewhat. He dragged a hand through his dirty and dishevelled tresses. He needed to get a hold of himself.
The reluctance and guilt he was feeling over the killing of the yrch was normal - for he was an elf - it was not in their nature to be cold blooded murderers, even of such evil things as orcs. It was only natural that after a period of prolonged killing he felt as conflicted as he did.
Yes, that was all it was - it certainly had nothing to do with Morgul blades or wraith-poisoning or anything of the like.
Thranduil stood up and began to divest himself of his armour and bloodied uniform. He needed a bath, some wine (laced with a good measure of Valerian root) and his bed. Sleep would do him a world of good - he had let himself become far too anxious and agitated of late. Sleep (drug induced or not) was exactly what was needed.
Things would look much better on the morrow after he'd taken some rest.
~o~
Whether it was the Valerian root or his own utterly exhausted mind, Thranduil did not awaken the next day until Anor had just begun to dip behind the mountains and dusk had taken hold.
He felt sluggish, almost hungover, as he was wont to do when his sleep had been drug induced. With a mind to both refresh himself and put a little pep in his step, Thranduil exited his tent and headed toward the small stream at the edge of the elven encampment. The stream's cold water would be sure to fully awaken and invigorate him.
He slouched along slowly, wrapped in his midnight-black cloak and bleary eyed, until he came upon the stream bank where he crouched and brought a handful of water up to splash his face.
He did this a few times before drying off with the rough spun linen towel he'd brought with him.
Thranduil stretched then as he stood and looked around properly for the first time. He let his eyes take in the elven encampment - all looked well and was running as smoothly as he'd expect.
The blonde King then let his eyes rove over the border - to where the orcs had set up their own camp and taken up residence.
It was only centuries of training in suppressing one's fear in face of an enemy that did not see Thranduil scream out at the top of his lungs, as he was faced with a horde of the undead.
Wraiths and ghouls. Their ghastly, eerily glowing shapes were absolutely everywhere he looked on the orc-ish side of the battleground.
Thranduil snapped his eyes shut; surely he was mistaken, he could not truly see the undead - no one could. He had simply seen shifting shadows and misty fog and his tired, battle fatigued mind had conjured up spectres where there were none.
The Elven King rubbed the heels of his palms hard into his still closed eyes before he slowly peeled them back open.
This time, he lost the battle to suppress his horror entirely, and a whimper left him as the scene before him remained filled with ghosts. Dozens of unsaved and unclaimed fae - many of which had an uncomfortably elven look to them - hovered in the corpse-strewn mire that made up the orc camp.
Thranduil blinked once, then twice more and when the scene before him refused to change, ran back toward his tent - shouting for Duron the entire way.
~o~
"I see dead people."
Duron willed his heartbeat and breathing to slow back to their usual natural rhythm, as he listened to Thranduil explain the reason he'd yelled his name so fervently.
And thus far Thranduil was not making a great deal of sense.
Still, Duron was Ages old and the weight of those Ages had taught him patience. Patience he now put into play as he tried to coax something sensible from his King.
"You are not making sense, Aran-nin. What do you mean you 'see dead people'?"
"I can see them Duron - dead people…well, not really people - dead yrch…although their fae look very elven - like elves that have suffered Arda's worst tortures…"
Thranduil trailed off for a moment, eyes wide in horror and tugged hard at his hair in obvious distress before he continued. "I see them, Duron. The orc camp is filled with them. Ai Valar - it is a terrible sight…there are so many dead. So, so many. Help me please - I cannot bear this."
Duron stared blankly at Thranduil (who had sunk down onto his pallet bed and huddled into the voluminous folds of his now ever-present black cloak) at a complete loss for what to say, before he directed his look to those around him.
For Duron was not the only one in Thranduil's tent; indeed his fellow Elite members, Arodon and Arthon, as well as Crown Commander Aglardaer and the royal healer Calelon had all come running at the sound of the King's distinctly panicked shouts. And they all now stood in various states of silent stupefaction as they tried and failed to understand what Thranduil was raving about.
Duron decided to try again, to try and get Thranduil to explain - clearly - what had caused him to panic so.
The Avari bodyguard eased himself down onto the bed Thranduil sat on, close enough that he and Thranduil were touching shoulder to shoulder. Waited, until he felt the fine tremors that had been shooting through Thranduil ease, and for the King to look up and directly at Duron of his own volition.
