Chapter Seven: Mirk Blood

Dedication: To Avengers: Age of Ultron. One of the most anticipated movies of all time. That actually lived up to its name.

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Elves are immortal.

They have everlasting life, beauty and power, endless time and never fading memories.

Elves never forget, no matter how much time it has been, no matter how long ago it would seem, no matter how much they actually wants to, they never forget.

Thranduil does not want to forget, though he would do anything to make it less painful.

There's no crown on top of his head, no staff of kingship in his hands, no twin swords strapped to his battle ready body. He was no king tonight, no warrior, no lord. Just Thranduil Orephorion, alone and grieving.

He was just a simple father tonight, staying with his son's belongings, desperately tricking himself into thinking he's still here. Just a father in his lost son's rooms, trying not to drown the onslaught of memories with liquor and spirits.

Like many grieving father he has seen to do.

In Legolas' chambers, in his tower, the memories are overwhelming.

His son did not have his rooms near the ground, situated next to as many branches and roots as possible. He had his chamber up in the skies, the highest tower of the palace, oldest and strongest, built and strengthened by many uneven bricks and stones.

Thranduil had never understood the reasons for the tower until much later.

It was by chance they he chose to look up at the sky when taking a slow strode through the moon lights. He could just make out a figure, jumping out the balcony of the high tower, feet deftly keeping a hold on the uneven rocks before sprinting off into the woods.

Greenleaf arrows already loaded onto his bow.

He was a star, the brightest star, the last star in the sky before the light of the sun swallowed the night. The last sign of vigilance, of pure beauty before radiant bright.

He was a star, and he belonged to the sky, to the night. He was no stone nor tree no spring, things that found refuge and family on the ground. But he was a star, and he would one day take to the sky, to where he truly belonged.

There was no sky in the forest, no sky in the ground, no sky with his father. The time wasn't right, the loneliness wept inside.

So the prince of a forest built a tower, to be close to his final resting place.

It was night, and Mirkwood was eerily silent.

The king of the dark forest was crownless, and tired. For sixty years the forces of Mirkwoods swept through the forest like a comb, driving out all traces of darkness and blood from the forest boughs.

They cleaved Dol Guldur to the ground, and completely destroyed the spider nest that littered around their kingdom. Light was finally shining through the trees again.

Thranduil did not knwo what to do after the battle within the forest was over. His forces could not travel all the way to Rohan or Gondor to aid in the war, nor can he ride to Mordor with Mirkwood behind his back to demand his son.

There's nothing he could not but wait, and see if a miracle could happen.

He could wait, and find solace.

It wasn't easy these days, the pain and the memories flickering up everynight, with Legolas riding off with the sun and the red behind him, never to be seen again. IT was only within a place of memory, can the pain be subsided.

The tower was one, the stables was another. Two places in the whole palace that can be called Legolas. He was a prince, a captain, a warrior. The bleak council room was never his calling, nor was the kitchens or the target ranges, something he didn't need when he had a whole horde to spiders to kill, not even beside Thranduil's throne where he ruled beside his father.

The star tower was filled with Legolas, the smell of leaf and candle light was thick in the air. The shelves were nailed to the wall, filled with various trinkets collected from all over Middle Earth. Bows and arrows were abandoned in corners, blood stained moss lying beside them.

Everything was just as it had been, the sameness waiting for its prince to come in through the door, the sameness with the high expectations that Thranduil could never fulfill.

The stables changed, for that the king's glad.

Mirkwood was known for its arrows and liquor, and he Thranduil was known for his swords and his steed. His majestic stag that could instill fear in his enemy as easily as the prongs on its head could pierce open the stomach of an orc like knife on cheese.

Legolas was the closest to Sleipnir, the great stag of Mirkwood, accepting the presence of the animal into their family after the demise of pretty much everyone around them both.

Sleipnir was the closest to Legolas, and was still ignorant about his disappearance. Or rather the stag refused to believe it and had done away everyone that tried to tell him otherwise. Of ten pacing the length of his enormous stable as it waiting impatiently for a leaf to come fluttering in. Late, for once.

Quite like Thranduil, as a matter of fact.

Because of his temper and his refusal, no one but Thrnaduil himself could get close enough to Sleipnir before he erupted into a thunderous rage. It may seem preposterous for a king to tend to his own steed, but Thranduil didn't mind one bit.

Imagine him pleasantly surprised when he saw the stable latch undone when he came to, and voices filtering through the reinforced walls.

Thranduil stood frozen, hand on the silver latch, when he heard the song.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Once upon a time, a long long time ago, there was a meadow. A lush green plain of bright flowers and soft grass. There were three princes.

Leaf hiding the the boughs of trees. Free hiding behind a thick bush of black berry, Light whisper laughing behind the broad shoulders of his ada. All of them rest assured that the silver tresses of their Nana would never reach them.

They each have their own strengths. Their abilities in battle was far superior than their Nana's. Leaf with his sharp eyes and sharp bow. Free with his wind like laugh and storm like feet. Light with his powerful elven magic, dragging the darkness out of the woods with his glow alone.

