Heir of a Dying Day
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,158
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,158
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Heir of a Dying Day
Title: Heir of a Dying Day
Author: ForShizzle
Rating: R to NC-17 later (for violence and sexual situations)
Pairing: M/M - Thranduil/Celeborn; Thranduil/OC; others
Summary: Set before LOTR and after the Battle of the Last Alliance. All is not as it seems under the trees of the Greenwood. And, the new King is duty-bound to protect his kingdom.
Disclaimer: All credit belongs to the mastermind of Tolkien, although hopefully he won’t be too furious to see my gross tampering of his genius as I’ve taken more than my share of liberty with both LOTR and the Silmarillion. So, no, this will not follow book canon. Note - Saeros, an ancient Nandorian warrior who by all accounts is killed in the Silmarillion, is alive and well in this fic. Original characters will pop up along the way.
HEIR OF A DYING DAY
(Prolouge)
Thranduil breathed deeply the scent of jasmine and pine and leaned slightly towards the open window. He closed his weary eyes as a light wind rustled the strands of his unbound hair and tried to remember the last time he had felt peace within his heart.
So many things had changed with frightening haste. He had lost his father, his wife, his unborn child…
And the new King had never felt more adrift or more alone.
It was a constant struggle to slip on an expressionless mask before his people, whom looked to him to rebuild the ruins caused by the war. Greenwood’s forces had been reduced by nearly two-thirds, leaving families torn apart with grief. And it had fallen on his shoulders to lead the Wood-Elves from their pain and despair to a new beginning.
Thranduil had relocated the heart of their city further North, filling much of his time with overseeing constructional plans and fortifying their defenses. It had been a blessing, for as long as he had kept himself busy with such tasks, his mind had not lingered amongst memories of Dagorlad. Yet, tragedy had once again wrapped him within its fold.
Ilyena, his beloved wife, had gone into premature labor with their fourth child, and despite the healers best efforts, had succumbed to the call of Mandos Halls. The baby had drawn his last breath several hours later. Had it not been for the love of his children and his unerring sense of responsibility to his people, he surely would have followed Ilyena into death. As it were, he lived, but an emptiness had invaded his soul.
“My Lord?” a soft, firm voice addressed in the silence.
As if waking from a deep slumber, Thranduil turned slowly towards the door.
Gelmir, the King’s most trusted servant, bowed respectfully before Thranduil’s questioning gaze, his hands clasped behind his back. “I am sorry to disturb you, my Lord, but the patrols have begun to return.”
Thranduil nodded and returned his gaze to the treetops. “Saeros?”
“Nay, my Lord. He has yet to return.”
“Inform me immediately when he does.”
“Yes, Sire.”
The King rested his palms upon the windowsill. The waning autumn day was beautiful, a lavender sky tinged with a palette of pink and orange hues as the sun began its descent behind the mountains. It was his favorite hour, one in which the forest was splashed with color, all shades bleeding into one another. A time that made a soul seem humble and insignificant surrounded by such grandeur.
Everything seemed so calm, every fiber of the landscape’s tapestry in its proper place. Nothing to hint that shadows lingered amongst the ancient trees. Yet, he could feel it - he could sense the unrest thriving and multiplying within the Greenwood.
There had been a few reports from border patrols of spiders and other foul creatures of the dark, scattered sightings that evil lurked under the canopy of the forest.
He feared its source.
“It has been a beautiful day, has it not?” Thranduil murmured absently.
“It has,” Gelmir agreed with a slight frown.
The King nodded, his chameleon eyes slowly becoming unfocused, “Days like this one almost make it possible to forget. Almost.”
With increasing concern, Gelmir approached Thranduil. “My lord? Is everything well?”
“Of course, if there is one thing I’ve learned it’s that nothing quite works out the way you wish it to,” the King continued softly to himself. “One way or another you can’t escape that fact.”
“Perhaps, there is something I could get you, Sire?” Having failed to get Thranduil’s attention, Gelmir lightly placed his hand upon the King’s forearm. “Sire?”
“Let me know when Saeros arrives.”
Retracting his hand, Gelmir stepped back in surprise at the sudden clarity within Thranduil’s voice. He offered a small bow. “Of course. If you are in need of anything else - ”
“I will let you know,” Thranduil interrupted as he turned to face the other Elf, his expression softening. “Thank you, Gelmir.”
Nodding his head, the servant smiled at his King before leaving the chamber, the heavy oak door closing behind him.
Thranduil turned back to the window. A few yards away, a crow had settled upon a pine’s dappled bough, his black gaze unwaveringly seeking and holding the Elf’s intense green eyes. As Thranduil took a step forward, the bird fluttered his wings in warning, never breaking the stare the two beings shared. Diffuse, gray light reflected off the oily texture of the black feathers, creating an unearthly sheen.
With a forlorn cry, the crow leapt from his perch as unexpectedly as he had arrived, each beat of his wings striking a chord of sinister forewarning within Thranduil’s chest. Suddenly, the limbs of the leaf-laden trees appeared like billowing monsters that shifted with ominous intent by the sway of the wind.
