Middle Earth Gamer

The Broken Thunderer

Chapter: The Broken Thunderer

Taranis had come a long way from the peaceful life in the Shire, and now, after years of training, he found himself standing at the edge of the dark and foreboding Mirkwood. The shadows of the trees stretched long and deep, and the air felt thick with the ancient magic of the forest. Taranis had always heard of the beauty and danger of Mirkwood, but he had never fully understood what that meant until now. The weight of the journey and the knowledge that Aredhel had been here—had been here for years—hung heavily on his heart.

As he ventured further into the forest, he was approached by a group of elven rangers. Their eyes were sharp, their movements swift and silent. At first, they seemed wary, but as they looked closer at him, something shifted. There was recognition, even awe, in their expressions. Taranis hadn't expected such a reaction, but it was clear these elves had heard of him—of his exploits, of his role in the battle against the dark forces, of the legendary Thunderer. He had heard the whispers, but he hadn't expected them to follow him so far.

One of the rangers, a tall elf with piercing blue eyes, spoke.

Elven Ranger: "You... You are Taranis, the Thunderer."

Taranis didn't say anything at first. He had grown used to the idea that his name had become a legend in some circles, but now, standing in the midst of these elven warriors, it felt different. It was like the weight of his past actions and the expectations that came with his name were settling heavily on his shoulders.

He nodded slowly. "Yes. I am."

The elf's expression softened slightly, but there was still an edge of caution in his voice.

Elven Ranger: "Come, you must meet our king. We will take you to him."

Taranis didn't argue. He had traveled too far, and after all this time, he felt he was nearing something important—something he had been searching for. He followed the rangers through the dense forest, the silence of Mirkwood pressing in on him. The only sound was the soft crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the occasional rustle of branches in the wind.

Eventually, they arrived at the grand hall of Thranduil, the Elvenking. The architecture was unlike anything Taranis had ever seen—great stone arches, intricate carvings of nature and elven lore, and the overwhelming sense of age and wisdom that filled the space. As they entered the hall, Taranis felt the gaze of countless elves upon him, their eyes filled with curiosity, respect, and some measure of wariness.

At the far end of the hall sat Thranduil, the Elvenking, his regal presence radiating power and authority. His golden hair shone in the soft light that filtered through the hall, and his eyes, sharp and cold, fixed on Taranis as he approached.

Thranduil (coldly): "So, the Thunderer has arrived."

Taranis stood tall, meeting Thranduil's gaze. There was a weight to the silence between them, but Taranis refused to be intimidated. He had faced darker forces than this—he could handle an elven king.

Taranis: "I have come to ask about Aredhel. Where is she?"

Thranduil's expression shifted in a way that made Taranis's heart drop. The king's lips curled into a bitter smile, and he leaned back in his throne as if he were savoring a secret that he knew would wound Taranis.

Thranduil (with a laugh): "Aredhel? She is with her husband—Elrohir, son of Lord Elrond."

Taranis felt the blood drain from his face. His legs weakened, and he had to brace himself against the stone wall to keep from collapsing. He had been prepared for a lot of things, but not this. Not this.