The Ghost Warrior [Legolas Fan Fic]

Chapter Twenty

Alright, so this one ended up being a bit longer than the last few have been by chance. The next ones should be longer than this one since there will be a lot happening in them.  But hey, I'm starting to be more consistent with posts. Please enjoy. :)

~Zelinith

Dirt and dust floated in the air following the gate's collision with the ground. Both the Elven King and Lord of Lothlorien had raised their weapons, glancing around themselves. They were no longer certain of their enemy's position. As everything settled once more, they both quickly turned to the far end of the chamber, watching as the figure climbed onto a raised dais.

Thranduil moved into the center, his dual longswords gleaming.

"You've lost." the King's voice rang out, filled with rage. "Your forces will soon be defeated by our elven force and my son will be returned to me. You cannot win!"

Anger swept through the King as he stared down the figure, having guessed by now who he was. Celeborn laid a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, but his eyes were bright with fury as well.

"Morohtar," he continued, "Come and fight on fair ground."

Morohtar, for that is indeed who the figure was, turned and faced Thranduil. He drew back his hood, ebony hair tumbling out to frame his face as a feral grin took ahold of it.

"Who are you to try and control my game, dear Thranduil?" Morohtar drawled. "Haven't you realized that I have already won?" His grin widened at the look on the other's faces.

"You still don't get it, do you? 'Tis a pity really. My forces may have been defeated, but I still have those to distract and prolong my turn. And as for your son..." he chuckled darkly. "It doesn't even matter if they reach him for he is too far gone. I had someone make sure of it. But don't worry, you'll be able to hold his cold and mutilated body... just like you did for your Queen."

Thranduil lunged forward, Celeborn trying in vain to hold him back. Morohtar only continued to laugh as the sound of metal creaking began to echo throughout the chamber. The elves watched as gates from all sides lurched upwards, red eyes glowing in the darkness caged within them.

As Morohtar leapt down from his spot on the dias and drew out his sword, Celeborn pushed Thranduil towards the elf.

"I will take care of them, Thranduil. Go and fight for your son." With one last glance and a warrior's salute to one another, the two separated to face their opponents.

Thranduil slowly walked towards Morohtar, idly twirling his swords in his hands. They both stopped within five paces of the other.

"Are you ready to lose, oh mighty Elven King?" Morohtar smirked.

Thranduil grinned in reply. "No, but I am ready to silence your running mouth."

And with that, the two elves clashed together.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Celeborn was making quick work of the orcs that had been steadily coming at him while the other two elves fought. Although he had taken some hits from their swords, his wounds were minor and hardly bled. These had been received at times where he had become mildly distracted by the grunts and clashes heard from the other two.

He wouldn't admit it out loud to Thranduil, but he was worried that the younger elf may take risks and be too reckless as he fought off Morohtar. The fear for his son and all the pent up rage could easily cause him to take one misstep and put his life in danger.

From a distance Celeborn watched the Elven King, keeping the orcs at bay so there was less of a chance of some interference happening. Time carried on in this way, seeming to last an age as everyone was engaged in battle.

At last Celeborn dispatched the last orc that had come storming through one of the gates, smoothly decapitating it in one move. As the body thumped to the ground, he turned to check on Thranduil and Morohtar, wanting to make sure at least the King was still standing.

His eyes widened in horror, however, as he watched Morohtar knock Thranduil down, and with a sadistic look on his face, swing his sword straight at his head.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Moments before...

Thranduil and Morohtar had been dueling for some time now, not nearly as long as either would have imagined, but long enough to start to tire them out. Parry after parry, the two elves danced around one another, their blades singing in the air.

Both had managed to cut the other a few times, blood warmly dripping down their faces and limbs as the wounds stretched with the movement of their battle. Despite their exhaustion creeping up on them, they both fought with all their strength, neither backing down.

As time carried on, Celeborn's concern for Thranduil came to be true.

After hitting Morohtar with a hard blow to his right arm, the Elven King's rage seemed to blind him as he struck out again, arcing both swords towards Morohtar's body. Without realizing it, he had left his legs open, allowing the other to swiftly knock him down by throwing off his balance with a full on body slam.

Gasping for air as his lungs had lost all breath with the impact, Thranduil watched as Morohtar swung his sword around, aiming straight for his head.