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The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 38
- 39
- 40
Chapter 39 – Taking Up the Crown

They entered the forest at dawn as the sun began to rise, but the darkened woods kept the army in shadow and mist, for no rays of light penetrated that forsaken place. After speaking with Folvar and the others, Legolas and Rúmil decided it was best that the company not part just yet, at least not until they drew closer to Mirkwood and the old underground palace. So far, the only enemies they came upon were of the four legged kind. Wolves usually did not attack, but they watched from their hiding places. Their eyes glowed silver as they peered out from the gloom.
“Those are their spies,” Folvar said quietly to the elves around him. “More will come soon.”
“Stay on the path,” Rúmil ordered. “Here is it wide, but where it narrows will most likely be where they will attack.”
“Keep your eyes to the canopy,” Folvar warned. “That’s where they will most likely appear.”
“Orcs?” Rúmil asked, thinking it was unusual for them to attack from the trees.
“Not orcs… spiders,” Hafdan said. “Big, hairy, ugly, smelly beasts with webbing that is too strong to tear with your bare hands. If you carry blades, keep them within close reach. Your arrows will be useless in close combat.”
The further they traveled, the thicker the air grew with dampness and decay. The scent of things long dead filled their senses. What little light there was diminished further still.
“There are strange things hanging from the trees,” said one of the Lórien elves cautiously.
Legolas looked around, noticing the absence of the wolves. “I think not even the spies come this deep into the Rhovanion.”
“The spiders are not choosy about their prey,” Hafdan informed them. “I’ve seen them eat their own kind. Most likely these creatures entered during the feasting, and became the main course.”
“Feasting?” questioned the Lórien elf.
Kular moved his horse ahead and came up next to his brother. “The spiders mate rampantly during the early summer. They need to eat constantly to keep up their strength, so they’ll capture unsuspecting victims, paralyze them with their venomous sting, and encase them in webbing. Then they’ll devour their meal at a later time.”
The elf looked at the large hanging cocoons and swallowed hard, “I hope they are through with the feasting by now.”
“Oh yes,” answered Hafdan, “These poor buggers were left here to rot. The feasting finished a while ago.”
The elf gave a sigh of relief, knowing he would not likely be served up as some creature’s meal.
“But now is an even more dangerous time,” Kular added, and the elf’s reprieve was short lived. “Now is when the spiders are most aggressive, protecting their maturing offspring.” He pointed up to the canopy of the trees just off the path.
High up within the branches and leaves were white spheres, all perfectly round and cottony, carefully attached to the branches with silky web. Folvar looked up along with his companions. “There within lies a festering army two hundred strong, if they all live. Most will become food for the others. Only the strongest will survive and one day spill forth an army of their own.” Folvar turned to the frightened elf, “So you can see why this place has grown so sinister over the years. With no one to keep the evil in check, it spreads and multiplies quickly. You better hope your Lothlórien brothers come along as we reach Mirkwood, or we will be easily outnumbered.”
“They will come,” said Legolas, as he appeared alongside the Woodsmen, “but it is not so much the spiders that worry me. Sauron will know I am here, and that threatens his plans. For years he’s seen Mirkwood as no longer a threat, and until recently, he’s thought there were no wood elves left. Because of Saruman, he knows of my existence, and he’ll be watching. If the wolves are indeed his spies, then he’ll know I have come. Perhaps this is why we’ve come so far with so few encounters.”
Calariel had joined the men, listening to their discussion. She had seen the spider sacs in the canopy, had seen the rotted corpses hanging from the trees, and she knew Legolas was right. “We are walking beneath their nursery, basically, and there has not been sight or sound of a single spider. They are gathering deeper in the forest, awaiting our arrival. Mirkwood will be teaming with danger, and we are so few.”
Legolas heard the fear in her voice, though she hid it well. He brought Arod around until he was next to Calariel. “Our plan will work,” he assured her. “Haldir and the rest will cause a diversion at Dol Guldur. The dark lord’s eye will be directed there for now.”
“It will not take long for him to realize that something stirs in Mirkwood besides his pests, and he’ll unleash his orc army upon us,” she said worriedly.
