SouthWestern Greenwood - Fortress of Amon Lanc

Legolas notched an arrow and drew back his bow, his briefly narrowed eyes widened as his vision was satisfied with his target, and with a twinge of movement the arrow was released and flung itself straight into the throat of an approaching orc.

Without pausing he notched another arrow and stealthily crept behind the trunk of a fallen tree - its width almost the height of Legolas. The tide of battle had changed and coincidentally that made sneaking away that much harder for the Prince.

As shafts of bright sunlight cut through the canopy of trees - like blades of blinding light slicing through the suffocating darkness - Legolas knew his sister had achieved victory with the sickly shadow that darkened the way of the attacking orc shaman. No longer able to hide or use concealment magic the orc commanders, having seemingly decided that favour had left them, threw themselves and their vile minions into a full scale strike before the shadow of Amon Lanc. What worried Legolas now, more than ever, was the state of his Naneth, for if the orc believed they had lost their grip on victory would they simply dispose of the bait, and if they did that then his father really was in a snare.

Every second was wasting precious time as he ducked, dodged, and repelled as many of the massing attacks as he could. He had to reach the fortress, and he was pretty certain the river that ran into it would be his best chance.

Legolas had slipped out of Aradan's notice only moments before and he could still hear the King's hand calling frantically for him, but he didn't have the time allowed to explain his actions, so he simply hoped he could ask forgiveness later. The warriors had a handle of the battle, it was too wild and badly organised to ever succeed in the favour of the orc shaman, but then again that did not mean that they could not cause a mighty slew of destruction. Even the haphazard battle created a distraction and a headache for the far superior elves, they would never get close enough to the old fortress to aid their King in time..

And that was why Legolas knew it had to be him.

He was quick as lightening as he darted along riverbank, only having to knock down a handful of infantry orc on his way to one of the old river gates that led into the fortress. He angled his way through the broken bars, and as quiet as a little mouse, he made his way through the crumbling ruins. He hadn't the slightest notion where he was going but he hoped his intuition would kick in, or he'd pick up the sounds of a struggle...or, if luck should have it...a couple of idiot orc bumbling along a dark corridor would give him all the information he needed!

With a delighted smirk Legolas slid to a halt behind a decaying pillar and set an arrow on his target. The two orcs were bickering in their disgusting language, fighting over scraps of mouldy bread, and their shrieking protests were certainly the most irritating sounds he had ever had the displeasure of listening to. So, it really was a relief when he let his arrow fly into the eye socket of the most squawky of the duo.

The orc went rigid and collapsed perfectly on his stunned companioned, who predictably started squealing like a pig when he realised he was now trapped under the smelly carcass. The kill was so brilliantly timed that Legolas practically skipped from his hiding place with a smug grin on his youthful features - he rather enjoyed that one.

Coming to stand above the shrieking orc Legolas felt his earlier buzz dissipate as he snatched an arrow out of his quiver and drove it into the flailing orc's knee, firmly keeping him grounded. The beast glared indignantly at the elf and spat in-between his deafening yowls. Legolas, having had enough of the ear splitting sound, choked the orc off with his boot to the throat.

"Shut it," he hissed pointing an arrow at his head, the orc immediately stilled. "I can't have your friends following your squeals, although, I presume that you have no friends in the vicinity since they are all fighting in a battle that you are clearly avoiding." Legolas rolled his eyes at the cowardice of these wretched beasts, they really were the most vile abominations.

"I have no interest in that battle," the orc gargled as Legolas gently eased off the pressure on this throat so he could speak. "Boss just wanted the elf king anyway, and he got 'im, all the rest was a distraction...which you filthy, ignorant, ugly, elves fell for...and the Boss kept me around, I ain't no runt sent for slaughter!"

"Well, looks like you were wrong about that weren't you?" Legolas sighed as he dug the heel of his boot harder into the orc cutting off his rambling off. "Your boss did not factor in me...now, runt...where is the King?"

"Like I would tell you..."

Legolas sighed again as shot an arrow into the orcs shoulder, all whilst suffocating his yelling with his boot to his throat - this was tedious.

"This is simple," Legolas spoke slowly for the benefit of the idiotic beast, "you give me the information I require and you can take your mouldy bread and I'll free you. If you don't, I am going to put another arrow between your eyes...and I hate wasting good arrows."

"He's in the feast hall!" the orc spewed in a splutter of noise as Legolas eased off his throat, "...the highest point in the fortress."

"Now that wasn't so difficult was it?" Legolas smirked as he lifted the scrap of mouldy bread and chucked it to the farthest side of the corridor, before straightening up and making to leave.

"Wait!" The orc rasped, "...you said you'd free me?"

"You are completely correct, I did say that," Legolas nodded in agreement, before lifting his fist and smashing into the orc's skull effectively knocking him clean out. "...I lied...sorry."

Legolas retracted from the unconscious beast and began to sprint in the direction of a stone courtyard, his neck craning back as he looked up at the highest point - the feast hall.

