Betrayal.
Category: Stories
Current mood:  sad

The Greatest Betrayal

“Where’s emel?”

Thranduil looked up from his writing and smiled. “She will be home soon,” he said. He placed the quill down and watched the little boy walk over.
 
“When?” he asked when he reached his chair. Thranduil pushed back from behind his desk and lifted his son into his lap. Hearing his son’s question was heart wrenching; he wished that he was enough for him, but every child needed their mother.

“I miss her too,” he said. Never one to be still, Legolas wiggled out of his grip and placed his sticky fingers onto the parchment he had been writing on. The paper stuck to his fingers, and when he tried to pull it off with his other hand, it tore. Legolas looked around, eye wide. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him.

“I didn’t mean to…” His bottom lip trembled, and water danced in his eyes.

“Don’t cry,” Thranduil said, “It’s alright, accidents happen.”

The door squeaked then and they both looked up. Canthuiel stood in the doorway. “There you are!” she said relief in her voice. The dark haired silvan looked panicked when she saw Legolas up on the desk, but relief quickly followed. The King did not look annoyed to have been bothered at this time.

“Have you been running off again Legolas?” Thranduil asked.

“I went to find emel.”

Thranduil scooped his son up into his arms and got to his feet. Tiny arms curled around his neck, holding on tight. “You found me instead, she will be home soon, and you can have her all to yourself again,” he said. He hugged his son tightly. “But you have to listen to Canthuiel and do as you’re told. Remember what we talked about?” he said. Legolas nodded before burying his face in his father’s neck. He yawned. “I think this little leaf needs some sleep,” he said.

“No,” he moaned, despite another yawn escaping him.

“Shall I take him?” Canthuiel asked.

Legolas moaned again and Thranduil shook his head, “I’ll take him,” he said. “He misses Ellerian, you go and rest yourself. He has been running you around all day.” She bowed her head and he swept past her. “Now, you little leaf are going in the bath! Don’t think I can’t feel those sticky hands.” There was a little giggle from Legolas.

“And a story?”

“And then bed,” Thranduil said. Legolas nodded, apparently too tired to argue any further.

Legolas was asleep within the hour. Clean and tucked in, he didn’t get passed the second page of the story. Thranduil was relieved about that. His son was interested in everything and as such, getting him to rest was often difficult. He fought his weariness, which made bedtimes awkward. It seemed that looking for Ellerian had tired him out. Thranduil headed back to his study, he should get that letter rewritten before he took his rest.

As he wrote, he thought of his beloved wife. She should have been back a couple of days ago, but the time it took to get between Mirkwood and Rivendell could be difficult to fathom. She had insisted she be the one to answer the calling, and once Ellerian got an idea into her head, there was not much that could talk her out of it. It was one of the reasons he loved her. That and her gentle, calm demeanour, her beautiful eyes that danced like stars and her ability to put up with any of the nonsense he brought to her. He dearly hoped she would be home soon.

***

It was early morning, before the sun had risen, that the rider belted into the halls. He dismounted, tossed the reins to the stable hand, and strode straight towards the King’s chambers. Thranduil was alerted to his presence by the commotion outside made by the guards. He was back to wakefulness in seconds. Striding across the room, he opened the door and was met by the most dishevelled elf he had seen in a long time. A hastily tied bandage covered his forehead, through which blood had leaked. He was covered in dust, mud, and grime, stirred up by his horse no doubt.

“You were one of the guards with the Queen,” he said. The guard bowed low; his head hung.

“Your Grace,” he said.

“Where is she?” He searched the guard’s eyes as his heart began to thunder. The guard did not raise his head or come out of the bow. “Do not make me ask again. Start talking!”

“Orcs,” he said.

“A handful of orcs should be no match for members of my guard!” His heart clenched; panic gripped his stomach. Clenching his fists as his sides, he glared at the elf. “You had better start explaining!”

“There were fifty or so of them. They were waiting on our side of the high pass, whether on purpose or not is unknown.” He heaved out a sigh before continuing. “We were outnumbered and no matter how skilled we are, we couldn’t kill them all. Many were slain, but not before… They took her your grace.” The anguish in his voice was clear at breaking this news. Thranduil forced his hand to relax, forced himself to listen. Panic now would serve no purpose. “I followed them north. She was alive three days ago, but I couldn’t fight them alone and to die without informing anyone would have been pointless. I had to come back. Forgive me your Grace, I have failed you.”

