Part 11.  Day of  Darkness

As the colonies of spiders grew larger and more dangerous, and Thranduil’s patrols were attacked more often by bands of orcs of ever increasing numbers and ferocity, it soon became apparent to all the Wood Elves, not just those like Thranduil and Legolas who had felt the that shadow  had returned, that the tendrils of darkness spread ever northwards.

No matter how cautious, or well trained the warriors were, many suffered injuries in the skirmishes, and every time one took the journey to the Halls of Mandos, Thranduil mourned the loss deeply, his grief turning to both anger and frustration at the strength of the evil that had come to his beloved forest.  He had used all his powers of enchantment to protect the Elf Path, as well as his own gates but he was battle hardened enough to realise that should his realm be invaded, it would also take the skill of all his warriors to defeat the enemy.

The message he had just received informed him that two of his most experienced warriors on one of the northern watches had been killed and he angrily crushed the parchment and threw it to the floor as he went to mark the location of this latest attack on the map that covered his desk. There were far too many such marks and in a moment of utter despair, he roughly scored out the elegantly written “Greenwood the Great” and replaced the name with a hastily scrawled “Mirkwood”, for that was what his forest had become.

“Mirkwood, Adar?” queried Legolas as he moved from the doorway where he had been standing, watching his Adar’s response to the ill news, to stand by Thranduil’s side.

“Ai, and so it shall remain until the shadow is finally defeated,” Thranduil replied angrily. “Is that another message of death you carry?” he asked cynically, pointing to the scroll in his son’s hand.

“I do not think so, Adar. It is from Imladris,” replied Legolas as he handed the letter to the King. Thranduil read it quickly and allowed a small but brief sigh of relief to escape his lips before laughing bitterly at the content.

 “I have been summoned to a council meeting to discuss the threat of the shadow and how best to defend against it. I wonder what advice on such matters Elrond and Celeborn can offer that I have not already tried,” he said in a voice that was both weary and laced with sarcasm.

“Perhaps it is your advice they seek, after all you have had far more dealings with these creatures of darkness than the other realms,” suggested Legolas taking a more positive approach. Thranduil actually smiled.

“Such a loyal son you are, Legolas, and so willing to see the good in others. Those qualities help make you the fine leader you are, and I am very proud of you,” said Thranduil as he placed an affectionate arm about his son’s shoulders. “I will answer this summons, and you will remain here and rule in my stead until I return.”

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Of all the duties Legolas was required to attend to as “King” the one he was least fond of was the morning audience session. As he listened with less than his full attention to the various petitions, he wondered how Thranduil endured both the exceedingly boring task, as well as the decidedly uncomfortable throne. The play of the sunlight amongst the leaves that danced in the crisp breeze was far more fascinating and enticing and Legolas longed to be able to walk in the forest on such a beautiful day. “No wonder Adar is in a foul mood after these sessions,” he thought rather uncharitably.

His interest in the task at hand suddenly returned as Faelas appeared as the next petitioner. The young Elf, who was nearing his majority, bowed respectfully to Legolas and waited permission to speak.

“I take it this is official business, Faelas? What is it you wish to ask?” enquired Legolas politely, trying hard to remain formal with his friend although he actually felt a little foolish speaking to the young one in this manner.

“I request permission to visit Gilbard’s village. I have heard from one of the scouts that he is not well and I wish to pay my respects,” replied Faelas with equal formality. Legolas frowned slightly at the request, and the difficult decision he must give. He knew of the man’s illness but Thranduil had decreed that all visits outside the forest were no longer to be allowed. The danger from unpredictable orc attacks was far too great in these dark times.

“Has not the King, and your Adar for that matter, already refused you permission to go?” he asked his manner now serious.

“Ai, but you understand why I must go. Gilbard saved both our lives, surely we owe him such a courtesy,” insisted Faelas. Legolas sighed, the young Elf was right, but his duty to his King came first.

“I do understand, but I am sorry, I cannot allow you to go. Your petition is denied,” said Legolas sounding very much like the King he might one day become.

“Then I will simply go anyway, you cannot stop me!” shouted Faelas angrily, glaring defiantly at Legolas.

“Oh, but you are mistaken,” replied Legolas with steel in his voice. With a nod of his head two guards moved to flank Faelas, who stared in disbelief at Legolas. “I can have you placed under guard if necessary, but I hope that you will respect my decision.”

“The guards will not be necessary, Your Highness,” replied Faelas coldly as he turned without even looking at Legolas and left the audience hall.

“I wish I could trust him but I remember what it was like being his age,” said Legolas to his Adar’s Steward, who nodded his agreement, smiling with amusement at what he imagined Thranduil would say when told of Legolas’s last comment.

“You are still young, Your Highness, but have developed a maturity the King should be proud of,” he told his young charge.

“I do sound like Adar today, do I not? Well, have him watched for a few days, but not openly,” he ordered, choosing a course of action he was certain Thranduil would have taken, and that he hoped would protect Faelas from his own rebellious nature.

