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A liaison in the Great Greenwood	By : Azukiel Category: +Third Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 7953 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any copyright to the Tolkien/ Middle-Earth fandom, nor to any of his canon characters or languages. I do not make any money from this fanfiction. Original characters however, are my property.

Chapter List
- 42
- 43
- 44
From the far south of Ered Lithui came the turbulent rumble of thunder, mated with bright flashes of lightning which hissed and crackled across the skies. The growling thunder which reverberated through the plains muted the heavy march of the armies as they advanced along frozen ground. There were no birds in the sky now for they too dreaded what was to come. Many thought that perhaps the heavens were indeed frowning upon the blood that would inevitably be spilled that day, or perhaps it was the darkness of Mordor sending more of its scorn to hinder them. Yet despite the gloom the oncoming storm had wrought upon all souls, the radiant warmth of the clear sun that crept up from the horizon to the east brought to them a renewed sense of hope.
"Tôl ross uin charad, aran vuin." Glorfindel noted as he continued to gaze at the clouds that rolled out over Ered Lithui. "Kwí los..."
"Heleg bo dalaf." Thranduil observed as he looked down. "It will turn to slush beneath us if we are to be cursed with either." He sighed. "Even now, this ice, though thin, poses a hazard."
"Indeed." Glorfindel too looked down at the earth beneath them. Already it had turned into a sodden mix of frozen grass and mud as thousands of feet and hooves trampled upon it. Thranduil sighed once more as he looked back in the direction of the rising sun. "If only the sun could keep the storm at bay..."
Glorfindel gave out an ironic laugh. "If only the Valar would be so kind!"
"Aran nin, hîr vuin!" A messenger, adorned in the brown golds and bronzes of the Greenwood army, galloped up in all haste before them. "Mûmakil are advancing at speed. And the trolls," He said, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "Mountain trolls, with what appear to be catapults attached to their backs."
"Catapults? Attached...to their backs?" Glorfindel repeated, aghast. "Trollapaults?"
Thranduil could not help but let out a snicker through his own surprise as the messenger gave a slight, nervous nod.
"I guess you could call them that, hîr vuin." He replied. "Prince Legolas has requested we bring forward our ballistae and trebuchet before they are rendered unmovable from that oncoming storm." The messenger looked to the south with an unnerved expression. "And that we should halt our march presently and have the enemy come hither. It will indeed become difficult to manoeuvre our war machines once the rain comes, already the ground is weakening beneath our very feet."
The Elvenking nodded with agreement. "That would be the truth of it. Relay the order."
"Yes, aran nin." And with that the messenger set off, his bay steed's hooves pounding hard against the mix of ice and muck, mud flicking up with every gait. In only a few short moments the bellowing of the horns flooded through the plains, the screeching of hard wood and iron wheels coming shortly thereafter. The ballistae, standing as tall as the Elvenking upon his mount, slowly grinded their way past as they were heaved through the army by packs of heavy set oxen. The trebuchet, following closely behind, stood as tall as towers and required even more effort to move. Thankfully, however, they required less effort to operate.
"I best go see how things are at the front." Thranduil sighed, already feeling weary from what would soon befall them.
Glorfindel nodded. "Give the little sapling my regards, I am sure he has all under control."
Thranduil smirked at Glorfindel's teasing, yet affectionate name for his son. "That I shall, you big oak." And with that he cantered off, the Golden Haired Warrior chuckling after him.
The army was almost at a halt by the time the Elvenking reached the prince. Legolas, placing his fist above his heart, bowed his head in greeting.
"Gi suilon, adar. Beautiful weather we are having," He said the latter rather sarcastically.
"As is often the weather during times of war." His father added with equal cynicism. "Where is the March Warden?"
"Relaying information to the archers of men. I expect he will return momentarily."
Thranduil nodded as he turned back to face his son. "I came to see how things are here and that you are holding up well." He began paternally. He could not help but worry for his son's disposition and well-being during this time, something of which the prince could sense easily from his father's tone of voice.
