~Thranduil is temporarily saved, but then the figting starts for real.~

oOo

Thranduil by ultramarineandwhite

The First Kill

The mysterious mist lasted several hours, long enough for the orcs to do what Thranduil had predicted; follow their trail south, fail to find them, and then return back to the road. Meanwhile his company waited, huddling close together, shivering and cold, but alive.

When the last orc had passed, the fog thinned out and soon it was entirely gone. The warriors looked at each other, not knowing what to think.

"The Vala of the water must have saved us," said Halmir, the human leader.

"Aye," agreed others. "Ulmo saved us!"

"Ulmo saved us... Ulmo hid us..." The words echoed among them.

As they waded ashore, Thranduil was deep in thought. Could it have been Ulmo he saw? But the face had been female, he was sure of it. The cheeks and chin had been rounded, almost heart shaped, and the eyebrows delicate. The Valar were neither female, nor male, they just chose such appearances when they took physical form. Ulmo always used a male form, and he was said to wear a dark, foamy helmet. The face Thranduil saw had worn nothing on its head.

Maybe it was one of Ulmo's helpers, the Maia Uinen? The Maiar were like elves, only more powerful, and they were real males and females. Queen Melian was a Maia, who had married Thingol, an elf. But why would Uinen visit Thranduil, show herself to him and hide him from orcs? It would have made more sense if it was the Vala of war, he whom Thranduil had prayed to before.

They were all gathered on the shore now, wet and bedraggled, and Thranduil decided he would think more about the face in the water later. They still had a job to do, an orc army to chase. By now the orcs would be back on the road, and soon the elven archers would attack. Thranduil must hurry if his company was going to be able to block the orcs' retreat path.

Halmir and a younger man came up to him.

"Milord, me sons are miss! Me two boys!" The man's accent was almost unintelligible.

"What boys?"

"His sons, my grandsons. Huor and Húrin," said Halmir. "They were among the first to cross the river, and I think they might not have heard when you called us back to hide in the fog."

"We cannot look for them now, but they will be safe in Dimbar. As far as I know, there are no dangers in that land. We return for them once the orcs are defeated." Thranduil tried to sound reassuring, while secretly wondering how they could be so stupid as to bring young boys into battle.

"They might stray too far east," Halmir protested. "Huge spiders dwell there. The youngest is only thirteen!"

"Am I in charge of this unit, human, or are you?" Thranduil snapped, losing patience. They had to leave now.

The man gave him an angry stare, but then bowed curtly. "You are, My Lord." He spoke to the other man in their own language, probably trying to convince him they would have to come back for the boys later.

Thranduil had his company regroup, and then began to follow the now rather wide trail back to the road. The orcs had been cutting down plants and shrubs to widen the way, and Thranduil was not the only elf to frown at the needless violence.

When they were almost back where they had first been hiding, Thranduil motioned for his unit to wait. Choosing a handful of elves to follow him, he climbed a nearby tree. The orcs had likely left sentries behind to guard the tracks in case they returned – at least that was what he would have done in their shoes – and it would be a good idea to come from a direction they did not expect.

Soundlessly passing from tree to tree, they creeped closer. Soon a foul smell reached their nostrils; Thranduil had been correct in his assumption.

Amroth waved to catch Thranduil's attention, and pointed below him. He nodded, he saw them too. They were five, stupidly sitting together in the open instead of hiding among the shrubs. They breathed so loud he could have shot them in the dark.

Thranduil slid his sword out of its scabbard, and held his breath as he slowly passed to a tree just behind the orcs. He felt, more than heard his companions on either side of him, advancing on their unsuspecting prey.

His gaze met Amroth's, and a surge of adrenaline flowed through his veins. His friend's eyes shone.

"Doriath!" With that warcry, Thranduil dropped to the ground and decapitated the first orc in one swift stroke.

"Doriath!" The others jumped a heartbeat after him, and ended the rest of the orcs just as efficiently as he had done.

It was over so soon, they almost did not know how to react. Standing beside the corpses, the elves looked at each other, smiling rather foolishly, trembling with surplus energy. Neither of them had been in a real fight before; King Thingol had stayed out of war ever since the First Battle of Beleriand over four hundred years ago.

Then the reality of what they had done hit them, and their smiles waned as they took in the scene. Cut off body parts littered the ground, and on the head Thranduil had severed, milky blue eyes bulged out like dove's eggs. The tangible smell of blood mingled with the odour of the other body fluids the creatures had expelled when they died, together with the ever-present orc stink. Thranduil felt sick again, and as they returned to the waiting company he noticed one of the others silently bending over a bush to vomit.

