In a Field of Blood and Stone

HELLO! It's been so long! But I've finally finished the massive story I'm sure most of my regulars at least know about, so, finally, here it is. This is the story of the Battle of the Five Armies from the point of view of the elves, all the way from Smaug's death to their journey home. So this is long. And by long, I mean 112,070 words long.

I'm not joking- I got a little bit carried away with it. This is without a doubt the most complicated story I've ever written, in terms of plot and the number of main characters and interactions between them, and also in terms of writing. One of the reasons this has taken so long is because I have spent a lot of time editing- a lot more than on any story- throughout the entire thing. So I would stop at multiple times and go back through all the story I'd already written to change a few details to introduce a new theme (or in one case, a dog) that I'd just thought of. So yeah, this got complicated. But I'm done now, and I'm so excited to finally share this with all of you guys :)

As the premise above sort of makes fairly obvious, this is elven-focused. The Dwarves aren't a big deal, and neither is Bilbo until the latter parts of the story. If I had to pick a main character, it would probably be Legolas or Thranduil (although it's interesting to think about what the definition of a main character is, because in some cases you could argue it is Bilbo, even though he isn't even in the story until about 60k in). Anyway. Elves. My OC Belhadron you'll be familiar with if you've read some of my other works, and for those who like him, you'll be glad to hear that he's got a much larger role in this story. There's also a new OC coming along, though they're not named until about 20k in. I'm really excited to let you guys see this new OC (an elf, because seriously you cannot write a story about elves, especially one this long, with only two named elves).

If anyone can guess who this new OC is going to be over the next few chapters, then maybe I'll write a oneshot of your choosing (within reason, of course, and it may take a little while what with school drowning me in work). I'm also still totally up for taking prompts, if anyone has anything they want to see written! I can't promise they'll get written, but I will definitely try my best.

This is not finished. I mean, the story itself is finished, but the journeys of the characters are definitely not- the story ends before the elves even get back to Mirkwood. I wanted to end it there, so it didn't drag on into what could be essentially another story, and for other reasons I will probably explain later. This means I shall be writing a bunch of interconnected oneshots that will be published after this is finished, focusing mainly on the elves after the events of the story, and how they're coping, etc.

If I stick to my usual format of about 4000 words a chapter, this should fall out at around 28 chapters. Possibly. We shall see.. :)

Anyway, it's so nice to be back and publishing! I'm sorry it's been so long, but I don't like publishing unless I have a story actually finished, and I'm in my last year of school, so the workload is insane. But I'm here now. I'll publish two chapters a week- one on Wednesday, one on Saturday. The title comes from Bruce Springsteen's song, Devils and Dust, which just perfectly encapsulates the darkest moments for the characters in this story. Go listen to it, once you've read this- Springsteen is called the Boss for a reason.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, apart from my two OCs and the dog.

Enjoy :)

Chapter 1: Fires on the Horizon

"Legolas."

There was a hand grasping his shoulder.

"Legolas, wake up."

Legolas jolted awake, and even as he woke he rolled sideways, his hand reaching for the knives he knew he kept next to him. A hand grabbed his wrist, and he lashed out with the other. There was a muffled grunt, and then a string of Silvan curses that made Legolas stop and fully come awake. Orcs didn't speak Elvish.

He blinked, and then frowned at the sight of his second in command leaning over the edge of the bed, still holding onto his wrist. Legolas shook his hand free and sat up.

"What is it?"

"We need to go," said Belhadron. "Something's gone wrong." He picked up Legolas' hunting tunic from where Legolas had left it hanging over a chair a few hours ago and flung it at the blond elf, rubbing with one hand at his cheek where Legolas' hand had made contact. Legolas swung his legs to sit on the edge of the bed and pulled the tunic on with a frown.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's happened?" He didn't apologise for the hit, because Belhadron had done the same to him before, and it was something many of the warriors were used to.

Belhadron's face was grim. "I just came in from the eastern side of the stronghold. It's better to see it," he said. "But there's trouble in Esgaroth. Maybe something to do with Erebor."