"Start from the beginning Aran-nin, and explain to us carefully what you mean by saying you can see the dead."
"Well, I suppose I should really say I can see the souls of the dead, if I am to be truly accurate. It all started with this strange orch…"
~o~
"...and it was only when I realised I could see the souls of the dead that I thought I had better take the orch seriously…and perhaps seek some help with all this."
Chaos erupted in the tent as questions and admonishments were shouted, and Thranduil grumpily deflected and defended himself. Duron for his part sat in silence for a long moment as he processed everything Thranduil had told them.
Despite the dire circumstances (and they were dire - Thranduil had been stabbed by a suspected morgul blade - it truly didn't get much worse) the Avari bodyguard found himself feeling a strange sense of relief. It was reassuring to finally have a reason for Thranduil's recent bizarre behaviours (fur lined cloaks in summer was a fine example) and declining health (his deathly looking pallor and clammy skin had not gone unnoticed by Duron).
The tent had fallen back into silence - sullen on Thranduil's part, stunned on the part of everyone else - and Duron, having gathered his wits, spoke into the oppressive quiet.
"Whilst you should have told all of us," Duron paused to gesture to his fellow bodyguards and the royal healer, "about this as soon as it happened, I am glad you have told us now. The wraith-poisoning seems to either be slow acting, or due to your Light and the power of your fae's Song it has had a harder time exerting its poison upon you. And that gives me hope that it is not too late to reverse this."
Calelon nodded in agreement. "It will take much greater power than my own to bring you back from the brink now…we need to look to Elrond and the wizards we are friendly with, Mithrandir and Aiwendil, to help reverse the wraith-poisoning. But, like Duron, I have hope this affliction is yet reversible."
Duron stood up and slapped his hands upon his thighs.
"Right - I will arrange the missives to Elrond and the ithryn and get them to come here with all haste."
"Is it really necessary to involve those two meddlers? Will not Aiwendil be enough?"
Duron (and indeed all in the room) gave Thranduil a dark look.
"Yes, Aran-nin. It has become very necessary. Those 'meddlers' have the power to help save your soul, and the sooner they get here the better for you."
Thranduil harrumphed even as he submitted himself (with ill grace) to Calelon's checks.
Duron for his part strode out of Thranduil's tent and headed in search of their swiftest messengers. There was not a moment to waste.
Thranduil's immortal soul hung in the balance and speed was of the essence.
~o~
"Are you finished now?" Thranduil groused irritably as he pulled his tunic back on.
After Duron had left to send out the missives regarding his declining health and urgent need of help, Calelon had sent all the others from the tent so that he might fully examine Thranduil, who had borne his ministrations with increasing irritation.
"Yes, all done," Calelon replied, unperturbed by his stroppiness. "Your core temperature is far cooler than it should be, you have an appalling pallor to your skin and the stab wound that is the cause of all this has not yet healed. There is also a shadow on your fae - which is to be expected. Aside from that however, you seem to be in fairly good health. And because of that, I have every faith that once Elrond and the wizards get here we will be able to halt and reverse the wraith-poisoning."
"Hn," Thranduil made a wordless, non-committal sound as he finished bundling himself back up into his cloak before he spoke again. "Well, if we are finished here then I would like to go for a walk - clear my head."
Calelon nodded then bowed.
"Very well Aran-nin. I shall leave you be for now. I will come by later to check you remain stable."
Thranduil's only reply was an ill-mannered snort before he strode out of his tent. He was immediately surrounded by Aglardaer, Arodon and Arthon, all with anxious hangdog looks upon their faces.
"I am well, stop looking at me like that," Thranduil snapped.
Having spoken about his fears concerning the suspected Morgul blade, and having them confirmed rather than allayed, had made Thranduil feel scared. So whilst he knew he was being rather unreasonable in his pique toward his bodyguards, he far preferred to lash out in anger than show the true depth of his fear.
"You are hardly well though are you, Thranduil?" Aglardaer cried in exasperation. "We are only trying to look out for you - now that you have deigned to confide in us that there actually is an issue."
Thranduil gave him a cold look.