The prince smiled warmly and replied, "Holding up as well as one can in such circumstances. But all, besides that southern storm that threatens to drench us..." He gazed out towards it. "Is going as planned."
Both he and his father pulled up their horses as the army finally came to a halt. "We'll take down as many of those Mûmakil as we can with the trebuchet. The bolts of the ballistae may not be enough to take them down completely as the hide of a Mûmakil is thick and we cannot aim the ballistae high enough to reach their heads. Thus, we will focus the ballistae mainly on the trolls."
"The trollapaults you mean?" Thranduil quipped with a grin, only to have his son raise an amused eyebrow. "Glorfindel's term for them." He added, making Legolas chuckle.
"We could make an encyclopaedia with Glorfindel's terminology of things." The prince laughed. "At least he can see humour even in the darkest of days."
"It would not surprise me if he laughed in the face of the Balrog he defeated, even as it slew him as well."
"Indeed." Legolas nodded, still chuckling as Haldir rode up beside them.
"Aran vuin, cund vuin." He greeted the royals before him with the usual formal bow. "The archers of men are ready as are our troops and those of the Gondorian prince."
"As is our cavalry and the Roharim." Added the Elvenking after returning the March Warden's greeting. "I have already spoken once again to Lord Elrond, all is in order. Now to just wait and hope the storm does not drench us, as you said Legolas. Alas I believe that it will, yet not before those foul filth before us arrive hither."
"As long as the storm does not impede my arrows." The prince growled through gritted teeth as the sudden, terrifying bellow of the horns of malice echoed throughout the land.
"Le vaethor vaen e-beng. Le philin vîn gwathrathar Anor." His father reassured, then looking out towards the east. Their steeds now became unsettled at the sounds that now echoed through the land, for they, like the birds, knew of what was to come.
"I beng nîn linnatha a magol lîn, adar."
"I will find you on the battlefield, ion nin," Thranduil said as he bought his steed up beside Legolas'. The expression upon the prince's face was now one of slight nervousness as the horns from both sides began to blare in their ears. He could not help but fret now for the enemy's heavy march could be felt like a tremor beneath their very feet. Would he be able to lead the army to a victory? Would his strategies be successful in thwarting their foes? Were his skills enough to bring him out of the mess alive? Pulling the diamond necklace that his beloved had gifted to him from his armour, he kissed it gently and stared down at it for a long moment until he felt the gentle touch of his father's hand upon his shoulder.
"Draw your strength from it and fight knowing that you have her to return to."
Legolas, taking in a deep breath, nodded confidently as he tucked the trinket back within his attire. "Stay safe adar." He took his father tightly by the arm.
"Of course. I shall see you in the battle." And with a last nod he galloped off to return to his cavalry.
Glorfindel had already taken his legion to the northern flanks of the army by the time he had returned, and Thranduil readied his own riders at the southern flanks in order to circle around the enemy.
Pulling out the golden locket from his own armour, Thranduil looked down upon it much like his son had done with the trinket Adlanniel had given him. Clicking it open with his thumb, he gazed down longingly at the beautiful image which smiled immortally back up at him. Her image, like the stars in a brilliant night sky, would remain there for all eternity, reminding him of the immeasurable loss and pain he had felt at her passing. Yet her picture also reminded him of the unforgettably joyous life he had had with her; so many loving memories. She had been the only being capable of pulling him out of the pit he had found himself in after he had lost Celebrian, and then much later, his father. She had bought him such peace and happiness during their life together, a life that he would not have traded for all the blessings of Eru Ilúvatar. Yet woefully she had been cruelly stripped from him, and he was left in desolation to wallow in sorrow once more. That was, until, she came. Thinking upon such thoughts rendered the guilt back into his heart, making him feel numb. She was not his, and no matter how much he wished it, she never would be. Alas they had fallen into a trap together and were struggling desperately to break free. Though within this entanglement they had felt warmth and some form of adoration and tenacious need, no matter how misplaced it were. They were like two children being forced to give up an object of intense comfort, yet it were not only for their sakes. Regardless, it were a dreadful pain, one of which would make him feel withered once more. Perhaps his fate were indeed intended to be a tortured one.
