Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
When Melkor began the construction of his vast fortress, Utumno, his evil and hatred flowed out maiming the spring of Arda, poisoning the seeds that Yavanna had planted in the grounds of the newly formed earth and with calculated evi, he struck the first blow, assailing the lights of Illuin and Ormal, pouring their light over the earth,
Unbeknownst to the Dark Vala, as the valar stablished their domain behind the walls of the Pelóni, Yavanna kept a part of what was gathered from the ruin of the lamps, and she kept it safe in the great mound of Ezelohar.
When the song of Yavanna Kementári brought forth the two trees of valinor. An Image before Mandos appeared, that of a guardian of Yavanna, a fighter against the darkness that could consume the living creatures of her creation. Borrowed light from the Vala herself would make them shine white, drapped in green and gold upon their head. Mandos then, shared the vision with the great council in Valinor and Yavanna held tighter to the light she had saved inside the mount in secret except to Manwë, and it shone almost as bright as the trees had before tragedy struck, for she had filled them from the rain that once fell from Laurein.
Years passed until she finally faced Manwë and Varda about her decision, the small light that she kept would be given to a guardian, one who could keep evil at bay from her creation, that which keeps all the living children of Eru Ilúvatar alive.
And the high eight agreed, upon their thrones on the council in the Mahanaxar, although they did not know the future yet of what was to come of the earth and what will then be called middle earth.
But they kept it secret for the hunt of the silmarils was sure to bring more blood than it already had, even to Aman.
Melian was the messenger of this gift and Yavanna sought he who had chosen her upon awakening: The fourth brother who had come to the forest to praise Yavanna, blessed by her, who had not seen the light of the trees as his brother had, but received the gift of bearing a child with white hair and eyes as green as the leaves of Laurelin.
Hidden would he remind from the eyes of the enemy, protected by his father he would grow, until the time was right that he could wield his light to guide and protect the work of Yavanna once evil was defeated and when he comes home to embrace those he that he has long lost, he would become once again the light illuminating the bliss of Valinor, and wars between the first-born will be over.
It is said that he was so sheltered that the brother of the chosen father, did not know of it until he reached the halls of Mandos. Anger came over Elu Thingol at the knowledge his own brother, Oropher, had kept this knowledge from him and for a moment he cursed him, for he could have delighted in the knowledge that he held light without a Silmaril, then shame overflowed him once he realized his greed and instead he begged the Valar to keep his brother safe in his quest to guide their people to their new home.
CHAPTER ONE: THE ROAD HOME
In 100 years, Ebonwind had changed from a small village forgotten by the gods to a respectable small trader town, specially since the town of Dale had started to trade fish again, making Ebonwind an attractive location for travelers and merchants to rest for a few days before continuing with their journey.
The town was situated at the outskirts of the Great Forest of Mirkwood, settled following the Anduin River, it’s inhabitants were humble but friendly people and of the few humans who Beorn considered trusted enough to carry business with. Winter was upon them now and that, as usual, had guaranteed Beorn a quite comfortable amount of gold pieces for his baked goods and treated animal skins the locals turned into coats for the winter.
He had considered overstaying for a couple more days in town but frankly, Beorn prided himself in having exactly what he needed back at home to survive. The long way back took him through the forest but, if he was honest, he preferred it to the slow march through the Carrock where strangers regarded him with fear and dwarves with distrust.
It had been years since the forest had gained a reputation of being slowly tainted by evil and more than once had the town’s people been terrified by the news brought from Dale or the dwarves that inhabited near the Lonely Mountain, about the frequent attacks of evil creatures that lurked in the deepest parts of the forest. Beorn himself remembered his late father lecturing him about never crossing the border that marked the beginning of the territory of the elves. He had dealt with elves enough in his time, of course, more than once had he crossed paths with them when trekking through Rhovanion, mostly scouts on lookout missions or diplomatic aid parties sent by the Elvenking to the towns at the borders of the forest.
In Ebonwind, most had at least once seen the wood elves when they would come into town to speak with the mayor. Tilda, daughter of Percyvell the illuminated, a well known profesor in town, who taught all he knew to anyone who asked and whose passing of old age was still fresh in the heart of all townspeople. The elves would usually arrive in a small group of four, deliver a message to Mayor Tilda along with supplies and leave before the sun had set.
