Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 25:  Shadow’s Breath

A/N:  Apologies for such a LONG banquet sequence.  It was originally planned as only two chapters, but it became too long as it was fleshed out.  I thought it best to split it up into more chapters.  Alas, the banquet comes to a hasty end.

Legolas swiftly climbed one of the offending trees that held the strings where his bow and quiver were precariously hung.  As he leapt nimbly onto one of the branches, he felt the trees quiver with fear.  Legolas instinctively looked to the South, and as he turned his head the branches that held the strings released their prisoners, as they recoiled in fear.  The bows and quivers fell to the ground, the quivers spilling their arrows on the forest floor in a confused array.

At that very moment, Thranduil felt an intense blackness try to invade his heart.  He gripped his chest and leaned suddenly into Glorfindel.  “Shadow comes,” Thranduil whispered weakly.

Glorfindel had too felt a darkness try to consume him, but he did not feel it as intensely at Thranduil.  Thranduil was after all tied in with his forest in an intimate manner.  It was as if the limbs of the trees were extensions of Thranduil’s being.  In becoming king of the Silvan Elves, a heavy toll had been extracted by the forest upon the Sindarin Elf, but Thranduil did not perceive it a burden.  It was a gift from the very trees, to feel their living souls bear upon his fëa for in this way he felt as one with his people- a woodland Elf.

Legolas and his siblings also felt the onslaught of Shadow more powerfully than most, but the feeling for all present was ominous nonetheless.  The music died down as the Elves gathered listened to the whispers of the trees, the shivering of the branches.

Suddenly all went still, and the forest seemed to hold its breath.  A chilly and dark wind swept through the trees, as if whatever evil had arrived let out its own breath.  The Elves were chilled to the bone, but not by the coldness of the wind; rather by the foreboding it brought.

All looked upon the fallen bows and arrows, haphazardly strewn on the ground.  Legolas leapt to the forest floor, landing lightly.  He quickly retrieved his weapon, arranging the arrows quickly into their quiver.  Laurenor, Aní and Erutunín followed suit.  It was as if they were trying to bring some semblance of order in face of the strange and deafening chaos that breathed into their realm in those moments.

Laurenor looked to Istawen, and saw that in her face she bore the same concern, and with a nod to her husband she ran towards Thranduil’s cave dwelling, to comfort and protect their daughter.

“Everyone into the palace,” Thranduil commanded.  As Thranduil called out, a horn sounded in the forest night, bidding all Elves to safety.  Elves swiftly but calmly collected their family members and headed into their stronghold.  Without word, Elven warriors had assembled in their different units.  Years of experience made the gathering a precise and orderly scene.  No words were exchanged between the warriors and their leaders.  None was needed.

Glorfindel noted the efficiency of Mirkwood’s forces.  Already there were Elves handing out armor to the assembled warriors.  Fingers with centuries of experience were strapping on the leaf like pieces, forged by Silvan smiths.  Not a single Elf was missing a protective piece of armor.  Mistakes of the past were not ever to be repeated.

Thranduil’s forces reminded Glorfindel of the very animals that dwelt in the forest.  Those who took to the forest floor were organized like a wolf pack, small but efficient, with a strong alpha as their lead.  Yet in these wolf packs, the stragglers or those who traveled in the near back of the group were not the weak members of the pack.  True they were always smaller than the alpha leader, but their speed and cunning was not to be trifled with.  Their keen vision, strong sense of smell, and swiftness of foot, made them perfect outer defenses for the pack as they circled the rear, always keeping vigilant.  But these were not wolves, these were wood Elves.

And there were the units that took only to the trees in such times.  These, Glorfindel mused, were more akin to flocks of birds who darted in the heights of trees.  They could travel swiftly in a tight flock, and with a  single call, spread themselves out in the branches of the trees like wild fire, scattering whatever pattern they had been in.  With another call they could circle in around a target, closing-in in the blink of an eye, like pernicious but deadly birds, Glorfindel noted.

