Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Liquid Diamonds	By : redkiwi Category: +Second Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Tolkien's world (Silmarillion/Lord of the Rings/Hobbit), nor the characters from it. No money is made from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
"Kill him!"
The orders echoed through the forest, words that tore through his heart, piercing it with panic. He was surrounded by a great host of orcs, leaving him little chance of survival. He was blooded from numerous wounds, alone, and outnumbered, but although weary with his pain and his bleak situation, he continued to cut them down. And just when it seemed his victory may be, he was cut in the side, brought down by an foul orcish blade. In a slow fall to his knees, that one seemed to look directly into his own eyes. Bright emerald eyes showed no fear before the final death blow took his life.
"Thranduil!" Glorfindel screamed, awakening from his dream. The echo of his voice cut through the dark of his room as he slowly came to realization that he had only just been dreaming. Still as he sat in his bed, his breath was heavy and fast, and beads of sweat from the realistic night terror had formed on his brow. He pondered the dream, wondering why he would have dreamed a dream so vivid and horrifying. He had witnessed the prince's death, and his chest pounded still, his eyes blinked in confusion, his soul felt dread.
He moved to sit on the edge of his bed, but he didn't rise, still shaken from the dream. He little remembered having fallen asleep after Thranduil had left, but somehow in the night he must have fallen into reverie. Looking to his night stand, he saw the empty bottle of wine, and wondered if it had been the potent spirits that had pulled him under, or if again the soul of the forest had cast her charms on him once again.
Thranduil. He wondered about the other, not sure if that friendship he had so freely given him now had fallen to ruin, or if simply Thranduil would only try harder to seduce him with his wicked ways. Glorfindel was uneasy this new day, worried by his dream and heart perplexed, regarding how to act with Thranduil. He did not want to reject the attraction for Glorfindel knew he desired Thranduil as much as the other did. But unlike Thranduil, he was responsible for swaying a stubborn Woodland King to put aside centuries old hurt and distrust to work again with the Noldor. In Glorfindel's wisdom he knew that even the smallest of slights could cause ruin to his mission. Still, Glorfindel yearned to really know Thranduil, even if deep within, he knew it was a dream that could never be. Their fates would never bind the two together, for Thranduil was the Greenwood, and the Greenwood could never be his home.
His thoughts now moved away from his longing, preparing instead his approach for the meeting. He felt no unease, no fluttering of heart, for despite Oropher's obstinate manner, Glorfindel knew he was mightier. But again, in his wisdom, Glorfindel feigned humility, fully following Thranduil's advice on letting Oropher dictate the dance he found himself in. He would be humble, but cunning, firm, but docile, allowing Oropher to speak his peace, while speaking his own with a mightier and wiser voice.
Rising as if in a trance, his thoughts moved back to that dream. The forest seemed to call for him, and he became lost in that dream once more. He stepped out into the balcony, wondering what time it was. The stars were starting to fade, Ithil wained, but the dawn had not yet broken. The forest around him seemed to whisper with their arcane words and Glorfindel knew that it was the forest that had given him that vision as if moved by the grace of the Valar. A warning. He thought, but he did not know the place or time this warning belonged to.
With a troubled mind, Glorfindel dressed himself, hoping that Thranduil would be present for today's meeting with the King. He tarried in his room, lingering there in this early morning, waiting for the breakfast hour to begin. He would be present for the meeting that morning with Oropher, although his mind just would not move from his forbidding thoughts regarding Thranduil.
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The same waning moon that was descending down over the Greenwood was still shining bright in the peaceful valley of Imladris. The valley's Lord sat in an unfinished garden, having been woken from a troubling dream just as Glorfindel had been far away beyond the Misty Mountains. Elrond's dream had been vague, but still the weight of its worry had pulled him from rest. He had felt a stirring, and he had walked almost as if in dream, out from the peaceful rooms and down into this garden, carved out at the bottom of a ravine.
He let his eyes settle on the budding garden around him, and he smiled as he seated himself on a stone bench. This garden had been built for his love, Celebrian, who kept him strong in these trying years. But even as he tried to move his thoughts to her, again an image of a river as red as the deep scarlet roses that bloomed in this garden flowed within his mind. And then the images of the leaves of a forest withered and fell, the blazing moon crumbled and its pieces fell to ash covering the forest. And then in his dream flashed emerald eyes, ones that Elrond knew all too well. They were unblinking, hallow, starring past him in that awful stare of death.
It was that arcane forest, he knew, which had surfaced in his dreams. The lands were crying out, desperate almost in its reach to him. And Elrond sat shaken, unable to know exactly what had moved him, not sure exactly what to make of the dream that had came to him this night. He knew that dreams were sometimes nothing more than worries and frustrations manifesting themselves for some sort of resolution. But this dream was not that. This dream was something else. And he found himself standing, letting his gaze look to the east.
"Elrond?"
The gentle voice of Erestor no stronger than a breeze, caused Elrond to turn to see the other descend down the stone steps carved into the side of the steep ravine. Elrond gratefully sighed within, relieved that he did not have to share the early morning alone with his forbidding thoughts that still refused to leave his mind.
"What manner of worry has now lured you here?" Erestor seated himself on one of the stone benches within the garden. His despondent eyes glanced over their dark surroundings, and he wondered why his lord had journeyed to this spot before the rise of Anor had illuminated their lands.
Elrond wasn't surprised that the still mourning Erestor had seen or heard him leave the halls of their home for this secluded garden, for Erestor's sleep came little to him now. Elrond knew he walked the halls most nights, still a prisoner ever of his never ending grief. And that dark dream and the war on the elves that had claimed so many all collided within his mind, and Elrond's mood grew darker even. He let his face fall into a frown, for he knew that war would come again, even if they decided not to take action against the Dark Lord. War was coming, there was no denying that. And his thoughts moved to Glorfindel now, who suddenly burned in his mind.
"Glorfindel." He whispered, and at hearing that name, he saw Erestor close his eyes, as the other pondered the name he had spoken. But Erestor's words were slow to come. Elrond studied Erestor, who looked more troubled this night, as if his dreams too had left him disenchanted in this pause before the dawn. Together they sat in silence, with only the still sunless day enveloping them.
"Glorfindel was the right choice to plead alliance with the Woodland King."
Erestor's words were softer still, falling and rising within the breezes that blew as he spoke. His words were almost drowned out by the rustling of the ivy that grew on the stone statues in the garden. But Erestor's words were true, and Elrond found himself nodding, even with the feelings that his dream had left him with, and that flash of eyes that only brought doubt within his mind.
"There is no hope for an alliance." Elrond's frown grew deeper as he came to understand the dream. Not even Thranduil's influence could sway Oropher's will, and the dream led Elrond to conclude that. There would never be a united elven people rising up against the Dark Lord. And in their fraction, Elrond was not sure if hope had all but abandoned them.