"Aran vuin?" A voice called to him. It was close, but so numbed was he then it sounded like a phantom on the wind. "Aran Thranduil!?" The rumbling of the ground beneath them made the voice ever more desperate.
Blinking, his eyes aching, Thranduil turned to the voice which called him. "Aran vuin, the enemy is almost upon us." The young captain stated.
Thranduil quickly composed himself and tucked the locket back within his breastplate.
Suddenly the whistling of thousands of arrows screamed through the chilled sky. He could almost feel the air around them shift as hundreds of bolts and stones were released around them from their war machines; the stones cracking like thunder against the skulls of many Mûmakil, the bolts skewering many a foe like pigs to a spit.
The Elvenking, turning to his riders, ordered to them, "Os-veno adel din, dago in yrch no Mûmakil!" He then lifted one of his glimmering double swords high above his head. "Northo!"
"Aim for their heads and for the commanders!" Legolas shouted along the line of archers, both elven and human alike. "Take them down! Leithio i philin!"
For but a moment the sky blackened, and the straining sun was blotted out by the array of projectiles that rained down upon the enemy like a swarm of locusts. The trebuchet had been utilised first, being the machines with the furthest range and power, followed by the ballistae and arrows. Many of the monolithic Mûmakil, and the equally horrendous trolls, fell due to the true aims of both elves and men. Yet the foul filth would not so easily be extinguished, and their terrifying hordes continued to trample forward in a thunderous rampage. Both men and elves too began to fall around him, as the enemy returned fire with just as much malicious intent.
Like a giant ocean swell upon a shore the infantry led by Lord Elrond and the Prince of Gondor surged forward, passing through Legolas and his archers like a torrent around stones, their weapons gleaming from the shards of sunlight that shone through the clouds of projectiles. That is when he saw the glint of silver and white in the near distance as his father and the cavalry curved around them at full gallop.
The stench of rabid canine and rotting flesh dripping from foaming mouths could be smelt long before the pack of wargs reached the Elvenking and his cavalry. Their orc masters, an epitome of vile creatures, screeched in their blackened tongues as they threw their barbed javelins. Thranduil understood their black speech well enough as he dodged one projectile after another, all hurled for the purpose of taking him down. Being a member of royal blood inevitably placed a target upon his back, yet it were a risk that he, and all other rulers of the free-peoples, were willing to take to rid the lands of the obnoxious filth that spewed from the dark depths of the world.
Suddenly, as the whistling of an incoming javelin rang in his ears, Thranduil arched himself till his shoulders almost touched his mount's rump. The vibrating of the javelin's shaft reverberated through his being as its barbed tip scraped harshly along the steel of his armour, cutting a small nick along his cheekbone. Using his own agility to his advantage, he manage to grasp the shaft of the javelin before it flew completely over him, hurling it with exact precision back at its original owner before the beast had the chance to react.
With its yellowed teeth bared, another warg lunged at Thranduil's left side, his steed, Maeglir, braying in panic as he was knocked to the mud beneath by the beast's immense force. Thranduil, managing to roll himself free before being crushed beneath the weight of both mangled beast and loyal steed, dove one of his blades through the creature's mouth as it viciously snapped at him, the blade tearing along sinewy flesh as he bought it crossways. The beast's yelp was drowned quickly in a gurgle of splattering ooze as Thranduil tore his sword out from the cartilage of the warg's throat, the creature's head being left to dangle loosely by a mere shed of skin and fur. The orc rider, clad in rusted wrought iron armour, most of which was grafted to his own flesh, growled angrily at the slaying of his vicious mount.
"Pushdug!" It spat angrily as it glared at the Elvenking with its yellowed eyes, full of malice and hate. A wicked smirk slid across Thranduil's fine features as he wiped away the black ooze of the warg that had splattered onto his porcelain skin. Without a word spoken, the Elvenking parried the blow of the orc as it lunged at him and slew it, his skills far superior than those of a mere servant of darkness.