"You forget to whom you speak Aglardaer. If I say I am fine then I am fine, and if you do not believe me then kindly take it up with Calelon, who I'm sure shall be happy to confirm the state of my current health as being fine! Now, I am going for a walk - I need to think and I want no company. Worry not, I will remain within the confines of our own camp."
Thranduil thought of all the ghouls that lingered over on the orc-ish side of the battlefield and gave a small shudder. Nay, his bodyguards need not fret about him getting too close to the borders.
Alas for him they worried regardless, and he fought hard to hold his tongue as Arodon began to protest.
"Please Aran-nin, it is not safe for you to wander alone. Even if you only let one of us go with you and follow at a distance…just please do not go alone."
"I will be fine, Arodon. I have already said that I will not leave the confines of our camp. I shall be perfectly safe and will return to my tent soon enough. But I have much to think on, my thoughts are heavy and I would appreciate some solitude. Now, speak to me no more of it - I shall return shortly."
And with that Thranduil strode away from them, making for a darkened, shadowy corner of their camp where he planned to once more confront the orc that had never ceased in stalking him - despite his previous threats to the orc's continued existence. Now however, the Elven King felt rather glad that the orc still stalked him - for he wanted answers, and he felt as though speaking to the orc might be the only way he would get them.
~o~
"Orc!"
Shakk jolted at the word that had been hissed in his direction and instinctively pushed himself a bit further back into deeper shadow.
"Orc!" The harsh whisper came again. "I know you are there orc. Come forth and show yourself. I will do you no harm. I merely have some questions for you."
Shakk peered through the hedge he'd pressed himself into. Thranduil Orc-Bane was staring directly at his hiding spot and he looked…worried?
Shakk gingerly eased himself from the bushes and took a few tentative steps toward the Elven King and noticed, much to his great pleasure and immense relief, he was able to get a lot closer to him without the elf's hideous Light hurting him.
Could it be?
Shakk took a proper look at the blonde and nearly slumped to the ground in relief. At last! At long last the wraith-poisoning had finally taken hold of the Elven King. For the elf did not emanate Light and Goodness as strongly as he had done in their previous encounter, and more than that he looked pale, drawn and ashen - exactly as one was supposed to look when they began to succumb.
Shakk could not help but feel elated at the sight, even as he gently licked at his still healing split lip. Sauron would have no cause to throttle and beat him when Shakk made his report later on, and the thought of a day free from the Dark Mater's violence was enough to bring a small smile to Shakk's lips. It had been a terrible few days as he'd weathered Sauron's fury at his disappointing reports. Indeed, Shakk had three cracked ribs and a huge, still healing gash across his forehead, in addition to his split lip that testified to Sauron's pique over Thranduil's continued good health. But here at last was the evidence that Shakk's attack on the Elf King had indeed been successful.
The euphoria he felt at the fact saw him be less considered with his words than was perhaps wise in the face of one such as Thranduil Orc-Bane.
"Have you now realised, Elf King, that I was telling the truth about the Morgul blade? I told you the truth would out."
Thranduil snarled and Shakk flinched back.
"Do not test me orc, I have come here peaceably seeking answers but I can just as easily cut you down instead."
The blonde elf took a deep breath, as though to master himself, before he spoke again. "I acknowledge that you were indeed telling the truth orch - so now tell me the truth about this - how can I be freed from this wraith-poisoning? Tell me and I shall spare your miserable life."
Shakk shook his head and replied truthfully. "I cannot help you."
"I warned you not to toy with me, orc. I know that you know how to reverse this thing - so tell me now and I shall let you go in peace."
"I do know how to reverse the poisoning, but I still cannot offer any actual help to you. For to reverse the wraith-poisoning you require the Dark Master's Ring - his One, and as there is no way for you to get hold of it I am afraid there is no hope for you, no cure. You will succumb and become his newest thrall."
Shakk spoke the words somewhat sadly; despite all the pain he had borne because of Thranduil Orc-Bane he had, over the course of watching the blonde King, grown a tad fond of him and his odd elven ways.
"I am sorry Elf King, truly, but the Dark Master must be obeyed and I did what I had to. He would have killed me otherwise - I had little choice in the matter - something you will come to understand in time, once you become one of his wraiths. You will learn that his will is above all, so as I tried to advise you before it's best just to go along with whatever he tells you. It'll be a less painful and happier existence. Trust me."
