Agony • Concealed Memories | | Thranduil

07 • The troll's fight

Night fell and Thranduil and his men approached the northern mountain range. The Grey Mountains, originally part of the Iron Mountains, was one of the oldest mountain ranges in Arda.

The search for the trolls had ended within minutes. The noise the four made could be heard from afar.

Thranduil ordered his men to stop when they were close enough. He looked up at the huge ridge that rose above them and at the highest peaks that were swallowed by the night. He patted his faithful elk on the neck and dismounted.

'We walk from here.'

They left the horses behind and followed the din of the trolls toward the mountains. The forest was at the mercy of darkness, but that was no problem for the sharp vision of the woodlandelves. Moreover, the stench of the smoke was so overpowering that it took Thranduil no effort to pinpoint the location of origin. Thranduil's hand sought the cold steel of his sword. A shiver shot down his spine as he thought about the fact that this was the same hand he had used to stroke Legolas' cheek that very morning and now he was going to kill with it. He shook the bleak thought from his mind and concentrated on the safety of his men.

Thranduil crept closer, his back low, using the darkness as a cloak. His steps made no sound, something only an elf could be capable of. A flickering light appeared among the trees. He beckoned his men. A soft scraping of steel on steel echoed from his hip. With sword raised they stept closer. Large protrusions of rock blocked their view, but it was an excellent shelter from which to observe and stalk the trolls.

Thranduil had seen many trolls in his long elven life, but he continued to marvel at the nauseating creatures. Dirty, bulky bodies danced around a fire. Their shiny, fat bellies blubbering with every leap. Thanduil's men squinted their eyes at the sight. Their terrifying heads, stuck almost neckless on their torsos, looked down at the white stag that layed with bound legs before the fire. Its bright coat was dull with sand and the rough rope cut into its graceful legs. Heartrending wails cut through the air as the animal opened its mouth and cried out for help.

'How are we going to eat it!" the smallest troll called out to the others, casting one eye over the meal that lay floundering on the ground.

'As quickly as possible,' shouted another,  lifting the stag into the air by its legs. 'I'm rattling!

Thranduil gritted his teeth as the magnificent animal was carelessly swung back and forth. The animal screamed in agony and the trolls laughed.

'We're going to surround them,' the King decided, 'get your bow and sword ready. Make sure the stag is unharmed and stay on your guard.' He ordered his men to disperse and slid his sword back into its sheath. He took a deep breath, thrust his chest forward and stepped into the light with his chin raised.

Though Thranduil would have preferred to chase the creatures right back to the bleak depths from which they had crawled, it was his realm he had to protect and keep peace when he could.

'Skin it! Skin the deer! Its meat awaits us, brothers!' the smallest of the trolls bellowed and clapped his hands. His gut bobbed up and down with each step.

'Excuse me.'

The three turned to him and Thranduil continued, 'My name is Thranduil. This is my territory, the realm of the woonlandelves. I kindly request that you leave and return your catch to the forest. Should you refuse, I will have to take harsh measures.'

The trolls looked at each other. Roaring with laughter as they grabbed at their fat bellies. Spit sprayed between their rotten teeth on the ground around the king's feet, but Thranduil did not move a muscle. Thranduil cast a glance at the stag that lay dejectedly on the ground, staring at him with wide-open eyes. Its nostrils moved up and down in deep strokes.