Chapter Text
The ragged and mostly dead fabric that had been draped over part of a crumbling stone wall to provide a little shade from the hot drying sun that could get through the blackened sky lifted slightly at the bottom to allow brown eyes to peak under. Under the covering was wood and instruments packed closely together with two dirt coated urchins huddled underneath. Both were scrawny and had red hair that fell long over their shoulders. Their unkept state was nearly enough to hide their elongated ears and the glow emanating from their skin.
The little girl elf pulled at her larger brother in impatience. “Come on, Beleg! It’s my turn. Let me see.”
She pulled hard enough to yank her older brother away from the fabric edge, but he was stronger to force himself right back to watching. Outside in the ruined remnants of Minas Morgul, a huge crowd had gathered. The oppressed men and dwarves of the surrounding land had been gathered together at the holding of darkness. It was eerily quiet in fear with so many angered beings around. Yet also loud in sobbing as the gathering watched twenty of their loved ones dragged out to be put on display for execution.
Orcs, and goblins walked among the terrified crowd with weapons drawn to beat down any that so much as looked up at them. Parents clutched and tried to hide away their little children as they braced themselves for the slaughter that would take their lives.
The fabric hiding the two young elflings from the main gathering lifted for the shifty eyed man who had set up the things to look down at them. “Elflings. What are you doing loosening the ties of my tent?”
“I am sorry Master Adro. We’re just waiting for him,” Beleg whispered softly to the man.
“Go home Elflings,” The man ordered.
“Do you really think he will come, Master Adro? They say that there is no hope. That we have all been gathered here to die as cattle as in the battles. That the elves, and men would never risk attacking here,” The tiny she elf whispered the terror that had covered the land.
The man looked down at the two elves that were alone from any of their people. “Someone thinks he will.” The filthy elflings looked over at a wooden project under the shade. It looked terrifying and nothing like a coffin that the burial man was known for. Built for the remains of a person, it was obvious that it was meant only to display the deceased in the most horrid way possible. A scratched-out symbol of a leaf marking it for its body different from the others. This was the intended fate of the one they hoped would save them. “Beleg. Tauriel. Once I dug a grave for your mother and father. I would hate to dig one for you. Now go.”
The siblings scrambled out from the tent into the crowd. Tauriel narrowly missed the deadly blow of a goblin's axe as it came down toward her for them to hide in the swarm of men and dwarves. Their flight came to an abrupt halt as a human man grasped the backs of their shirts. He kindly looked down at them even as tired sadness stayed. “Tauriel, Beleg, tis no place for you. You need to get back to my cellar. Don’t let the dark ones catch you.”
The siblings nodded and ran off through the crowd. The man watched in despair at the thought that they would most likely never get out of the impenetrable city before turning back to the situation. A balcony high above their heads held the most prominent view of the darkness and slaughter of the city and land. A man dressed in rich decorative robes and had a crown upon his head stepped out onto the balcony to stare impassively down at the crowd. Whispers of terror and anger spread in an audible hum over the crowd as they pressed closer to the King that had gathered them here. He looked over them and smiled slightly in enjoyment as one of his hobgoblins struck down a bold dwarf.
The young elves stood hidden at the gate. They waited, hoping that one of the monsters that had them trapped here would lose its focus so they could slip through. The crowd fell to the ground in terror with even the dark creatures crumbling alongside them as a Felled Beast screamed and pounded across the bridge to the fortress.
A Nazgul thundered through the gate astride his monstrous steed, the crowd splitting in terrified silence as if the darkness itself were parting for him. The new coming dark lord strode through the black halls as darkened beings rushed with weapons in preparation. He marched onto the balcony where the King was quietly enjoying the chaos. “Witch-King of Angmar. Curse the Valar, why are you still here?” The newcomer exclaimed with anger.
“Now, now, Dark Marshal. Calm, calm,” The leader of the Nazgul said without a hint of concern.
“The army of Isildur is three leagues from here. You have to go my lord. Now,” The Marshal stated in enraged frustration. His King was too calm and unconcerned. He had to escape this massacre to join their master to continue the war. Three leagues. That was all. And still the King played games while the world burned.