Unfortunately, Legolas had misjudged Faelas’s determination, and was both surprised and annoyed to hear from Mirieth that the young Elf and two of his friends had given the guards some wine laced with a sleeping potion and then disappeared.

“They have been gone over a day,” the young Elf’s distraught Naneth told Legolas. “He was so angry with you that he would not listen to reason. I tried to explain that you were only obeying the King, as he should do, but with Tathar away at Imladris with your Adar, he has become difficult to deal with,” she explained.

“We know where he has gone, and I will lead a party to the village to bring him home safely,” he reassured Mirieth as he held her in a comforting embrace.

“Make sure he is aware of the enormity of his disobedience, and tell him that Tariel is waiting to speak with him,” she added meaningfully. The elder Elf was almost as fearsome as Thranduil when she was angry, as they both well knew.  Faelas would be sorry he earned her displeasure.

As they swiftly travelled the Path, a sense of foreboding crept into Legolas’s heart, and he saw that the others also heard the whisper of death through the trees. They increased their pace, arriving to find the village aflame and under attack by orcs. Legolas and his patrol quickly joined the battle, and soon there were none of the ugly creatures left alive. To their dismay, none of the villagers appeared to have survived either, and as Legolas searched the carnage for signs of life, he was filled with grief at the sight of the many dead, not just men, but women and children as well.

 In an act of pure hatred, Legolas kicked the body of one of the creatures, his heart sinking into despair as he recognised one of Faelas’s arrows protruding from its head. It took only a few moments before Legolas’s worst fear was realised, and he rushed to the body of his son’s friend, and held him close as he wept unashamedly. A gentle touch on his shoulder interrupted his grieving, and he looked up into the mournful eyes of his second.

“What are your orders, Legolas?” he asked sadly.

Legolas tenderly lay Faelas back on the ground, stood and straightened his shoulders and walked over to where the others were gathered, softly singing a lament for the other two young Elves who had also not survived. Legolas joined in the mournful song and as the last note drifted away, he spoke quietly to his patrol.

“I have not the heart to ask anyone else to witness this atrocity, so if you agree, we will build a mass grave for Gilbard and his people, and then carry our dead back to their kin,” he said, pleased to see the nods of approval.

“What about the orcs?” asked his second.

“Leave them here to rot!” spat Legolas angrily.

The elves spent the rest of the day taking care of the dead, and it was well into twilight before they were ready to return. Despite the danger of travelling through the forest at night, none wanted to remain in the village a moment longer than necessary. They had made three stretchers to carry their own, and it was a grief stricken party, now covered with both blood and dirt that made their way back to the King’s Halls.

They had barely travelled more than a few miles when they were met by a large group of warriors, lead by Thranduil’s Steward.

“One of the other watches reported seeing smoke and hearing a disturbance near the village, and we came to assist. Far too late, it seems,” he said sadly as he recognised the burden Legolas was helping to bear. “Your Highness, perhaps it would be wise to go on ahead with some of my patrol and offer what comfort you can to the families of these three,” he suggested.

“Ai, I think that would be wise, I know Adar always speaks to the families of the lost, but what shall I say?” he asked, suddenly wishing Thranduil was here to deal with the difficult task. “My grief is too near for me to think clearly,” he added as he reluctantly handed his end of Faelas’s stretcher to another.    

“The words will come, and if not, simply let them know that their sons died bravely in defence of others as befits warriors of Mirkwood,” advised the Steward kindly as he removed his tunic and handed it to Legolas, who looked confused at the offering until he heard the explanation for it.  “I do not recommend delivering your news while you are still covered in blood,” said the Steward grimly.

Legolas had barely reached the bridge before the gates when Mirieth ran to greet him.

“Where is Faelas?” she whispered as she searched Legolas’s face. The pain and grief in his eyes was all the answer she needed, and she collapsed into his arms sobbing uncontrollably. “Please tell me it is not true,” she begged through her tears. “My beloved son can not have gone to the Halls of Waiting; he was to celebrate his majority in a few short weeks. Tell me it is not true, Legolas, I beg of you,” she implored, every word she spoke was as a knife in his heart.

“If I could do so, I would, but to tell you other than that he is no longer living would be a lie. But know this, if I could change places with him to ease your pain, then I would gladly do it,” he said, holding her chin so that she could not avoid seeing the truth in his eyes. Tears welled in Mirieth’s eyes at the compassion in his voice, and he stood there, holding her until Tariel arrived. He could see that she had also been weeping, and he kissed the elder Elf softly on the cheek as she tenderly took Mirieth from his arms, replacing them with her own.