“If we can get inside the palace, I think we can ward them off until Haldir arrives.”
“You want us to barricade ourselves under the ground? What will we do if the enemy has ownership of Thranduil’s halls?” she asked.
“The creatures prefer the forest, and Sauron cannot afford his orcs to laze around inside the caves day after day. I am confident that the old halls are vacant,” he assured her. “I’ve spent my lifetime studying the layout of the caverns. I know where their weaknesses lie, and we’ll station troops in these areas. It will be easier to fight them from the caves rather than the open spaces of the forest, where we are vulnerable from all angles.”
Calariel considered his words and his plan. She slowly nodded in agreement, but her furrowed brow still showed doubt. “Is this elvish strategy or Rohirric?” she asked comically.
“Both,” Legolas answered with a sly smile.
The path did indeed narrow until the company had to pass single file. The trees grew tall on either side of the path, their branches extending out and crossing to form a high ceiling. Moss hung down like tattered sleeves, and the roots ran close to the surface of the ground. The elves and men had to carefully direct their horses so they would not trip.
There was no color anywhere to be found. The world around them was thrown into hues of greenish-grey. The forest was silent except for the sound the company made as they continued closer to the woodland realm. Yet, everyone had a sneaking feeling of being watched.
Finally, the path widened again, and the troops gathered. Legolas sniffed the air, “Rúmil,” he whispered, “Do you smell it?”
“Unmistakably, yes,” Rúmil answered, “But they are still a good way off.”
“They’re already there, waiting,” Legolas told him, “Orcs.”
Rúmil gave orders to ready weapons. The Galadhrim held their bows in hand, ready at a moment’s notice. The Woodsmen unsheathed their swords. All were anxious for battle, but the unknowing was the worst part.
The leaves above rustled slightly. Those close enough to hear turned their attention upwards. Someone gave a strangled cry, and when the elves looked around at each other, one horse was without its rider. The surrounding elves fired into the forest on both sides. Another cried out, and the company saw a Woodsman fly from his horse and get dragged into the close growing trees. More arrows flew, but whether they struck their enemy or not, no one could tell.
Men and elves alike struggled to steady their nervous horses. Folvar, Hafdan and Kular brought their men into position. Rúmil and Legolas did the same, and all eyes were on the forest. Calariel was at the rear of the company, keeping watch upon the path behind them. Shadows moved in the eerie mist. Something was coming up the path. She narrowed her eyes until the shadows took shape. Long, sleek, hinged legs supporting bulbous bodies, they were unmistakable.
“Spiders!” Calariel called out.
Legolas rode back to join her, and saw for himself the army of arachnids approaching. He called out orders for everyone to take their battle stance. As the spiders advanced, they spit their sticky webbing, spraying everything within their reach.
“Don’t get caught in their web,” Folvar warned.
Legolas raised his bow and aimed. “Company! Fire!” he commanded.
A spray of arrows flew towards the approaching spiders. Those that were hit made a terrible ear piercing screech as they died. The rest kept coming, and Legolas ordered another release. More spiders fell and the first wave was severely lessened.
“Legolas!” Folvar called, and the elf turned to see the Woodsmen looking up.
Legolas followed their line of vision and saw more spiders lowering from the tree canopy, attacking from above. He commanded his army to take aim upwards, and arrows flew into the trees. Spiders the size of a large dog fell to the ground, twisting and screaming as they died. Then suddenly, the forest around them came to life as more spiders crawled out of shadows.
“There are too many,” Calariel observed.
“We cannot stay here!” Legolas yelled. “We must get to the caverns!”
The company could no longer carefully lead their horses along the old path. Now they had to run for their lives and head for the gates of Mirkwood. As they rode, elves fired their bows, and the men slashed anything within range of their swords. Some fell prey to the spiders. Other’s horses tripped on gnarled roots and succumbed to the approaching enemy.
The terrain sloped dangerously down as the path disappeared. Now they were in the forest of Mirkwood. Riding upon horseback would do them no good. The rest of the company came to the same conclusion and everyone dismounted. They would have to get to the caverns on foot, and hope their horses survived on their own.