His father's cavalry, though having lost many of their own, had slain a great majority of their orcish attackers and now, after having regrouped, were charging towards the Mûmakil that Legolas' troupe were firing at. Legolas, his aim as true as the Valar are all powerful and wise, shot through the skull the Mûmak Commander that had tried to steer his great beast into the Elvenking. The Mûmak Commander toppled, lifeless, from the back of the beast, the gargantuan creature trampling what had once been its master. The Mûmak, knowing itself to now be masterless, went into a manic frenzy, throwing its massive barb armored clad trunk side to side, swatting indiscriminately at anything that came within its range.
Legolas' eyes widened in both shock and horror as his father steered Maeglir under and between the Mûmak's giant legs; as wide as an oak they were and just as heavy.
"Adar, No dirweg!" The prince shouted, yet it were in vain for his father could not hear his voice through the loud trumpeting of the surrounding Mûmakil. However Legolas was left standing in the middle of the now muddy plain, dumbstruck as the Mûmak continued to charge forward towards him, as his father began to use the many arrows protruding out of the beast's hide to swing up to the litter attached to its back. A flash of sterling shone from the light that pierced the heavy clouds as the Elvenking swung his double swords to cut down the Haradrim that came fiercely at him. Legolas spared no moment to aid his father then, firing true at one Haradrim that came at his father's back. Just as the prince's arrow pierced through the throat, one of the Elvenking's swords lunged back to pierce through the stomach, the Elvenking then spinning around to decapitate the ill-fated Haradrim with one fell sweep of his other arm. Lifting one foot up to the chest he swiftly kicked the dead Haradrim off his blade, the corpse tumbling in a bloodied heap off the back of the Mûmak only to be trampled underfoot by the massive beast just as its master had been.
Thranduil, using the short window of time afforded him, looked down towards his son and gave a slight nod in thanks before taking up the massive reigns of the creature now that all of its riders had been slain. Legolas was left even more stunned as his father then proceeded to steer the gargantuan beast into a fellow Mûmak, causing both beasts to tumble and twist over each other in a massive mess. Yet as they began to fall, Thranduil used his elven agility and speed to jump across them and onto the back of another nearby, again continuing to annihilate any enemy that came across his path.
"Why had I not thought of doing that?" Came a sudden voice from behind the prince as Glorfindel, having too watched the Elvenking's spectacle, cantered to a halt beside him. The prince could barely make a reply before the Lord of Golden Flowers leant down to clap him merrily on the back. "I cannot allow your father dearest to outdo me, now can I?" He joked, his eyes still fixated on the Elvenking. "Do not get yourself into any trouble now, princeling!" And with that Glorfindel went off in a hard gallop into the fray to join the king of the Woodland Realm in taking down as many of the Mûmakil as possible.
"Cund vuin!" Came yet another familiar voice as Haldir ran up to stand beside him. Before the March Warden could even breath another word, the sky above, already darkened by the clouds of the storm, was now dotted once more from the exchange of projectiles. "Telig theryg. We should draw swords." He suggested, for their archers had been concentrating fire on the Mûmakil.
Legolas nodded in agreement as he turned his head to look at the March Warden. "Go back and have our reserve archers concentrate fire on the trolls, particularly the trollapaults."
Haldir rose an eyebrow, confused.
"The trolls with catapaults attached to their backs. Glorfindel's term for them are 'trollapaults.'" He grinned.
"Oh, I see." Haldir chuckled before the prince continued.
"We here will join Lord Elrond and Prince Ciryaher's infantry."
"Ben iest lîn." Haldir placed his hand upon his breast and bowed his head in respect.
"Le channon, Haldir. No dirwig." Legolas returned the gesture in kind. Yet he had not the opportunity to watch the March Warden go on his way for the trolls bore ever closer, reserves of Easterling infantry following them shortly behind to join those already amidst the savage fighting. "Metho i megil dhîn, Dago i theryg!" The prince cried out along the line, the shrill blast of a signal horn following shortly after.