“You have others to speak to, Legolas. I will care for her until Tathar returns,” she told him. Legolas felt his grief overwhelm him again as he thought of Tathar, so far way in Imladris, knowing naught of this dark day. He knew he would have to send a message to Thranduil, but first he needed to speak with the parents of Faelas’s friends. As he spoke to each of them he somehow found it within himself to say the right words, and in a small way eased their pain. It was an extremely draining experience, yet he managed to present a strong, compassionate face that dissolved instantly into tears when he finally retired to the privacy of his chambers. He threw himself on the bed, and as he had not done since the day Elisiel left, he cried himself to sleep, never feeling more alone.

A soft knock on the door several hours later forced him from his reverie, and he almost managed a smile as the Steward entered, bearing a tray of fresh fruit and cheese, and a bottle of his Adar’s private stock of Dorwinion.

“The wine will help ease the pain, and the food will give you strength, Your Highness,” he said as he handed Legolas a goblet of wine. “When you are refreshed, you need to send word of this tragedy to the King… and Tathar.”

“I know,” Legolas sighed sadly.

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The council meetings were long and drawn out to Thranduil’s way of thinking and he was relieved when a halt was called for the day. He had accepted Elrond’s offer of a walk in one of his favourite gardens, and they spoke of their sons, the beauty of the day and anything else other than the business at hand. It was there that the messenger from Mirkwood found his King and Elrond sat quietly on one of the stone benches as Thranduil read the news from Legolas. The King of Mirkwood paled considerably, and stumbled to sit beside Elrond before he fell.

“Ill news?” asked Elrond, not wanting to pry, but concerned for Thranduil.

“Very,” he replied and handed him the missive. Elrond read it quickly and then asked the messenger to send Tathar to the garden.

“I shall give you privacy to speak to your young guard, but if you need assistance I will wait in my study,” he said to the distraught King. Thranduil nodded his thanks, and reread the message slowly as he collected his thoughts. He knew Legolas must also be suffering badly, and wished he was back in Mirkwood to comfort him, but he was not, and Tathar would need him even more than Legolas did.

“You sent for me, Your Majesty?” asked Tathar with a respectful bow.

“I have received some very bad news from Mirkwood, from Legolas, and I need to tell you of it,” stated Thranduil. There was mo easy way to say it, so he chose to be straightforward. “It seems that Faelas and his friends went to visit Gilbard. While they were at the village it was attacked by orcs. There were no survivors,” he said.

“Gilbard is dead? And why would Faelas disobey us both and to go to the village?” asked Tathar, deliberately misunderstanding. Thranduil could feel the young Elf’s heartbeat racing madly in his panic, and saw the depth of fear in his eyes.

“Ai, Gilbard is dead, and why Faelas chose to disobey is something we will never learn…   your son is also dead,” he said, quickly gathering Tathar into his arms as the garden echoed with the piercing scream of “ NO!” as the young Adar’s heart broke.

“Do not be ashamed of the tears,” he whispered as he let his own flow freely. Thranduil offered all the comfort he could until finally Tathar’s tears were spent.

“I must return to Mirieth at once,” he said to Thranduil, suddenly realising how much she must need him.

“Of course. You and your patrol should leave as soon as possible, I will return as soon as my business here is concluded. Although I will not feel as safe with a guard from Imladris as I would with my own, Elrond’s warriors are well trained, and I expect he has already asked Glorfindel or Erestor see to your travel preparations,” Thranduil told Tathar.

“Are you not also returning to Mirkwood? Legolas will no doubt be distraught,” said Tathar thinking of his friend despite his own grief.

“Ai, he will, but as I said, my task here is not yet completed, and Legolas will surely understand, as I hope you do, that the shadow threatens all of Middle-earth, not just Mirkwood. It behoves me to do all I can to defend against the Dark Lord, just as my Adar did so long ago. Thus I must remain,” explained Thranduil.  The warrior in Tathar understood full well. Faelas was not the first Mirkwood Elf to travel to Mandos’s Halls, nor would he likely be the last. The King had to do what he could to protect all his subjects. When considered in that light,   the Adar in him had no choice but to concede that the King was right.

Thranduil had assumed Elrond’s actions correctly, and once his guard had been informed of the reason for their sudden return to Mirkwood, he was not surprised to find their horses ready and waiting at the gates.

“Come, Thranduil, I know this is a difficult time for you, but perhaps a sleeping potion would help?” offered Elrond as he led the King to his chambers.

“Nay, I need no such potion, but a glass of wine will suffice,” he said as he stepped out onto the balcony and watched his Elves disappear into the distance, taking his heart with them.

The journey to Mirkwood was both uneventful and extremely depressing for all, and could not end quickly enough for Tathar. As the trees near the Elf Path came into view, he was reminded of a happier time, the day when he had stood under the eaves where Mirieth, Legolas and his patrol now were, and announced the conception of his son.

He felt as if Fate had turned him full circle, and as he rode quickly up to them, he felt his grief overwhelming him once again. Quickly dismounting, he threw himself into his wife’s welcome embrace and together mourned the loss of the sweet song they had created but would hear no more.