Yet all of these warriors and non-warriors alike were swift in the trees and swift on the forest floor, but years of training under a vigilant eye selected those who were especially gifted to make up the ranks of their different units.

Glorfindel eyed the warriors that remained encircling the palace.  These Elves were large, strong, and broader of chest.  They certainly could handle a dead-on assault.  Their legs were long, thick thighs like the trunks of trees to hold their ground and charge with impending force if need be like stampeding horses.

Much was to be said of Thranduil’s warriors.  So few Elves outside of Mirkwood had such a vantage as did Glorfindel this night and impressed he was.  Glorfindel shook his head in disgust.  He had always wanted to take the time to thoroughly inspect Thranduil’s forces in detail, but this was not the way he had hoped it to happen.  These warriors were not as numerous as those of Imladris, but their controlled ferocity and instinct for protecting their home was intimidating.

As Glorfindel turned to speak to Thranduil he saw that he was surrounded by his sons and daughter.  They were listening intently to a messenger who had apparently just arrived.  The Elf’s face was pale, his posture showing the wear of what had obviously been a hard ride to the palace.

“My King, the band of orcs came upon us unawares.”

“How” Laurenor asked, surprise and frustration apparent in his voice.

The messenger’s face was pained, and Glorfindel noted that although his face was clean his clothing was full of what appeared to be orc blood intermingled with what was sadly the blood of Elves.

“My lord, we felt the Shadow’s breath as you feel it now.  We broke into a defensive formation and sent scouts out to assess where the threat was coming from.  They never returned, and as we were going to seek them out a crushing blackness overcame us.  A fog thick as the smoke a dragon’s breath leaves in its wake enveloped us.  We could see nothing, hear nothing, except the wild beating of our hearts.”

Aní gasped, “How is this possible?”

“I asked myself that question and hard as I tried, my tongue could not utter a word. My breathing became laboured as I felt a heavy weight descend upon me, and then they came, bearing down upon us.”  The messenger’s face was grim, and his eyes were dim with sorrow.

“Yrch,” Thranduil murmured, a fierce intensity shining in his eyes.

“Yes my lord,” the messenger’s eyes were stricken with grief.

“We have lost many this night,” Legolas whispered as he looked into the warrior’s eyes.

“Yes, we have.”

Rainiel pressed the weary Elf, “Forgive my curtness, but pray tell, were you able to defend yourselves at all?”

“Yes, my lady.  Once the orcs descended upon us, the weight of the Black breath was lifted and we were able to defend ourselves, but not before we bore many injuries and losses.  It was a group of thirty, and they inflicted much damage upon us.  Under normal circumstances our group of twelve would have easily routed the foul creatures, but they had the advantage this night.”

“And you had no warning, from the units further South of this attack” Legolas queried.

“Nay my lord, not a word.  We found this most startling as it is the direction the accursed creatures came from.  We fear the worst.”

Thranduil stood, his head bowed in silent contemplation.  How could he have missed this attack?  He had felt none of it and all so close to his realm.  He knew what evil masked these dull creatures, but he had not expected an attack so bold.

Legolas voiced Thranduil’s concerns aloud, “Dol Guldur has released its vileness upon us in a way unseen in the past.” Legolas paused as he looked at Thranduil, and catching his father’s eye, he continued, “And yet I sense that this attack will not quite reach your borders Adar.  The Black Ones yet fear your might.”

“I hope you are right Legolas.  I hope you are right,”  Thranduil sighed, clearly exhausted from the burden of Shadow that weighed so heavily upon him.

Upon finishing his questioning of the messenger, Thranduil made sure all the warriors had been informed of the happenings.  Of how the attacked had been precipitated, of the loss of Elven lives.  Units began disappearing into the dark forest, with faces pressed into hard lines.  The remainder of this night was going to be the darkest indeed.

Legolas looked at his father, his light armor in place, “I take my leave of you, my lord.”

The formality in Legolas’ voice made Thranduil wince.  No longer was his son in front of him.  In his place stood a deadly warrior, ready to defend his home.  Thranduil rationally understood Legolas’ role.  His place was with those who were merging into the night, but despite this Thranduil grabbed Legolas’ hand in his and whispered, “No.”

