A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and continued outpouring of support and affection for these characters and the story. I promise it is nearly over, and yeah it's a tough ride...I apologise in advance..but you guys should be used to me by now lol XD Please VOTE, comment, share, and of course let me know what you think. Love CJ

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A Gift to Remember

SouthWestern Greenwood
the Great:
The old Realm of Amon Lanc

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Clara POV

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Days passed, or even weeks, at this point in time I could not be sure. All I was assured of was pain and punishment, but not death, death would be too forgiving.

From the moment I was taken hostage by Galour I was subjected to slew of humiliating torture.

Stripped of most of my clothes, I was forced to walk and sleep in nothing but a light under-tunic and ripped trousers. The wintry chill meant I suffered the effects of the night frost, which could have been bearable if that was not all I was tortured with.

I soon discovered that I would be escorted to my final destination by other less savoury companions. There were orcs, and a few goblins, but also a band of brutes; the evil shaman with their dark gifts. I was quick to learn that these were Galour's new family, they had taken him in and freed his mind from the corruption of the Valar - or at least this is what he claimed. By his rotted and twisted appearance I could only assume he had been initiated into their ranks using cruel methods...methods I would soon become acquainted with.

We travelled mostly by cover of darkness, and so during their states of rest I was subject to their bloodthirsty desires. I was beaten so regularly that I soon learned to accept it, the various punches and strangulation attempts all began to blur into one and so I stopped fighting them.

When I stopped reacting to their violence they would burn me with torches, or hold me over their crude fires until I screamed, but I fought the pain and I fought the screams. I would not cry out in agony or fear, if I made a cry it was one of frustration and hatred.

Galour, not satisfied with my stubbornness, resorted to humiliation tactics to satisfy his sick desires.  He would make me cook his rotted food, and when through he would tip the scalding water over me and spew his hatred towards my family and I, in vile and degrading rants.

I would not speak, I would not succumb to them, and although I was terrified I refused to show it. They would not tell me their plans or why they kept me alive, and all Galour would give away was a dark sneer and a deadly promise that the worst was yet to come...I believed him.

But I endured. I endured because I had no choice. My children kept me alive, kept me sharp, and kept my mind clear. I would think of a way to escape or survive long enough to ensure their safety. Although I was ignorant to their plans, I was not so stupid as to not listen and piece together what I could.

I was not their intended victim - this was my first discovery - it was my daughter they desired. The mystics believed that she had the gift of the forest witch of before, and I assumed they meant Lassiel. It was their intentions to take my daughter in the hope of reducing Thranduil's hold on the forest, making it easier for them to corrupt and claim. Galour had been aiding them in attempting to track my children for years, but they had been met with our countermoves. It was by happy chance that they discovered that Thranduil's Queen was abroad, and so they launched their attack. I believe it may have been their hope to take both of us, and even Legolas if they could, but I had successfully outsmarted them and hidden my children well. I was all they would gain.

The arrival of Glorfindel nearly foiled their plans, and it was by good fortune that he was injured, otherwise their campaign would have been unveiled. There is more to their scheming than I can unearth by the brief discussions I catch, but I know what is going on, I know the shadows my dearest friend was hunting. Only the wraiths, only the wights and the spirits of evil, would be drawn to a place so rooted in old energy. A place to feed off of the goodness of the earth, to drain of life, to strip of power. A foothold and gate to the North...an ideal location...but it was too soon?

For the last stretch of my journey a mouldy hemp bag was fastened around my head with a slit for the mouth to breathe. I was then tethered and dragged roughly and at high pace through the woods so that I became utterly disorientated and unable to leave a trail. I had been making little nicks and scraps in the rocks and trees as messages, they were only little things but maybe someone would pick them up.

I feared time was not on my side, and I frequently prayed that my stupidity and recklessness would not foil my King, for I could not bear it if Galour succeeded in gaining control. In my darkest moments I blamed my very existence for upsetting the balance of life here, for maybe without me such crimes and evil deeds would not have been attempted in vengeance for plots I inadvertently created or was embroiled in.

In the bleak hours I dug deep to hold onto my memories...the good ones...the ones that reminded me of my faith. The faith the elves had taught me, the faith my husband had shown me, and the faith my I witnessed in action with my children.  I had to stay strong!  I had to know I was here for a reason, and if that reason was to defend my King and his people then I would!

The first I knew that I had reached my prison was when I was trailed up stone steps.

I fell and my chin smacked off the hard stone, causing my teeth to slice into my tongue and blood to rupture from my mouth.

I attempted to wrestle with my captors to gain some control and find my feet, but they were enjoying themselves, and I was half dragged and half thrown across what felt like a rocky courtyard. I was kicked and punched, yanked and thrown, and in my blinded state I could do nothing but thrash about helplessly.

At last my torture was ceased by the sound of heavy set metal boots scraping across the cobbles. My tormentors went still and deathly silent, and I used the reprieve to hoist myself onto my knees, and though it hurt, I held my back straight and my head high. I was still a Queen and I would not be broken by monsters and scum.  I would not lose myself to my own fear and panic.  I had to hold on to that faith.