Flashes of white burst across the blackened sky, the lightening illuminating the bloodshed in a deathly glow. Thunder once again rumbled across the field, and as Legolas looked up towards the sky, the tears of the Valar began to fall. Taking in a deep breath he heaved himself forward to join his comrades who were already in the thick of the fray, his eye fixated on one troll in particular. A behemoth creature it were, a Mountain Troll with eyes bulging from its rusted iron helmet, its armour, like an orcs, grafted to its grayed flesh. It had no war machine attached to its back, yet in its massive fist it grasped a club the size of a thick oaken trunk. With its club in hand it swatted its foes away like flies; crushing its enemies like mere insects underfoot.
Legolas charged directly for it, ducking from and weaving around those close to him, shooting or cutting down whoever was foolish enough to come at him directly. The grotesque beast, having caught a glimpse of the prince from the corner of one of its bulging eyes, swung its mighty arm around in an attempt to crush him, sending those fighting nearby, regardless of allegiance, flying with immense force. The prince sucked in a deep breath as he slid under the swing, immediately counterattacking with an arrow to the beast's face. The arrow, having pierced through the troll's eye, only sought to enrage it further. It let out such a blood curdling roar that Legolas almost froze in his tracks, a chill racing down his spine. Without any thought of pain, it ripped the arrow out of its eye socket, eyeball and all, and threw the bloody mess to the ground. The monster swung once more with its club, narrowly missing the elven prince, the club plummeting into the bloodied mud beneath them. As quick as a fox Legolas used this opening to his advantage, leaping up onto the club to run up the trolls arm. In this brief moment of confusion the troll roared and tried to swat the prince off, yet Legolas was too agile and managed to flip up onto the troll's shoulders. Without a second thought he fired double arrows into the opening of the armour at the back of the troll's neck, yet much to his utter surprise the arrows did not hinder the monster but infuriate it further still. Legolas dodged the troll's attempts to reach back to grab him and, pulling out his double daggers, dove them as deeply as he could into another opening of the troll's flesh. Yet as he went to pull them out, they would not budge from the monster's cartilage. Despite the troll flailing about, trying in vain to throw its elven opponent off, Legolas continued to try to pull out his daggers in desperation for now they were the only weapons he had at his disposal, having fired his last two arrows into the troll just moments before.
Despite having dodged all the troll's attempts to throw him off, his heightened desperation to dislodge his daggers took him off guard for the briefest of moments, yet it were enough for the troll to reach back once more. Its massive fingers wrapped around the prince's lean frame, crushing him with such force the very air was squeezed out of his lungs. The prince could hear the snapping of bone through his scream of pain as some of his ribs cracked under the troll's immense force. He struggled with hopeless desperation, despite his agony, as the troll squeezed him tighter still.
The moans of the dying, the cries of battle and the pelting of the rain against steel and iron did little to drown out the horrid scream that reached the Elvenking's keen ears. Immediately he recognised that it had been of his son, and he snapped his head in the direction of the cry, his pale eyes wide in horror and worry. Dispatching the Easterling he had been fighting with all due haste he ran as quickly as his legs could take him in the direction he had heard the cries coming from.
"Legolas!" Thranduil was horrified to find the troll with his son clenched in its fist, slamming him into the ground before tossing him against the corpse of a nearby Mûmak like a rag doll.
Legolas gasped breathlessly as the air was knocked once more out of his lungs, his head clouded as he tried to recuperate his dazed senses. Yet his mind fogged and spun as he tried to stand, his legs giving way like a broken dam on a river. Was this going to be his end? He wondered as he collapsed to the ground, the pain throughout his body grinding and almost unbearable. Was this going to be his fate? But then he remembered the vision his beloved had so desperately tried to prevent; a golden haired warrior would fall. Had it in fact been him that she had seen? Was having envisioned his death the true reason as to why she had been so adamant in trying to prevent her vision from coming true? Perhaps he should have indeed listened to her after all. The guilt of having ignored her pleas brought tears to his eyes. Looking up to the heavens above, the rain washed the blood, sweat, tears and dirt from his weary face. He begged the Valar to allow his death to be quick for now the troll towered over him, its club poised high above its head, ready to pulverise him into the ground.