The Lord of Minas Morgul smiled back at him. “Master Sauron would like to thank you for your devoted service.”
At a directing nod, the Nazgul picked a set of papers off of a nearby desk and looked over them. Seeing the information, he spoke up, “This land is the land of our great King Sauron.”
“Who has been separated from his ring and bested by that weak Prince of Man with a broken sword. In few days, this land will belong to the infidels of Gondor unless I hand them over to you. I am well acquainted with the ways of Isildur. He will realize that our strongest holdings will never fall and be completely destroyed. The One ring will ensure it to be so. This will ensure that we will have a haven to fall back on. I trust you will ensure that the lands and what is left of our armies will be divided among our brethren.” The Witch-King instructed before turning to look over the fear filled crowd. “Get the children out immediately! Take them to the dungeons!”
The gathering screamed in horror and begged for mercy as the dark beings pushed through them to tear the young ones out of protective arms. The Lord of the Nazgul turned back to his right hand with a smile. “The little ones will make a wonderful display for the Alliance when they arrive. After this, my forces will torture them. Wonderful way to spend the day, no?” The Dark Marshal smiled in humor even as he wished his King would hurry up.
Tauriel screamed as she was separated from her older brother and was thrown over the shoulder of a scrawny cloaked goblin. She pounded her fists against the hard, hidden armored back as she flailed to get free. “Let me go! I want to see! Release me!”
The creature suddenly dropped her for the tiny elfling to fall hard to the dirt covered stone. She sobbed in fear but forced herself to open her eyes to see what it would do to her. She froze as she looked at its feet. Under the ragged cloak, perfect boots could hardly be seen. Glistening brown leather that was shaped thin and delicately to encompass the being’s foot. She blinked in disbelief at the strange footwear. In this land, all footwear was worn to pieces and was blocky. Nothing like this.
She looked up at the being in disbelief to catch a glance of the face under the shadow of the hood. Perfect pale skin that seemed to glow with the warmth of the sun and silvery blue eyes that glistened in confidence and humor looked down at her with a quiet smile. A few golden strands of long hair escaped being hidden in the cloak. The elfling stood up quickly to get a better look at the male elf’s face. No elf except for her brother and herself were left in these lands alive.
He raised a finger to his lips to signal her to stay quiet with an element of amused excitement emanating from his delicate and beautiful features. That an adult elf was here could not be known. Tauriel felt a spark of Light add itself to her traumatized soul. “Thranduil?” She whispered in hope and awe.
The young seeming adult elf smirked at her before turning and walking into the crowd. He vanished like mist, swallowed by shadow and silence, as if the crowd itself conspired to hide him. She watched him in awe for as long as she could before she sprinted through the gathering. Dodging orcs, she found her brother again. “I saw him! I saw King Thranduil! Come on,” She whispered in excitement to her brother. Beleg smiled in excitement at the words as they rushed out of the gathering.
The Witch-King focused on the huge goblin that was standing at attention in front of the twenty beings that had been bound for execution. He gave a nod. The goblin shouted in the Dark Tongue for twenty orcs to straighten in anticipation. Each of the orcs hurried to stand beside a victim with sick smiles of happiness as their task.
The Dark Marshal came to stand beside his leader’s side to watch the deaths. “Who are these men and dwarves that you risk your body to have killed?”
“Who are they? No idea. Twenty beings pulled at random from the crowd,” The King said as if it was a joke.
The elflings scurried onto the roof of the palace to look down at the crowd that screamed pleas for life as the orcs raised their axes over the bound peasants’ heads. They looked desperately over the crowd. “Where is he?” Beleg asked in hushed terror. There were no elves in sight, nor their allies. His sister bit her lip as she searched for the one she had seen.
The goblin raised his hand to signal when to bring down the axes. His hand fell. An instant before the axes heaved down a whip cracked out to wrap around the raised handles. The tail pulled hard as the blades fell. The axes instead of hacking off the bodies of their victims slammed into the next orc in line. The crowd gasped in surprise as the whole line of orcs toppled over dead.