"On Glorfindel's return, I shall just have to inform the High-King that the Noldor may never march with our Silvan kin."
"Has there been news on the negotiations?"
Erestor wondered over the darkening mood of Elrond's, knowing that his lord was blessed with the strongest gift of foresight. Elrond's silence to the question worried him greatly, and he pressed the issue again.
"Did you have a vision that would lead you to know the outcome of the request?" He rephrased his question, thoroughly intrigued due to the absence of words from his lord.
"I have not yet lost all faith that we may somehow find victory in the end." Elrond didn't care to elaborate as to specifically what the victory would be over, leaving Erestor to interpret his lord's thoughts.
"As much as I would like to believe in a victory, I believe Gil-galad's request is only one of folly. Why waste our energy and risk someone's life to negotiate with one whom would never yield to our High-King's commands?" The ever pragmatic Erestor finally said the words he so wanted to say during that one counsel meeting in which Glorfindel had been sent to the Greenwood. "Lorien will not march without Oropher's agreement, and we waste focus and time with the courting of the Greenwood."
Elrond understood the validity of the question, for in his dealing with Oropher the outcome was usually the will of what Oropher wanted. The other had been ever distant, scornful, ever judgmental to the lords of the Noldor. He never forgave, and Elrond doubted that he wanted to, holding onto his grief and his disdain as if it were a scar across his very soul. When Oroher wasn't keeping his distance, he was ever biter, biting, and uncouth in his dealings with them. But the other lords of the Sindar looked to him as their leader and those that shared his opinions dwelt in the south of Lindon and had willingly followed him long ago far over the Misty Mountains and into the eastern wilds. Elrond knew the force that was Oropher, whose caustic words fueled some to action, while disaffecting others. He was such a polarizing spirit that burned with both fire and with ice.
"I should have done more to counsel Glorfindel regarding Oropher." Elrond questioned his decision on sending Glorfindel so blindly to the Greenwood.
"The talk of idle tongues would have already poisoned the image of the Woodland King within these lands, and with due cause. Those words would have long ago reached the ears of Glorfindel. Still I believe him prudent enough to have let those words dissolve before they settled into his mind. Question not your actions, for you deemed what was right. Your council would have only brought more apprehension to his trials, I believe."
Elrond smiled at the reassurance his advisor gave to him. So astute was Erestor, but ever still was he wrapped within his dolor, cold as the harsh winter ice, frozen in the darkest of its nights. But his thoughts did not linger long on Erestor, instead flowing back to that distant ruler far off in the east.
Elrond still would never forget that one last time he had seen Oropher, and would ever reflect on the person he had become, as one so shaped by the events that he had lived through. Elrond would have thought that Oropher could have done better to have saved his soul from the ages that had claimed so many. Many had survived and had only grown stronger, and the ones that could not had sailed to the west to heal their broken souls. But Oropher had done neither, for he was deeply wounded beyond repair, and nor could seem to transcend his grief. It was as if he was a shadow caught between the breaking of the dawn into day. A shadow that was caught in a perpetual twilight that haunted Arda all through these years.
Those last words Oropher had spoken to him were forever engrained in his mind. The other had only answered his questions with riddles that were sardonic, caustic, hurtful. All Noldor were covered in the blood of the kin-slayers, all Noldor held that guilt of the wars and grief that had been brought to these lands. And although that transparent hate and disdain dripped within his words, his eyes were something else entirely. Instead of hate or pain, or any emotion for that matter, all that stared back at him were icy inscrutable eyes. And oh had Elrond shuddered, so haunted he was by those eyes that seemed as the other were alive but also dead. A shadow was all that Elrond could think to describe the other.
Erestor waited patiently for a response, seeing that Elrond was lost now within one of his memories. Or perhaps he simply let his worry about the Dark Lord overwhelm him once again. For although they had felt a reprieve from his wraith, it would only be a matter of time before he would march to bring ruin to them all.
And Elrond closed his eyes, letting the fading night lighten his worry, for Erestor was right. Glorfindel had been the correct choice to send to the Greenwood, and he had to force himself to find his faith that Glorfindel could get the Greenwood's King to march. That great host of Silvan elves would certainly help their cause. He was wrong to doubt and to jump to conclusions. The dream could mean something else, and on reflection of that, Elrond turned to Erestor.
"Erestor." He saw the deep grey eyes focus on him, and he seated himself on the bench by him. "I would like to tell you a dream that woke me this very early morning." And the dream was told with all of its vague details to Erestor.
And Erestor took in the words, and his deep grey eyes held concern now, but he paused, running the dream one more time through his mind. He took a deep breath that sounded more like a sigh and responded.
"I would say that your forbidding is justified, for death will come to the Greenwood."
"Death say you?" Elrond was surprised, but deep within he had suspected as much. "Truthfully though, I was afraid you would say what I was unwilling to think myself." Elrond stood, wishing the miles did not separate them now, wishing that he could somehow be there to guide the Greenwood King. But he knew his words would only be silenced with wraith.
"We do not yet know the hour of this vision, or even what would cause it to come to pass." Erestor also rose, falling into his familiar duty of chief-advisor to his Lord.
Elrond knew the words were true, for visions and dreams did not always occur until years later, turning over into prophecies, and sometimes those prophecies fell into legends unfilled. But still he wondered what was occurring in that secluded realm. "Let us hope that we will soon hear from Glorfindel, for I know that Gil-galad grows impatient to begin our battle plans. Sauron has attacked us and now he makes war with men. His hunger will not cease until we all have fallen."
"We both know that time moves ever differently in the Woodland Realm. Haste and urgency do not have the same meaning as we have come to learn and understand. Moons could start and end their phases a dozen times, and the Lord Oropher would still be keeping Glorfindel away with his wiles and aversion. I look not for Glorfindel to return for awhile now, for the whims of Greenwood would seem to keep him prisoner. Perhaps that could be the meaning to your riddle that woke you from your sleep."
"That was my first impression. Yes, that in Oropher's refusal to relent, our plans could come to ruin. Those eyes, so dead in my dream, I have only seem once before in another."
"Oropher." Erestor breathed, wrapping the name in his exasperation with that other. Erestor too could recall those eyes, and hadn't thought to interpret Elrond's dream that way. It was folly he knew, and perhaps they would have had better luck convincing the elves of Lothlorien alone to join. But no, the path to the Silvan elves led straight through Oropher, and Erestor wondered just how Glorfindel fared.
"Still you are correct with your statement, my friend. Glorfindel is the right choice to persuade the Greenwood to join our call to arms. If anyone can match the will of Oropher or withstand his disregard with the patience required, it would only be Glorfindel."
Elrond looked to Erestor again, letting his gratitude for his friend's council reflect out from his features. Anor was slowly rising and Elrond watched as slowly the sky above them transformed with the sunrise. "It is time I take my leave, for I need to see with starting my day. If you would please excuse me."