Legolas took a moment to take the information in, and then cursed, jumping to his feet. "Where's my quiver?" he said, looking around the room and snatching up his boots, easily slipping them onto his feet. He couldn't be bothered to change out of the soft leggings he had been sleeping in, and he doubted he had time, anyway.

Belhadron picked it up from where it was sitting on the chair. "I moved it before I woke you," he said, handing it over. "I didn't particularly want you getting hold of your knives when this is our first night back in the stronghold." Both of them woke, as did many elves, a little violently after spending too much time in the dark southern areas of Mirkwood.

Legolas nodded and took the quiver, swiftly strapping it on with deft fingers. He hardly paid attention to doing it, instead turning to Belhadron. "What were you doing on the eastern side of the stronghold?" he asked. "We only got back this morning."

Belhadron shrugged. "I wasn't tired," he said. That wasn't the whole truth, and Legolas knew it, but there were more pressing things at hand. Legolas finished buckling on his quiver and nodded at Belhadron. "Let's go," he said.

Instead of heading towards his door, he moved across the room and pulled open one of the balcony doors. A gust of cold wind spiralled inside, for winter was beginning to creep over the woods. Belhadron said nothing, merely following him, and the two elves disappeared from sight as they vaulted over the stone railing and into the woods.

0-o-0-o-0

They moved swiftly through the trees, dropping down to the ground when the woods were too sparse, until they were high up on the eastern edge of the stronghold, balancing in the branches. They weren't too far from the edge of Mirkwood, and the sky was clear. Legolas sucked in a breath.

"Elbereth," he murmured.

"I know," said Belhadron. "I don't want to say it, but…"

"Smaug?" asked Legolas. "I don't think it can be anything else." His gaze returned to the horizon. From how far up they were they could see the glint of Andnen, that the men called the Long Lake.

It was glinting orange. With their eyesight, both elves could see the glow of fire that was spreading across the lake, engulfing Esgaroth. Legolas cursed under his breath, watching as something in the distance flickered a deep red.

For a few minutes they were still, watching. The word had spread, and a few more elves joined them high up in adjacent branches. The woods were quiet as they watched.

Legolas shook himself, and jumped down a branch, the spell of the flickering orange light broken. "I must find my father," he said quickly. "Inform him of what is going on. We're going to…" He paused, briefly looking up. "This is going to be bad."

"I know," said Belhadron. "I will start mobilising people, just in case. Leave the other captains to me. Go to the King." Legolas nodded, and jumped down from the tree, sliding from branch to branch until hitting the forest floor with a slight thud. Other elves were beginning to arrive through the woods now, joining the few up in the branches already.

He turned back briefly, but the view was no longer visible through the tangle of dark trees that even his eyes had a hard time distinguishing. He sighed softly, turning and running for the nearest stronghold entrance.

There was a hint of anticipation in the air as Legolas passed swiftly through the corridors. The stronghold was beginning to come awake, though it was never wholly silent, even in the middle of the night. But Legolas, who knew his home well, could feel the tension beginning to seep into the air, the elves that were beginning to move through the corridors as the word spread.

He knew that once Belhadron woke the other captains and briefed them then the realm would wake rather quickly. He supposed it was one of the advantages of being perpetually at war, perpetually on their guard. When something did happen, it did not take them long to be prepared for it.

The tension grew somewhat less as Legolas opened the large doors that led to the private living quarters of the King, himself and any guests of enough importance to warrant such rooms, such as Gandalf whenever he turned up. The two guards on the doors looked a little surprised to see him, and Legolas realised that they had not seen him leaving through these doors.

They must be new, he thought absentmindedly as he nodded at them and slipped through the doors. Whoever ended up with the necessity of guarding those doors learnt relatively soon that the balcony was just as viable an option as doors, especially if his second Belhadron had been seen entering the quarters.

Thranduil was in his study, and looked up as Legolas entered. He put aside the book he hadn't been reading. He knew something was wrong; he hadn't been King all these long, long years without developing finely tuned instincts. "What is it?"