Legolas jumped down from Arod, “Lead them safely away. I do not think you are their targets, but be wary. Take to the path again,” he said in Sindarin. The bond between elf and horse was strong, and Arod did not hesitate. He cried out with a demanding whicker, ears pinned down, and head thrown back as he circled around gathering the other horses. They left their riders behind, and Legolas watched as he commanded his troops to go forward. Soon, the horses disappeared into the haze and they were gone, hopefully to safety.
The forest was now a battleground of men and elves fighting spiders. Legolas abandoned his bow for his long knives, slashing at the enemy’s legs. Once they were disabled, he impaled their engorged bodies, spilling black blood upon the forest floor. Everyone fought ferociously as they continued down the sloping trail.
The surrounding forest changed to something familiar to Legolas, and he was thrown back in time to the day Mirkwood burned. The fires were long distinguished, but the damage still remained. Here, the trees were black and broken, protruding twisted and gnarled from the ground, long dead and decaying. To his surprise, it smelled like musty smoke and char, even after all these years. The forest of Mirkwood was still useless fragments, burnt remains, and unrecognizable. Nothing grew on this forsaken ground. It was a graveyard of a lost realm, and Legolas felt his heart break.
He remembered the day he and Elhadron had escaped. They had climbed up and up it seemed, until they crested a hill and looked back to see their home engulfed in flames. Now he was descending into the same place, no longer the frightened elfling, no longer mourning the loss of his people or his family. Now, his heart wanted revenge, and his palms itched for the feel of his blade sinking into orc flesh. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long, for their putrid smell was growing stronger.
The sound of rushing water caught his attention, and Legolas knew they were here. Up ahead were the rushing waters of the Enchanted River. “Make your way to the river, but do not go into the water!” Legolas called out.
Rúmil, Calariel and Folvar heard his orders, and passed word along to the rest of the garrison. The soldiers fought their way to the river, killing spiders as they hurried along. Most made it to the water, but some were seized and fatally wounded by the spider’s stinging venom. The company could not afford to lose too many. Their numbers were small against the ever growing population of spiders.
Calariel fought alongside Legolas, firing arrows at the approaching insects. As they leapt into the air to attack, she would hit them in their vulnerable abdomens. While she kept those at bay, Legolas wielded his long knives, slashing and impaling the ones that got too close. Finally they were at the water’s edge.
“We can go no further,” said Calariel with concern.
“No, but now they can only come from one direction,” Legolas said as he killed another beast, it’s legs flailing about wildly as it screeched its last dying breath. Finding a break in the activity, he looked up and down the length of the river. Some were dangerously close to the water and he warned them again. “Be wary of the water. It was once enchanted with a sleeping spell. I don’t know if the spell is still active, but—”
Just as he was giving a warning, a spider leapt forward through the air, landing on an unsuspecting elf. The force of the spider’s weight caused the elf to stumble and fall into the water. Instantly, elf and spider ceased to move.
“Looks like it still works,” Kular yelled from somewhere down the line.
Legolas watched as the strong current started to pull the bodies away from the bank. He sprang into action, rushing to the scene. “Grab him!” he shouted, “or he’ll drown.”
The men closest to the unconscious elf started into the water, already forgetting about the enchantment, but their companions caught them by their arms. They looked around frantically for something to use to stop the elf from floating away. Someone picked up a long stick and reached out, barely grabbing hold of the belt around the elf’s waist.
“Pull him in!” someone demanded.
The man with the stick tried desperately to pull the elf back to the shore without stepping into the water himself, but the belt came loose and the elf floated further out away from the shore. Legolas arrived, pacing back and forth as he tried to think of a way to retrieve the elf.
“It’s no use,” someone called, “He’s too far out. We cannot reach him.”
Suddenly, there was a large brown shape plummeting into the water, knocking those around it to the ground. It was a massively large bear. He clamped his jaw into the material of the elf’s long grey tunic, and struggled to stay afloat, becoming slower and more lethargic.
Legolas recognized the animal not to be any ordinary bear, but one of the Beornings, shape-shifted into his animal form. He acted quickly, grabbing the large hindquarters of the beast. The men around him did the same, and they pulled the bear, along with the captured elf, to the river bank. The bear was in a deep slumber, but the elf was not breathing.