In that moment, the message became clear.
He had been warned.
*~*~**~*~*
Silently, Saeros paused in his journey, dismounting quickly from his black stallion. Training his ears about the deceptively calm pines, the Nandorian tracker felt a subtle change upon the wind as he listened and surveyed the landscape. There was something not quite right, although he had thus far failed to deduce what it was. He turned his attention forward, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation and caution, his hand coming to rest upon the ivory handled dagger sheathed at his waist.
Pines rose all about him, shimmering rays of sunlight filtering through the defiantly green needles…those that failed to succumb to autumn’s whisper that winter was near. A hawk alighted upon a branch to his right, and the tracker stared hard into those piercing brown eyes. Yet, no answer did the bird offer.
Like any predator, Saeros waited and watched, his tall frame sleek and poised. Suddenly, the air cleared and he instinctively knew that whatever had been near, had very well been watching him was no longer present. His stance relaxed only slightly as his iridescent eyes continued to furtively scan the foliage, yet he saw no signs of movement nor heard any sound to alert him of the intruder’s identity or whereabouts.
An unease still took root in his heart as he walked slowly in a semicircle, his eyes cold and calculating. The importance of this latest mission was not unknown to him - the trees spoke of evil and betrayal, his senses told of what he had begun to suspect. And the King had to be made aware of his findings as soon as possible, while there was time to counteract.
For a second, Saeros wondered if he wasn’t being overly paranoid, but then he quickly dismissed such a notion. He had learned long ago his instincts never led him astray. They had kept him alive through such times of dark that even he believed only the light from Mandos Halls could show him a way out.
Something was definitely amiss within Thranduil’s court, and he had every intention of obliterating its source and protecting his King.
There were many who looked down upon his culture, believing the Nandor to be inferior rustics steepled in their lore and peculiar traditions – nothing more than a wayward forgotten branch of their race. However, Thranduil had never placed stock in such notions, granting respect in the place of censure – making it widely known his admiration of the Nandor’s skills and loyalty to Greenwood. And Saeros could do nothing less than lay down his life for the good of the King – in fact would consider it an honor if it so came to pass.
Remounting fluidly, Saeros nudged Pharaon through a labyrinth of winding trails, the tracker’s determination flaring alive in his eyes. As if sensing his mood, the stallion began to quicken his pace, gliding meticulously amongst the brush. Saeros bent low against his steed’s neck, feeling the power moving underneath him as horse and rider raced on.
For now, the forest was still.
*~*~**~*~*
TBC
Author: ForShizzle
Rating: R to NC-17 later (for violence and sexual situations)
Pairing: M/M - Thranduil/Celeborn; Thranduil/OC; others
Summary: Set before LOTR and after the Battle of the Last Alliance. All is not as it seems under the trees of the Greenwood. And, the new King is duty-bound to protect his kingdom.
Disclaimer: All credit belongs to the mastermind of Tolkien, although hopefully he won’t be too furious to see my gross tampering of his genius as I’ve taken more than my share of liberty with both LOTR and the Silmarillion. So, no, this will not follow book canon. Note - Saeros, an ancient Nandorian warrior who by all accounts is killed in the Silmarillion, is alive and well in this fic. Original characters will pop up along the way.
HEIR OF A DYING DAY
(Prolouge)
Thranduil breathed deeply the scent of jasmine and pine and leaned slightly towards the open window. He closed his weary eyes as a light wind rustled the strands of his unbound hair and tried to remember the last time he had felt peace within his heart.
So many things had changed with frightening haste. He had lost his father, his wife, his unborn child…
And the new King had never felt more adrift or more alone.
It was a constant struggle to slip on an expressionless mask before his people, whom looked to him to rebuild the ruins caused by the war. Greenwood’s forces had been reduced by nearly two-thirds, leaving families torn apart with grief. And it had fallen on his shoulders to lead the Wood-Elves from their pain and despair to a new beginning.
Thranduil had relocated the heart of their city further North, filling much of his time with overseeing constructional plans and fortifying their defenses. It had been a blessing, for as long as he had kept himself busy with such tasks, his mind had not lingered amongst memories of Dagorlad. Yet, tragedy had once again wrapped him within its fold.
Ilyena, his beloved wife, had gone into premature labor with their fourth child, and despite the healers best efforts, had succumbed to the call of Mandos Halls. The baby had drawn his last breath several hours later. Had it not been for the love of his children and his unerring sense of responsibility to his people, he surely would have followed Ilyena into death. As it were, he lived, but an emptiness had invaded his soul.
“My Lord?” a soft, firm voice addressed in the silence.
As if waking from a deep slumber, Thranduil turned slowly towards the door.
Gelmir, the King’s most trusted servant, bowed respectfully before Thranduil’s questioning gaze, his hands clasped behind his back. “I am sorry to disturb you, my Lord, but the patrols have begun to return.”
Thranduil nodded and returned his gaze to the treetops. “Saeros?”