"I…I see."
The blonde King looked lost in thought - and not nearly as devastated as Shakk had anticipated. In fact, he'd half expected some violence toward himself by the Elf King but Thranduil Orc-Bane, for all his threats, had stayed his hand and quietly listened to every word Shakk had to say. It seemed Shakk's words were being taken much more seriously than they had been the last time he'd spoken to the Elven King.
Shakk studied the blonde who had a pensive look on his face and a faraway look in his eyes. The orc Commander felt another stab of pity for the erstwhile bane of his life. The blonde had gone deathly quiet - perhaps he was in a state of shock.
Shakk was just about to say something, anything, to get a response out of the King when Thranduil spoke up once more.
"How long? How much longer have I got?"
"Well..."
Shakk scratched his scaly chin as he thought. For Thranduil, though finally beginning to look properly wraith-poisoned, still did not seem as though he were about to join the shadow realm just yet.
"You have time yet," Shakk granted him as he scrutinised the blonde once more. "Yes, perhaps two weeks or even a few days beyond that - though mind you, any ordinary mortal would have succumbed by now. I suspect the effects have been slow to show in you because you are a King and your Light was so strong...but it is dimming now - the wraith-poisoning has well and truly begun, and once you are on the cusp of joining the shadow realm I will inform the Dark Master and he shall harvest your soul."
Shakk peered closely at the Elf King as he pronounced the blonde's doom. He looked a tad more stricken but not nearly as frightened as Shakk had expected.
Shock - that was it - the poor blonde bastard was in shock.
"Aran-nin, are you there?"
At the voice Thranduil Orc-Bane startled badly, and Shakk abruptly threw himself backward into the deeper cover of the brush. Speaking to the soon-to-be-a-wraith Elven King was one thing - getting stuck through with arrows by his overprotective subjects was quite another.
"I thank you for your honesty orc, though you had best disappear now. I cannot account for what any of my elves might do if they should see you."
And with those whispered words the Elven King moved off, back toward the elven camp proper.
Shakk stared at the elf's retreating back for a long moment before he firmly quashed the conflicting feelings he had in regards to Thranduil Orc-Bane's fate.
He had a good report to take back to the Dark Master, and things were finally looking up for him.
~o~
Thranduil walked slowly back toward his tent and bodyguards in contemplative mood. Though the orch's answers to his questions had been grim and devoid of hope, the Elven King found himself feeling in surprisingly good spirits.
For despite their hopeless nature, the orc's words had planted an idea in his mind.
A horrible, audacious, potentially fatal idea.
For the first time that day, a true smile crossed Thranduil's lips.
~o~
"I am sorry Aran-nin, but we simply cannot let you fight. Not in your current condition - you heard what Calelon said. Now please remain here and rest, and one of us shall come to check in with you later."
And with that Duron all but ran from the tent in his haste to get out of Thranduil's presence.
Thranduil sighed. He could now be sure that he had indeed developed a horrid new symptom if even Duron, his most stoic bodyguard, ran away from him.
The past three days had seen his Elite, Aglardaer and Calelon appear increasingly uncomfortable around him. They'd taken to rushing through every interaction with him, and doing the bare minimum so that they might leave him to 'rest' all the sooner. Thus Thranduil had come to suspect that he was emanating a miasma of dread or perhaps Darkness or something similarly unpleasant.
Such thoughts were frightening, but seemed to be the only plausible reason Thranduil could find for the sudden nervous fear that seemed to overtake any who came close to him.
With another small sigh, Thranduil settled himself in for a boredom filled, lonely day of 'rest'.
~o~
Thranduil was going for a walk.
It was dark - dusk having given way to night proper, and his bodyguards would not like him leaving his tent and wandering off in the dark, but they wouldn't stop him either.
Not when they were all blatantly too afraid to come near him.
Another two days had passed and Thranduil's Elite had now taken to leaving his meals outside his tent flap opening; whilst Calelon had declared any further check-ups would be pointless, and that his health was not likely to deteriorate much further by the time help in the form of either Aiwendil, Mithrandir or Elrond arrived. They were all avoiding him as surely as he now avoided daylight.
And Thranduil understood, he truly did - but that did not stop him from feeling any less isolated and lonesome.