Were his eyes betraying him now? Had one of the Valar come to spare him? His eyes struggled to focus on the silver haired being that had come to his aid.
"Adar?" Yet his voice choked painfully in his throat.
Thranduil, having taken up a bow from a fallen Haradrim archer, fired an arrow into the gap of the armour under the arm that was raised to strike his son. The massive beast roared in more annoyance than in pain as it swung around to try to hit its new opponent, yet the long arrow shaft proved to make the swing difficult, and the boulder like muscles of the troll's arm snapped the shaft clean off as it swung around once more. Thranduil dodged under the first and then slid under the second swing to be at the troll's back, taking his twin swords to slice open the cartilage of the beast's ankles. The behemoth monster fell to its knees now in pain and Thranduil took this chance to launch up onto the troll's shoulders, immediately diving both of his blades through the beast's helmet and into its skull. It took all of his strength to push the swords deeply into the thick flesh and bone but he knew he had reached his mark when the troll let out a long, guttural groan, black ooze bubbling out of its gnarled mouth. The troll toppled to the mud, lifeless, the Elvenking riding its shoulders as it went down. Once again he had to use his strength to pull out his blades for he had embedded them deeply within the creature's brain.
Just as he released them from their entrapment he felt a sudden dreadful pain in his shoulder blade, a pain that, though not felt for an aeon, was sharp and all too familiar. Yet he felt numbed as he turned to face the direction it had come. All sound rang in his ears then, drowning out his son's cries of desperation for his father's current plight. Another biting pain bit into Thranduil's opposite shoulder, making him stumble and fall from the troll's lifeless corpse. Regaining himself he saw the orc archer a ways ahead, another barbed arrow cocked in its crude bow. Thranduil, grimacing from the pain reached for a dagger that was hidden in his gauntlets. Yet the orc's keen eyes saw the subtle movements and fired the arrow purposely into the Elvenking's calf, obviously wanting to inflict pain and suffering. Thranduil gasped as he stumbled to his knees once more, his vision blurring from the agony that bore through his being. Despite his inflictions he threw the dagger with the strength he had remaining, piercing the orc in the middle of the face before it had the chance to draw another arrow. The last of his strength spent, the burning of the wretched poison began to take hold.
"Adar!!" Legolas cried out desperately, some of his senses having returned to him as he tried to drag himself to his father's side. Yet Thranduil's vision darkened, and all other sounds became still.

Sindarin Elvish - English
Tôl ross uin charad - Rain is coming from the south.
aran vuin - my king.
cund vuin - my prince.
Kwí los - Perhaps snow
Heleg bo dalaf - There is ice on the ground.
hîr vuin - my lord
Gi suilon, ada - Greetings, father.
Mûmakil - The official name of Oliphants - giant Mammoth/ Elephant type creatures from the southern lands Harad (south of Rohan).
Le vaethor vaen e-beng. Le philin vîn gwathrathar Anor - You are a skilful bowman. Your arrows will blot out the sun.
I beng nîn linnatha a magol lîn - My bow shall sing with your sword.
ion nin - my son.
Eru Ilúvatar - He is the creator of all Arda.
Os-veno adel din, dago in yrch no Mûmakil - Go around behind them, kill the orcs and then the Oliphants.
Northo! - Charge!
Leithio i philin! - Release the arrows!
Adar, No dirweg! - Father, be careful/ watch out!
Telig theryg - Trolls are coming
Ben iest lîn - As you wish
Le channon - Thank you
Metho i megil dhîn, Dago i theryg! - Draw you swords, kill the Trolls!
Black Speech- English
Pushdug - dung filth
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A liaison in the Great Greenwood