This, And My Heart Beside *added ch. 20/part 1*

STRONG WARNING! This chapter contains violence of various degrees. Please read the author's note at the end of part 1. And please don't worry; I promise a happy ending, always!


CHAPTER 18 - PART 1


“Ada, what do you think Legolas will decide?” Hania asked suddenly. She sat in a large, overstuffed chair in the corner of her father’s library, with her knees drawn up, while an enormous history book rested on them. The history of Middle Earth, especially that of her people, had drawn her from an early age; it was her favorite subject.

Thranduil glanced up absently, from a pile of documents he had been studying. O whe when he worked, his daughter would join him, sitting quietly out of the way and occupying herself with one or another of the King’s many books.

“I am sorry, my precious iell, what did you say?” he frowned a little in concentration.

“Legolas,” she repeated, “What do you think he will decide about taking the throne in the future?” Six years had passed since her beloved brother had reached his majority, and Hania knew that it was uppermost in his mind, of late. Even now, he walked the Mirkwood forest, meditating on the subject.

The blonde King folded his hands on the desk, and smiled. “I cannot say for certain; why do you ask?”

“It is just that …..” she trailed off uncertainly.

Thranduil gazed at his daughter knowingly. “It is just that you fear he will reject the throne and the responsibility will fall upon you,” he finished her sentence gently.

Hania raised her pale lavender eyes to meet his, and nodded. The doubt she felt was evident in her face.

The King rose from his chair and walked to where his daughter sat. He hunkered down before her, taking her small hands in his. Hania gazed intently at his eyes, waiting for the words that she knew would come; words of comfort and of wisdom, to put her mind at peace. Ada *always* knew exactly what to say.

He stroked the backs of her hands gently with his thumbs. “Do you not think you are up to the task? Because Naneth and I have no doubts of your ability to lead Mirkwood. You merely need experience, but that will come with time. And time is something you have much of, mir nin. You are but a babe, and the time for making such grave decisions is very far away.” Thranduil smiled tenderly at his beloved daughter. “Would you like to know what it is that makes your mother and me so certain of your capabilities?”

Hania nodded silently; she wanted very much to know why her parents were so unwavering in their confidence in her.

“It is because we know what is in *here*,” he whispered, laying his hand gently over her heart. “You have such compassion for others, and you possess the most nurturingl I l I have ever known. And *that* is what will make you a great ruler, should the time come. Now,” he added as he stood and bent to press a to to her forehead, “I want you to put such thoughts from your mind, sweet girl. For now, all I require from you is to be a happy, care-free elfling. Do I make myself clear?”

The King loomed over Hania, his hands on his hips as he tried his best to form a stern frown. But the Princess saw through her ada, as always, and giggled as she stood to wrap her arms around his waist tightly.

“Majesty!” The frantic voice rang from the hall outside Thranduil’s library, almost at the same instant that the door shook with frenzied pounding. Both father and daughter jumped a little in unison at the sudden outburst. As her father strode toward the door, Hania attempted to follow; but he turned and clasped her shoulders gently but firmly.

“Stay here,” he ordered. She nodded, knowing it was no use arguing. When her father told her to remain where she was, he always meant it.

The King threw open the door to find two of his Guards, brothers Fyril and Forfin, standing there. His heart constricted at the anxiety in their eyes. “What is it?” he asked fearfully. The older of the two glanced over the King’s shoulder, and seeing the young Princess inside, listening intently, he motioned Thranduil aside and away from her view.

“My Lord,” he spoke quickly, “it is the Prince. He …. He is severely wounded. Captain Hilith found him, and has taken him to his chambers. He sent us to inform you.”

“Ada?” Hania’s tremulous voice called from inside the library. The fear in her tone was palpable.

Thranduil walked quickly back to the doorway and said to her with a calmness that he was definitely not feeling, “Hania, I want you to run and fetch the healers and Naneth. Tell them to come to Legolas’ room immediately.”

“Yes, Ada,” she replied obediently, and as she emerged from the library into the corridor, she glanced at the young Guards uncertainly.