Then a collective cheer went up as an elf in armor sprung out of the shadows to drive a sword through the monstrously huge goblin’s head. The elflings screamed with them and laughed as the warrior King Thranduil revealed himself to begin slaughtering the dark creatures. Elves threw off their disguising cloaks to draw their bows and pick off the army that was advancing on their leader.
Thranduil smiled tauntingly at the hobgoblins that charged him from all sides. They clashed against him as he danced from side to side. The pillars and walls of the fortress blocking the swarm of dark creatures from him long enough for him to slice through the bonds of those to be executed and lay the dark blood to spread along the stone. Nearly thirty to one, the Elvenking battled through the swarm with his elegant swords as if it was grain being cut down.
On the balcony, the Witch-King smiled as he watched the hot-tempered elf dive into the midst of his army like he knew he would. He breathed in the death as the peasants screamed encouragement to those they hoped would save them. Not taking his eyes from the Elven ruler he said to his Marshal, “Go. I’ll join you soon.”
The Dark Marshal shook his head at his lord as he stepped away to leave. “So, this is the reason for your foolishness. You desire the blood of the Prince. I would suggest that you take your revenge against him at another time when the Light was not so close to overtaking us.”
“The new King of Elves will fall this day and join his father in the Halls of Mandos,” The Dark King said with a blood thirsty smile as Thranduil vaulted above the swarm, grace incarnate. The horde turned on itself in chaos below, blades clashing blindly where he’d vanished. Even with his hatred for the golden-haired elf that ran as deep in him as his blood, he enjoyed the perfect art of battle that the graceful being possessed.
The Elven warriors that had joined their leader against the forces of Minas Morgul leaped from roof to roof picking off all they could with speed. The Elflings laughed as an archer pulled off an impossible shot that sliced through the spinal cords of four orcs before planting itself in a goblin’s heart. Their eyes were focused on the warrior King in worship as he whirled through the army that was trying to trap him.
Then their gaze slipped to ice that was growing on a great wooden door that led into the castle. They went still as they realized what it meant. Ice would only be there at this time of year for one reason. A cold dragon. The elf children exchanged scared glances and began running along the roofs to be overhead of the door. They looked around quickly for anything they could do. Thranduil was already fighting off an army. He would be killed if a dragon was released now.
The Witch-King’s smile did not fade as he reached over to a tassel beside him and clanged a loud bell. The golden-haired elf ran his blade through the body of the orc closest to him before looking back at the great door as it was pulled open. Instantly, the cold dragon shoved its head through the space and roared. Ice slithered along its fangs, steam rising from stone where its breath froze air into brittle daggers. Its golden eyes fixing on the elf in front of it. With another roar it reared back its head to blast its deadly ice over the gathering before it.
Beleg and Tauriel pushed with all the strength they had in their small bodies to unbalance a hulking stone statue from the roof. It fell almost slowly, yet in seconds it struck the revealed dragon’s head hard. The statue shattered as the icy blast was cut off and the beast’s head brought to the courtyard’s stone. The dragon growled as it opened its eyes to take Thranduil’s sword right through the golden orb.
With most of its body still trapped inside the fortress, the ice breathing reptile roared and thrashed in its dead throws. Crushing orcs and goblins as the elf it was meant to destroy backed away with a relieved breath. The King looked up at the roof from whence the statue that had saved his life fell. The elflings shouted in victory of what they had done and leaped around the roof in rejoice as they saw their hero wave to them thankfully.
Thranduil turned back to the battle. The hordes of creatures pushed in on him from all sides. Blocking numerous swords, the young Elvenking was forced to his knees from the strength being forced on him. Suddenly the gathering of men and dwarves that had been gathered for a massacre surged forward. Anything that could come to hand was used as fists, arms, and bodies were thrown onto the monsters. The swarm of monsters that had been so close to drawing the great warrior’s blood shrieked in rage as the mortals rose up to fight back. All swarming to tear apart the creatures that had kept them down with their bare hands.