So hence this walk; if his elves would not speak with him then perhaps the orc, whose lingering presence Thranduil continued to sense daily, would.
~o~
"Orc! Orc!"
Shaak peered cautiously from his hiding place and after ascertaining it was not a trap, and there were no other elves lingering nearby and ready to strike him dead, he shuffled forward, closer to the Elven King.
"We shouldn't keep meeting like this you know," Shakk began in a fervent whisper. "It's dangerous for us both. I'd be shot full of arrows if one of your elves saw me, and what would they have to say if they saw you cavorting with an orc?"
To Shakk's surprise Thranduil Orc-Bane stepped closer toward him, moving so that the shadows covered them both before he spoke.
"I am hardly cavorting orch. And worry not - none shall see you. They dare not come and investigate where I have gotten to - seeing as they can no longer bear to be within five feet of me."
The blonde threw Shakk a look that suggested that this development was his fault, and the orc Commander felt scared for a moment that Thranduil Orc-Bane might at last visit his previously promised violence upon him.
The Elf King just looked deeply unhappy however, and when Shakk saw that he'd not be harmed he chanced a reply.
"That is to be expected - the primary weapon of a wraith is fear. They wield a sense of dread like a precision tool, and even when they are not actively using it as a weapon - a sense of fear and evil leaks from them. It isn't so strong in you as yet…but it is there."
Seeing how the blonde's face fell at his words, Shakk tried to cheer him.
"Don't worry - the fear you emanate will get stronger in time. In fact, I reckon you might eventually grow to rival Khamûl," Shakk declared brightly.
Thranduil Orc-Bane remained dour faced and gave a great, gusty sigh that sounded as though it came from the depths of his soul.
"I do not want to rival any of the Nine orc. I do not want any of this."
It was Shaak's turn to sigh, exasperated. Why did the silly blonde not accept his fate? Embrace it even - Shakk had already spelled out that there was no hope of a cure for him.
"It is not so bad elf. You will have power such as you have never had before, and I even believe you shall become one of the Dark Master's favourites. He has never had an elven wraith before and he is quite looking forward to it. If you just go along with things then believe me when I say it will go well for you."
"What is your name orc?"
Shakk made a confused noise.
"Come now - I know that you know my name already - so don't be shy. What is your name?"
"Shakk. I am called Shakk."
"Very well then Shakk; you keep telling me how grand it will be once I have fully become a wraith - as though I should be pleased beyond measure. But you seem to have little regard for whether or not I want to become a wraith - for I can assure you I do not!"
Thranduil crossed his arms and directed a small glare at Shakk. "How would you like it if you were forced to become an elf Shakk? Ripped away from all you know, filled with Light that drove those closest to you away. Made to serve a master you do not believe in, and live among beings you despise and have nothing in common with. No matter what powers you might gain - does that not sound awful to you?"
Shakk blinked slowly at the question and studied his muddied boots in silent contemplation.
Whilst he had considered that the Elven King might initially be a bit upset, he hadn't truly considered that the elf would despise his imminent fate quite so much. For he'd considered things from purely an orc's point of view - and by Melkor's blackened heart there was nothing any orc wanted more than the power and freedom of one of the Nazgûl. To be a wraith was an impossible dream, a blessing…at least in the eyes of an orc. Clearly, it was not so for Thranduil Orc-Bane.
Shakk looked back up, still not quite sure what to say in response, but it mattered not. Elven King Thranduil had left, and was making his way back toward the heart of the elven camp.
Shakk watched as elves parted before Thranduil. They aimed for subtlety, but still some almost tripped over themselves in their haste to get away, and the orc Commander winced. He watched as the Elf King's shoulders sunk lower at each unspoken rejection he encountered, until he finally entered a tent that, once closely guarded, stood alone and abandoned.
Awful indeed…
The Elven King's words sounded again and again in Shakk's mind, and not even a night free from Sauron's violence, nor several steins of good grog for his 'excellent work' saw Shakk freed from contemplating the uncomfortable questions Thranduil Orc-Bane had posed to him.
~o~
The following night, Shakk hurried to the place Thranduil Orc-Bane seemed to best like speaking to him. He'd brought the Elf King a small token.