The air was thick with tension and that horrid unnatural wind began to weave about the stones. It dredged terror up in my spirit and I automatically shivered violently against the bone chilling air. It was a dead wind, it was thick and suffocating, wretched and hallow...and in it there was a voice.

Not the majestic voice of the music of All, that sang in everything that lived and shone in this world. Not the melodious notes of an enchanted and ancient forest that weaved and sang ethereal and captivating music. No. It was the voice of a grave. A howling, moaning, rasping, and twisted voice that was barely an indistinguishable echo but it was there...broken...defeated...nameless.

I worked hard to keep my breathing steady, to keep my body from trembling, and to restrain myself from whimpering.

A thick hand, large, and calloused, ripped the bag from my head, yanking strands of hair from my scalp. I winced, but did not break my resolve, I would die first before I showed an ounce of fear.

When my eyes became accustomed to the light again, I found that Galour's twisted face was still a yard or so from mine, his sneer vicious. He watched me like you would gladly watch a criminal who is about to be hanged for their crimes...and perhaps I was?

Those solid and heavy boots scraped the ground hinting at a large and hulking creature, probably much bigger than even Galour. I held my gaze as the obvious leader of this long standing expedition came to stand before me, his gnarled fingers tracing my jaw before his claws sank into my chin and yanked my face upwards so I would look upon him.

My eyes betrayed my fear for the briefest of seconds, because before me was a monster!

A creature with skin as grey as ash, with eyes as dark as a starless night, and fangs so brutal and sharp I believed he could rip my head from my shoulders in one savage bite.

He was huge, taller, and broader than Thranduil, he could match any of the great elven warriors in build and strength.

His arms were banded in thick and repulsive scars, and he was covered in the same rune tattoos as Galour. He was of a dark order, an old and diminishing order, but while the spirit of Sauron still endures it should come to no surprise that so do they.

The creature growls like a beast, his disfigured face mangling into some kind of delighted smirk, and he bows his head in mockery.

"Welcome, Queen of twigs and moss," he chortles in a deep and gravelly voice that sends jolts of panic through me. His spirit oozes from him like a dark matrix and I am unsure if I have the strength to repel such dark energy.

"She is no Queen," Galour spits, "she is a harlot, a wretched and deformed creation of a lesser power."

"And yet here I am," I speak evenly, not taking my eyes away from the monster, "alive and no longer dead...tell me...can your divine leader wield such power?"

With a severe crack, I am slapped across the face and the force of which sends me flailing to the ground.  Still with my hands tied before me, I struggle back to my knees and resume my regal expression, though I can taste fresh blood on my tongue.

"What insolence," the monster grunts darkly, "speaking ill of our lord after all the mercy and hospitality shown you...it is by his thought that you still remain alive...remember that."

"And why am I alive if my presence offends you so?" I question, my voice harsh but muted as I try to speak with limited movement in my aching jaw.

"Indeed, why so?" Galour grins evilly, his eyes lighting with a sadistic delight that has my blood running cold. "Gut her, and drape her from the walls of their abandoned city, let the crows peck her flesh for all to see. Oropher's son will be felled by a single blow from my blade once he sees such a sight.; it would be such a pretty picture to paint, do you not agree Clara? Perhaps I shall paint it in the blood of your mate...although...does a hallow corpse bleed?

"You vile bastard!" I hiss, my temper breaking as I find strength from somewhere and launch to my feet.

I aim for his throat, my tethered hands outstretched like a hawks claws as I reach for him, but my attempt is futile when the monster seizes me by my own throat.

"She will not be killed," the monster orders in a cutting voice, as I choke under his restrictive grip. "The ElvenKing does not know of the numbers of our kin that have amassed here. He will enter the old fort looking for his mate, he will abandon reason in his grief and leave the protection of his people, and with them leaderless we will attack...just as they have attacked us over the centuries."

"i still do not understand why she must be alive?"  Galour snarls, "you promised me her death, you promised I would be the one to watch Thranduil fall to his knees before me, and now you wish to keep her alive...this is no revenge?"

"Do you question the shadow of the Dark One?" The monster spews as he drops me to the ground, and I gasp and choke for air, unable to find my balance as my head becomes light and my body weak.

The monster stalks towards Galour and sinks his clawed hand into the traitors shoulder, causing him to hiss in pain, before leaning into him. "The elf scum will not come in search of a corpse you dense fool!  He will enter this old fortress because the spirit of his mate endures and he will be driven mad by the state of her. The light will be strangled from her so that when he does find her he will not even recognise her, and in that moment, traitor, you will have snared your King and exact your revenge."

The two soulless beasts share a weighted look so filled with hate and spite that my insides turn to ash and my heart barely resists the urge to give up.

I am to be a gift to the King, a lure, bait - so grotesquely wrapped up that the very sight of me will be enough to kill him.

I have only two choices.

Fade now, let go in this moment, just as my terror riddled spirit desires and depart this world. That way they will have no bait, and their plan will be foiled, and I will spare this vicious attack on my people. But, if I do this, then I will take Thranduil's life also...I know he will fail to understand my choice...he just won't understand. And my boy, my little Ferion, my son, I cannot leave him, and my daughter I swore I would return...and Legolas? Oh Valar no, Legolas will not rest until he seeks vengeance for me, and do I risk his death at the hands of these brutes? No, no I must not fade, at least not now, not until they understand what is coming.