“Nay, my Lord. He has yet to return.”
“Inform me immediately when he does.”
“Yes, Sire.”
The King rested his palms upon the windowsill. The waning autumn day was beautiful, a lavender sky tinged with a palette of pink and orange hues as the sun began its descent behind the mountains. It was his favorite hour, one in which the forest was splashed with color, all shades bleeding into one another. A time that made a soul seem humble and insignificant surrounded by such grandeur.
Everything seemed so calm, every fiber of the landscape’s tapestry in its proper place. Nothing to hint that shadows lingered amongst the ancient trees. Yet, he could feel it - he could sense the unrest thriving and multiplying within the Greenwood.
There had been a few reports from border patrols of spiders and other foul creatures of the dark, scattered sightings that evil lurked under the canopy of the forest.
He feared its source.
“It has been a beautiful day, has it not?” Thranduil murmured absently.
“It has,” Gelmir agreed with a slight frown.
The King nodded, his chameleon eyes slowly becoming unfocused, “Days like this one almost make it possible to forget. Almost.”
With increasing concern, Gelmir approached Thranduil. “My lord? Is everything well?”
“Of course, if there is one thing I’ve learned it’s that nothing quite works out the way you wish it to,” the King continued softly to himself. “One way or another you can’t escape that fact.”
“Perhaps, there is something I could get you, Sire?” Having failed to get Thranduil’s attention, Gelmir lightly placed his hand upon the King’s forearm. “Sire?”
“Let me know when Saeros arrives.”
Retracting his hand, Gelmir stepped back in surprise at the sudden clarity within Thranduil’s voice. He offered a small bow. “Of course. If you are in need of anything else - ”
“I will let you know,” Thranduil interrupted as he turned to face the other Elf, his expression softening. “Thank you, Gelmir.”
Nodding his head, the servant smiled at his King before leaving the chamber, the heavy oak door closing behind him.
Thranduil turned back to the window. A few yards away, a crow had settled upon a pine’s dappled bough, his black gaze unwaveringly seeking and holding the Elf’s intense green eyes. As Thranduil took a step forward, the bird fluttered his wings in warning, never breaking the stare the two beings shared. Diffuse, gray light reflected off the oily texture of the black feathers, creating an unearthly sheen.
With a forlorn cry, the crow leapt from his perch as unexpectedly as he had arrived, each beat of his wings striking a chord of sinister forewarning within Thranduil’s chest. Suddenly, the limbs of the leaf-laden trees appeared like billowing monsters that shifted with ominous intent by the sway of the wind.
In that moment, the message became clear.
He had been warned.
*~*~**~*~*
Silently, Saeros paused in his journey, dismounting quickly from his black stallion. Training his ears about the deceptively calm pines, the Nandorian tracker felt a subtle change upon the wind as he listened and surveyed the landscape. There was something not quite right, although he had thus far failed to deduce what it was. He turned his attention forward, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation and caution, his hand coming to rest upon the ivory handled dagger sheathed at his waist.
Pines rose all about him, shimmering rays of sunlight filtering through the defiantly green needles…those that failed to succumb to autumn’s whisper that winter was near. A hawk alighted upon a branch to his right, and the tracker stared hard into those piercing brown eyes. Yet, no answer did the bird offer.
Like any predator, Saeros waited and watched, his tall frame sleek and poised. Suddenly, the air cleared and he instinctively knew that whatever had been near, had very well been watching him was no longer present. His stance relaxed only slightly as his iridescent eyes continued to furtively scan the foliage, yet he saw no signs of movement nor heard any sound to alert him of the intruder’s identity or whereabouts.
An unease still took root in his heart as he walked slowly in a semicircle, his eyes cold and calculating. The importance of this latest mission was not unknown to him - the trees spoke of evil and betrayal, his senses told of what he had begun to suspect. And the King had to be made aware of his findings as soon as possible, while there was time to counteract.
For a second, Saeros wondered if he wasn’t being overly paranoid, but then he quickly dismissed such a notion. He had learned long ago his instincts never led him astray. They had kept him alive through such times of dark that even he believed only the light from Mandos Halls could show him a way out.
Something was definitely amiss within Thranduil’s court, and he had every intention of obliterating its source and protecting his King.
There were many who looked down upon his culture, believing the Nandor to be inferior rustics steepled in their lore and peculiar traditions – nothing more than a wayward forgotten branch of their race. However, Thranduil had never placed stock in such notions, granting respect in the place of censure – making it widely known his admiration of the Nandor’s skills and loyalty to Greenwood. And Saeros could do nothing less than lay down his life for the good of the King – in fact would consider it an honor if it so came to pass.
Remounting fluidly, Saeros nudged Pharaon through a labyrinth of winding trails, the tracker’s determination flaring alive in his eyes. As if sensing his mood, the stallion began to quicken his pace, gliding meticulously amongst the brush. Saeros bent low against his steed’s neck, feeling the power moving underneath him as horse and rider raced on.
For now, the forest was still.
*~*~**~*~*
TBC