Erestor watched as Elrond departed, mouth pursed as he thought over Elrond's words. Death and pain would never leave them, he had accepted. He just wondered who it would claim next.
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Thranduil had left before the dawn that morning with a group of ten sentries in his company. They had left by moonlight, with two horses that carried some needed supplies to their southern neighbors, the woodland men, who dwelt along the southern parts of the forest and the glades around it. They had little dealings with the men, for they were a very rustic and crude people, but with what little contact they made, they had always found the men to be friendly and even engaging sporadically with trade and the sharing of information.
The walk through the forest brought memories back to them since they had once dwelt in the far southern areas of Amon Lac. Their path was still visible, where long ago they had traveled daily. This path was now used by the woodland men and sometimes still by the elves when they cared to venture to these southern parts. The forest was darker in the south of the forest, with stranger trees that were more dense, and whose wood seemed to bend and twist, covered with thick hanging vines. The foliage as well was denser and grew more wild. But it was still a fair forest, with bright green leaves and animals plenty. And although they no longer dwelt in this area, they still felt as guardians to these woods, although with the passing of the years, men had settled here. They built scattered woodland villages and towns, and settled in glades that they had once hewn themselves, so many years ago.
Thranduil led the party who treaded quickly but cautiously. They were already a few hours away from their home, and would end up near the very edge of the western forest, near the long open glades where this particular settlement was. They knew they must pass other towns of woodman and hoped they would not be hindered on their journey through it.
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Glorfindel wanted to seek his friend out this early morning, to ease his spinning mind still wrapped within his dream. He also needed to talk with him, hoping he could better explain his actions and feelings before the meeting would commence. A glance in the breakfast room proved to show no sign of Thranduil. But although Thranduil was not present, Galion was. Glorfindel watched him, as he was ever in motion, an eternal conductor who moved the orchestra within Oropher's halls.
Smiling, Glorfindel called to him, snapping Galion's attention to him. "When can I expect Thranduil to join us?"
But before Galion could answer, the chief-advisor turned his attention to Glorfindel.
"Lord Glorfindel, Thranduil will not be present at the counsel today, and is busy with other matters that do not concern you." The advisor's eyes smirked a little, well aware of the plan that was to commence today within the meeting. The chief-advisor thoroughly backed Oropher's decision, as he as well had seen with his own eyes the destruction and grief that the Nolder had brought to their lives. He did not trust them to lead them wisely into battle against Sauron's forces, and even with this alliance they cried out for, he was just as doubtful as his King was that their plans would ever work.
Glorfindel watched as the advisor took his seat, and his mind suddenly flashed back to his dreams. He felt a twinge in his heart and the images form his dream kept flashing. "Kill him!" That grotesque voice echoed. He turned from the advisor's sight, not caring to respond to him, even when he stated that he would see him later at the meeting with King Oropher.
That meeting was the whole reason Gil-galad had sent him to these lands, and it was scheduled this very morning. Glorfindel felt the tug of his heart and a panic he could not explain. With legs that seemed to move on their own accord, Glorfindel let the dinning hall, listening not to the word's of the king's advisor, who continued speaking to him still.
Galion watched the exchange that had occurred, noticing the strange shift deep within Glorfindel's eyes, and he paused within the early morning bustle of the dynamic dinning hall. Glorfindel's eyes had held him still, although Glorfindel had already departed. And Galion wondered, ignoring everything else around him. That unease which had opened within those eyes reminded Galion of Thranduil's eyes when he shared his dreams with him. And he thought of Thranduil's dark dreams while he too stepped away from the dinning hall, not caring to see to his King's counsellors this morning as he had been requested to.
He stepped into the hall, and looked out past the bustling elves who chatted and flowed in a never ending stream. Motionless, Galion may have been, but the world around him flowed as ever. "Go to Glorfindel." His heart told him, and he listened, curious as to why he could not dismiss this sudden infatuation.
Galion did not bother to even knock on Glorfindel's door, since it was slightly ajar. With a slight push, he stepped inside and watched the other buckle his sword. "Do you leave us?" Galion was confused and surprised all at once with the scene he saw. He stared into Glorfindel's blue eyes that had turned with his question.
Glorfindel bit the bottom of his lip, while he deliberated if he should respond to Galion. Galion may have been ever kind and friendly to him, but he was still the king's butler. His loyalty was first and foremost to his liege, and Glorfindel wondered if he should put his trust in him.
And in Galion's astuteness, he recognized the misgivings that Glorfindel faced. But his heart would not be still, perhaps pained now with the foreboding Thranduil would lament to him of the coming uncertainty he dreamed of night after night. And deep within Galion's heart, he too felt the winds of that uncertainty, for he had seen it in Glorfindel, he felt it in the earth, heard it whispered from the trees.
"A pressing pull I can not shake would have me come to you now." Galion kept his voice low, closing the door gently behind him. "It calls within my heart, much like the forest calls to my soul, and I could not help but see your eyes so wild in their worry."
The words he spoke stifled the circumspection he felt, and Glorfindel found the he could open up to Galion, a confidant who was also moved by the Greenwood in his own unique way. "A dream came to me and I can do no other then to heed it. I worry for someone so I must be allowed to pass from these halls unseen into the forest. I must go out in it today, so moved that I simply can not resist the forest's calls. I can not to be stopped nor questioned."
"A difficult task indeed," Galion replied. "If not impossible, for our guards are like the thousands of leaves that stand watch through out the forest. But I can try to see that your request be done." Galion motioned for Glorfindel to move closer. "The king has a passage that is known by just a few alone. It leads from these halls and far into the forest. Oropher had it constructed in secret and I only came to learn of it when Thranduil took me through it once. The passage opens in the forest, far from the eyes of our guards."
Glorfindel let his eyes open wide with the surprise of the aid that Galion offered to him. "And you would be so willing to assist me without giving word to your King? He would not have me journey through his lands without his leave."
"I would do so, because I have seen that look before that has fallen across your eyes. I will not hinder you. There is however, a challenge we must face." Galion seated himself on a chair, as he tried to think things through. "The door to the passage is within the King's private chambers, and he keeps the hall that leads to his chambers under constant guard."
"Is the chance to enter unseen impossible then?"
"Improbable, but not impossible." Galion replied, the Silvan lilt to his speech slurred now more with his spinning mind. "The guards always follow King Oropher through that private hall in a sign of respect before they return back to their spots, just outside his door. If my King has not yet left, you will be able to enter the hall unnoticed. I can always create a small diversion, and in that chaos you can then enter as you wish unseen."
Glorfindel nodded, agreeing to give the plan a try. He didn't really know how else he would be able to evade the watchful eyes of Oropher's guard. "And where can I find the door to this passage?"