Legolas' face was grim. "We have a situation," he said. "I'm not sure, and we don't have enough information yet, but from what I saw from the eastern side of the stronghold-"

"Legolas," said Thranduil, standing up. "What has happened?"

Legolas shook his head slightly. "Smaug has happened, I think," he said. "Belhadron woke me to confirm what he thought. He's briefing the other captains as we speak. We cannot be sure, but it appears that Smaug is awake."

Thranduil nodded. "Then we must be ready," he said. "Summon the guards. We have work to do."

0-o-0-o-0

In a couple of hours, the stronghold was awake. Thranduil had summoned his councillors, and had spent most of that time behind closed doors with them. Orders were issued every so often, and over the early hours of the morning, whilst orange light still glinted in the east, elves were recalled from the eastern settlements to the stronghold, and a watch was set on Esgaroth and Erebor.

Legolas held back a sigh from where he was sat with the rest of the captains, awaiting more orders. "Do we actually have any information?" he asked.

"We do not," replied one of the captains with a weary smile. "It cannot be anything other than Smaug, that we know, but if it is, then we do not know what he is doing, or why he has awoken."

"It was most likely the Dwarves," said another elf with the barest hint of a smile. "They should have remained our prisoners. It would have ended better for them." None of the elves wished them dead, though they may not like them much. They still did not know how the party had managed to escape, and many were still disgruntled about it.

Belhadron had only found this out when he, Legolas and their scouting party had returned from the south this morning. He just thought it was hilarious.

"What patrols are still to come in tonight?" asked Legolas, shifting through the pieces of parchment on the table in front of them to try and find the one with the current patrol rotations written down. A map of Erebor and the surrounding lands slid off the table with a hiss of old parchment against wood. Belhadron caught it just before it hit the floor, setting it back on the table.

"One more from the west," replied a captain, finding the piece of paper they were looking for. "And of course our spies are out around the lake, their captain with them. But the patrol is due soon. We can begin to gather the army now, or at least begin to put such measures in place."

"Is that necessary?" asked another elf, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on the table. Legolas looked up.

"If Smaug becomes bored of Esgaroth and Erebor, where do you think he will turn next?" he asked softly. "Besides, those were the most recent orders issued." The elf inclined his head, and for a few moments the room was silent, the crackling of logs in the fire the only noise.

Belhadron looked up from where he was standing behind Legolas' chair, one hand absent-mindedly ruffling the fur of the dog at his side. "But look at our history," he said. "Elven history, I mean. In all of our tales, all of our songs, when has an elf ever managed to slay a dragon? And that was with all the might of the Eldar days. We're not exactly the paragon of elven might here." There were a few chuckles around the table.

Legolas tilted his head back so he could see Belhadron. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

Belhadron inclined his head. "That wasn't exactly what I said," he said with a dry smile. His hand had stilled, and the dog at his side whined, butting its head against Belhadron's leg. Those around the table chuckled as Belhadron crouched down to pay the dog more attention, and promptly had the dog half crawl into his lap.

Soon enough, though, Belhadron had pushed the dog off with a quiet admonishment, and the attention turned back to each other. Legolas sighed slightly. "We might as well begin," he said. "We can sort out the final patrol when they come in. Anyway, something tells me that we might need our army before this is all over."

They could all tell something was coming. Nobody knew what, yet, and it was doubtful that any of those captains sitting in that room could have guessed what was truly going to come. What was going to come to pass was not foreseen by many at all, save for perhaps Gandalf.

But even if they had known, they probably would have faced it the same way: the weary determination of those who had seen more fighting than they could really remember anymore. After so many long years, battles seem to blur, and the only distinction is how many were left dead behind them. But by that reckoning they all seemed to know that whatever was coming, they would remember it well.

0-o-0-o-0

The birds brought the news in the early hours of the morning. Smaug was dead.

The word spread like wildfire, only it left confusion and wariness, not ash, in its wake. Speaking with those birds who still loved the elves was not always exact, and there was still little news on who had brought down Smaug, or what damage had been done to Esgaroth and Erebor. The captains had mobilised at least part of the army, those they could take without leaving their realm undefended, but now nobody knew whether they were to be needed or not.

