Chapter Twenty Six

Mordraug stood and stared at Thranduil, who was calmly holding his sharp elven dagger against the snake’s neck. No, Mordraug amended, the elven king was not calm. He shook with rage and a tremendous desire for revenge, but unfortunately, his blade remained steady.

The armed elves behind him would be held at bay as long as they believed Mordraug might kill Legolas, so he was not overly worried about them, at the moment.

He sneered as he considered Elrond, the great half-elven healer and son of the morning and evening star, Eärendil. His attention had remained with Legolas, not once attempting to draw his sword. Consequently, he was all but dismissed from Mordraug’s mind.

None of them seemed to know that this attack would be different from the previous ones that had afflicted the young wood elf. This time there would be no stopping the attack. It would progress just as the others had done all those centuries before. The young prince was about to die horribly, and even the dark elf himself could not stop it. Considering the hopeless way Elrond was now looking down at Legolas, it appeared now that the Lord of Rivendell was all too aware of that fact.

“Release my son from the attack,” Thranduil demanded in a cold fury. “Now!”

With a smile that he could not keep from displaying, Mordraug said, “I cannot.”

Thranduil did not believe him. “You control the serpent. Tell it to end the attack.”

“I am so sorry.” The dark elf uttered the words in so sarcastic a tone that it was clear he was anything but sorry. In fact, he was intending to thoroughly enjoy imparting his knowledge of doom to the elven king. “My pet has unleashed the final stage of the venom. It cannot be stopped by anyone.”

At that moment, Legolas began gasping for breath. The fire had left his body and as before, near freezing blood began to flow through his veins, sending the frigid liquid seeping into every fiber of his body. His lips began turning blue, as his lungs slowly advanced toward immobility, forcing him to gasp in order to get any air at all. “Helkh,”

the elf rasped barely above a whisper, not having the necessary air to speak louder.

Legolas began to shake violently, his body trying vainly to keep the core of itself warm. Then to the horror of his friends, his body began to contort. His limbs were twisting. The muscles were being stretched and pulled. The archer’s arms crossed each other on his chest and his hands became distorted claws. The sound of breaking bone could be heard, when first one wrist snapped and then the other, as his hands twisted around each other. Legolas’s legs were also contorting at unnatural angles as they bent back upon themselves. His neck arched from the abnormal warping of the controlling muscles, throwing his head painfully backward. Legolas’s screams rent the air. It was an unbelievable sight.

Aragorn looked up at Elrond with eyes reflecting a sorrowful pleading the depth of which his father had never seen there before. “Please, do something, Ada.”

Elrond’s memories drifted back almost two millennia, as his mind’s eye transposed the faces and twisted bodies of those who suffered the cruel attacks he had seen back then onto the body he saw on the ground in front of him. He slowly shook his head. “I can do no more now than I did then,” he said with a heart full of anguish and an uncharacteristic tone of defeat. He clenched his fists in frustration much as Estel had done a few moments before. The healer in him raged at his inability to aid the young elf.

Mordraug’s eyes moved from the young blond elf on the ground to the older blond elf in front of him. The anguish and fury on Thranduil’s face was terrible to behold.

Th King had reached the end of his self-control. Through clenched teeth, he said, “If what is happening to my son does not end immediately, I will kill this black spawn of a demon.” He glared straight into the dark elf’s black eyes. He still did not believe that Mordraug could not end the attack on his son. It was inconceivable to him that the dark elf would ever have admitted that he had lost control over Legolas‘s fate, partly because of his immense ego and partly because that would mean he could no longer hold Legolas hostage. “I mean what I say,” Thranduil finished threateningly.

Mordraug knew the woodland king did not believe he no longer controlled the situation. It occurred to him suddenly that that was a good thing, because he had just made a grave tactical blunder. As long as Thranduil believed he could stop the attack on Legolas, he could keep the woodland elf from fulfilling his desire to kill him and his pet. What he didn’t realize yet was that the elder wood elf had decided that the standoff was going to end right then.

When Mordraug finally did realize that Thranduil’s patience, never lengthy at the best of times, had run out completely, he quickly made up his mind that he would sacrifice the snake to spare himself. What else could he do? While Thranduil was engaged in killing the snake, the dark elf would have a few seconds of inattention from everyone around him. They would be watching with gleeful pleasure as Thranduil killed the snake. Mordraug would then make his getaway. He knew this forest better than anyone, so he believed that even a wood elf such as Thranduil could not find him, when he wished not to be found. Arrogantly Mordraug said, “Go ahead. Kill it. In time, I will find another such as he to aid me.”

So dismissive had his attitude become, that the dark elf didn't even spare a glance at the serpent. If he had, he would have seen the dangerous look residing in the small yellow eyes. This was no mindless reptile capable only of being directed by another. It was a sentient being. Though its awareness was on a primitive level, it understood exactly what Mordraug was doing. Mordraug’s intentions infuriated the creature.