Legolas looked away from his father’s imploring eyes, “Adar, I must.”

Thranduil reluctantly let his son’s hand go, “Be safe my son.”

“Always, Adar, always.”

Elrohir and Elladan had their weapons in place and looked expectantly at Thranduil.

“And you two, although I know I cannot bid you stay, be safe, for I could not bear to burden Elrond with any ill news,”  Thranduil spoke gently to the two.

Elrohir and Elladan bowed to Thranduil. 

Glorfindel too had his weapons in place, “Thranduil, you understand my need to go.”

Thranduil nodded his head, and silently he thanked Glorfindel for going.  Having the elder warrior accompany his son and the twins lent him some comfort.  “Take care,” Thranduil clasped Glorfindel’s shoulder, “and watch out for them,” Thranduil threw a glance to the backs of the three young Elves who were silently disappearing into the forest.

“Be assured that I will guard them with my life,” Glorfindel responded, squeezing Thranduil’s shoulder in turn.  And with that Glorfindel turned and was gone.

Glorfindel peered ahead towards Legolas who had swiftly vanished into the trees alone.  *And then there are those who hunt like the lone hawk, pouncing on their prey when no attack is expected.  These I fear the most, and for these I fear the most,* he thought to himself. 

“Elrohir, Elladan,” Glorfindel whispered, “You make sure you keep close to Legolas.”

The two nodded in agreement and soon were off trailing closely behind Legolas.

***

In the meantime Laurenor was organizing warriors to surround the palace, and as Aní was heading out, Laurenor called out to him, “Wait!”

Aní turned and saw the look of concern on his uncle’s face, and without needing to ask it, Aní answered his uncle’s question, “I will stay with them if you wish.”

“That would bring great comfort to my heart,” Laurenor admitted.

Aní searched for his mother before he joined Istawen and Lotórie, finding her readying to mount her horse.  “Naneth,” Aní cried out.

Rainiel turned to face her son, her countenance clearly showing the pain she bore at departing from her son and husband.  “Do you go with Legolas,” Rainiel asked, hoping that her son would answer in the negative.

“No Naneth, I stay with Istawen and Lotórie.  Laurenor wishes for me to be with them in case…,” Aní’s voice trailed off, unable to speak what was obvious.

“This brings peace to my already troubled heart my son,” Rainiel answered, relief clear in her voice.

“It is my heart that is troubled, Nana.  Please take care.”

“I will take care my son, u-'osto [fear not]!”

Aní embraced his mother tightly, and as he released her he looked into her eyes and silently helped her onto her steed.

As she galloped into the dark shadows of the forest, a chill ran down Aní’s spine.  He turned to look for his father but could not find him.  Instead he saw Thranduil walking amongst the warriors that were surrounding the cave fortress, dressed in a thick but flexible armor. 

“Hir nîn [my lord], where is my Adar,” Aní asked Thranduil as he neared him.

Thranduil sighed, “Your father has accompanied the group of healers and scouts that is going to aid the units that were attacked.”

Aní’s eyes widened with fear.  He spoke steadily, but the tightness in his voice betrayed his concern, “How far south will he travel?”

Thranduil’s eyes softened as he recognized his grandson’s fear for his father, but he answered him truthfully nonetheless.  A seasoned warrior stood in front of him at this moment, not his grandson.  “Erutunín will go as far south as is possible.  We need to aid those that may have been attacked.  We need to account for all our warriors that are on patrols in the South.”

Aní’s face reddened with anger, but his voice did not betray his emotion, “Hir nîn, that is my role as a warrior.  My Adar is no scout!”

Thranduil’s face bore no emotion as he coolly answered his grandson, “You are mistaken Aníralendon.  Erutunín is an expert scout.  Do not forget he spent many seasons in the company of Elrond’s sons and the Dúnedain.  He knows the arts of healing in the wilds like no other.”  Thranduil’s face relaxed into a sympathetic smile, and he whispered so no others could hear, “We live in such times where loved ones must put themselves in harms way.  I for one am glad you are here.”