“The Elves of Mirkwood”, the dwarves who drank loudly at the tavern would often tell everyone even if no one had inquired, “are mysterious and reserved people that prefer the company of the trees to that of humans or of any other race that is not their own, they are jealous of their secrets and untrustworthy with the riddles they call speech!”. The same thing they would say about Beörn’s kind, and Beörn had to agree. Of course, those remarks he heard in whispers when he walked around town, people opening the way for him. Most of the townspeople were familiar with him, but by-passers would stare at his great height and built and would scatter swiftly or whisper to each other as he passed. “The skin changer” they called him in wonder and fear.
The old forest road was before him but he ignored it to continue his journey by the forest, that would save him at least a full day and the animal within him enjoyed the cold weather. He walked through a familiar path by a stream that carried frozen chunks of ice. Snow covered the forest floor but was not as tall to not allow Beörn pass through with a steady pace. They were still a couple full moons away before the lakes froze over completely.
His objective was to walk most of the day until he arrived to the old forest road, from then he would continue his path outside the forest and when he arrived at the edge of one of the arms of the river of Itmallal, it would be a couple hours before he got home.
Beorn made his way towards the old forest road, some of the trees were already loosing their leaves and the pines were peppered with white. Inside the forest, a single young tree would be three times the width of Beorn and protected by elven magic, as the forest grew deep, the trees would grow in size until the trunks were wide enough to be used as comfortable bridges for a carriage, when one had fallen over. Their branches would be wide and strong and the forest elves would move jumping from them with such grace only creatures such as they had.
Beorn made his way for hours, occasionally humming to himself an old tune, stopping to rest over a broken tree trunk or rock and watching small mice and winter rabbits made their way hurriedly toward their burrows. The old forest road welcomed him and he followed the memorized trail until soon, he was walking by one of the arms of the lake Itmallal, he followed it until it grew in size, chunks of ice flowing on the crystalline water. Steady he made his way forward until something caught his eye. The sun was still a couple of hours away from setting and the forest was not as thick near the river. The snow made everything clearer and Beorn was glad his eyes were not affected by the bright white reflection of the snow. For a moment he just adjusted his heavy warm coat and decided to ignore whatever it was that had shined in the river, he needed to be home before it was too dark his instinct could take over, although taking in consideration he had changed skins a couple days ago, he didn’t think the beast in him would make his way out of his skin unless he called upon it.
“it will only take a moment” Beorn thought as he made his way to the very edge of the river, convinced that he deserved an interesting distraction after how well the selling of his wares had served him on his passing through Ebonwind. For a quick second, Beorn considered an orc might be lying in the water, hidden by the rocks at the edge of the river, waiting to attack.
Upon arriving to the edge of the water, Beorn stopped, eyes wide open, unmoving.
Beorn approached an indeed it was not an orc, a creature that could be violent, yes, although only with those that dared trespass his kingdom with ill intent.
In the cold river, floating like a lily flower in summer, was someone Beörn had seen from affar but never met. He could easily distinguish where the shimmering that had coaught his eye came from: the gold embroidery over the fine white of his clothes and the green of the symbol of the kingdom of Greenwood the Great, and the long white hair dancing with the current as the water made its way south.
There was something so entrancing about the picture before him and Beorn stared for a moment before snapping himself out of his reverie. He quickly approached, leaving his wares on the forest floor and lifted the creature with as much delicacy as he could, cold was his face and hands, a blue tint was evident on his lips and green veins were starting to appear underneath his eyes along with an almost purple blush, but Beörn ignored that because from the elf’s delicate mouth, faint smoke appeared in time with struggling lungs trying to take a breath. The Elvenking was alive.
Beorn took off is cloak and placed it on the ground, he had a couple of minutes to take off Thranduil’s clothes before they froze, granting his death. He grabbed his knife and slowly cut through the clasps, making a mess of the delicate clothes, hands trembling slightly as he tried to not hurt the elf. He seemed unhurt at first, but upon further inspection, Beorn noticed the gash in his collarbone and the clear stab wound on Thranduil’s left shoulder. He lifted him up again, conscious of how the elf weighted less than he imagined now that he had shed the soaking wet and half frozen cloak, robe, armor and boots. He was way smaller in height than Beorn and his built was of that of a young human male. He was beautiful. He placed the elf over his own cloak and watched with sadness as parts of the white hair cut and stayed as if glued to the forest floor. He carefully took his knife and grabbed the elf’s hair, some of it frozen, and cut it at the best of his ability. It had hung until his ankles, now it fell to his middle back. He then wrapped the un-responding elf on his cloak and lifted him, one arm holding his head and shoulders, the other under his bent knees. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest and the incessant feeling that he was doing something forbidden grew inside his gut, but he needed to get Thranduil to a warm place before the elf perished, he was delighted to find that not one of his fingers or toes seemed to have been claimed by frostbite.