The hall itself sat high and obviously had a direct route to it, but from where Legolas stood the only way he could see to come close to it was a set of circular stairs around a lookout turret, that was not quite as high set as the hall but not far off it. Without further consideration Legolas took to the stairs, almost certain that there should be a connecting wall or balcony that would attach the structure to the hall, because his people always built their fortresses in such a way that everything was accessible you just had to know where?  So, he just had to hope he would know it when he saw it.

xXx

*Feast Hall of Amon Lanc*

xXx

Thranduil had never been more relieved and fraught with anxiety in his whole existence.

Clara lay in his arms - alive but barely.

Her heartbeat was weak but at least it still thudded in rhythm with his own, her breathing shallow but still flowing, and her hand still curled tightly around the wound at his hip - as if she still tried to kerb the blood, like she still fought to help him. It gave him hope that she was going to be fine, that she wasn't lost to him, but the state of her fea was shocking.  Her delirium and confusion made him panic that even if she did survive would she ever be the same?

He did not have the luxury of time, he had to get her out of the fortress, and he was certain she couldn't walk the length of herself in her condition.  He was going to have to grin and bear the pain in his hip if they were to escape.

Carefully he pulled himself to his feet, straining to drag Clara with him, cursing and groaning as he did - the sharp stab of hot pain that ran down his left leg with every step. With much effort and no small amount of concentration he gathered his balance and hoisted Clara into his arms, letting her head rest in the crook of his neck for she could barely expend the strength to keep it stable.

"It will be okay," he murmured quietly as he rested his chin against her head, stifling as much as his tears as his could, "I will take you home, my love, I will take care of you...it will all be just a nightmare...you'll see."

Clara gave a soft sigh in his arms, it was a weak sound but it gave him hope.  His Clara was far too courageous and stubborn to not hold on.

An echo of a deafening cheer went up, then the sound of elven horns, and slowly Thranduil staggered to stare out from the hall and its great vantage over the wood. The battle had been won, his people had been victorious, and in the moment he felt a surge of belief that this could all be over. This horrific nightmare could be put to rest and he would have his family around him by nightfall. 

He would never take the times they spent together for granted again.

Turning away from the open vista he carefully limped across the hall, carefully avoiding the gaping hole where the traitor had fallen through. He hoped Galour had time to reflect on his action during his plummet downwards; especially of the idiocy of his plans, but at least Thranduil could be satisfied that he would meet his justice by the gates of Mandos.  Namo was not a Vala that any traitorous elf should wish to meet.

As Thranduil awkwardly descended the steps he had earlier climbed - almost certain he wouldn't live long enough to make his way down them again - he spied a shrouded figure cross the lower courtyard.

Whatever it was chose to stay in the shadows, and immediately he felt the anxiety radiate through every part of his mind. His people had won a battle, and now the survivors of that battle would be rushing for sanctuary behind the crumbling walls of this forsaken fortress. The recklessness of his plan was never more apparent than it was in this moment. Instinctively he glanced downward, carefully deciphering the small flickers of his mate's eyes under her bruised and purple lids. Everything within him warred over the right decision, for she needed him, she wouldn't survive long without help.

Eyes narrowing, the King, kept his grip on his wife and felt for the hilt of his sword. Clara stirred in his arms, her face contorting in agony, her hand weakly flying up to clutch her head.

Something was wrong?  The presence of the approaching creature felt wrong?

She screamed.

An earsplitting sound that sent a thrill of fear through him as he immediately lowered her to the ground to still her thrashing.

"He is here!" She cried as he tried to calm her hands as they clawed at her scalp and hair, "leave...let me go!"

"I won't let you go," Thranduil growled possessively as he pulled her tightly into his arms, "fight it Clara...fight it and stay with me."

She shrieked a muffled sound, as he pulled her against his chest to prevent her from hurting herself further.  His eyes immediately lifting to the figure that came hulking out of the shadows.

A monster.

Thranduil swallowed reflexively, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the sheer size of the beast. He felt the dark energy exude from the being like a poison and he knew instantly this was the being behind Clara's broken mind. The thought took hold in his heart, it quelled the fear for a moment, and it filled him with fury.

It was never about Galour's revenge.  The stupid elf's vengeful desires only aided the enemy.  He was just a puppet willing to put in the work to set up a trap which would ultimately end in his demise. If it had not been at Clara's hand, or his own, then it would have been at the hand of this monster, because Galour was only a tool and easily expendable - always greedy, always drunk on power, even onto death.

But seeing Clara's reaction for himself, sensing the malicious intent roll off the monster that waited in shadows for him...well, it was too obvious...the main goal was always to take out the ElvenKing.

Once his presence was gone from the forest the Silvan people would be overrun and forced from their homes by terror and dark magic. This thought stoked the fire in Thranduil's heart, it blazed up and through him, and even though he knew he was weakened and fighting a creature that could surely overpower him, he was not prepared to give in. Not when it came to his rule, not when it came to the only thing that he was truly charged with - defending his people no matter the cost.