Galion shook his head. "No, not like that. Once you enter, you must be ever still and silent. The guard will be just outside his door, and will hear you move around. If you are found within the King's rooms, he will have you driven out of the Greenwood forever. The Noldor would never be able to plead alliance again. Wait for me. I will enter shortly after, and will show you the passage."
Glorfindel smiled, amused he was scheming with Galion, who had ever been friendly, but strangely reserved when he had interacted with him. But now Galion seemed so bold, so trusting and willing to help without questioning much. And Glorfindel wondered the meaning of Galion's earlier words. "I am surprised, Galion, that you would help me evade a meeting that I have so desired since my arrival, and you question little as to what calls me out into the Greenwood."
"The reason must be dire enough I gathered, for I know the importance this meeting is to you. I have heard its importance in your voice, in Thranduil's, and the news we receive grows ever graver. I will not ask or question what calls you, however." He saw that Glorfindel was ready, and instructed for him to stand just beyond the hall beside a statue.
And Glorfindel arrived at the time Galion had told him to, and he waited. He saw Galion approach, carrying a tray holding bottles of wine balanced in his hands. Galion seemed to know exactly when his King would turn out from his corridor and into the larger hall, and Glorfindel watched Oropher and Galion almost collide. The sounds of crashing wine bottles breaking on the stone floor brought the curious guards out from beyond their hall. Glorfindel saw his chance and he slipped into the hall quickly, and entered into Oropher's private rooms, while the commotion continued on behind him.
Stark, was the word that came to Glorfindel's eyes when he looked around the room. But still the sitting room was entrancing enough. The chairs, the desk, the books all seemed to fade however, when Glorfindel turned and saw the grand vista that opened up to the beauty of the Greenwood. And Galion's words to him to be still on entering were needless, for he was frozen when he saw the forest before him. He heard the sound of the guards return and he silently moved to knell behind a chair, awaiting Galion's arrival. He closed his eyes and breathed in the forest, the dewy earth, and the fresh foliage were invigorating to him, even as his mind still clouded with that dream.
Soon his eyes snapped to attention when Galion finally arrived. Galion said no words, and he placed a tray down on the desk. Next he moved some empty bottles of wine from the desk onto the tray. Speaking through only his eyes and with his body, Galion motioned for Glorfindel to follow him into another room that opened up into the King's bedchambers. But Glorfindel had little time to look around as he followed into a large wardrobe.
"The guards will not hear our words from here." Galion explained, nestled between the rows of Oropher's garments. "The door to the passage way is in the study and I will point it out before I leave. The guards will hear you open and close it, so do not do so until you hear me engage them in conversation. Follow the passage through until you reach some stairs. Climb them, as they spiral upward. You will reach a door that will open out onto a branch high up on a tree. The vantage point from the tree will show you the forest floor below."
Galion allowed himself to smile to Glorfindel, surprised himself that he was acting as an accomplice with someone for whom his King had told him to distrust.
"Try as you may, you will not be able to find the door once you exit, for the door only opens from inside the passage. You can not return back to the citadel through this passage. The door will become lost to you hidden within the bark of the tree. You will never be able to find the door from the outside."
"Thank you Galion." Were the only words that Glorfindel stated, but his eyes were transparent with all the dread he held. He followed him back into the sitting room, and watched as Galion motioned to where the passage was and then how to unhitch the knob. And Galion turned, retrieving the tray, before he turned and left, leaving Glorfindel alone to face his dreams that drove him out into the forest.
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King Oropher arrived to the council right on the stroke of nine in the morning, a little later than he would have liked thanks in part to the incident in the hall with his butler. Galion was never so clumsy, almost colliding into his person, and then in the process he had destroyed two good bottles of wine. Oropher had wordlessly wondered what may have gotten into Galion this day, but he had let the subject drop, letting his mind focus instead on the meeting that would soon be underway. On entering the counsel room, he nodded his greeting to the invited counsellors. He then came to notice the lack of a certain individual in the counsel room. Troubled by this second unexpected event in the day, he turned to his chief-advisor, awaiting an explanation.
"The Lord Glorfindel has not yet appeared. I saw him this morning at breakfast, but he hastily departed and has not been seen since."
"And have you had the thought to have him escorted here?" Oropher's patience was certainly begin tested so early this day, even before he had yet to utter a single syllable to Glorfindel.
"I personally sent a guard to remind his lordship that he is expected to be present for the council that he himself requested and traveled across the lands of Arda for."
Oropher nodded, and seated himself at the head of the counsel, patiently awaiting either the arrival of Glorfindel or of the guard. After some passing of time that was done in silence, the guard arrived, returning without Glorfindel at his side.
"My King," the guard stated, "Lord Glorfindel is not within his chambers. I knocked and when I did not hear any movement from within, I preceded to enter. There was no sign of him there or in any of the halls I checked." The guard watched confused, as Oropher's face turned to smile, instead of the scowl he thought he would find on the hearing of this ill-news.
Oropher had no rage as he processed the news, and in response he kept his voice calm when he turned to address his chief-advisor. "Inform the captain of the guard to have his most elite search for the Lord Glorfindel. I will not have him afoot in my realm unattended."
Oropher leaned back into his chair, arms folded, thoroughly confused with the series of events that had unfolded so far this day. And Oropher hated being confused. But still, he checked his anger, even as he was convinced that something more sinister was at play that was the root cause for how the day had commenced.
"This council is hence forth cancelled indefinitely. There will be no further meeting with the Noldor on this topic or on any. And on the finding of his Lordship, have the guard bring him to me at onec." Oropher gave his final verdict on the matter. The meaning of the absence of Glorfindel was not lost to Oropher, who felt neither anger nor worry. He wondered at the cause however, and he heard not the words the other counsellors spoke to him. His depthless eyes closed, and the words of the counselors paused.
"Leave." Oropher's voice was eerily too still. He only opened his eyes when the last soft footsteps of the advisors had faded into silence. But Oropher did not rise with the opening of his eyes. Instead he gripped the wood of his chair, strong fingernails dug into the delicately carved surface as his anger finally filled him.
"Treachery." he hissed aloud to no one but himself.
Alone, Oropher let his eyes fill with his ire, but still, he sat unmoving. He knew with his rationale that with Glorfindel's dismissal of the meeting, he now had every justification to send him away without receiving the message from the HIgh-King of the Noldor. But something had stirred in his heart that this would not be the course of action that he would choose in the end. And the anger boiled more within him.