He looked around expecting more elves to come out of the river, to rain down like hale from the trees but there was nothing, only the steady sound of the river water descending and the occasional bird. What had happened that had rendered the Elvenking injured, floating with the current, alone? Should Beorn wait for the king’s guard to arrive? Should he try and reach the border to the kingdom of Greenwood and expect a sentinel to send help?
Beorn looked down at the pale face and those blue lips. No, he didn’t have time to waste, if he didn’t get Thranduil warm he would die, and the mere thought made his own blood chill.
With his precious cargo in his arms, Beorn picked up his bag and made his way towards his home.
࿔*:･༄˖°.🍂
It was a simple mission: Escort the King towards the north of the forest, following the river, all the way until before the place where Master Radagast dwelled. Landarion had been there at least a thousand times in similar missions since he first knew how to grab a bow and shoot an arrow with it.
According to what Lord Methril had told them, there was a peculiar illness poisoning the trees. Master Radagast had come by a week ago with the same concerns and after hours of King Thranduil and the council talking to the wizard behind closed doors, it was announced that the King would go personally to the place the poison seemed to be oozing from while Master Radagast stayed back in the palace helping the chemists look for a cure and a possible explanation for it’s existence. It was important they found a cure in case the poison threatened more life than just the trees that grew in that zone of the forest. It was not the first time the minions of evil tried to poison the forest in an attempt to destroy the life that the King sheltered.
Landarion stood in attention as he and his troop, five more expert fighters and trekkers, awaited for the King. Soon enough Kind Thranduil entered the corridor that led to the second outer wall accompanied by Master Radagast and Lady Dailamere.
The King was dressed in his hunting clothes, the color appropriate for the appearing whiteness of the forest caused by the snow of winter, the same color that the patrols and warriors wore on that season to disguise themselves among the trees. His white hair disguised itself along the white fabric, his cheeks were slightly blushed from the cold as were his lips, those green eyes were looking intently at the wizard as he spoke.
“Something is amiss” On Master Radagast left shoulder laid a red squirrel, it awoke startled when the wizard suddenly reached to his hat to place a small bird he was holding. “I don’t understand what could be, this seems… manufactured” He finished.
Lady Dailamere nodded “It didn’t come from the spiders, although we know that it might be a derivative of it” The King pondered silently for a few moments as they reached the party. At that moment, Lord Methril approached them followed by Alduin. The commander gave Landarion the signal to approach them, and they did.
The King’s voice was calm and melodic as he spoke next. “They are planning something indeed, perhaps a new way to poison their weapons, whatever it is I must personally go and heal the trees, know exactly what it is, otherwise it might spread and kill the creatures of the forest that have taken to hibernate, I can already hear the trees calling for help, it’s something they haven’t seen before either” Galion helped the King’s long hair into a ponytail and a braid as the dark haired Lord armed the King.
“Lord Methril will send patrols to vital locations in the forest to detect any anomaly, I will go and try to heal the trees, Master Radagast, could you stay here and help Lady Ferlen study the composition of the poison?” The King turned towards the wizard who bowed and smiled as he caught the squirrel that had fallen trying to reach some nuts the wizard always seemed to keep in his pocket.
“Of course! I will be very glad to” Radagast cheerfulness was unraveled, it seemed.
As the wizard merrily walked towards the healing wards, Lady Dailamere spoke to the King in a hushed voice. “Thranduil, this could be dangerous, I agree with Radagast, they are planning something”
King Thraduil nodded and preceded tie the long braid with a dark green bow. “I know, but if I don’t go this could spread and until we have the antidote there is no other way to heal it without me personally going, you heard Radagast he tried to remove it but he couldn’t”
“He is right, although I still think it’s dangerous” Lord Methril said, finishing helping the king with the buckes of his twin knives. “You will go with him, right?”