The serpent slowly turned its head from Thranduil and swung it back to look at Mordraug. It hissed menacingly, flicking its tongue in and out. The dark elf, whose attention was fully on Thranduil, so he would be able to react as soon as the king did, still refused to glance at the snake. He acted as if the black creature now meant no more to him than dirt under his boots.

In the lightning fast move common to all venomous snakes, it sank its fangs into the back of Mordraug’s left hand. The dark elf let out his own scream of pain and shock and quickly put his right hand over the wound in a reflexive move of protection. The snake promptly bit the back of that hand, too, this time hitting a vein and injecting venom directly into the Avari’s blood stream.

So startled was Thranduil, that the took a step back, releasing the pressure of his blade on the snake, who quickly uncurled is body from around Mordraug’s arm and slipped to the ground. It could have gone after any of the elves or the human that surrounded it. However, at that moment, it was not interested in revenge. It wanted freedom.

As soon as they had recovered, the twins raised their still-loaded bows and fired at the fleeing snake, who was slithering rapidly through the grass. It was just a little too fast, and the arrows landed short, both slamming into the earth barely two inches from the tapered tip of the black tail. The snake was soon lost to sight.

They started after it, but Glorfindel called them back. “Stay here in case you are needed. I will find that creature.” It was a vow he intended on keeping. In seconds, the elder elf had disappeared into the trees, bow in hand.

After being bitten, Mordraug looked down at the back of both of his hands, staring in stunned horror at the twin puncture marks that decorated each one. His mind reeled. He had been bitten by his own pet, the creature he had freed from the amber stone, the creature he had given a home to. This could not be happening. He was supposed to destroy Thranduil and Elrond. How could they be unscathed while he was now being infused with the deadly venom? He had never even thought to enquire of the creature, if he would be as susceptible to the poison as all the other elves. He never dreamed that information would be needed. *There is no antidote!* his horrified mind wailed.

Thranduil came close to using his dagger to slit the dark elf’s throat while he stood transfixed by what had just happened. It would have given the Mirkwood king a great deal of satisfaction to end the dark elf’s life. But, just before he could accomplish the feat, he pulled his hand back. Why end his miserable life so easily? His evil heart was now pumping poisoned blood through his body. Let him die the same way he had condemned his son to die.

A wrenching scream from Legolas caught the king’s attention. He pointed to the twins. “Make sure this filth...”

Before he could finish the sentence, Mordraug turned around and began running. His mind had finally shattered completely, throwing it into total chaos. All rational thought ceased, as he ran blindly into the forest, screaming.

Thranduil knew that Mordraug would be dead soon, suffering the way he was making Legolas suffer. Had he possessed the ability, Thranduil would have greatly prolonged that suffering. The main thing now was that he would no longer be a threat. “Forget it,” the king told the twins. “He will get the end he deserves.” With that he turned and hurried toward his son.

The King of Mirkwood knew exactly what he would see. The accuracy of that knowledge tore at his heart. Legolas was deathly pale, a tinge of blue infusing his skin. He was barely able to get air into his freezing lungs. Thranduil knelt down and reached for him.

Elrond started to hold his arms out to block Thranduil from touching Legolas. His first thought was that holding the twisting muscles and tortured bones would cause more harm to the young elf. It was the healer in Elrond, who held that belief. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. For Thranduil to hold his son would do more good for them both emotionally than it would cause any further physical distress to Legolas.

Thranduil picked Legolas up and held him close. He could feel the chill of death in the slender body. He wrapped his arms around Legolas, giving him his love and whatever bit of warmth his own body could provide. He felt the movement of the contorting muscles that lay against him.

There was a loud crack, as Legolas’s left ankle broke, and then his body suddenly stopped its abnormal twisting.

It was not clear to Elrond why the contortions had ceased. In all the previous attacks, only death had ended them. Though the young elf’s breath had now retreated to the barest minimum for keeping his body alive, he was still alive.

Elrond noticed that the contortions were not as pronounced in Legolas as they had been in the elves of long ago. There was no way to know why that had happened, but it was a relief, though much physical damage had already been done.

Thranduil hugged Legolas to his chest, the young elf‘s golden hair spilling down over the king’s arm. He closed his eyes and put his chin down against the side of his son’s head.

The body he held was gradually beginning to still. But, Thranduil’s mind tried hard to push that thought away. If he gave it no credence, it may not come to pass.

Aragorn, still on his knees, reached out and put a trembling hand on Legolas’s shoulder. He sighed as he, too, felt the chill that greeted his fingers. He had believed so strongly that his friend not only could be but would be saved. It was inconceivable to the man that he could not. That was a realization that was like glass shards ripping into his heart.