Oropher let his eyes fall on the mural that was painted on the counsel wall. The painting depicted a scene of the creation of the stars and their unfolding light over the darkness of the lands. And Oropher paused more, as the tiny lights that danced through the fresco captured his attention fully, dulling the raging anger that flowed within. The fire of their lights held him frozen, captivated. He almost felt the urge to reach out and feel the fire from the lanterns, wanting so much to feel a warmth that could penetrate through to his soul. He was lost he knew, but his fate did not have to be the fate of his son. And in his self-reflection he felt little, no vows of change, no plans of action. Just that same old dull emptiness that froze his heart, stifling it until he even had to remind himself that there was still those he loved that kept him going. There were those he cared for enough to protect and shield, to spare them from the horrors he had witnessed and lived. A frozen heart was little better than a beatless heart, but that was all Oropher had been left with as a survivor of the ages.
"This will never end…." he stated aloud to the lantern stars, flickering on as they had never faced a darkness that could blanket everything. And Oropher felt weariness crash within his soul, and he remembered the words of his kin who had sallied long ago. They were free now, and he was left still hearing their haunting words that had been spoken when they had tried to beseech him to sail. But they could never understand. Wounds did not always require healing, and the pull he still felt to these lands could never be severed. He was born and he would die here, he knew, ensuring his people would not suffer the same fate that he had come to know. For he cherished their joy and their merriment on life, and had vowed long ago to keep those virtues protected, free from the eyes and meddling of others. And his thoughts meandered back to his son, whose own joy and mirth was still strong. But even as the days grew darker for them, Oropher was noticing the subtle signs of this son's waning light as that very malice had now settled into his dreams. Oropher feared for Thranduil, because he saw his own spirit start to rise, slowly replacing the good and beauty of his wife's spirit that had burned so vibrantly within Thranduil. And Oropher stared more into the flickering lights, completely lost within his thoughts, caring not to more or leave his counsel room.
-----------
It was just before the mid-day meal when the group grew closer to the village they were headed to. What would have taken a mortal man over a day to walk, the elves were able to cover more quickly in their sprint-like walk. As they approached this one time encampment, the pungent smell of charred wood and black orcish blood still clung to the air, and shortly they saw the burned down dwellings beyond the villages gates. The area was abandoned and they stopped, noticing a new burial area piled high with rocks to mark the graves. In respect they said some elvish blessings for the dead before continuing on, heading closer to the village that their King had ordered them to seek out this day.
Later in the day, they finally reached their destination. This particular settlement was reinforced with a wall of logs and a great wooden gate that showed signs of a great assault. The men recognized the woodelves who stood before the gate now, opening it up to allow them entry. Thranduil had sentries see to delivering the supplies before he was brought to enter this village's leader's halls.
The building itself was a wooden structure with planking for floor that was in turn was covered with animal hides. Lanterns were lit, illuminating the room which had a low long table in the center of the room. The leader of these men addressed and welcomed him using his own tongue. Thranduil was fluent in the tongues of the men who dwelt around Greenwood and returned the greeting back to the leader.
"I come with supplies, and in return do request some information for King Oropher. What our king offers you, he thinks will be a sufficient payment for the information that we seek." Thranduil explained more in detail exactly what he had brought, before he seated himself on the fur covered floor by the leader. The leader of these men was burly, with a raged beard and scars around his face and body that testified of his strength and courage as a warrior. Thranduil could see that the man was fierce, but his eyes held humility, and he could sense he was a wise leader to these woodland men.
The man's face seemed to ease on hearing that the elves had brought supplies He knew that the ElvenKing to the north was a kindred soul, who acted as a guardian over the Greenwood. "What information does your King seek?" The man studied Thranduil whom he had never met before, but he recognized the authority that Thranduil possessed and deemed him as an equal.
"We come to request any information you can report on the orc activity in these lands. And also, what news does your distant kin report?"
The leader understood the universal worry that united the races together within these turbulent times. "Ever increasing are the orc attacks on the villages. What use to be isolated events, are now turning ever to constant threats and attacks. Our weaker neighbors have flooded to our village, and some have told us that other men are asked or even forced to join whomever leads these orcish forces." He noticed the shift on the elf's face, eyes seeming to flash with a knowing that was beyond his understanding. The man felt to add, "We, however, would never join sides with their lot. We remain and always will an ally of the great ElvenKing." The leader was truly grateful for the aid the elves had brought to them this day, and in his gratitude, told to Thranduil all that he knew.
"And from where do these refuges come to you?" Thranduil was curious at this alarming news.
"From the far southeast. The scattered villages there are now deserted and over-ran with orcs. Some head to other places, kingdoms, but some return back to these woodlands, this being their ancestral home. I am glad the Woodland King has not abandoned us. Please send our gratitude of eternal friendship between our people. And please," the man rose, heading to a corner where a large shelf contained a wooden box. He opened it and retrieved a small pouch from it. Carrying the pouch, he sat back down, opening it when once again his legs were tucked beneath him. A carved bone necklace was pulled from the pouch, and he handed it to Thranduil. The man continued to speak, explaining the gift he gave. "Please give this to your King, as a token of our friendship. I would also ask you and your men to please join us for our mid-day meal."
Thranduil gracefully accepted the token, taking it from the man's rough and calloused hand, as if it were a priceless gem. "You are too kind, and I thank you for the hospitality you now show us."
He followed the man from the building and summoned his sentries to join them. Following the man through the woodland village, Thranduil surveyed the buildings and the people. They regarded them with a passing curiosity, for the sight of elven-folk in these parts were nothing new to the woodmen. He continued to follow an arm's length behind the leader, until he was led to a large structure, situated not too far from the leader's halls. Just like the other building's scattered in this woodland village, it too was made of logs and thatched with dried earth and twigs and grasses.
They entered in, and Thranduil's eyes quickly adjusted to the open room that was lit with fire; fire lanterns were affixed on the walls, fire burned above in cauldrons, and a great fire-pit burned in the center. Crude low sitting wooden tables were placed around the burning fire. The leader gestured for Thranduil to take his seat and he did, easing his frame down on the fur covered floor. These woodman still used the low tables, and took their meals sitting on the ground. Thranduil watched with amused eyes as his fellow elves, who were much taller than the men, gracefully tried to sit properly on the fur covered ground.
Lunch this day was a mushroom stew, and although the elves were pleased with the meatless offering, they still found the stew to be lacking. Their subtle mannerisms of displeasure were lost to the woodmen however, who ate on around them.
Thranduil listened more to the leader speak of the good they still found despite the hard times that had found them. The life of turmoil and strife was all they had ever known, but they still told the tales of a time when the lands had peace, and clung still to those fables from their ancestors. He rejoiced at the telling of their preparations for an upcoming feast. Despite the increased attacks by orcs in their lands, they would still rejoice and find good in their lives. Thranduil listened as the man explained that his son had just been born, and the celebration of life would continue, despite the death and chaos around them.
"And you?" The man suddenly turned his thoughts now on his elvish visitor, and Thranduil wondered what specifically he was inquiring on. "Have you been blessed with your own son yet?"
Thranduil shook his head no, but didn't state more, and the man seemed surprised a little with his response.