Thranduil wanted to scream at him, to demand to know why he hadn’t done everything in his power to bring her back. He knew this was the wiser course of action, so he nodded, albeit with clenched teeth. “You did the right thing.” The guard nodded and finally raised his head. Thranduil had already turned away, “Ready the army, we ride within the hour.”

“I will ride with you,” said the guard before he had time to storm out, “I will show you where I last saw them.”

“You will,” Thranduil nodded before sweeping out of the room.

Before he went to the armoury, before surrendering completely to the anger that threatened to overwhelm his better sensibilities, he visited his sleeping son. Creeping in without a sound, he took a moment to just watch him. He looked so peaceful curled up as he was. The blanket had been thrown off, his arms and legs were thrown out at every angle, but nothing disturbed his rest. Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to his forehead and pulled the blanket back over the tangle of limbs. “I will bring her back for you to see soon, I promise,” he said.  Legolas didn’t stir, and Thranduil withdrew. Canthuiel would care for him for the few days he was away, as she had done so in the past.

***

It took two and a half days to reach the spot where the guard, named Amrithion, had broke off his pursuit. The weather had been on their side up until this moment, and the tracks the band of orcs had left was clear to see. The trampled grass, the discarded items and waste left a trail that the elves would not have trouble following. Unfortunately, the weather turned on them, slowing their progress. The heavy rain turned the grassland to swamp, and the horses found it hard going.

The rain didn’t bother Thranduil, his entire mind was occupied with finding Ellerian. She was a strong elf, he knew that, and she had most likely escaped her bonds already and was making her way back to Mirkwood as they rode out. He dearly hoped that was the case but knew in his heart it was not so. He worried constantly, wondering what had become of her. Was she alive? What had they done to her? What effect would it have? He had bitten his nails to stubs as the questions circled around in his head. The longer it took to track the band of orcs, the shorter his nails, and his temper, got.

On the fifth day, they reached the foot of the northern mountain of Gundabad. The elves dismounted and left the horses about a mile away, choosing to creep up to the fortress on foot. That the band of roving orcs had entered the mountain stronghold was beyond doubt. There had been only one trace of their kin, and that was the battered remains of a cloak. It hadn’t been Ellerian’s, but the message had been received clearly.

The strike on the fortress was to be swift and without mercy. Thranduil had purposefully kept the force he had brought with him reasonably small so they would be able to take the creatures by surprise. They were dressed for war, and somehow the grime from the muddy ride had not tarnished the shine on their armour. The elves split into two teams, to make a two-pronged attack at the mountain fortress.

Without a sound, both groups crept up on the fortress. There were several sentries along the way, which were killed swiftly and without alerting the others. Thranduil took one, drawing a dagger over its throat before moving forward. The foul smell of its black blood was stomach churning, but he had killed enough orcs to know that. The moment it was done, he moved on.

The moment they were spotted, both forces rose and pushed the attack forward. Supported by archers at the rear, who felled many of the surprised orcs, the elves charged. Guttural grunts roared through the air from the throats of the orcs, the elves made little sound at all. They fought with a cool precision and brutal efficacy. Thranduil had long since put aside the flourishes and flamboyant style some used, viewing it as inefficient. He needed to get this done as quickly as possible so he could devote his energy to finding his people.

Stepping past one he had just killed; he brought his lead sword up to block a strike. Pivoting on the ball of his foot, he followed the blow through, piercing the attacker with his offhand weapon. The next blow struck his next target with a low blow, severing a leg, the third bifurcated another’s torso. Each movement flowed into the next, and the next, and the next bringing him ever closer to where he needed to be.

His force crashed against the fortress like a tidal wave. Hewing down the orc forces as though they were made of paper. For all their greater number, they lacked in skill. There had been no time to shut the great doors, so they forced their way inside, killing as they went.

“Ellerian!” he yelled as soon as he was within the courtyard. A huge tower rose on the left of the fortress, made of dark stone with few windows. It had a large open platform on one side, the purpose of which he did not know. To the other side was a squat building that smelled fouler than anything he had encountered before.