Gently he lay Clara on the ground and kissed her palm, wanting so much to promise her that he wouldn't let anything happen, that he'd survive this, but knowing that he could make her no such promise. Instead he prayed that if he lost his life, and could no longer protect his mate, then would the Valar see fit to watch over her until their people came to claim their Queen.

The beast snarled impatiently as Thranduil rose to his feet.  He his stance threatening yet controlled. He unsheathed his sword and let his eyes dance with the fire of his spirit.

He would need all the energy he could expend, and so he let the glamour of his mask fade, falling away to show his enemy that he was not the only monster to stalk the shadows of this ruined place.

The beast of an orc gave a startled grunt, his dark eyes widening at the unexpected shift in the elf, and Thranduil sneered in response, baring his teeth just as the orc did his. It would be a fight to the death, one wild beast pitted against another.

The thrill of the fight coursed through them both as they lunged for each other like two snakes striking.

Fangs gleaming and eyes alight with the feral lust for first blood.

The fight was fast and fierce. The physical blows bloody and not once did either of them miss each other. But it was the dark energy of the orc shaman that slowed Thranduil the most, his garbled spells sent pillars collapsing or ground shaking beneath his feet, and with the lack of the wild energy high up in the hilltop fortress Thranduil's retaliations were weak in comparison. Yet he was not without his strength, and with every blow delivered by the monster the King held his own. The speed of his movements kept him above the beast's slower tempo and with any luck such speed would eventually exhaust the bulky brute.

The aftershock of the falling debris had caused a shift in the fortress, the ruins were beginning to shudder and fall.  More of the fragile rock giving away and collapsing under foot causing Thranduil even more concern.

After a successful dodge Thranduil quickly let his eyes scan for Clara.

Her weakened state was the only thing that drew him to think beyond himself. His frantic searching found her frail form trying weakly to crawl the length of the courtyard, away from the danger of the debris, her eyes fixed on something unseen, the pain saturated into every crevice of her abused face but her eyes still shone with a light that surpassed any other light he had ever known. He had to get to her, had to move her somewhere safer, he had to slow this demonic creature down if he was to get that chance.

The momentary delay on the elf's part was not missed by the monster, who had speedily recovered from a rough kick to the jaw, and in one swift movement he ripped the weak King back by the roots of his hair.

Thranduil let out an enraged growl as he felt the beast dig his claws into him.

He struggled, wrestling, and thrashing with the iron grip. The futility of the attempt made the orc chortle darkly as he rammed the elf's body - head first - through a crumbling wall, like he weighed nothing.

The force of the blow momentarily caused Thranduil to lose grip on his consciousness. The world burst into speckles of darkness, and he wanted to scream, wanted break his voice, in the crazed haze of his failure...he failed her!

The rubble from the crash fell about the cracked ground and with an almighty groan a split ran along the courtyard.

The foundations began to cave and tremble. The horror of the vibrations echoing out into the woods filling anyone within earshot with a paralysing terror.

"Clara..." Thranduil groaned as he shook his head vigorously, vainly trying to push sight back into his eyes, and strength into his vibrating bones. He rolled onto his belly and clawed at the trembling ground.

He had to get to Clara. He would never stop trying!

The monster was already two steps ahead of the struggling elf. He cackled loudly and uncaringly as he stalked towards the body of the elleth as she tried to pull herself away from danger. Her weak pants and stubborn grunts sounding pitiful as she continued to pull her gaze away into the distance, her eyes still fixed on nothing but air. Her obvious insanity was pathetic to watch, it almost made the orc sigh in disappointment to think he could not completely enjoy her death - she was too crazed to even comprehend it.

With a gruff growl he hauled her up by her neck and held her over the shattering edge of a bridge, sneering in delight as she choked and wrestled with his grip around her neck, her feet flailing uselessly beneath her.

He had been wrong...she was more lucid than he anticipated.

The devastated shriek of her useless mate sounded behind him and the monster felt the satisfaction of such a tormented sound ring gleefully in his ears. His master's shadow may been driven away by the elven bitch's offspring, but his master would delight to know of this cruel yet oh so poetic twist.

With a sharp jolt he threw the elleth from his grasp.

The horror in her eyes, the shocked gasp she gave as she fell backwards, joining the tumbling fortress as she plummeted to her doom; it was all so sadistically satisfying to behold.

It was a fitting end for the bright spirit who resisted every attempt at quenching her fire. Well, her light was truly snuffed out now, buried under the ash and rubble.

With an evil chuckle he turned away from his job well done.  Safe and assured in the knowledge that not even the elves beloved creator could resurrect such a brutal mess.

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A/N: I will...ah...go sit in the corner and contemplate life decisions.

Media: 'Graven Image' - Zack Hemsey