"Are you telling me you're not yet bound?" And the man's eyes swirled with confusion, not fully understanding how this could be. The strange ways of the elves were beyond his comprehension.
"No, I have not found that one yet."
And Thranduil thought those man's words over, listening little to his current words of pursuing wives and love. How fleeting were their lives, which drove these men to action. And he, who was wrought within immortality, simply lingered on with the indulges of his own whims. Nothing came to him that was ever lasting or ever yearning, forcing him to be still. 'But still....' He lowered his eyes, as he finally allowed those memories to surface back into his heart. There had been one, once who had caused his heart to pause, but she was ever lost to him now. For there was a time that he thought he could have pledged his heart to another. But the time was never right, and then they had drifted away, lost within the turmoil of the years in which they lived. He had heard not where she had drifted to, and their connection was now severed. It was easier for him to dull that longing he harbored still, to lay within the arms of others.
Thranduil did not have the same urgency these men faced, for his dance could span the ages. The need to procure the future of their traditions drove these men to action. For love to them was simply not a game, not a dance, but was instead a need for the continuity of their kind. And Thranduil wondered if they took one or many lovers. But he didn't care to ask, instead he mulled some more on what it was that he thought he wanted. He knew what he desired, but desire alone could not settle his spirit. Desire, he knew could turn ever to something far more dangerous, the beginning of lust. And lust usually could cause ruin, the weakening of one's own will. And Thranduil was not weak, despite what his father might think.
The words of the man now pulled Thranduil out from his thoughts, and with gentle eyes, he listened now, smiling a little. "I would like to give a blessing to your son." Thranduil wasn't sure why he spoke the words he did, except that he was moved by the man's ability to find his own light despite the harsh world in which he lived in. "A blessing from his woodland neighbors for him to grow strong and true as a guardian to his people."
The man took in the words, and wiped his lunch from his beard before he nodded. "I will accept that blessing from our northern neighbors, and I know my wife will as well." The man suddenly rose, signifying that the meal was over.
Thranduil went to his guards, requesting that they pack and leave now. He promised to catch up with them soon, for he didn't' anticipate the blessing taking long, and saw no reason to make them stand around waiting on his behalf. Reluctantly, but knowing they needed to follow their prince's orders, they departed northward, back to Oropher's halls far in the north.
The man watched them pack but for a moment, before he motioned for Thranduil to follow. "My wife will be pleased with your words of blessing, for not just two new moons ago, our nephew was taken from us. He had seen only three new moons, but what a good three moons it was with him."
Thranduil regarded the tinge of loss in the word's, understanding just how biter it felt to have own kin fall. But this man's sadness was even beyond what Thranduil had felt when his family had died, for he knew to where their faes had traveled. Through the grief of his loss, he could find solace in that knowing. But the tones of the man's words expressed something else, something for which Thranduil hoped he would never come to know or understand. The man's grief penetrated to Thranduil's soul. Their fleeting lives intrigued him, and he heard between the words the man spoke of the cold of death, dark and everlasting. An unknown fate they sometimes feared, and Thranduil had to fight his own mind, forcing it to keep his own dreams of death from surfacing.
They entered the man's home, and Thranduil noted the rounded structure made of wood. The floor and walls were lined with animal hides, and the overwhelming smells of the pelts engulfed Thranduil's senses. The man led him on to a partition in the room, where there the man's wife sat next to a cradle. She rose when they entered and Thranduil noted her face was weary, and she wore an amber pendant tied around her neck with a leather cord. She looked at Thranduil and listened to her husband explain the blessing that he would give. She smiled, nodding, pleased at the offering.
Thranduil looked down at the sleeping baby, who looked so small. He could tell the child was healthy, but still, he could not get over just how tiny the baby was. He looked to the parents, and softly stated, "First I will say the blessing in the words of my own tongue, and then I will say them in yours."
The blessing was said and Thranduil made his valedictions to the woodland group of men. The leader joined him in his walk through the town and to the outer gate, and had turned to leave. But Thranduil's alarming, "Wait!" turned the man back to his side.
A labored and heavy sound came out from the distance within the forest, and as the sound drew nearer, the leader himself looked out from the gate, seeing what approached. Soon his voice commanded, "Open the gate. Let him enter!"
And the gate was opened, revealing a haggard man who entered into the town. The man was not hurt, but was laden with weariness. He said very little, but asked for some water and he seated himself on the fur covered floor after he had been invited into the meeting hall. The town's leader and Thranduil seated themselves by the man, so drawn by his strange brooding.
The man gulped down the water and started to explain that he had traveled far from the norths of Gondor. Thranduil and the leader heard his words that spoke of a rolling sea that had covered the land, wider than the eyes could grasp, marching out to the very heart of Gondor. The earth had shaken under the might of their numbers and their thunderous roar drowned out anything else as they marched.
The man continued. "It seems that our enemy would see to the annihilation of mankind and I know not if we can overcome it. I have seen much in my life, and although I have felt fear, this sight of what marches now, stilled my heart to silence. My words could little ever describe the horror I had seen that day." And the man bowed his head, and cared not to stop his tears. It was evident to Thranduil that the man had lost all hope. Thranduil kept his silence, as he took in the words and thought again of the dreams that haunted him.
"How did you come to us?" The leader asked, curious as to why he stumbled lost within the forest, and not on some easier path.
"I was with a group of messengers to spread the news, and I became lost. I remembered that good men dwell in these parts, so I entered into Greenwood the Great, beseeching the protection of the people here. I fear the road alone, for the perils are more than not, and I am ill equipped to face them on my own."
"You will find shelter here, for you are amongst friends." The leader looked to Thranduil, whose eyes were unreadable, his ageless face was an alabaster statue, inert, enigmatic, and the leader wondered if he had already suspected what the messenger had just told them. And even as the man was brought some stew and he hungrily ate it down, still Thranduil sat in contemplation.
"We will double our guard and patrols." The leader stated, not use to and not liking the silence that Thranduil only gave him. And when his words had broken the silence, Thranduil finally rose and simply stated.
"The hour grows late, and I must go now."

------------------
Just as Galion had stated, the dark tunnel that Glorfindel had ran through descended up some spiraling stairs. Up and up he had climbed, dizzying almost in the tight wind he made as he ascended higher. He opened the door and now stood high atop a tree branch, deep within the Greenwood whose bright leaves shone under the rays of Anor. And Glorfindel looked back behind him, and his eyes grew wide at seeing that the door had completely disappeared under the bark of the tree. Not even dwarven doors were as deceptive as this one had been, he thought. Glorfindel felt a little awestruck at being alone in the expansive forest, but the trees were ever fair and grand as the great natural pillars that held the soaring canopy above him.