He'd had a hard time getting the Elven King and the way he was being rejected and distanced from his elves out of his mind. Seeing the blonde so dejected and alone had stirred an odd feeling of sympathy in Shakk - for no being, whether orc, elf or dwarf were meant to live isolated, lonely lives. And whilst Shakk could do nothing to repair the bond between the Elf King and his subjects, he hoped his small gesture would see Thranduil Orc-Bane cheered, if only little, and give the doubtlessly bored blonde (for he had to be bored beyond measure to resort to seeking out Shakk for conversation) something to do.
Shakk waited for perhaps half of an hour before the now familiar figure of Elven King Thranduil made its regal way toward him.
~o~
The orc was waiting for him.
It had a pleased little smile on its grey-skinned face that looked entirely wrong on a creature of Darkness, and Thranduil was immediately on his guard - bracing for more ill news - as he slunk into the shadows where the orc waited.
"What is it orc? What places such a self-satisfied look upon your face?"
The orc's face swiftly changed and morphed into a scowl as he took umbrage at Thranduil's greeting.
"Shakk. My name is Shakk. And I decided to be nice and bring you something, but after your little display of ill manners I don't know why I bothered."
"You brought me something?"
Thranduil felt a frisson of pleasure shoot through him. A surprising reaction to getting a gift from an orc, and a sign of how utterly lonely and isolated he had become.
"What is it?" Thranduil did not bother to hide his eagerness.
"Hmph. I don't know that I should give it to you now, Thranduil Orc-Bane."
"Thranduil what?" The blonde sniggered. "Is that what you all call me?"
The orc levelled him with a glare.
"Yes, that is what you are called among my people - for you are the bane of many an orc's life. A scourge and a plague upon us."
Thranduil preened and the orc glared all the more.
"You're making me regret my choice of coming here, much less bringing you anything, more and more."
"Come now orc…uh…Shakk - don't be like that. You've already brought it so you may as well give it to me," Thranduil wheedled.
"Very well. But only because they are heavy, and I am not carrying them back all that way without you having read them."
"You brought me something to read?"
"Aye. I have seen how your elves have…left you be… so I thought you might be bored, and brought you two books to read, lest you die of boredom rather than the wraith-poison."
Thranduil gave a roll of his eyes at the flippant comment but held out his hands toward the orc…toward Shakk, making grabbing motions.
Shakk gave a guttural laugh.
"Very well elf - here you go."
Shakk held out two sizeable tomes toward Thranduil who took them and looked at the titles on the spines. He was unsurprised to find the wording in the accursed Black Speech of Sauron, but staggered by the fact that he was able to easily read the jagged runes of the fell tongue.
History through the Ages: Angmar, Gundabad and Mordor and Spells of Darkness Vol. One.
Thranduil snorted at the titles but did not deny that they both piqued his interest. It would be interesting to see history from the perspective of Darkness, and to see if there were any Dark spells he might turn to his own purposes. Perhaps there might even be something within the spell book that could aid him in getting out of his current predicament. It would not hurt to check.
And so Thranduil found himself thanking Shakk and making his ponderous way back toward his tent, newly acquired books well hidden under the voluminous folds of his pitch black cloak.
~o~
And so the next five days saw the Elven King utterly absorbed in his books of Darkness.
The history book he had read and laughed long and hard at, and had gone to see Shakk to mock him over the falsities and inaccuracies of it. They'd had a good, spirited argument over it, and Thranduil had sent it back with Shakk demanding that the orc bring him another history book, and was thus presented with Ancient Histories: Minas Morgul - A Timeless Fortress.
He could not wait to get stuck into that one and see what other ridiculous things Sauron was peddling as truth to his minions.
The spell book however, Thranduil had not given back. Not yet.
He'd read it cover to cover already, and whilst there had been nothing in it that would aid him in his slow descent to wraith-hood, there were plenty of other intriguing spells. Spells that Thranduil hesitated to try out - for they were Dark magics - things he ought not to dabble in. And yet…he could not bring himself to give the book back, but had instead asked Shakk for another spell book…for research purposes.
Yes, it was all research and a way to kill his boredom. Nothing more.
~o~
"A-a-aran-nin. Th-the orcs h-have p-pulled back. Th-they have not a-attacked us o-once all n-night."
Thranduil almost breathed a sigh of relief as Aglardaer at last came to the end of his trembling report. It was the first time in over a week that anyone had dared enter Thranduil's tent, and it was not the happy occasion the blonde might've wished - a return of warmth and companionship.
