The old ways

“All is well father!” Legolas beckoned Thranduil to him.
“Or maybe not quite” he said with a grin.
Thranduil furrowed his brow and gave Elrond a worried look.
“I am not allowed to move anymore. Can you imagine, Elrond wants me to keep still!” Legolas looked accusingly at the Elven Lord of Imladris.
“By the Valar!” Thranduil cried out in mock shock, turning back to his son, relief spreading across his feature.
“That truly is an unjust torment for you.”
Legolas glared daggers at him and pushed himself up. “Well, now that you confirmed me to immobility, you may as well help me fastening my leggings again!”
Elrond laughed and did as he was told.
Thranduil sat beside Legolas and hugged him. “I will have to leave tomorrow for Ithilien, but I will see you soon again.”
With that he got up and walked back to his own quarters to get his things ready.
He was halfway down the corridors as a deep grumbling voice stopped him.
“Ha, there walks the mighty King of Mirkwood and he doesn’t here the stomping of a dwarf behind him!”
“Gimli!” Thranduil spun around, smiling warmly at the dwarf.
“I needed to have a decent nights rest again and I thought I’d give you a hand tomorrow.”
“Oh you’re most welcome Master Dwarf!” Would you care for a drink in my rooms before you retire?”
Mumbling his agreement Gimli strode past the elf and vanished in Thranduil’s rooms.

Haldir turned miserably on his travelling bedroll and tried to find some sleep. But it just wouldn’t come.
He missed the slightly heavier breathing of his husband, the groans when he would turn his body to the other side. The pressing of the heavy flesh against his back and the peaceful look of the prince’s features.
Gladly they would be back at the main city by nightfall and he could take Legolas in his arms again.
The marchwarden wondered how soon their children would com into this world and how it would affect their future life.
An enormous happiness suddenly bubbling in Haldir’s chest and he felt tears priding at his eyes.
Snatching the cover faster around his shoulders, the marchwarden turned to his side again and dreamed of children playing in soft, sunshine bathed grass.

A soft knock at the door awoke Legolas from a light slumber and he called out for the person to enter.
Very carefully a head, framed with curly red hair fastened in a tight bun, peered around the door. It was one of the maids that worked down in the kitchen.
“Begging your pardon my Lord. I wanted to inform you that we baked the remaining figurines you had prepared and we dared to use up the left over dough, though we can never match your artistic hands we managed to shape it quite nicely. What is your Lord’s wish how to proceed?” The girl bowed politely.
Panting slightly as he pushed himself into a sitting position, Legolas nodded mildly.
“Please serve them tomorrow at the breakfast table. One figure for each person. All that are not needed you may keep for yourselves.”
A blush stained the girl’s cheeks.
“Thank you my Lord.” As quietly as she had come she disappeared again.

Thranduil and Gimli had hardly rested the last night. Too much had the two unlike warriors been caught up in talk and drink.
The big table was already set out with large quantities of food and on each plate sat a small ivory coloured figure resembling the most delicate leaves and trees.
Thranduil and Gimli arrived first and took a quick breakfast.
Had Thranduil not tied his hair back in a tight braid he would have been able to hide his grin that spread on his face as he watched the dwarf try to nibble elegantly at the pastry.
Both had long left the table as Aragorn, Arwen, Elrond, Legolas and the Hobbits arrived.
All cheered at the sight of Legolas creative work and the breakfast lasted longer than usual.

Thranduil steered his horse between the narrow growing trees always having a watchful eye on the dwarf and the packhorse.
The air was cold and the hooves of the horses made crushing noises amidst the silent forest. Gimli felt more tired than before and despised his own inability to say no to a drink. The movement of the horse underneath him and the swinging of Thranduil’s braid in front of him made him sleepy. The dwarf felt his eyes drifting shut and that kind of dizziness one doecouncounter before slipping into a deep sleep.
A muffled cry pulled him out of the trance like state and he barely had time to watch Thranduil being pulled of his horse when suddenly something very hard and heavy robbed him of his consciousness.

Scanning the glittering whiteness of the open space around him Haldir marvelled at the purity of this area. Only a few weeks ago tens of thousands orks and other foul creatures had plagued this land.
A frown crossed his brow as the marchwarden spotted tracks a few hundred yards away. He had hoped not to find any, but obviously there were still some of Sauron’s beasts to be dealt with.
The tracks were about a day old and headed to the south. Maybe to the city of Minas Tirith but more likely to the forest of Ithilien.
Haldir quickly rode back to the men he was accompanying and together they slowly followed the tracks, careful not to loose them.

Thranduil struggled against the bonds and cursed himself for his stupidity. How could he let himself became so distracted as not to notice their foes approaching.
Cold snow and pieces of Wood cut into his back because of his radical movements. Only now did the King notice that he had he been rid of all his clothing.
It was not in his nature to feel ashamed of his body but being stripped naked by the enemy was something that shouldn’t have happened to him.
Thranduil eased his struggling and carefully looked around. A few feet away lay Gimli, seemingly unconscious.
Their horses had been tethered to a tree nearby and the large saddlebags containing the unfinished cribs had been thrown to the ground, half of their contents spilled.
Somewhere in the near distance he could make out different kinds of voices. Some sounded orcish, of the others he wasn’t sure.
As quietly as he could, Thranduil tried to crawl over to Gimli, only to find that his bonds had been tied to a tree and kept him from moving any further.
“Gimli! Gimli!” The King whispere4d to the dwarf but couldn’t wake him.
“Oh, so you have tried to escape your bonds, now have you?” A tall man with shaggy hair and beard approached Thranduil, an orc blade drawn.
“Well, for that I will punish you. You must learn to obey.”
Only seconds later a piercing scream echoed through the forest, followed by the mocking laughter of different rough voices.

Legolas, who was sitting with Arwen near a fireside in the great hall discussing thronaronation and upcoming wedding with her, suddenly stiffened in his seat and grew pale.
“Legolas, what is wrong? Are you in pain? Tell me!” Arwen had jumped up immediately when she saw her fellow elf act that way.
But Legolas didn’t answer her, instead beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and his breathing had grown shallow.
“Legolas speak to me!” Arwen had taken Legolas hand in hers and thus tried to gain his attention.
“Ada …,” the blond prince whispered.
“Your father?” Arwen’s brow creased. “What is wrong? Can you sense anything?”
“Ada …, he is in pain.” Legolas suddenly pushed himself up and headed towards the entrance.
“Wait, where are you going Legolas?” The future queen of Gondor ran after the prince., but Legolas determinedly moved on without answering to her.
Arwen quickly turned in an other direction to fetch her father.
Once in the stable Legolas ordered one servant to ready his horse and another to go and get his weapons.

Gimli’s head shot up as a gut wrenching scream hit his ears. Dazedly he blinked a few times and then focused on what happened opposite of him.
Thranduil was literally recoilfromfrom the man before him, his face contorted with pain.
With a menacing laugh the man approached the King again and slowly but efficiently drew the tip of his sword down one leg, cutting deeply through the skin down to the muscle.
But this time, all Thranduil could do was whimper with agony as his blood stained the snow crimson.
“Let him go you bastard!” Gimli shouted with rage.
Reluctantly the man turned away from the elf toward the dwarf, pointing his bloodied sword at him.
“One more word out of you and I will have your tongue cut out. As far as I have heard elves are fast healers. Well, let’s see how fast this one heals.” With a smile their captor walked away.
Only now could Gimli see the whole damage that had been done to Thranduil.
Both his arms and one leg had been cut open on the whole length, blood was running swiftly from the wounds and the King looked as pale as the snow itself.


t.b.c.