“Move!” Calariel shouted, shoving the onlookers aside. She dropped to her knees beside the elf, pushed his gold hair from his face and put an ear to his mouth. “He needs air to his lungs. They are full of water.”
“Can you breathe for him?” Legolas asked.
She looked at him, confused, “What?”
“I saw a healer of Rohan do it once. Pinch his nose and blow into his mouth.”
Calariel did as Legolas suggested. It didn’t work at first. Not enough air was going in. Then she figured out how to cover the elf’s mouth completely with her own. She exhaled as hard as she could, and the elf’s chest rose. She did it again, and water came out along with the air she had just breathed into him. Suddenly, the elf’s eyes flew open, and he started coughing and spitting water out of his lungs. Calariel instinctively rolled him onto his side. She looked up at Legolas with an amazed smile. “It worked.”
With the rescue of the elf, they hadn’t seen what happened around them. Legolas looked around and saw a small army of about fifty bears and Beornings, giants of men. Those still in human form brandished oversized axes and clubs. They rushed into the advancing spiders, chopping and clubbing anything that threatened them. The spiders were no match for the bear-men. This gave the Woodsmen and the Galadhrim enough time to regroup and join the Beornings in the fight. They moved away from the water’s edge, but still kept it to their backs.
“Legolas!” called Rúmil, “Where is the gate to the caverns?”
Legolas got his bearings, “It is upstream still… not far from here though.”
“We must make our way then,” Rúmil answered.
“Go! Follow the river north until we come to the bridge,” Legolas ordered.
The demand to move north was repeated among the troops, and soon they were fighting and going in the right direction. Legolas quickly moved along the garrison until he was at the front of the large moving body of men and elves, slaying fell beasts as he went. Calariel was not far behind. It did not take them long and they could see the entrance to Thranduil’s halls coming into view. But once they got there, their hopes faded. The stone bridge was broken and in ruin. Just on the other side of the raging river was the doorway into the caverns.
The forest was alive with the primal shouts of those fighting for their lives, but the spiders still came. Legolas watched as one spider dropped down from a tree, landing on a Woodsman, its sleek sharp stinger impaling the man’s chest. Then another spider tried the same technique, only to be caught and mauled by a bear.
Rúmil and Folvar came up to Legolas, all three still fighting as they discussed their options.
“Have you noticed there are no enemies across the river?” Rúmil asked, firing his arrow into a nearby tree.
“They cannot get across,” Legolas said.
“And neither can we,” admitted Folvar with despair.
“We are not out of hope just yet,” said Legolas as he thought up a plan. “I’ve studied the layout of the palace. Before the stone bridge was built, there was a drawbridge. It is still there, according to the maps, but I don’t know if it is still in working condition.”
Just then, Calariel came to them with dire news, “We have more than spiders to worry about. Orcs approach.”
“We have to get to the caves,” said Folvar, knowing this was their only chance at fighting the enemy with their dwindling numbers.
“We need a boat to get across the river, which we don’t have, but even if we did, we could not navigate the current. It’s much too strong here,” said Rúmil, cynically.
Suddenly, a thought came to Legolas. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” he scolded himself. He turned to his companions. “I think I can get into the palace, but you’ll have to hold the enemy off until I can get the bridge down.”
Folvar nodded, “We’ll regroup and put our energy towards the incoming orc army. I’ll speak to the Beornings, and post them where they are needed most.”
“I’ll have my archers ready to send a hail of arrows down upon the enemy. That should deplete their front lines,” Rúmil suggested.
“Use the river to your advantage,” Legolas reminded them.
“And pray that Haldir and the rest of our people come soon,” Rúmil added.
Legolas strapped his bow to his back and took his long knives into his hands, prepared to make his way to the secret tunnel. He looked around the forest, trying his best to remember the landscape and the position he was in when he saw the gates in the distance. He had been an elfling at the time, scared and in shock, mourning the death of his father as Elhadron pulled him along to safety. That time in his life was etched into memory, and he used it now to help him navigate.