Nay. Instead he was faced with his best friend who shook like an autumn leaf in a gale; barely able to force the shaky words past fear numbed lips and completely unable to look him in the face, never mind make eye contact.
Thranduil paid no attention to the words the Commander of his army had spoken, for he and Shakk had come to an accord the night prior, and had agreed a cease in hostilities for the time being. Therefore it was no news to him that the orch army had withdrawn, and instead the Elven King focussed on how seeing his best friend thus made him feel.
He felt bereft. Thranduil felt as though a powerful wave of grief had crashed over him. As if something precious had been ripped from his grasp. It hurt him to see his friend tremble so before him, and the hurt soon turned into anger, sharp and cold.
Damn Sauron for inflicting this upon him. Damn that bastard to the deepest, darkest pits of the Void.
Thranduil's horrible, audacious, possibly fatal idea sprung to mind again as he watched his closest friend almost faint in fear before him, and there and then the blonde King decided he would put it into play.
He would not go gentle into that good night**; but he would die, if he must, as he had always lived - boldly.
"Thank you for the report Commander. Keep an eye on the yrch, and should anything change then please advise me. Until then - you are dismissed."
Aglardaer almost tripped over himself in his haste to rush out of Thranduil's presence, and the King took a deep breath in a failed effort to stave off the pain the sight brought to his heart.
It truly hurt to be so rejected, but Thranduil had his idea. And, if he survived it, then all would be well and he would have his vengeance - all in one swoop.
The Elven King returned to his desk and tapped a finger absent-mindedly upon his current page in his latest book, Magics of Morgoth, deep in thought.
The time to wait upon wizards and the Wise was past - for still there had been no word from any of his three would be saviours. And too much time had passed, the blonde reflected, as he looked down at the paper thin, ghostly white, almost translucent skin of his hands and the spindly, claw tipped appendages that now masqueraded as his fingers.
Thranduil was no damsel even if he was currently in distress; he need not wait upon Elrond, Aiwendil and Mithrandir - he was more than capable of being his own saviour (and perhaps that of the world whilst he was at it) and the time to act was now.
He would need some help if he were truly going to attempt to put his idea into action however.
Thranduil stood. He needed to seek out Shakk.
~o~
Shakk watched as Thranduil left his tent and headed with singular purpose toward what they both now considered their meeting spot.
Shakk followed along from the shadows. Chatting with Thranduil was one of the most interesting things Shakk had ever done in his life, and he now looked forward to their almost daily talks with fervour. Thranduil was funny, and though he blasphemed the name of the Dark Master often, and was fond of arguing over well-established facts of history, it was still very pleasant to talk to him.
Especially now that his Light had faded to but a dim glow and being near him no longer caused pain.
Shakk bit his lip worriedly. Sauron was beginning to get impatient again, and truthfully the orc Commander should have reported Thranduil to the Dark Master perhaps two or even three days ago. He was certainly now wraith-like enough for Sauron to be able to drag him fully into the realm of Darkness and bind the elf to him and his One forever.
And yet…Shakk had not been able to bring himself to give the elf over to Sauron. Though he knew the time was coming where he needed to give up Thranduil, Shakk enjoyed the other's company far too much to yet be able to bring himself to do so.
And so it was, with heart and mind strangely conflicted, Shakk hurried to meet the blonde he was rapidly coming to consider as a friend.
He slunk through the now familiar paths of dank dark and was soon in the shadowed corner at the very edge of the elven camp where Thranduil waited for him.
"Ah Shakk - there you are. I have come up with a plan - it will save both of us, grant us both the freedom we desire. But to do it I need your help."
Shakk narrowed his eyes at the elf - uncertain what the blonde was rambling on about.
"What freedom do you speak of? I am already free, I require no saving Thranduil. Has the poison gone to your brain?"
Thranduil sneered.
"Do not play the fool Shakk, for I have come to see that you most certainly aren't one. You are not free; you are tethered to the whims of that bastard. Every command he gives you, you are forced to obey lest your refusal be the death of you. And even when you do obey him, he still treats you poorly! Beats and bruises you, and is even known to kill in his fits of fury."
"The Dark Master -" Shakk tried to interrupt, but Thranduil cut across him angrily.
