Sorry it's taken sooo long for me to update but: school, school, holidays, training and competitions kept me overly busy. It may or may not be my usual length but I hope it's good enough.

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Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize from the books or the films- just my oc's Falathiel and Laerornor

Music of Mirkwood

Chapter four: Necklace of Rope

The battle lasted hours, but eventually, the orc army smashed through the ranks of the remaining elves and cut off their desperate retreat. The metallic scent of blood was so strong in the air that Falathiel almost gagged as she, Laerornor and Galion were forced to their knees on the blood sodden earth. Their hands were bound and their weapons were laid out on a nearby felled tree. Galion leant heavily on Laerornor as blood pooled on the already-wet ground originating from a vicious-looking wound on his stomach. His face was pale and clammy looking and the younger elves agonized at the volume of his rasped and laboured breathing.

Laerornor's face was splattered with red and black blood from his own mass of injuries and from the orcs he had slain. Falathiel's sword arm was bent in an unnatural angle and from between the links of the mithril armour Laerornor could see rivulets of blood running down her arm from the split in her arm where the bone tore its way through the muscle and skin. Her chest heaved as she fought to control her breathing and suppress the icy tendrils of shock that threatened to grip her in its grasp.

Orcs and Goblins alike surrounded the commanders, leering and snarling at the too bright elves. Mist and fog curled about the small gathering, blocking Falathiel's view of the remainders of her mix-and-match army. She shifted and gasped as the movement tugged on the possible bruised or broken ribs. A warm hand slid into her own and fingers ghosted up and down her knuckles; Laerornor smiled at her, soothing her pain.

A Goblin cackled manically, starting a new round of jeering and snarls.

"Enough!"

A harsh, shrill tone sliced through the assembled crowd like a hot knife through water. Some of the remaining elves clamped their hands over their sensitive ears. Falathiel scrunched her eyes up in pain, her good hand gripping Laerornor's tightly. Beside them, Galion slumped to the ground with a thump, the blood loss then the shock of the voice overwhelming his weakened body.

From the cloud of mist, a figure swathed in robes as dark as the shadows ghosted into the clearing, iron boots crunching over leaves and dead bodies alike; gauntlets wrought of the same material grasped the hilt of a black-bladed sword held before it.

Laerornor sucked in a breath sharply, his eyes immediately snapping to the cowl of the robe as if to glare into the eyes of the figure amongst them. Only, the figure had no eyes and not face. He didn't even seem corporeal, like he-it- was a piece of cloth supported by air. "A wraith…"

Falathiel swallowed nervously as the wraith drew nearer towards them, stopping a mere meter from them. In a bored yet sinister tone, he questioned "Who among you is the leader?"

There was silence from the elves. The wraith turned its cowl left and right, surveying the masses of elves knelt before it. "Will anyone answer?"

When no one replied, the entity swung its sword and a young ellon fell face first into the churned, bloody mud. Falathiel choked back a scream of fear and denial as the entity paced towards her, callously wiping the sword on another elleth's arm.

"I am looking for some specific people. The Elvenking, but either of the royal siblings would not be such a loss."

Laerornor's eyes snapped to her and she discreetly clenched his hand. Falathiel shifted and the small movement caught the wraith's attention. It stalked towards her, like a hunter nearing its helpless prey. "What of you, little she-elf? What information do you carry?"

Falathiel stared into the bottomless cowl. "If I give you information, will you grant one request?"

The wraith's laugh was like steel scraping across rock. "You are in no position to bargain, little she-elf, but I will grant you your request."

Emboldened, Falathiel stood, face to face with the wraith. "Will you allow the others to return unharmed to the citadel if I tell you?"

"You are naïve, little elf. However, I will agree. But" the wraith hissed, seemingly in delight, "only because my armies will storm the citadel and kill your people. It does not matter me where they die, only that they die"

Falathiel nodded curtly, but her lip curled challengingly. "You should not write us off so soon."

"Take the offer, or leave the offer. It matters little what you do now."

"I will take up your offer."

The wraith shrieked an order to the orcs and goblins, who- with many snarls of anger- cut the elves free. Laerornor stood next to her, and took her hand. Falathiel gently pulled it away. Her eyes not leaving the wraith, she addressed the black haired elf in a manner befitting the princess when consulting a captain. "Captain, take these men back to the stronghold and prepare for battle."

Laerornor started to protest but a sharp glance silenced any argument. "It was not a request, Captain."

Laerornor bowed and backed away. "Yes ma'am."

The wraith cackled as the last of the khaki cloaks vanished into the darkening foliage, leaving Falathiel alone in the circle of evil. "You are alone, little elf. Can you feel the noose around your neck?"

It paced around her in an arc and came to a halt behind her, not a hands width away. Its breath tickled her neck as it leant in. "Can you feel it tighten?"

It resumed its pacing, slow calculating steps crunching methodically. "Curious, was it not, why that other elf obeyed you."

Falathiel stayed silent.

"Who are you little elf? Do you not remember our bargain?"

Falathiel lifted her chin. "I am Falathiel, daughter of Thranduil and Princess of Greenwood. I am both Captain of the guard and Commander of the Cavalry. And you, vile creature, have no business in our realm."

The wraith hissed another laugh. "Brave words, child. But words are not going to save you or your precious family."

Falathiel's stoic mask cracked for a split second as she processed the implications.

"Can you feel your rope necklace, little Princess? You've lost now and handed yourself -and very soon your family- over to me, leaving your realm defenceless."