Lady Dailamere scoffed. “Of course! There’s no way I’m letting him go alone” She said and made her way to the guard muttering something about “stubborn elf”
And so they went, the six of them, they encountered some patrols on the way there, none of them reported anything unusual.
After almost 8 hours they reached the spot where Master Radagast had seen the strange fungus like liquid that seemed to ooze from a tree. The trunk was rotting, something from the inside was eating away at it. Stranger was that only three more trees were infected. The grass and the debris on the floor where the dark liquid fell to had died, leaving behind rotten yellowed filaments.
King Thranduil approached one of the trees, looking upwards and realizing the liquid came from what seemed the wound of an axe. Lady Dailamere had sent three members of their troop up and they reported no other gash or more dark liquid oozing from the tree. It was definitively manufactured and set inside the tree by someone that had stood in the same place they were now.
Landarion watched his King extend an ungloved hand to the tree, close his eyes and open them again, he watched with concern as he made to touch the strange substance before changing his mind and going back to touching the rotting bark. Lady Dailamere was silently watching from behind, her eyes were narrowed and her lips pursed. She was alert and suspicious enough to be weary.
“Your Majesty, we need to leave now” She said, turning back and signaling the troop to go into full alert, going into formation around the king.
Thranduil, white eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide whispered distressed, “I don’t understand…I can’t hear them…it's like it cannot speak, it seems like…blood!”
Danger, danger, careful, they are there, it’s a trap.
“Ambush!” The King’s words were shouted just as arrows started raining on their direction, a flood of orcs appeared and Landarion´s first instinct was to answer back with perfectly aimed arrows, moving between the trees until he got to where King Thranduil was already fighting, along with Ginladar and Lady Dailamere, most of the orcs that had subtly climbed up from the cliff, he saw the King kill them easily and Landarion jumped ready to protect his King against anything that might have even the slightness thought of hurting him.
Just as the orcs came, they were lying dead on the white snow that covered the forest, their black blood tinting it, and the forest was quiet, too quiet. From the trees descended Farlaren and Endarien, quickly standing in formation around the King.
“My King!” The master bowman asked hurriedly and Thranduil nodded, when he spoke his voice was stern, he was angry. “They poisoned the trees because they knew I would come to them, Landarion! This is orc blood fused with dark making. It's foul, its--” The rosy of his cheeks was turning red with rage, his green eyes darker now.
“We must go, inmediately” said Lady Dailamere, nodding towards Farlaren and Endarien, who quickly jumped up, the both of them already making sure the way back was clear.
Ginladar and Landarion stood put, covering both sides of the king, bows ready and in that moment Landarion noticed the King had yet to say a word. Landarion couldn’t shout it in time, because it took him a moment to realize that the dark liquid had oozed through the snow to the Kings feet, touching the sole of his boots, it looked…alive? It was an illusion. He saw the rope around the King’s foot too late.
“Something is not right, I feel…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, for at that moment Thranduil was slammed to his front and dragged as if by an invisible force down the small cliff to their left. Lady Dailamere moved towards him, but more arrows and a flood of orcs made it impossible to reach him. Thranduil cut the rope but it was too late, he was falling down as was Landarion, he was not failing on her mission.
The infected trees had been the trap, Thranduil only needed to step inside the circle they formed for the illusion to be triggered, the rope had always been there, ready to be placed around the king’s feet as he inspected the ill trees damaged with orc blood and a foul venom. How could they had been so careless and stupid?
Their landing wasn’t as rough as Landarion expected and when the Orcs came, he was ready. Next to him, Kind Thranduil moved fast to kill the fiends but there was something wrong, he kept missing when aiming to his left and after a moment he dropped down on one knee, his face was flushed like he had been training with Lord Methril for hours.
Landarion noticed the orcs were not trying to hurt him anymore.
“My King!” He exclaimed, but Thranduil didn’t respond. He couldn’t keep up. “My liege!” he exclaimed once again and watched in despair as the king, eyes wide extracted a dagger from his shoulder. It was coated by something dark and ashy.
“Go back. They wont hurt you if they have me” He said and his voice was almost a whisper.
Landarion understood what he had to do and with a prayer to the Valar he grabbed him and threw him over the cliff. He exhaled with content as the Elvenking’s body hit the river water, the fast moving current dragging him out of the reach of their fiends. The sword that pierced Landarion’s lung and then his heart didn’t hurt. He felt content as the cold darkness received him and then he felt nothing more.