Killing was ugly; they had known this with their minds, but nobody could have prepared them beforehand for what it was actually like.

oOo

They continued, upholding as fast a pace the humans could muster. Thranduil tried not to think about the dead orc head, instead he focused on the annoying squelching of his wet boots.

It took several hours until they caught sight of the orc legion ahead. The sun was high, and the orcs were resting, night creatures as they were. The humans in the troop needed rest too, so Thranduil had them pull back into the forest where they made a simple camp. It felt good to finally be able to remove his boots and dry his feet. But they were indeed ruined, he noticed. A shame.

Late in the evening they broke camp and continued, and soon they spotted the orcs trudging along the road. By then, the shooting must have already commenced, they could hear growls and yells in the distance, and the orcs in the rear were trying to hurry forward.

Thranduil had his company spread out across the road and a little way into the forest on both sides. The men and a few of the elves were armed with axes, the rest of them with swords. Then they marched. The orcs had still not spotted them, and they were in no hurry to catch up; the closer they got to the river crossing before the battle began, the better.

After a while, they came to the site of the first archer ambush. Here clusters of orc corpses were scattered, the many arrows still protruding from their bodies. When Thranduil's company came close, they were joined by the archers themselves, who elegantly dropped down from the nearby trees. Most of them had empty quivers, but after retrieving some arrows from the corpses they were good to continue. A few of the shot orcs proved to be still alive, but the newcomers helped put an end to them.

Somehow Thranduil found it harder to kill a wounded orc, who was unable to defend itself, than it had been to decapitate the sentry before. The sound his victim made when he drove his sword into its heart was one he would not easily forget.

Along the way, the rest of the archers joined them. When they finally arrived at the battlefield by the Teaglin river, Thranduil's footmen had grown into a small army, and Galadriel, who had been with one of the archer units, had taken over leadership. She was a war veteran unlike him, and Thranduil was happy to fall back.

Along the road, Thranduil had killed nineteen wounded orcs, and he had found it became easier with each time.

Of the battle itself, he could not remember much with clarity later. It was so chaotic, and he had a hard time sorting through the various events. Was it early or late in the encounter he was hit in his shoulder by an orc spear? It did not pierce his armour but left an ugly bruise. And when he fought three orcs alone, was that before or after the spear incident? He did not know, but the sight of Oropher coming to his aid then, was something he would not forget. Never had his father seemed taller, stronger and more fierce. Never had his son loved him more.

The sounds and smells of battle were repressed into Thranduil's subconsciousness after a while, as well as most of his coherent thoughts; he let his reflexes take over. He had trained for this his entire life, and he found he was good at it. All those endless running laps, pushups, swordplay routines and footwork exercises were paying off. His hands and legs moved like he were dancing, and around him foe after foe fell to the ground.

oOo

The battle lasted for hours. Not until the last orc was dead, did the pain and exhaustion catch up with Thranduil. He could not remember ever being this tired before; his sword hand trembled so bad he could hardly sheathe his weapon. His shoulder ached dully, and a multitude of small nicks and cuts stung.

"Well fought, friend." Captain Beleg touched his shoulder, unfortunately just where the spear had hit him. He tried hard not to wince. His childhood friend's praise should not mean anything to him, but apparently it did; and some of the weariness left him.

Beleg, too, had cause to be proud today. He had led his first battle, with the older veteran Mablung serving as his second in command, and he had won with hardly any losses. For every fallen elf or man, he could count at least thirty dead orcs.

Thranduil watched him as he moved on. Maybe one day it would be he who was the great leader, he who could take credit for such an impressive victory as this.

Halmir came up to Thranduil then, and even before he opened his mouth he knew it was about the missing boys. Darn. He had almost forgotten them. Being the grandchildren of the human leader, they were important. He had to find them.

"Aye. We will go to Dimbar and search for the boys now." With a sigh, Thranduil gathered the remainder of his unit.

Somehow he had a feeling these boys, these Huor and Húrin were important. He could not say why – they were humans after all, what could such achieve? But the feeling would not leave him, and all the way back he mulled over both them and the face in the water.

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

Because this story focuses on the grey elves (the Sindar), I have decided to use Sindarin words sparsely in dialogue. Assume that everybody speaks Sindarin, unless it's stated otherwise. Back in those days almost everyone did, because the grey elves would not speak Quenya (Noldorian) or Khuzdul (Dwarfish). However, some Sindarin epessës (taken or given surnames) will be used, such as Thingol (meaning grey cloak), Círdan (shipwright) and Cúthalion (strongbow).

Image Credits:

Thranduil by ultramarineandwhite on Deviantart