“Ai, Daeradar.  I only wish no one had to risk their lives. I wish that my Naneth and Adar weren’t warriors, weren’t skilled in arts that are needed in such times, and were simply regular folk that needed protecting.”

“I too sometimes wish these things, but ‘tis not our place, and it is best we face our burdens with hearts free of what ifs.”

“My King,” Laurenor called to Thranduil, approaching him from where he had stood with a group of warriors.

Thranduil turned his head to Laurenor in acknowledgement.  Aní, seeing his grandfather was needed quickly took his leave of Thranduil and headed into the cavernous keep.

Thranduil paused to think of his children, his grandchildren.  Rainiel was off riding between units, ascertaining their positions, setting out the pieces like a game of chess.  Although calculating and strategic, Thranduil knew that unlike a game, Rainiel was acutely aware that lives were at stake.  Laurenor was closer at hand, organizing the guard around his stronghold.  And his marriage-son, he was off serving as guard to a group of healers who went to meet up with the injured Elves who had survived the attack.  Thranduil was relieved that Aní had ultimately accepted Laurenor’s request to remain with Istawen and Lotórie.  And Legolas, Thranduil worried for his youngest son.  Darkness was drawn to the brightest of fëar, and Thranduil feared for Legolas for he was a bright star amongst his people, much like Nyére had been.  

“Ter oiomornie, tulta tuolya [Through endless dark, summon forth your strength],” Thranduil whispered an ancient summons for the strength of warriors.     

“My Lord, some words for your people?” 

Thranduil was taken from his thoughts by Laurenor’s words.  “I will address them shortly,” Thranduil answered in a firm voice.  As Laurenor turned to take his leave of him Thranduil added, his voice full of concern and care, “Laurenor, take great care of yourself.”

Laurenor’s voice softened, “I will Adar, and I will ask the same of you.”

Father and son embraced, and then Thranduil entered his cavernous palace and addressed his people, sharing words of assurance, and most of all of hope.

***

Lenmana had been swiftly taken by the hand and lead into the palace by Istawen. 

“You are being attacked,” Lenmana asked, her voice shaking.

“Some of our warriors have been attacked, and we guard against an attack to our home,” Istawen responded through a tight smile.

Lenmana shook her head in acknowledgement.  As she entered the room, Lotórie ran and clung tightly to her mother.

Istawen’s voice responded to her daughter’s fears, “I am here no little one.  I am here with you.”

“Where is Ada,” Lotórie’s little voice trembled.

“He is out making sure we are safe,” Istawen answered

The door opened behind them and Aní walked in.  Lotórie ran to him, encircling him with her little arms. “I am so glad you are here!  You are not leaving are you,” Lotórie asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

“No little one, I am to stay here with you,” Aní assured.

Lenmana sat silently in a corner of the room.  This was not her story to live, but here she was witnessing a very different horror, a different fear, than the ones she had become so familiar with.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To my lovely reviewers-

Daw the Minstrel: The twins are in for a long evening but I am afraid it is not the way they expected it to end!

Nilmandra:  Glorfindel demands to be written in just such a way.  I have received several e-mails from an unknown source suggesting *exactly* how Glorfindel would act- Me thinks our Golden Flower is hacking away at computers : )  Poor twins, it looks as if fun is only a small part of their lives.

Mellon1:  Thanks for the review.  Writing is certainly an interesting task which sometimes can get away from you.

Hanya the Bloody Angel:  Alas, I felt bad for the male Elves as well, but it seems Evil doesn’t want to let the males get the females back.  Well, we shall see, there still may be some revenge ahead.

SimplySara:  I am very happy you like how I have written my characters.  I worry that sometimes they come off to campy!  Even if I tried to write non-arrogant males, they just seem to take off in that direction all on their own.

Coriandra:  I think if Elladan and Elrohir had children of their own they would have been tipped off that Lotórie was being sneaky.  Elves, like elephants, have long lived memories so I don’t think the females are going to get off.  Weird comparison, Elves/Elephants.