Legolas sighed slightly from where he was leaning over the same table he had been sat at for most of the night with the other captains. He shifted a few pieces of parchment around. "Do we have sufficient supplies sorted?"

"We have foods and such supplies for marching," replied one of the captains with a groan. "But we are not exactly used to having to prepare for camping on open ground, and nobody seems to know what has happened to the shelter stored. They're looking now. Any aid we must provide for Esgaroth has not yet been considered."

"And we don't even know if they need aid, or if they need more than we could provide," said another captain. He sighed. "At least we do not have to attempt to fight a dragon."

There were strained chuckles around the table. All of the captains and commanders knew that the fall of Smaug was a good thing for their realm. It was just a little hard to accept it. By now they were so used to bad news that something that appeared to be good news was always taken suspiciously, just in case it turned out to be yet more bad news after all. A lifetime of hard battles had made the elves of Mirkwood rather unwilling to acknowledge good tidings.

"I think if Smaug had not touched Esgaroth, then we would be in a far worse predicament that we are now," pointed out Legolas. "After all, it was most likely a man who brought the dragon down. Set aside some supplies for Esgaroth, but we will not march with them. If needs must, we can always send it down the river."

He sighed. Truthfully, none of them knew what to expect. Esgaroth may be completely obliterated, or it may still be mostly standing, protected by the lake. The number of the dead could reach into the thousands, or could only be a few whose luck did not hold out. And they had no way of knowing.

The dog, that had not left the room much, padded over and dropped his head onto Legolas' lap, perhaps sensing the apprehension in the room. Legolas scratched his ears as he flicked through a few pieces of parchment in front of him.

"Are we taking the dogs?" someone asked. One of the others shrugged.

"I don't think Umor will let himself be left behind," she said with a wry smile. The dog at Legolas' side pricked his ears upon hearing his name. "If we have to establish a camp in the open, then they will be useful."

"Legolas."

The voice came from the door, and Legolas looked up to see Belhadron leaning against the ornate doorway. Umor trotted over, sniffing at Belhadron's hands before slumping down on the carpet. Belhadron briefly smiled at the dog.

"You are wanted," he said, looking back up to Legolas. "Something with your archers, I think." He smiled wryly, but with the weariness and worry clouding his face it looked more like a grimace. Elves of Mirkwood were used to dealing with orcs and spiders and the shadow of Dol Guldur constantly looming over them. They were not so used to dragons and doom.

"I will come," said Legolas, standing from the table. A few captains passed messages to him to take elsewhere, and with a weary sigh from Legolas, the two elves left the room.

0-o-0-o-0

The day wore on. Spies that Thranduil had sent out to the Long Lake and beyond started to return, bringing reports of Dwarves and destruction on wings. Their captain herself was the last one in, late in the afternoon, and she was only in the stronghold long enough to speak with Thranduil, and then briefly with the other captains, before she departed once more. She and some of her spies were to move ahead of the army, meeting them eventually outside Erebor. There wasn't such a thing, in this case, as being too careful.

Elves gathered, and companies slowly coalesced into an army. Weapons, spears and swords and bows and more, were sharpened to deadly edges that glinted in the dull light. Armour that was seldom worn, too cumbersome amongst trees, was found again. Those few who had worn it before did not resent the burnished metal, but they still held back sighs upon first putting it on. A tool that could save their lives could still be dreaded.

They would march when the sun first rose in the sky the next day. Though the army was mostly assembled by nightfall, even elves did not march too well in the dark. They could, of course, if they had to, but it was not as if they were marching into an actual battle.

Actually, nobody was sure what it was they were marching to. The captains had questioned it amongst themselves, for surely there was no more threat now that Smaug was dead. But they had only briefly spoken when they were on their own, before returning to their tasks with the ominous feeling that things had only just been set in motion.

They all knew that their King was thinking of the now unguarded hoard in Erebor. They all knew of that particular weakness, if it was not much discussed. But they were wood elves, and were intrinsically tied to the world around them. There was more than gold at play here.