This leaves only one other option - I must endure.

I must fight their wicked torture, and hold on for Thranduil. I don't know if I can do this but if I fail then I effectively end the lives of not only my family but my people. This fight could kill me in itself, but if I stay alive long enough to warn Thranduil, to not let them fool him into thinking I am lost to him, then I would spare them. If Illuvatar put me upon this great earth to protect and defend Thranduil and his people then I must have faith that he will give me the will to endure what comes next.

This is my last battle, I can feel it my blood and in my spirit, for everything I have faced and learned has brought me to this last stand.

So the Dark One has finally found me, and I bet he wants to get inside my spirit and find out what power escapes him, so that he can be one step ahead of the true Creator and his ambassadors. Well, he can take my body, my mind, my heart, and my strength, but he will never have my spirit or my soul...life is not his to command...he has no ownership over it.

I will endure...for I have everything to live for.

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The King's Halls - The Woodland Realm

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His heartbeat echoed like a distant drum beat in his ears, the world dimmed to nothing but flecks of light as the pain clawed and wormed it's way out of his hallow chest. His heart thudding with an unbearable ache as the weight of his grief and horror suffocated him from the inside out.

To the outside world Thranduil was like stone, void of life and drained of all motion. He had risen from his throne and hovered somewhere between standing and falling. His lips parted to allow the slightest inhale, his eyes distant and searching, and his mind...gone.

"Your majesty...what must we do?" the guard murmured as he clutched the terrified and beaten elleth in his grasp - the child that had brought such a devastating blow to their King.

Tauriel flinched under the weighted words of the guard; what would they do now?

Their Queen was captive, but Clara was not just her Queen, she was the maternal figure of the royal court. An elleth that exuded a beautiful aura of light, love, and humour. Clara saw beyond duty and politics, she saw lives and hearts and went out of her way to care for them, and when that incredibly innocent heart needed protecting Tauriel had failed to do so, even when Clara had cared for hers all these long years since her parents passing. Yes, today was the young warrior's greatest failure, and it broke her heart to watch as her words broke the King's.

Thranduil never spoke, he couldn't even if he had wanted to, the ice cold darkness poured afresh from his tattered spirit. The scars she had mended - the scars that patched over his mangled heart that was so badly broken by war and grief - burst open and bled out. He felt like he was choking on the blackness, like his very breath was stolen as his lungs burned into ash, he had no strength left to fight the horror this time...she was ripped from him.

"Thranduil!" Aradan called as he raced along the length of the throne room, his eyes wide with fear and mingled with the greatest of compassion as he took the steps two at a time, reaching for his friend before he toppled the dais. His arm circled the King, taking his weight as he fell to his knees, a sound like the last rasp of life escaping his lungs as his knees crashed onto the stone tiles.

"Clara..." he cried bitterly into the nothingness, his spirit thrashing wildly around the bond he shared with his wife.

The bond that was still there, hidden under layers of mistakes, distance, hurt, and doubt. He grasped for it, clawing it towards himself as if he could draw his mate back to him from whatever hell she had been cast into by his own carelessness.

"Thranduil," Aradan hissed into his friend's ear, shaking him firmly. "Thranduil, she might yet be alive, we will get her back...but you must hold it together now more than ever. The people need their King!  Keep your senses mellon nin, Clara needs you to keep your wits."

"Eru! No! Not my wife!" Thranduil continued to roar into the bleak emptiness, his fear bubbling up in his heart as the darkness mocked him from it's overpowering chokehold.

'A King brought to his knees,' it spat and ridiculed with its bitter taste on his tongue, 'a kingdom of ash and ruin...there is no light in you...only that which you stole...selfish monster...her blood stains your soul...like your father's...like your warriors...you are steeped in it..."

"Stop...please Eru make it stop!" Thranduil growled, throwing his hands to his ears to tear at his hair as he shook his head violently.

The visions of death, of war, of evil faces, and contorted bodies. His father's sliced throat, and all the blood that stained the blackened ground. His wife's gentle eyes, and all her light that chased away the cold from his bones, all the life that she gave for him and brought him. Now he had delivered her into the hands of the enemy, and they had their weapon to take him down, for he would sign over his very soul and all he held of worth in this world for her.

"Ready the army," Aradan ordered as he held his broken King, "and Galion, call an emergency council, send for the highest skilled of our mercenaries, and for the love of Elbereth keep this news as contained as possible - mass hysteria over our Queen is the last thing we need."

"Yes, my lord," Galion mumbled as he staggered away from the form of his hunched King, noting that this was the first time he had truly beheld utter desolation in the eyes of another.

The world of his King was shattering, and with such agony came only madness, and the diligent servant could see that grief-gripped-insanity in Thranduil's vacant gaze. This realisation filling him with a dread that echoed around the guards in attendance, but they had not the time granted them to worry over what would become of their King should their Queen perish at the hands of her captors.

Such an outcome was truly unthinkable - treason - the thought could not be given fuel to thrive.