Legolas was dying. To the ranger, those three words should not be allowed to exist, in Sindarin, in Westron, in any language known in Middle-earth. He sat unmoving. His head was bowed, eyes closed in grief, but he did not move his hand. He would not lose physical contact with his best friend until death parted them.

The twins had moved up close. They knelt between Thranduil and Estel. Their eyes, which mirrored each other’s in so many of their shared emotions, stared sadly at their friend. They were each as unbelieving as Estel. Even having heard their father and Glorfindel tell them about the horror of what the venom could do to an elf’s body, they still could not believe what they were seeing. They couldn’t begin to imagine the pain it must have caused, even though the memory of the agonized cries of the archer still rang in their ears.

Unnoticed by anyone except Elrond, Glorfindel returned to the clearing. In his left hand he carried his bow. In his right hand he carried an arrow. Impaled on that arrow was the black snake. It hung limply, its body swinging loosely, as a result of the blond elf’s movements.

The scene he came upon was as dreadful as his thoughts told him it would be while on his way back. He dropped bow, arrow and snake and went to kneel beside Elrond. He knew he wouldn’t be able to give any real comfort to anyone, at this point, but he would be there should any turn to him for aid, verbal or physical.

The solemn silence was suddenly broken by distant screams, filtering through the trees. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Mordraug was now enduring the hideous death that he had inflicted on many of the Firstborn, including Legolas, his last victim. The small group that heard the dark elf’s death throes were too disheartened about Legolas to find any joy in Mordraug’s death. Thranduil didn’t appear to register the sounds at all. Everyone else’s sole attention was also on the young woodland elf, who lay wrapped lovingly in his father‘s embrace.

Legolas had stopped his convulsive shaking, no longer having the strength to try and keep warm. The frozen fingers of ice were winning the battle for the elf’s life.

Thranduil had not opened his eyes, spoken or made any other outward sign. He simply held Legolas close, desperately trying to cling to the belief that each of his son’s dwindling breaths and slowed heartbeats meant his child was still with him.

***

Just as in Rivendell, a small part of Legolas’s mind was still able to function. However, unlike in Rivendell, this time his mind was completely detached from his body, not able to feel or register the pain. Only the cold seemed to leap the distance between mind and body.

Legolas knew his body was shutting down. There was no way it could survive much longer in the gripping cold that had engulfed it, invading every inch of him, inside and out. One vital organ after another was succumbing to the icy invasion. This last vestige of his mind would go soon and lastly his heart would cease. Or, perhaps he would be aware of its last beat, its last attempt to remain viable. He knew not, nor, he realized, did it really matter. It would all end soon enough, and he would then begin a journey toward his eternal destiny.

The searing heat had been awful enough with its sensation of flames and burning flesh. He had writhed then, rolling from side to side and moaning to try and combat it. But, somehow this helkh was worse. The cold drove him inward, forcing him to curl around himself, seeking what warmth he could. Even his twisting muscles had pulled his body into a ball.

He then became aware of voices nearby but couldn’t make out what was being said. He concentrated the best he could and soon recognized that one voice belonged to his father. The other must belong to Mordraug. Fear entered his heart. *Please, Ada, do not let him ensnare you. Not for my sake. I am already lost.*

The next thing he became aware of were arms, strong and soothing, as they enveloped his crumpled body in a cocoon of warmth. The faint smell of his father came to him. Legolas inwardly smiled. He would die in his father’s arms. The thought comforted him. He hoped it would offer comfort to his father, as well.

The elf also felt a firm pressure on his shoulder and knew it was Estel, his brother in spirit. He knew from the feel of the ranger’s hand that he was attempting to give the elf strength and let him know he was there.

Legolas had been right. Estel held no grudge at what the elf had done to him before he left Rivendell. He would miss his human friend.

Despite his current condition, Legolas sighed in contentment. He would pass beyond this firmament in the company of those who loved him and whom he loved in return.

Legolas felt the tickle of guilt for wanting them there as witnesses to his death, because he knew it would be hard on them. But, he did not know if he could have faced it with any dignity, if he had been alone. He almost laughed. Having his body twisted and tortured into a shape he could not begin to imagine was hardly dignified. He pushed that useless thought away, instead thinking only that his head, though forced backward by unyielding muscles, now rested against his father’s shoulder.

Unable to move or make a sound, Legolas’s now drifting mind managed two thoughts. *Be well, Estel.* *I love you, Ada.*

***

The king spoke. “Please, Little One, you must come back to me. I cannot imagine my life without you in it.” He shuddered to think that he would spend the rest of his immortal life never again to see or be with his youngest child. It was then that the unshed tears of both a last desperate hope and a crushing hopelessness slipped down Thranduil’s cheeks.

Legolas’s body jerked once and then went still.

TBC