Legolas toyed idly with a roll of bread. It was fully dark outside now, even the stars obscured by a thick cloud that had rolled in sometime during the day.

"Legolas, either eat it or put it back on your plate."

Legolas glanced up, and smiled softly. "Sorry, Adar," he said, putting the roll down. Thranduil shook his head with a fond smile, picking up his goblet and taking a sip of the wine.

This was a rarity in itself, even more so given their march to Erebor tomorrow. The moments where neither Thranduil nor Legolas wore their titles were becoming few and far between, and as such snatched times such as these were precious.

Thranduil sighed slightly as Legolas, without thinking, began to circle one finger around the rim of his wine glass. "What is it on your mind?"

There was silence for a moment, and then Legolas looked up. "Smaug is dead," he said. "And with him, most of the threat we have ever faced from the east. Forgive me, Adar, but I cannot see the reason why…we must be so prepared. There is nothing much in Erebor save what treasure lies there."

Thranduil sat back in his chair. "You are right in that there is nothing of threat in Erebor apart from the hoard of gold and jewels. The Dwarves are most likely dead, if they reached there. I don't doubt Thorin Oakenshield would have rather died in that mountain then leave it again."

Legolas looked up in surprise, and Thranduil chuckled. "It has been many years for him, but I can still recognise the grandson of Thror. You might have too, if you had been here whilst they were prisoner. I never liked Thror much, and I saw no reason to admire Thorin, but it is still a pity that he is dead, and cannot now reclaim what belongs to him."

Thranduil took a sip of his wine, and continued. "I would be a fool to not be considering the hoard that Smaug has left behind, I think. It is open and unguarded now, and there is no such thing as too much wealth for a realm." He didn't say more, but Legolas caught the edge of wistfulness in his voice at the thought of jewels, silver and white gems. Thranduil had not forgotten the wealth of Thingol and his realm in the First Age, the power that the Silmarils had wrought.

He realised that he had been silent for a few moments, and Legolas was looking at him curiously. He shook his head. "But we must be there first. The news of Smaug's death will spread to the Iron Hills, and Dain and his Dwarves will make a move for Erebor, and then we will lose what power we have over the lands outside of our own."

Legolas inclined his head slightly, but Thranduil could see the hesitation on his face. "Forgive me again, Adar," he said. "But I cannot think that those are the only reasons we are marching to Erebor."

Thranduil's face was, for a moment, unreadable. He abruptly stood up and crossed to the window, pulling back one of the shutters and looking out. After a moment of confusion, Legolas got to his feet and joined him.

"Look out there," Thranduil said, his voice soft. It was close to pitch black outside, but there was enough light spilling from the various windows of the stronghold for elven eyes to pick out indistinct shapes. Thranduil pressed his lips together before speaking.

"On every side bar one, we are surrounded. Dol Guldur in the South, Mount Gundabad to the north of us, the goblins in the Hithaeglir. Lothlorien is too far south to expect help from them at any stage."

Thranduil gestured out the window again. "The east is weak, and it may come to it that it is more than other Dwarves who march for Erebor. We cannot be surrounded from all sides." He sighed once more, and looked out of the window.

"Look out there, and tell me that there is not something coming."

For a brief second there was only the sound of the fire in the hearth, and then Legolas sighed softly. "Do you know what?" he asked.

"Not for certain," replied Thranduil. "Mithrandir may, if he ever shows up, but I can only guess." He sighed. "But I am guessing war, or a battle at the very least. And that is why you have over three thousand elves ready to march when the sun rises. I would rather be well prepared for the worst, than sit back and wish for the best outcome."

Legolas nodded, watching out of the window. "Then we will be prepared," he said. "And if it comes to the worst, then it comes to it."

Thranduil smiled ever so slightly, but it was tinged with grief. Not for the first time, the pang of guilt made itself known again. He had done this to his son, to his child. Oh, the state of their realm had forced his hand, but he was the one who had first set a bow in Legolas' hand. He was the one who had raised his son in a realm of war.