“Go quickly,” her father said firmly, and she ran faster than she ever had, in the direction of the healers’ quarters and her mother’s sewing room, where she knew she would find her.

Thranduil, after nodding his thanks to the Guards, turned immediately and strode with purposeful steps, toward his son’s bedchamber. When he reached the entry to Legolas’ rooms, he stopped, staggered by the sight that greeted him. His son lay upon his bed, unconscious and barely recognizable. His beautiful face was now marred by streams of blood that flowed freely from his nose and the corners of his mouth. The usually bright, clear eyes had swelled shut, and as the King took all of this in, a feeling of unreality swept over him, threatening to literally knock him off his feet. It was as if a rug had been pulled out from under him, and he could no longer feel the solid support of the floor beneath his feet. He reached out and convulsively clutched the wooden doorway to steady himself for a moment before rushing into the room and sitting beside Legolas.

“Hilith, what happened?” Thranduil asked desperately, as his eyes scanned the many injuries his son had sustained. The young Captain busied himself with slicing open the Prince’s tunic with his long knife, as he spoke.


“My Lord Thranduil, I beg your forgiveness,” Hilith explained quickly. “If I had but reacted more swiftly …..” He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Earlier this morning, I saw a group of men enter the forest, and I watched them closely, as I always do.”

In recent months, The King of Mirkwood had opened up a large portion of the woods to the men of the surrounding villages. Game had become scarce on their own lands, and Thranduil had wanted to help these men provide for themselves and their families by allowing them to hunt the forest. His own people ate meat only rarely, in times of dire need.

Hilith continued, “At first, I thought little of it. Many of these men have a look of desperation about them, and these were no exception. It was only moments later, when I heard one of the Guards mention that the Prince was out walking through the woods, that I began to feel uneasy. I went in search of him, and had walked deep into the forest, when I heard a commotion ahead of me. As I mounted a hill, I saw them in the distance, the same group.”


“Majesty,” Hilith continues a s a note of anger crept into his voice, “the men … they were *kicking* the Prince! He was already helpless on the ground, unconscious and offering no resistance, yet they continued to kick him!” He paused to catch his breath, as his chest heaved with emotion. “I was unsure what to do. If I had tried to steal up on them, it would have given them the opportunity to inflict more injury before I reached them. I made a decision, and fired upon them without a warning. My arrow found its mark in the thigh of one of the men,” he added with no small amount of satisfaction. “They fled, and I brought my Prince here as quickly as I could.”

Hilith stopped then, and winced as Thranduil parted his son’s tunic and laid it open, revealing a torso covered in large, angry purple bruises and a gaping wound caused by a badly broken rib that had pierced the skin and now jutted grotesquely upward.

A sharp intake of breath emanated from the King, and he began to quake with rage as his hands balled helplessly into fists. “Gods!” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Why would they commit such savagery against my son, Hilith? What manner of men *are* these?”

“Thieves, my Lord Thranduil,” the Captain replied contemptuously. “They wanted Legolas’ ring, the one you gave him when he reached his majority.”

The ring, of which Hilith spoke, was an heirloom of Thranduil’s family. His father, Oropher, had given it to him when he was very young, and Oropher’s father had handed it down before that. Crafted of the finest silver, it was encrusted with nuggets of gems, and was extraordinarily beautiful.

“My Prince did not give it willing, Majesty.”

When Thranduil turned to cast an inquiring glance at the young Elf, Hilith explained, “The horror does not end here.”

He indicated the atrocious injuries to Legolas’ face and torso, before gently raising the Prince’s hand, which had been swathed in a bloodied makeshift bandage, obviously made from the material of the Guard’s tunic.

Hilith’s eyes were filled with helpless misery, as they met those of the King.

“They took his finger.”

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AN: I realize this is unlike anything I’ve ever written, and I sincerely hope that no one is upset by it. I’ve had this chapter in my mind almost from the beginning of this story, and there is a reason for it. I wanted to show exactly how far Isalith will go for his beloved Legolas, and I give you all my word that it WILL be all right. Later, it will be Leggy’s turn to return the favor. :)