The King's Heart (Thranduil Fanfiction)

Chapter 8

(Thranduil)

After the party, I retired to my chambers where peaceful sleep continued to elude me.

The sky had been drained of color. The fields were ridden with bodies. Bodies of men and elves and orcs. I could see pools of blood under each of my steps. I could see a few of my allies doing what I was, taking stock of the dead.

The battle had been won, but it did not seem like much of a victory. I saw the golden armor of my father's soldiers and the crudely fashioned orc leather armor. The bodies of men lie farther ahead, they advanced before the elves, for we were better shots and could kill legions from a great distance.

The Great War claimed so many, so many...

"Lord Thranduil!" I turned to see a young elf running toward me. "Sir, there is another legion of orcs approaching from the north!" I sighed. They would never cease.

"Where is my father?" I ask calmly.

"He is ahead sir, he is meeting them in combat as we speak!" We take off toward the North. From the top of a hill, I see a few warriors in golden armor surrounded by a hundred black bodies. I charge off down the hill to fight by my father's side.

Flanked by ten more elves, we cut a path through the orcs toward the king. Oropher was cutting the enemy down in twos, never missing a beat. Until the dragon came.

It loomed up over the ruins of a castle, dark brown scales lodged with shafts of spears and arrows that had failed to pierce its hide. I saw the fire glow through its abdomen, the early warning of fiery breath. I pulled my father down and yelled a code word for the others as well.

As the heat beat down on our backs, I silently thanked whoever it was that thought to arm us with fireproof tunics and armor. The heat eased and I stood up, pulling my father with me. We were now standing in a pool of what used to be flesh and bodied orcs, but was now only a sizzling pool of what looked like mud.

I yelled for our companions to relax, but soon heard the battle cry of orcs and saw more still running down the hill, these bigger than the last. I drew my sword again and charged forward, my father by my side.

As we cut down orcs, I lost sight of Oropher. He was only a short distance away when I saw it. The largest orc I had ever seen, riding a warg, the vile wolves of the mountains. He came charging right for my father. I yelled for him, but he could not hear me. I pushed the orc I had just stabbed off my blade and ran toward him, hoping to reach him before the orc did.

I stepped in front of my father just as the warg leaped for him. I held my sword up and managed to stab the beast, but its weight carried me away from Oropher. The warg landed on top of me, pinning me to the ground. Its rider had leaped off when he saw my blade, and was standing near my father who was just standing there, a shocked look on his face.

"Ada, run!" I screamed, but it made little difference; my father couldn't hear me. The orc drew his blade, a jagged one that was as long as I am tall.

My father finally seemed to come to his senses and raised his blade to block the orc's descending blade. The orc's blade knocked my father to the ground. I struggled to push the warg off of me, but it was larger than most and I could not free myself.

"Ada!" I screamed as I watched the orc's blade crunch through the golden chest plate. I turned my eyes away and heard the orc roar to rally its kin. I began struggling against the warg on top of me again, but still could not move it.

The orc turned its attention to my struggling form. It came over and kicked the warg away from me, bringing its blade down toward my head. If the orc hadn't removed the warg, I would have been killed, but I was able to scramble onto my feet thanks to my recently freed legs.

I sprinted to my father and picked up his sword just in time to see the brute charging toward us. I threw the blade, end over end, and it buried itself deep into the orc's skull. The brute fell, dead before he hit the ground. I turned back to my father, who was barely breathing.

"You are king now, Thranduil. Lead the elves out of this mess of a war." he choked. I felt the tears roll down my cheeks. All I could do after that was hold my father's head in my lap until he passed. Other elves had gathered around, each kneeling as they realized what was happening.

We did not have time to mourn. The dragon returned over the destroyed walls of the castle.

"Black Arrows!" I commanded. I grabbed a bow from one of the fallen. It had personal carvings, ones that spoke of endurance in battle, peace in chaos, strength in weakness. I would treasure this bow if I survived. It was larger than most, meant for long distance shooting. I loaded the bow with one of the last Black Arrows. They were the only weapon that could slay a dragon.

I took aim at the small break in the beast's armored scales. It flew ever nearer, and its midsection was beginning to glow with fire. I let the arrow fly just before the dragon could send the rest of us into a fiery death. It flew strait, strait into the unprotected underbelly of the dragon. It came crashing down, choking on the magic of the Black Arrow. I raised the bow in triumph, but the dragon gave me a parting gift.

The fire seared the left side of my face, and wounds caused by dragons do not heal. I screamed as the fire caught the oily orc blood splattered across my cheek. I could taste the inferno before it died from lack of fuel. I held my hands to my face, shivering from the pain.

The pain never stopped. No healer could fix my face, but I could use a glamour to hide the scar that decimated the left side of my face. I could not hide my wound from mirrors though. I ordered mine removed from my room and all those I could potentially walk past. When I relaxed, the glamour vanished, and the pain would come surging back with it.