He knew how futile it was to wish it were otherwise, but sometimes he did. Sometimes Thranduil futilely hoped that Legolas could have lived without risking his life so much, without the constant presence of shadow and danger that surrounded Mirkwood now. Usually these more despondent thoughts came unbidden when Legolas was away from the stronghold and there was no news, or more often if the realm had once again demanded something more from him, and he was lying in the healing wards. But Thranduil could tell that they were approaching even more desolate times, and with instincts long since fed by the shadow spreading from Dol Guldur and Mordor, he knew that events that had started with the death of Smaug were only just beginning to truly unfold.

Legolas turned away from the window, and that broke Thranduil out of his thoughts. "I have something for you," he said, moving across the room and kneeling down beside an open chest. Legolas came to look over his shoulder as Thranduil pulled something out that glinted in the firelight.

Thranduil handed it to Legolas, who looked at him in surprise. "This is mine?" he asked.

Thranduil smiled softly. "I had it made a while ago, but there has never been a need for you to wear it. Armour is hardly the most useful thing amongst trees."

Legolas held it up with a small smile. A thick leather jerkin, almost a coat, was gripped in his hands. Overlapping metal plates lay across the entire torso, intricate chainmail down the arms and inside the leather itself. There were separate plates that, when put on, would sit across Legolas' shoulders and the top of his chest. The collar stood up, encircling and protecting the neck. When Legolas turned it over in his hands, he found the vambraces already sewn into the inside of the forearms.

"Hannon le, Adar," he said softly. "It is beautiful armour."

"It will keep you safe," replied Thranduil. "At least, I hope it will." He sighed, and took the armour back, laying it on top of the chest. He turned to Legolas.

"Promise me that in the days to come you will stay safe," he said softly. His hands came to rest on either side of Legolas' face, and any doubts Legolas had that what was to come was less than they were preparing for vanished when he saw the look on his father's face.

Legolas smiled ever so slightly. "You know I cannot promise you that, Adar," he replied. "I will not sit back if it comes to a battle."

"And I would not ask you to," replied Thranduil. How he wished he could, but he could not be that selfish. He would not do that to his son, though he still felt that pang of guilt at Legolas being so ready to risk his life for his realm.

He sighed, and Legolas smiled again. "I promise that I will try," he said. "But not at the cost of other people's lives."

"And that is all that I can ask of you, ion," Thranduil said softly. He rested his forehead against Legolas', and his golden hair slipped forwards over his shoulders. Legolas' hair was for once unbraided and loose around his shoulders, and the slightly darker golden colour mingled with Thranduil's silver blond hair.

Thranduil pulled back and the moment passed, the two elves becoming King and Prince once more. "We will march as soon as the Sun first rises," he said. "I want us to be at the edge of the realm by midday, if not sooner. It has already been a day since Smaug fell, and pieces are beginning to be played. We must make our move."

Legolas nodded, pulling away and picking up his armour. The steel plates shifted underneath his hands, and the armour almost rippled, glinting in the orange firelight. "We will be ready," he said.

Thranduil nodded. "Make sure we are," he said, and Legolas nodded once more, promising he would see to it. With a final smile, from a son to a father, he slipped out of the door.

Thranduil watched him go, and he could not help wonder how long it was that the Woodland Realm could hang on for before the darkness overwhelmed them.

So that's your first chapter. I spent quite a lot of time thinking about what Thranduil's motivations regarding Erebor are- he's not being totally truthful with Legolas here, and I think the treasure of Erebor is more prominent in his mind than he may let on, but I don't think that's the only thing. Also, I guessed at the size of the army they take- all it says in the book is over 1000 elves, but I honestly think you'd need more than 1000 elves to fight in a battle as big at that of the Five Armies.

Next chapter will be up on Saturday, probably sometime in the evening (UK time). As always, reviews are very welcome, and if anyone is new and wants to stop by and chat, I don't bite! Unless you're made of chocolate. Easter is coming and with it my lack of control over any semblance of healthy eating...