He moved with a light foot, climbing down the tree. Once on the forest floor, he paused with caution, moving his eyes around his surroundings. Although he wanted nothing more than to run through the forest in his search for Thranduil, Glorfindel knew caution was essential now. For the Greenwood seemed to be made of watchfulness; the leaves were her eyes, the wind her whisper, the branches her reach, and the mossy ground her memories. And now that he found himself at the mercy of the forest, the very essence of the Greenwood was strangely void, and absent to him. The trees did not whisper, and his mind was left with blankness. His heart feel no tugs as to which way to head into the south of these lands, for the Greenwood was wide as it was dense. He knew just how easily he could become lost within its confines. There was no path for him to follow, but Glorfindel was grateful for that. Being away from the path was better for there was less chance he could be seen. The need to move unseen was essential.
"Failure."
The word shuddered through his very soul, and that ever familiar disenchantment from the evil that grew around them caused him to kneel and take pause.
Elves. He saw a small group of five guards walking in the distance, far enough away that he doubted they could sense him. But he stopped his breath when he saw one pause, and turned his head in his direction. The wood-elf scanned the area, but he stayed still in his spot, not moving, acute eyes however moving back and forth over the forest. In what seemed an eternity to Glorfindel, the guard continued on quickly so he could catch up with the other wood-elves. Although the guards had left, Glorfindel still remained crouched, letting his own eyes scan the Greenwood.
He couldn't be careless here, and although he had his sword, the perils of the wilds of Greenwood needed to be respected. He remembered the reports of orc activity here and then his dream flashed again. Glorfindel knew it was time to walk again now, and he moved as gentle as a breeze across the forest, barely ruffling the leaves or disturbing the under brush. His step was light and he left little trail.
Glorfindel knew his presence would be missed, and Oropher would be sending out his scouts to hunt him down, knowing that the thought of him wondering the forest without his permission would drive the King to nothing but anger. The guards would not hear him out, and would only drag him back to those halls. And the forest now told him, do not let this come to pass. But then again, with the disregard that the Greenwood King had paid him, perhaps he simply cared not to drag him back to his halls. Glorfindel cared not to muse on Oropher, instead he wanted now to focus his attention with finding the way to stop the vision from happening.
------
Thranduil had an uneasy feeling as he walked back to this home. The late afternoon sun was already seeming to wane behind dark clouds that cast the forest in deep shadows. The songs of the trees were absent, eerily so and Thranduil frowned as he paused, debating which path to his home he wished to take now. Turning his gaze to the east, he thought of a different way he could take, and decided to use that path to head back home.
Although he had moved with hast, the path he had to travel was ever still far as it was long. Even with his pace that was quick and light of foot, the trail seemed to only just grow longer, his home as distant it seemed as the hidden sun. Thranduil knew he would not reach his home before the night would consume the forest, but he kept his concern subdued within the crevices of his mind. The shadows were more than many, obscuring the path, and the Greenwood seemed uneasy to him. The forest was just too still and too silent. Not even the breeze could muster enough strength to rock the leaves, and he noted the absence of the song birds within the towering trees above him. The Greenwood's voice was silent, as if the forest listened for something that was not yet known to him. These signs put him on alert more and he grabbed an arrow, nocking it into his bow. He kept his bow ready and moved as lightly as he could through the forest, as he pressed ever northward.
Thranduil stopped now, straining his eyes and moving his head to hear for whatever had made the forest so still. But no sounds come to him and he allowed himself to relax. He continued on, still alert but less tense now, despite the forest, whose mood seemed not to lighten. Even as he walked, the worry of the man's words could not be dispelled from Thranduil's heart or mind. Sauron's boldness knew no ends, and Thranduil feared that the Greenwood would too fall under attack.
Oropher needed to hear the fear in the man's voice and let the horror of what he had witnessed burn into his soul. The Noldor were right. No longer could they sit around and wait, for the the days of wait were over.
The breeze now stronger, blew the scents of foul dangers, but they were faint on the wings of the wind. But Thranduil did not heed the wind's warning, thinking still of the dreadful scene the man had painted for him within the horrors of his words. While he walked, even quicker now, he wondered of the guard he had sent on, if they had ran into any trouble. If they hadn't, he knew they would be little more than halfway to their capital. And he was still hours behind, he thought as he quickened more his pace, ducking under vines and leaping over logs. This path was far more remote and wild in its growth, and he knew this area a little, last passing in this section of the forest a hundred years ago. The trees were grey and tall, very much different from the ones that grew in the north where his father now made their home.
And these trees told him now "Be cautious". The vines grabbed at his ankles, the briers tore into his calves, branches tugged at his face, reaching for him. "Caution." The forest breathed, and a small woodland stream poured out a warning, "They approach." The water trickled its voice over the rocks, lapping against the banks he stood by. Above the birds called, sounding an alarm, and Thranduil watched their shadows fall long across the stream, their silhouettes stretching and distorting over the waters.
Knowing not to ignore the Greenwood, Thranduil climbed high into a tree and his far seeing eyes could make out a host of something sinister that moved through the forest, heading in his direction. A sound of the breaking undergrowth and the grunts of the orcs froze him. There was no place to hide, no escape. Their numbers were many and Thranduil let his arrows fly as they drew ever nearer. He could attack in this tree, but he knew he could not stay, as a sitting target stood little chance for survival against the poisonous orcish arrows that would soon fly his way.
As quickly as he could, he hurried down the tree, darting away to put some distance from himself and the orc host. He turned and fired more arrows, unleashing his skill with deadly accuracy. A cry was elicited from his mouth when one of their foul arrows struck his thigh, but he pulled it out while stumbling back. The pain was mighty, coursing through his body like a violent jolt of lightning. But he didn't have time to focus on the wound for the orc host was on him now.
He was trapped he knew. To his back was a tall knoll that stood higher than he could jump or climb safely with the orc host at his back. He would have to fight the orcs down in this ravine. Thranduil continued to shoot, counting over twenty of the foul creatures he could see who now were coming faster and closer to him.
Thranduil knew he was skilled, but he was not a warrior, and he knew this would be a test, especially since he was little equipped for such a battle. He had no sword, but he did have his daggers. They were a deadly pair that had used since his days in Doriath, a gift from King Thingol himself.
Thranduil braced himself, ready for the onslaught of orcs that were making their way at him. A large orc rushed at him, letting out an ear shattering roar while it widely swung his sword at Thranduil aiming for his head. A mistake with the beast's impatience allowed Thranduil to take advantage, ducking under the swing and slashing his dagger deep into the orc's vital artery in its grotesque leg. The orc fell in its pain, and Thranduil knew it would soon bleed out. He kicked the wailing beast away back onto two other orcs who collapsed into the thick vines and weeds that pulled and kept them down. Thranduil had little time to watch the forest assist him with the battle, since another orc lunged at him, followed closely by two more. In a move that surprised the orcs, he jumped into the air, daggers and legs slicing and kicking, bringing the foes down. He landed with a noticeable grimace, pain shooting up his leg and radiating down into his toes. He closed his eyes but for a second, before he dashed out of the way of a forceful swing of a sword.