"Is nothing but a brutal slave driver. He sends you to war with shoddy weapons, worse armour and precious little by way of provisions. He cares not for where you sleep at night, and could care less about your fatalities. Does not even give you the decency of burial or a pyre so that your souls at least might be free of his torment in death!"
Thranduil stopped and glanced over at the orc camp - where plentiful bodies were indeed strewn with no care - and shuddered; reminding Shakk that the elf had said he was able to see the trapped and tortured souls of their dead, and how Shakk had mercilessly teased the blonde over his staunch refusals to look over at the orc camp and face the ghouls that lingered there.
Such a thing was not funny now however, not when Shakk considered Thranduil's words and the horrible fact that he was right. Sauron cared not for any of them who died; they were but a meat shield to him - a means to his own end.
Their weapons were ill made, rusty implements of poorly cast iron, their armour no better and their food mouldy, maggot filled and cold.
Shakk thought of how Thranduil provided for his elves by contrast - their weapons, well made and cared for, gleamed brightly, and their armour was clearly made with the protection of the wearer in mind. Moreover, the elves had a tent dedicated to serving hot food to cheer and sustain their warriors.
Thranduil's impassioned words broke into the orc Commander's thoughts.
"Do you see now, Shakk? That you are as much a slave as I am soon to become? But as I said - I have a plan and we can save ourselves."
Shakk said nothing for a long moment even as the truth of his situation, of every orc's situation, became ever clearer to him. Everything Thranduil said was true, but acknowledging such was painful. It was to shift his entire worldview - a daunting thing.
And so Shakk, rather than confront such a heavy thing, simply murmured a weak defence.
"It only seems like a harsh life to you. We orcs are used to such hardships."
"But you shouldn't have to be Shakk! You shouldn't have to live like that."
"And I suppose you will tell me you can be the one to give us a better life?"
Shakk snorted, now truly feeling afraid and a tad out of control. He did not like this conversation at all - wanted to go back to arguing over whose account of The First Battle was historically accurate. Not this…this treasonous flight of elven fancy. Because truly, who could ever free themselves from Sauron's dominion?
But Thranduil was determined, and continued heedless of Shakk's silent wishes.
"Yes. I can help you gain a better life for yourself and for your people. One where you can live free from the fear of Sauron's malicious violence. I have an idea - a plan - will you not hear it?"
Almost everything in Shakk told him to turn away, to run away now, back to Dol Guldur and tell Sauron what he so longed to hear - that Elven King Thranduil was ready for his soul to be harvested and bound into Darkness.
Shakk could imagine how it would all go. He would bring the good news about Thranduil to the Dark Master and Sauron would reward Shakk well, and perhaps he would at last be free to return to his uncomplicated life back in Minas Morgul, where he might live out his days in peace.
Shakk sighed as the pleasant images faded away into nothing. For such would not happen.
Shakk would hand over Thranduil and Sauron would be pleased (for a time) but such success would then mean he would not see Shakk released from his immediate service. Sauron would have ever more tasks for him and Shakk would therefore be bound to taste of the Dark Master's impatient, violent, malevolence once more.
He truly was just a slave to Sauron; a means to an end, a tool to be used, a victim upon which to exercise his whims and force his will.
Shakk sighed again, all the louder and more aggrieved.
How had his life gone from such a simple thing to this huge complicated mess? How had he gone from common foot soldier with a decent kill count to Commander of legions, and friend of insane, treason-filled Elven Kings?
Ignoring the huge part of him that screamed for him to turn his back on Thranduil and return to doing his duty to Sauron as a good orc should, Shakk locked eyes with the Elven King and gave a small nod.
"Very well Thranduil. Let me hear of this plan."
TBC.
Orch - Sindarin for Orc
Aran-nin / Aran - My King / King
Naneth – Mother
Anor – Sun
Yrch – Sindarin for Orcs (Plural of Orch)
Maethyr – Warriors (Plural)
Fae – Souls / Souls (Sindarin - both sing. and plu.)
Ithryn – Wizards (Sindarin – Plu.)
** Quote taken from Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas, Botteghe Oscure, 1951
A/N: I hope you enjoyed Chapter 2. Do drop me a one liner and let me know what you think. Chapter 3 will be posted in a week's time. KimicT