Falathiel whipped around and darted for the trees, leaping past orcs like a gazelle in the spring, until a tendril of fog solidified around her ankle, sending her crashing to the ground, landing with a crunch on her already broken arm. The loss of blood, coupled with the renewed and intensified pain was enough to send her mind into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Thranduil watched over his elves as they began to clear the battle site and transport the wounded and the dead away from the stinking black carcases. He had long since shed the cumbersome weight of his mithril armour plates, opting instead to stay in his mithril mail. Legolas stood at his side, waiting for reports from the efforts. Like his father, he too had rid himself of his plates, but he wore no mithril chain. His hair had come loose from his braids and blew about his face in the breeze. Thranduil turned to his son, whose eyes immediately flicked upwards to meet his. "I want a report, commander."

Legolas dipped his head and recounted the estimated figures of the dead, as well as reciting the numbers of those missing and those being treated by the healers. As his son spoke, Thranduil's eyes gave him a once over, looking for the slightest speck of red or the briefest wavers of his strength; he found none, Legolas was alright.

Suddenly, the background whispers of the trees faded. The hand of every elf went to an available weapon, their eyes darting to and fro, searching for threats. Legolas unslung his bow and knocked an arrow in one fluid motion, brushing past his father to stand protectively in front.

All was still.

Then the trees whispered once more. The elves in the clearing relaxed and weapons drooped, some falling from the hands of their wielders from sheer relief and exhaustion. Only Legolas remained tense, though his bow was lowered slightly, and he ignored all that his father was saying. In a sudden burst of movement, he spun he spun around his father, kicking the King into the tent.

Thranduil spluttered indignantly and re-emerged from the tent, his temper rising steadily. However, he stopped as soon as he saw what had transpired.

Legolas stood with his bowstring drawn as far back as possible, the arrow pointed at the face of a warg rider. His body was taut and his face showed no emotion as he kept th creature in his sights. Thranduil brushed the fold of his tent door apart and stood beside his son. "Why do you not shoot, commander?"

The creature laughed and hissed, spittle flying everywhere. "I come in peace, Elvenking, to negotiate the terms of your surrender." It waved a crudely thrown together white flag, the greying material looking pristine in the orcs black hand.

Thranduil stared the orc down. "Speak, filthy creature. I would like to hear your preposterous terms."

The orc licked its lips with relish. "My masters will accept only total surrender of your realm. No other boon is needed or wanted."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "Now why would I do that, pray tell."

The orc cackled. "We have your precious little daughter and crushed the puny army she sent after us. Most of your remaining warriors are dead, leaving your citadel defenceless."

Thranduil paled and Legolas' arrow wavered slightly.

The orc continued. "If you surrender, we will allow your people to live under our rule. It is a simple exchange: you and your children for the lives of your people."

Legolas stepped forward. "How do we know you speak the truth? What proof do you have that you have the Princess?"

The orc threw something into the mud at the elves' feet, chortling as both elves stumbled over each other to pick it up. Thranduil cupped the signet ring in his palm, the band of mithril set with an amber gem seeming so small and fragile in his hand. A thin braid of curled brown hair was threaded through. Both elves felt their hearts plummet.

The orc cackled again. "The rope necklace tightens again, milords; you are powerless to stop it." It turned its mount. "You or your realm- the choice is yours"

Neither Thranduil nor Legolas moved to intercept the orc as it disappeared back into the shadows. Legolas lowered his bow. "The Gods have forsaken us. We must bow to their will."

Thranduil nodded absently. "Aye, we must. But we tell no one."

Legolas faced his father. "I will gather my weapons and leave a note of instructions for my captain in my tent."

Thranduil nodded his confirmation. "I will do the same." He pocketed both items in his breeches. "Meet me here at nightfall."

When Falathiel woke, the air was frigid, mist coiling around her. Gingerly, she touched her broken arm, hissing as she nudged the displaced bone. It was then that she realized that her wrists were bound with a length of leather to a large stake sunk deep into the earth. Around her neck was a noose of similar material that disappeared into the foliage above her.

She coughed, gaining the attention of the wraith and its minions. "I'm not really sure about this new getup. Leather's not really my style." Her attempts at sounding nonchalant fell flat, her voice croaky with disuse and thirst.

The wraith hissed. "You seem thirsty, little one. Would you like a drink?"

At the wraith's signal, an orc carrying a large wooden bucket lumbered over and tipped its contents over the elleth. Falathiel gasped at the temperature- her body promptly shivering at the cold- spluttering and coughing.

Suddenly, a warg carrying another orc skidded into the clearing, sending earth flying everywhere. The other orcs and foul creatures of the shadow crowded around in a hap-hazard ring, with the wraith advancing towards the messenger. The orc bowed upon his mount. "Master, the Elvenking and his son approach."

The wraith turned its incorporeal head towards the trembling princess. Falathiel felt her hands turn numb and her chest tighten from fear and dread. Then she realized that the numbness was coming from the tightening bonds around her wrists, restricting blood-flow.

The wraith glided towards Falathiel as her breaths came in wheezing gasps, the thong around her neck squeezing with each passing second. "Can you feel your rope-necklace now, little princess?"

Thranduil and Legolas burst into the clearing, weapons drawn and gleaming in the gloom.

The orcs swept towards them in a black tide, the two elves fell quickly to the mob of shadow.

The wraith took Falathiel's chin in a vice grip.

"You've lost, little girl."

The orcs pushed Thranduil to his knees before them, his face bloodied and scratched. Legolas was flung down beside him in a graceless heap of twisted limbs. He did not move.

"You've doomed them all."

Aaaand, we're stopping that at the massive cliffhanger...

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Fabled Warrior xxxxx