But their Nana had her voice, and her songs.

Her name was Faerveren.

Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.

Faerveren's eyes were a bright silver, like the moon. Faerveren's hair was silver, like the willow branches shaped like whips under the silvery moon.

If Thranduil is the sun, the Faerveren was the moon. With her bright silver hair and star lit eyes, she was the lady of the woods and princess of the skies. The sun and the moon together, made the stars.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away

Faerveren didn't have the sharp weapons of the elves of Mirkwood, didn't have the powerful bodies of the royal guard. But she did have her voice, a voice that could force orcs and spiders alike to stop when she opened her mouth. Singing like light and darkness and blood and water as she wove a tapestry through them, threaded by blood.

Other elves became jealous, nobles, scholars, captains and generals. All of them urging their king, Oropher, to take that elf witch off his personal troop, the one with the brightest voice of all.

Oropher relented, but he saw something the rest didn't, and gave her to his only son. A son that has long been conquered by her songs.

In his three children, only Legolas inherited the star lit voice of his beloved mother.

Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.

A voice Thranduil thought lost long ago.

He pushed open the stable catch but didn't go in. He wasn't sure if he's living in a dream, or a nightmare too real to tell. If this is not real, then he doesn't want to wake up.

The cloak was discarded carelessly in a corner, the bow and quiver was strewn on top of it. A simple coat was across his shoulders, its many coat tails swishing as he worked the brush across Sleipnir's main.

There's no mask covering his face now, just midnight black strands tickling his cheekbones. Sixty years did wonders for an elfling, and Thranduil was not there to see him grow into age.

He had expected red eyes, the color of fresh blood, or the color of rusted copper. Sixty years would make even the elves change into something new if you weren't there for him every step of the way. If it weren't for the eyes half hidden by Sleipnir's great antlers, he would have missed it.

It's a bit disconcerning to see your own eyes reflecting back to you, framed by midnight and not golden light.

The shadows were murmuring, whispering in a whisper soft voices. Thranduil didn't move, waiting for anything to happen. To tell him it wasn't real.

"It was too soon," he murmured to Sleipnir's soft ears. If not for the elves' advanced hearing, Thranduil would have lost him again, and the stories after.

"I chose Agarlas because I had no choice, because when you are alive, you have a chance to do something."

"I lived, I killed, and I mourned."

He buried his face into Sleipnir's mane, no doubt inhaling and remembering the soft perfume of ashwood and cold iron steel that has calmed countless kings and queens, "I just want to go home."

"Home is where your heart it," Sleipnir licked his hair and was awarded an invisible smile. "I don't think I even possess something like that anymore."

Sleipnir snorted angrily at that shocked that his long lost prince would say something so atrocious, as if everything weakens and pales in the face of darkness and imminent death. Shadows smiled at the stag's reaction, though it still would not reach his eyes.

"I love the light, more than the shadow. So I'm going to keep him company when he rests. No one likes to spent an eternity in darkness."

The words taste foul on Thranduil's lips and in his head as he rolled them over and over his tongue. In his melodic voice, sleep sounded so much like eternal death to the elven king. No matter how hard he tried to spin it the other way.

"The light will save me, but not him. never him, who has gone too far over the edge."

For the first time Thranduil noticed the star hanging from his neck, an arrow leaf pendant that shone with its own light, without the aid from the moon or the dim candles.

As if he needed more proof.

"Naneth once said that death is just the next adventure, one that she promised to take me once everything is washed out."

He sighed heavily, his midnight hair falling over his eyes to hide the pain. "I'm too tainted to belong here, so I'm going to keep them both company over there."

Sleipnir whined vehemently, as if his own pathetic power could convince his prince to stay where he belonged. Thranduil wished he has the guts to do that, to barge in an take his into his arms and convince him to stay and not go following his brother's footsteps.

"I'm going," he suddenly snarled, blue eyes snapping op to stare right at Thranduil, icy fire blazing within. "I won't let you stop me, ada." He pushed himself away from Sleipnir and gathered his shadows around himself, the mask and the cloak was fitted over him in a second.

"You are welcome to come to the dark lands if you want, ada, before the cold blood moon. I might even welcome you." With a snap of his fingers the shadows rose up and pushed an unprepared Thranduil out into the night.

"And there's nothing you can do to save me." With a swish of his cloak and a snarl of his shadows, he was gone, swallowed by the darkness he claimed heartless.

Thranduil was already running.

Blood moon is too close. Too close.

A/N:

I finally stopped deserving bricks smashed into my face now!

Nana/Naneth: Mother, Mommy.

Faerveren: Spirit Bride

Sleipnir: Odin of Norse Mythology's steed, a horse with eight legs that could travel to virtually anywhere and nothing else can be faster. I decided on the weekend to revisit Thor and Loki fanfiction, and got myself pissed off again because of their **** father.

Can people please review so I know there's actual people reading this and not some hydroponic robots from outer space that wanted to get to know Earth better so they can destroy us?