The Witch-King’s smile turned into a snarl as his armies were destroyed by pathetic mortals. All rose up to save their savior elves from their rightful destruction. Thranduil raced through the crowd of men as they parted to let him through before closing in again to converge on the monsters.
On the roof, the elf children picked loose rocks from the fortress to throw down at the horde of hobgoblins that were now trapped below them. A hand on each of their shoulders had them whirling around in terror of the creature that had snuck up on them. They could not breathe as they stared up at the golden-haired warrior elf smiling down at them.
Thranduil in all his battle glory, the dark blood of his enemies dripping from his armor looked down at them. “My greatest gratitude to you, young ones.” He said in a smooth melodic voice. In a quick movement he had unclasped a necklace mostly hidden by armor from his neck before placing the token of thankfulness for his life around the eldest’s neck. He stepped back from them with a warm smile. “Now, if you will excuse me. I’m missing my own party.”
And with that the Elvenking raced off across the fortress. The siblings stared after him in awe. Thranduil. The fearless and tireless warrior that was kinder than anything they had ever imagined. The Elvenking. Their king.
The golden-haired elf that brought all eyes to himself sprinted across the roofs with the dark archers’ arrows barely missing him with his speed. “Kill him!” The Witch-King screamed above the crowd.
His archers drew back to fire again, only to fall dead as the Elven warriors protected their leader. Men and dwarves tackling any creature they could reach in a desperate attempt to stop them. To save the one that had given them hope and strength to live.
Thranduil landed lightly on the balcony in front of the Nazgul. The Witch-King barely had time to grasp his sword and duck before the Elvenking’s weapon could take off his head. Only a deep horrible gash that stretched up his throat and into his jaw was what the elf caught. The Nazgul choked on his blood as he stepped away in preparation to fight.
“How does the Black Breath not affect you?” The leader of the nine Ringwraiths hissed in hatred.
The warrior advanced on him determinedly. “I have trained against your unseeable protection. You would murder twenty innocent mortals just to capture me?”
“I would murder a thousand score mortals if it meant killing you. Just as I killed your father,” The Lord of Minas Morgul gurgle through his blood that should have been enough to kill him.
Thranduil leaped forward and their blades met. Both slashing and stabbing at each other for the end of one of the other’s life. The decorative royal robes that the corrupt man wore turned black with his draining blood. As he grew weaker from his body’s lack of strength, the Witch-King backed out to the balcony’s edge then leaped. In a dark blur, his winged Felled Beast swooped out of the sky to snatch its rider from the air before he could fall into the enraged crowd.
Thranduil was left standing on the balcony alone. He watched as his greatest enemy fled through the air from him. It was as unfortunate as always that the Nazgul could not be permanently put away. A sudden shearing pain stabbed into his arm. He refocused to rip to arrow out of his arm before letting out a bright twittering whistle.
The crowd of mortals parted as Elven horses galloped into the courtyard. The Elven archers sprung to their mounts as they did a quick check over the visible innerworkings of Minas Morgul. Finding no living creature of darkness left in sight, they regrouped as a large black horse leapt up the stone stairs to stand below the balcony. Thranduil leaped over the balcony railing to land on his stead’s bare back.
The surviving mortals cried in joy as the ethereal seeming King of Elves rode through their midst to his warriors. The son of the fallen King Oropher turned to the gathering and raised his sword in victory. The Nazgul were displaced, and the armies of the darkness were no more in this strong hold. In the golden glow of the setting sun, the young Elvenking turned his horse, and his warriors followed to race out of the city in glory. Leaving the people free and ready to accept the armies of Isildur with no resistance.
Tauriel sat down on the roof giggling in awe. A small band of Elven warriors lead by the Elvenking himself had defeated the great army of darkness before the main army even arrived. This was a battle to remember. And they had helped! Her brother sat beside her with a matching grin. They looked at the necklace that Thranduil Oropherion had given them. Emeralds glittered in silver in the setting of a leaf. The favor of the King of Greenwood the Great.