Then, there was a hand upon his shoulder. “I’m coming with you,” Calariel demanded.
He started to protest, but the fire in her eyes and her pugnacious look told him he’d already lost the argument. Besides, there was no time to quibble. Instead, he nodded, “Let’s go then. Stay close and be prepared.”
She tossed her sword from hand to hand, blade flashing silver as she showed off her skills. “I’m ready.”
They moved along with stealth and grace, using fallen trees and boulders to help hide them as they went. They needed to reach the secret tunnel before they were seen by orcs, who would try to follow them. There was no room to fight once they were into the small space of the hidden way. They made their way with little conflict, up the hill. Legolas looked frantically for the entrance, checking every dark hole that seemed the right size.
“Legolas,” Calariel warned, “Orcs!” She kept watch while Legolas searched. “Hurry, they’re closing in.”
Just when it seemed he would never find it, his hand pushed through what looked like vines growing down the side of a boulder. It was hollow behind the foliage. “I’ve found it!” he called to Calariel.
She stepped backwards towards Legolas, keeping her eyes upon the path where the sound of orcs was growing louder. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Legolas disappear into the vines. Standing guard, she watched a moment more, making sure nothing took notice of them, when she felt Legolas’ hand take hold of her tunic and pull her into the vines.
The entrance was big enough to stand in, but it was as black as pitch. Legolas silently cursed his forgetfulness. He’d had flint and a small hand torch in his bag, which was still strapped to Arod. They would have to find their way in the dark. It would take them much longer to reach the other end of the tunnel, and it was already a long way, from what he remembered.
Suddenly, a pale blue light illuminated the dark cave, and Legolas found Calariel in possession of a strange glowing glass orb that hung from a chain around her neck. She laughed with amazement as she pulled it from the inside of her tunic, “It works just like the Lady said.”
“Galadriel gave that to you?” he asked.
“She met with me before we left, and gave me this gift, to show us the way, she had said.” Calariel stared at the light, which seemed to swirl and sparkle with life inside of the small vial that contained it.
Outside, the sound of heavy feet and clanking armor passed by. Legolas cupped his hands around the vial and Calariel’s hand, extinguishing the light before someone noticed. They were instantly engulfed in darkness, but the warmth of Legolas’ hands upon hers brought her comfort. She felt herself drawn to him, contouring against his body. She reached up with her loose hand and felt for his face in the dark, touching his cheek, feeling the softness of his hair on the tips of her fingers. He loosened his grip on the vial, allowing just enough light so that he could see her face. Her cheek was smudged with mud from the river bank, and one of her braids had come loose, but she was still the most beautiful elf he’d ever seen. Legolas cocked his head and captured her lips. She answered him swiftly, allowing his tongue entrance. With all that had happened recently, preparing for battle and the long journey to Mirkwood, neither one had had any romantic thoughts for the other, but they gave over for just one quick moment within the secret tunnel in the safety of darkness. Then, the moment had passed, and it was time to continue into the narrowing tunnel.
Calariel took the necklace with the vial, putting it around his neck, and Legolas lead the way on hands and knees. “I hope you’re not afraid of small spaces,” he said to lighten the mood.
“Hah,” she laughed, “You’d not ask that if you had ever seen the training barracks. Sleeping arrangements were somewhat… challenging. This is a luxury compared to that.” Her hand landed on something slimy and cold, “Although it was much cleaner,” she said with disgust.
Legolas stopped and held the light towards her so that she could examine her hand, “Whatever that was, I think it’s dead now.” Some kind of glutinous matter covered her palm. In the blue light, it looked grey, but she couldn’t be sure what color it really was.
“It was probably a slug of some kind. They tend to like dark dank places like this,” he informed her.
They kept on for a while longer, neither one speaking as they felt they were getting closer to their destination.
“Legolas, have you thought about what you might find once we reach the caverns?”
“I know the one thing we won’t find is orcs. Mirkwood was not attacked for its treasure or for the inhabitation of its caves. There was only one reason my home was destroyed, and that was to eliminate an entire race of elves,” he said with conviction.