She would be in the tower. It was furthest from the exit. If he were going to keep prisoners in here, it would be up there. A dungeon was handy but keeping prisoners in there; it seemed logical to him. “In there,” he said. There were confirmations beside him, and the force powered towards the bottom of the tower. Cleaving another orc in half, Thranduil pushed another out the way with the next blow. When he reached the bottom of the tower, he booted the door open with a shout. “Ellerian!” he bellowed. She had to be in here!

He was presented with a twisting staircase that rose into the gloom of the tower. There was no hesitation, he took the stairs two at a time, destroying anything that got in his path. The tower was wide, and every door he came across he opened. Most rooms were empty, one was full of arms and battered looking armour. Every orc he came across, he killed. Not one of these creatures would he suffer to live. Their very existence tormented him Their foul, beady black eyes tasked him, and he would cease their lives.

Thranduil had no idea how many he had killed when he reached the top of the tower, but when he threw open the last door, his worst fears were realised. The stink of rancid meat met him the moment he stepped through the door. A quick glance around the room showed him the true horror of what had gone on here. Blackened stone made up the walls and a large cauldron hung over a vast fireplace; a fatty substance had congealed around the sides. There was a closed door on the other side of the room, which he assumed led to the outdoor platform. The odd bone gathered near the walls, their origin questionable.

What drew his eyes was the tawny haired elf in the centre of the room. She was facing away from the door, not moving at all. It was her! He would know her anywhere! Thranduil strode into the room, over to the hard block of stone she was laying on. “Ellerian!” he called. “Meleth, it’s me.” His heart leapt into his throat as he carefully crossed to the other side of the stone slab. What he saw would haunt him for the rest of his days. There was not a part of her that didn’t have blood on it. Her beautiful eyes were closed, her face bruised and puffy almost beyond recognition. Her lips were cracked, her once vibrant skin dull and grey. Her clothing was stained, and soiled, dark blood caked the fabric to the point it hardly moved.

He reached out and brushed a lock of her hair from her face. Her vivid blue eyes opened, but they were not the eyes he recalled. These were wild, animalistic and had no recognition in them at all. She tried to scream but the only sound that came out was a parched rasp. When Thranduil went to touch her again, she flinched and pulled away. “It’s me,” he said softly. She was bound in place, but the chains could not withstand a blow from his blade. When he had severed them all, he went to scoop her up.

She shook her head, “Not my baby! Not my baby!” Her hands covered her stomach and she curled into a ball. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Thranduil straightened a little.

“We have to leave this place,” he said. “You’re free. We can go home.” He bent down to look in her eyes. “Don’t you know me?”

As he spoke, a large boom echoed from the platform. Yells outside reached the top of the tower. Thranduil looked around at the wooden door. A trail of dust filtered down from the ceiling. She screamed. “No! No! No!” despite the damage to her throat, she made quite the noise.

The door flew inwards, blasted off its hinges by a mighty blow. “I am here for my meal!” purred a sinuous voice.

“There is nothing for you here, vile worm!” Thranduil roared. A pair of golden eyes snapped to him, “Go back from whence you came!”

The great reptilian head thrust further through the door. “If there is nothing prepared for me, then I shall have to snack on the pair of you instead!” The drake sucked in a breath, its throat changing from a dull copper to a vibrant amber. The fact that he had seen it before was the only thing that saved them both. Grabbing hold of his screaming wife, he pushed her onto the floor on the other side of the plinth and dived after her. Liquid fire belched into the room, blackening the walls, heating the stove, and charring everything in the room. Thranduil’s cloak caught light. Hastily patting it out, he risked a glance around the stone slab.

“You missed!”

“Did I? I have been dining on your kin for the past few days, these nasty little creatures are vermin, but they do have their uses.” Thranduil glanced at the pot on the stove, the bones by the wall and felt sick to his stomach. She was the last one; they were going to… He clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the grip of his sword.

“When I am done here, I shall make sure your kind is stamped from the face of this land!” he spat.

