Brightest Stars | Love of Royals: Book I

XXXV: Naurfaen

The next moments pass so quickly I almost stumble on time itself.  Galloping in through the front gates like a stampede, crossing over the babbling rivers below, hurtling beneath beams of ornately carved stone and winding branches of living tree... my surroundings pass right through my mind and away into the air perfumed with sap and flowers and wine.  I know only what I must do: fight to protect those I love.  Whether or not it is what the Valar intended for me, it is what I am to do.

Past Thranduil's throne, the vast antler-like display stood proudly on a high dais, are crowds of bustling guards barking Sindarin at one another.  Thranduil proceeds to order them about, halting his elk to do so, while Tauriel, Elidir and Eirwen carry on outside.  I stay beside Legolas, paying close attention to the orders, which Thranduil's rich voice emits with ease and years of experience.  The hilt of my sword is cold against my side, yet it burns to be held in my grasp once again.

It's just like last time, except tonight, the attack has come to us. Perhaps if we had rescued Eirwen sooner, there would have been time to return and catch the orcs by surprise a second time. However, there is no changing what has been done. It would be foolish to dwell on lost possibilities as I ride out behind the King to face the enemy.

'And we'll stay out of trouble tonight, won't we?' Thranduil smirks over his shoulder.

I bite my lip, leaning forward to stroke my hand over the smooth, powerful neck of my mare as she breaks into a canter. 'I wouldn't count on it.'

He doesn't look back, presumably concentrating on leading the way. 'You needn't worry, meleth nín. This fight will be over before you know it.'

And, as if in mockery of his words, the following assault draws itself out to be as long as a life age of the earth. The orcs have spilled into the central gardens and more are pouring in by the minute, wielding their crude swords and axes. Most of us charge their ranks, scattering them through the darkness, while others attempt to direct the fleeing elves towards the entrance to the caves. But it's difficult—the winding paths of the gardens are almost invisible in the milky moonlight, and the non-warriors are in utter panic as they are herded hurriedly in the general direction of safety. I am separated from both Thranduil and Legolas before I can even cast them a glance.

Desperately searching for familiar faces, I veer off and away from the centre of battle towards the crowds of elves, trampling a few orcs in the process. There's Gelya—oblivious to my presence, but reflecting the starlight in her terrified eyes—and Marieth, Eirwen, Nairelin, some other maids and Gelya's friends... all swept off in the flow like leaves on the wind. Exactly like Thranduil's people were that time in Gundabad—except that time, Elidir was with them too. Now, he is not.

I can see him fighting his way through the orcs on foot, his sword a relentless, invincible force, his dark hair whipping behind him and his eyes now a forest fire, alight with a burning desire for vengeance. He is avenging all those lives once lost in Gundabad and in many wars since, and avenging the harm done to his youngest child. Elidir's two sons are with him, as is his son-in-law Tarodeth, and other warriors I have come to recognise, male and female alike.

On and on it goes, my sword a pearlescent beacon in the sea of darkness, hacking at orc after orc and flaming unfalteringly against the sky. I didn't even need to ask it to burn; it responded immediately to my touch and continues to do so without fail. I am eventually forced to dismount my mare clumsily as she suffers a fatal blow to the neck, promptly slicing off the head of her killer, more as an act of vengeance than anything. Fighting on foot is, of course, more challenging given the total chaos around me, but the eyes of elves are fortunately more adaptable to darkness than those of other races.