“All but one,” Calariel said from the dark place of the tunnel. “But have you ever really thought about the invasion? I mean, about how they managed to get across the river? You told me the orcs rode on great beasts that were strong enough to navigate the rough waters, and then they entered through the wine cellars, Mirkwood’s most vulnerable spot.”
“Yes, and they were immune to the water’s spell,” Legolas admitted, considering her comment.
“Not exactly the kind of thing that orcs have the ability to accomplish on their own. Someone cast a reversal spell on the beasts,” Calariel said.
“That is what I have assumed,” said Legolas as he gave it deeper thought.
“A wizard’s spell,” Calariel added softly.
“Saruman?” he asked inquisitively.
“It could be no other,” she whispered in the dark.
“Then that would mean he was corrupted by Sauron longer than I had thought, and it was the White Wizard who ordered the death of the wood elves.” Legolas stopped moving and considered what this meant. “Do you think he knew that I escaped?”
“He could have had the orcs search for your body, and found none, but I don’t think he was ever completely sure that you had survived.”
Legolas thought back to the time when he and Elhadron had lived in the Woodsmen village, and of the attack by the orcs that took his uncle’s life. It had been more than coincidence that the orcs appeared, he’d just never realized it until now. “Oh, he was sure of it,” Legolas said, and then resumed crawling through the tunnel.
It must have been around that time when Gríma set out on a routine mission and was assaulted by the Nazgûl, who captured him and brought the terrified man to Orthanc, where Saruman gave him an ultimatum. The wizard poisoned his mind, recruited Gríma, and then put him on the scent of the lost elfling. Legolas imagined his surprise when he returned to Rohan and found the elf living amongst his own people. And then he betrayed them all.
The tunnel opened to a space where they could finally stand. They were wet and dirty, smudged with filth and slime that befouled their clothing, but they were fairly rested and ready for whatever they would find.
“Where does this lead to?” Calariel questioned.
“It should take us to the King’s audience chamber. Behind the dais was a tapestry covering a hidden door.” He lifted the small vial of light and searched the open space, finding the door still intact. “Here it is.” He carefully pushed the half door and thrust the vial into the chamber. Then they entered the room and stood.
Legolas hadn’t seen this place since he was an elfling on that fateful night, and everything looked strange to him. He had played in this room when he was young, and it seemed so much bigger than it did now. It had been so much more colorful too, but now, everything was covered in a layer of dust throwing the room into a monotone color.
There was a torch on the wall, and Legolas took it from its bracket. It was still usable, having been dipped in pitch, but never lit. Calariel was already looking around for a flint stone and found one quickly. She struck it on the stone wall, causing it to emit sparks. Legolas lowered the torch to her, and it caught fire quickly, illuminating the room with a golden glow. The two elves walked out from behind the dais and looked around the room. Legolas attention went first to the last place where he’d seen his father alive. He expected to find his father’s remains, but all that lay on the dusty floor was his sword. He laid down his bow and his long knives, picked up his father’s sword and studied it. The blade was dull and nicked from the battle of his father’s last stand. Legolas’ hand wrapped around the grip, fitting his palm perfectly. He swung the blade left and right, feeling its weight. It was a good blade, he thought, lightweight and impeccably balanced.
“My father’s hand held this sword innumerable times,” he said to himself, feeling a connection with him.
“Legolas,” Calariel called to him with a somber tone.
He turned to her and saw the king’s throne. There he found his father’s skeleton, still swathed in his battle raiment. His skull was tilted, as though looking at his lap. Within the bony fingers was a withered crown of berries, the leaves brown, the fruit shriveled and only the intertwined vines still intact, but grey and stiff.
Legolas went to the throne and knelt at the base of the altar. His hands fell to his lap as he looked up at the empty sockets where he’d once seen the blue depths of his father’s eyes looking at him with love and admiration. Back then, he’d not known his father was a king. When he learned the truth, he thought it might change his feelings for him, but to look upon him now, he knew nothing had changed. Thranduil the King or the loving father… he was one in the same.
“Ada,” he whispered as a single tear escaped the corner of his eye, leaving a trail through the grime that covered his cheek. He prayed silently for his father, long dead, and wept for this one-sided reunion. “Do you think he knows I’m here?” he asked Calariel as she came to stand by Legolas’ side.