He glanced at the other door; glad he had kicked it from the hinges as he entered. Grabbing Ellerian’s arm, he pressed his lips together and drew in a breath. It was now or never, the dragon’s breath had to recharge. He yanked her out from the stone and toward the door. “Run!” he yelled rising and following right behind her. She stood, confused where he had propelled her, so he seized her once more and pulled her along behind him. Another blast of fire hit the doorway as they catapulted down the stairs.

Heat burned Thranduil’s back, but he kept going down the stairs. It was only when he heard a pained whimper that he stopped dragging Ellerian behind him. Turning around, he realised that they both had not escaped the blast of fire. Her hair was aflame, and although the front of her looked fine, she had taken the full force of the fire on her back. The flesh had melted as though it were wax. Whereas before her face had been pale, now it was ashen. Tears streamed down her face and she toppled over. Thranduil caught her and brought her down to the ground as gently as he could.

“Don’t let them,” she whispered. He tucked a scorched lock of her hair behind her charred ear. “Don’t let them take my baby.”

“Your son is safe, “he said. His eyes stung, his throat closed and try as he might he could not swallow the lump he found was there.

“And the baby?”

“The baby too,” he nodded. Her hand, a mangled ruin of molten flesh, touched his. She grimaced, the pain clear on her face. It slipped down to the pommel of his sword. He swallowed, throat dry.

“End this.”

“Ellerian!” His eyes widened and he shook his head.

“It hurts so much.” As if to emphasise her point, she moaned as she slipped further against the stairs. Thranduil knew she wouldn’t live with these wounds. Her flesh had melted to the bone, and her mind was a charred ruin. Whatever they had done to her, the damage was irreparable. As if this wasn’t enough, the entire tower shook from a colossal blow.

Weakly, she tried to move the point of his sword. He shook his head; not in denial but to show her he would do this. Another stream of dust fell from the ceiling under the blow. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.” He moved the tip of his sword to the place above her heart. Closing his eyes, he forced away the image of the ruin beneath the blade and recalled one of her. Her tawny hair blowing in the wind. She turned and threw him that coquettish smile over her shoulder. He was chasing her as they ran through the forest, laughing at some secret joke.

Her pained cough brought him back and he opened his eyes again. “Look at me,” he said. She did, and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of recognition in her glassy blue eyes. “I will love you for all eternity, I will see you soon my love.”

She shook her head, “I cannot endure this pain again. End it!” she whispered. Tears flowed freely down his face and for a moment, he thought he would be unable to do it. Another cough and he pressed the sword down, piercing her heart and stealing her life for the rest of time. A sob pierced his lips and he leaned over the remains of his beloved wife.

The entire tower shook. He could not linger here, no matter how much he wanted to. He should take her with him, bury her properly. Squeezing his eyes shut, he dragged himself to his feet. There was an ominous creak at the next impact. Thranduil looked up in time to see a crack form in the brick. No time. A rush of air, another crash. Leaving her there, he tumbled down the stairs, just as the roof caved in. A fragment of stone smashed where he had been stood moments before. He fell out of the doorway, a gust of dust following him.

The building was engulfed in fire seconds later; he was back on his feet and running, just in time to avoid being melted. Looking around, he saw a handful of his people. “Out!” he yelled. “Run! We cannot fight a dragon with so few of us!” The dragon was not done with the fortress, however. It was now circling the fortress, picking off the few remaining orcs and eating them. Flames licked and danced the entire area. Thranduil knew it was a fight he couldn’t win, but it left a sour taste in his mouth anyway.

He and his people fought their way back out of the fortress, leaving the dragon to devour whatever it could find. By the time it was done with the orcs, they would be long gone.

It was a long ride back to Mirkwood, the only thought on Thranduil’s mind was how to break the news of Ellerian’s death to Legolas. As distraught as he was, he knew the boy would be inconsolable. Most of the details he would never tell. How could he? How could he tell anyone that he had been the cause of her death? He shouldn’t have been so hasty to throw her out the room; he should have waited. He could have brought her down the stairs, gotten her home and have the healers rebuild her skin. Her mind would have healed, and she’d have come back to him. Most of the time, he let the tears flow unchecked; better to let them out now than allow his son to see how destroyed he truly was. Those who he rode with did as much as they could to ease his mind, but the ache in his chest was so heavy, he knew it would never leave.