A shadow lies on Thranduil and his forest, and only a power stronger than the darkness of old can save them.
Grief and loss have turned him into a king with a heart of ice, and if he is ever to find redemption, the chains of guilt and remorse holdin...
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Life is a gorgeous, broken gift (Sleeping At Last: Emphasis)
"Leave none alive!" The echo of Thranduil's words rang in Faeldir's ears as he valiantly stood his ground amidst the elvish army, ready to follow his king to whatever end. He had finally managed to put aside the worries for his brother, keeping them in a somewhat remote corner of his heart. If Amardir could face a pack of orcs all by himself then he was willing to take on an entire horde of them as the soldier he was hoping to be.
Still, it was not what he had expected. It was by far worse, the noise tremendous and the dense clouds of dust wafting through the valley and mingling with an ineffable stench as the battle grew ever fiercer. On and on they pushed through the orcish lines, side by side with the dwarves and the men of Lake-town, intent on preventing the enemy from getting too close to the mountain. Faeldir must have lost count of how many foes attacked him and how many he had cut down, the only thing he was sure of was that he could not allow himself to slack, after all he had promised his brother that he would fight for both of them.
Soon enough it became apparent that the orcs' strategy was to cut them off from the city, so Thranduil had to turn his back on the mountain and the treasure inside it if he did not want to sacrifice the people that had just escaped the dragon fire and had found shelter in within the ruined city, hoping to recover from their losses.
"Fall back to Dale!"
Loud and clear was the Elvenking's command despite the insane rumbling of the multitude of voices that raged around Faeldir. Holding on to his sword, he charged in the vanguard of the elven soldiers towards the bridge that spanned the river. Trying to stay close to the king, who had broken into a gallop on his elk, he sped on as fast as he could, finishing off the orcs that had managed to escape the king's sharp blades. The city gate came into sight, but the Elvenking did not slow down, but rather increased his fierce pace, determined to wipe out as many enemies along the way as he could. Faeldir did not look left nor right, his eyes set on the cantering elk that was relentlessly ploughing through a group of orcs ahead, impaling a whole bunch of them in between his wide antlers and Thranduil cutting off their ugly heads in one wide swing.
Suddenly the elk's graceful motions stuttered and in front of Faeldir's eyes the majestic animal first swayed lightly, staggering left and right as Thranduil tried to rein it in. A myriad of hostile arrows brought the elk down to its knees, the massive shape collapsing in a huge heap of brown fur in the middle of the city gate.
Fear clawed at Faeldir's heart as he leapt over the orcs' dead bodies barring his way, afraid that the king himself might have been wounded or worse. He struggled to get past the lifeless animal, streams of blood forming small puddles of red around it. Thranduil had swiftly descended from his fallen companion and Faeldir could see him on his knees, trying to regain his poise, a pack of bloodthirsty orcs only waiting to cut him down next.