“I think he always knew you would return,” she said, and she gestured to the crown. “You have taken up his sword. Now take up his crown and claim your homeland, Laiqalassë Thranduilion.”
Legolas hesitated as he looked down at his father’s lap. He was almost afraid to disturb anything, as it had been untouched for almost thirty years. Instead, his hand lightly touched the padded shoulder of the soldier’s uniform, remembering the many times he’d laid his head on this very spot, to drift into dreams as his father told him tales of great warriors and the beasts destined to die at their hands. “How will I ever take his place? How will I ever bring Mirkwood out of the dark after being in ruins for so long?”
“You ask how, but it has already begun with the elves and the men who are fighting right now. There are more than just you who wish to see this accomplished,” she answered. Then she stepped away from Legolas and the dais, to allow him this moment for himself. “He holds the crown, awaiting the rightful heir so that he can pass it on.”
Legolas reached for the crown, carefully untangling it from his father’s fingers. He brought it up, blowing the dust from the branches. The movement made the king’s skull tilt back slightly, as though he was watching his son take up his crown. Legolas placed it upon his head, and a plume of dust rose into the air. The prince closed his eyes, and he was suddenly paralyzed, thrown into a vision from the past. When he opened his eyes, he was still in the audience chamber, but everything was in color and light. The smell of fresh roses and incense mingled with the strong iron tinge of blood. He looked to the doorway and saw his father’s body, as it lay in the threshold where the attack happened. Legolas knew he and Elhadron were gone by this time. Now he was seeing what happened after their escape, when he thought his father would follow soon, and join him and his uncle.
Orcs manifested into the scene, hovering over the body of Thranduil, waiting to see if he would fight anymore. Suddenly, three guards entered the room and began fighting with the unsuspecting orcs. Obviously, they thought there were no more survivors. Tired from the fight with the previous guards and the King, the orcs were outmatched by the new guards and they were quickly slain. Only when the guards were sure that the threat was gone did they go to their King. They thought he was dead as they stood around his bloody body. Then, one guard called out and pointed to the Thranduil’s hand, seeing his fingers twitch. One rolled him onto his back while the other’s searched the room for anything that they could use to begin healing. Thranduil choked and sputtered, blood running down from the corner of his mouth. He waved off their efforts, knowing he was beyond saving.
“Help me to my throne,” he said. He could not stand, and could barely sit up, so the guards carefully lifted him and carried him in his royal chair. One of them started to retrieve the King’s sword, but Thranduil shook his head. “Leave it and bring me my crown.”
Legolas could see the fresh crown clearly now, the branches a rusty brown, the leaves dark green and the berries bursting with bright red. The guard took it from the table where it sat and handed it to the King. He put it on his head, and in Sindarin, said the words that the fading King says to his heir, handing over his title, his throne, and his kingdom. But the ritual would not be complete, for the prince was not there to accept his role, and all that remained was a father’s dying wish that his son would one day return.
Thranduil removed the crown and laid it in his lap. “Go now, and leave me. I’ve not long for this world, but you still have a chance to escape. And if you find my son, tell him that I love him with all my heart.”
The guards bowed and reluctantly left the chamber. As Legolas watched, he knew they would not make it out of Mirkwood. Their fates were sealed. They would not survive.
Thranduil rest his head on the back of the throne, took one final breath, and upon releasing it, whispered, “Almárëa.”
Legolas felt himself falter where he stood. The colors faded back to the dusty grey of the current scene, and the flesh and blood that was his father morphed back to the skeleton before him now. He felt an arm wrap around his waist and found Calariel there, supporting him.
“Are you alright?” she asked worriedly.
“I saw my father,” Legolas said, “He performed the crowning. He meant for me to find him here… to finish the ceremony.”
“And have you?” Calariel asked.
A new voice joined the conversation, “Ah yes, he did it splendidly.”
Legolas and Calariel spun around to see who was with them in the chamber. Standing in the threshold of the doorway was a forgotten foe. Tall and shapely, looking sleek dressed all in black, it was none other than Róta.
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The Last Wood Elf