Although mightier in number, orcs were a challenge most elves could best, and Thranduil found himself gaining hope that he would survive their attack, even despite the wound to his leg. He rushed at the orcs who had by now righted themselves back up, and he quickly plunged his daggers into their veins, pulling them out quickly while black blood spluttered from the gapping wounds. And more orcs came and Thranduil suddenly began to wonder about his chances. The foul orc host seemed to multiply before him but he noted to remain calm, holding his ground and moving with more fluidity, stealth and quickness than the impatient orcs who assaulted him.
A change in the wind seemed to be the turning point of the fight. A forceful blow to his chest knocked Thranduil from his feet, and in his surprise he fell down back onto the ground, landing on his backside. Before he could raise his arm to fight back, a crushing foot stamped onto his hand, shooting pain through his digits and up into his arm, forcing his dagger to drop to the forest floor. His other hand was free and he plunged that dagger into the orc's leg. Before he could pull his dagger out, another orc had cut into his arm, and he cried out, recoiling his arm back close to him in pain. The other orc mocked him with his sadistic laugh, pulling the dagger out, and tossing it just beyond his reach.
"Scum of an elf!"
The orc stated as he dug his nails into Thranduil's scalp, pulling him up as the blood tricked down. The orc hissed at him more, while he moved his powerful arm to Thranduil's neck. He squeezed it hard, cutting his airway off, choking him before he forced Thranduil to his knees. Emerald eyes regarded the orc who was flanked by ten others, all surrounding him in a sinister circle. Thranduil's back was to the hill above and he knew he could not escape or fight his way out of this. He kept his eyes open, even as he felt the tugging orcish claws in his hair; nails digging deep into his skull, causing rivers of blood to trickle down his temple. The orc continued its death grip on him, and Thranduil struggled for air, moving his hands up to his neck, trying to pull those grotesque hands off. But he was stopped, when he felt a forceful blow to his back that would have broken the bones of a mortal man. Thranduil let out a silent scream, as he fell to the forest floor, gasping into the leaves and grass that he buried his face into.
'Can not stay down.' Was the only thing that went through his mind. He tried lifting his frame, pushing through the pain that cried throughout his body for him to stay down. But he needed to stand, he needed to show them that he was not beaten yet. Despite the force of his will, the orcs just beat him down again in what felt like a circle of a thousand clubs and fists and all the hate they had for elf -kind. Thranduil could taste his blood in his mouth, and he heaved through the agony that tore through his core. But still he stood, refusing to stay down.
"This one 'as spirit." One of the orcs laughed. "Let's break 'em 'fore we kill 'em." And before Thranduil could attempt to fight them off, they descended on him, binding his hands behind his back.
"Back on your knees." An orc pounded his gauntlet covered fist into Thranduil's stomach. Thranduil buckled forward a little as the force was crushing. But when Thranduil continued to hold his ground with a look a defiance, the orc brought that same fist across his face. A flash of white and the bursting of stars overwhelmed his eyes, and Thranduil swayed as the sensations turned to a burning red welt that covered the left of his face. But still he kept standing, although he staggered more now. The orc took his club and brought it crashing into his legs.
"Down I said!" The orc roared his words.
A pain so violent and crushing moved through Thranduil who finally fell to his knees. His head pounded and he looked at the orcs as if in a daze. Their faces sneered and their eyes glared down at him, mocking, jeering, odious. A large orc stepped forward, grabbing his face, forcing his eyes to look into his own. Claws as sharp as knives dug into his delicate skin, and Thranduil could do no other but to look at the orc. A rolling laughter filled his ears, and then the orc released him. But even with the pulsating pains that rolled through his core, Thranduil used all his will to keep his head up. The feeble defiance however, only amused the orcs more, who stood around him, scoffing down at him.
"You'll suffer elf, and we'll 'ave our fun in that."
And even though the pain had almost pulled him under, Thranduil let a laugh roll out, doing what he could to stay defiant to the end, showing them that elf-kind could not be so easily broken.
"He laughs at you." Another orc yelled, "And I would too, with the way your blows land. Allow me, elf, to show you what real pain is."
And Thranduil closed his eyes, as he felt the orcs' armored boot dig into his flesh, ripping his clothes and flesh alike in an agonizing path down his side. That same armored boot, kicked him back onto the ground. His back, his sides, his legs felt the blows of pure abhorrence rain down on him. A thousand flashes of different types of pains shot throughout his body, white and red, hot and cold, he felt them all at once, and then slowly, one by one, until only the empty pain of dread had filled his entire consciousness. And for the first time in this long fight, Thranduil didn't want to stand or rise. But that did little to deter the orcs, who still had other plans.
"You call that torture!" Another orc hissed. "I've seen women hit harder than that."
He grabbed Thranduil violently by the scalp, pulling him to his knees once more. Silver strands ripped out in the orcs claws, and despite his want to keep his silence, Thranduil couldn't help but cry out the pain he felt. But soon he held his tongue, bitting his teeth into the bottom of his lip, tasting again his own blood within his mouth.
"Look at my face, elf scum!"
His words were wrought in wraith, his abhorrence for the Eldar gleamed within his dark black eyes, and then he spit into Thranduil's face.
"Know that our terror will rain down on your people. And every man, woman and child will see our faces, for our master grows hungry, and we will have his will be done."
And with these words Thranduil's eyes suddenly went dark, and the orc roared in his laughter.
And Thranduil let the rancor of the orc's venom seep into his mind, mirroring the poison from the arrow that coursed throughout his body. He closed his eyes, as he knew the orc's words would come to pass.
There would be weeping. The bitter tears of the Greenwood would fall like the decayed leaves within the lifeless forest. Thousands of eyes would see their last sunrise, their lips would sing no more, silenced instead within the choking grip of an eternal demise. Tears would dry into an effete void, hallow as the breaking of the world. For the road to victory had to pass through valley of death.
The hallow eyes, the wordless sounds, the rain of blood all oscillated from his dream with that of the present. He saw the monsters of his dreams morph with the orcs around him, his reality lost to the dread of his soul. The words from the man and from the orc continued to undulate through Thranduil, abating even the agonizing hurt that coursed through him, over and over. And Thranduil would not open his eyes, accepting the fate that held him at its mercy now.
The orc seemed to see the subtle shift of a spirit breaking, for he stopped his fist, ending his blows. He shoved Thranduil back onto the forest floor.
"Kill him!"
The orc commanded, smirking at the still elf, whose eyes seemed to stare beyond the Greenwood forest, far into another dominion where the orc could not reach him.
- - -
Not Beta Read. Part 1 of Chapter 6
- 5
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- 7
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Liquid Diamonds