runando ~ A Thranduil Story

Tragic

Third Age, Year 13

Thranduil and Laineth didn't see each other very often after their first meeting. Obviously, the King was very busy doing whatever monarch's do, sorting trade agreements, assigning guards to new posts, et cetera. Laineth too was quite busy, she had her fair share of business and running around after the injured. Despite her apparent powers, she found herself becoming more and more exhausted by the constant influx of hunting accidents and elflings being cocky with their fathers' bows. However, she still found peace in the fact that she was helping people instead of hurting them as she had once done, long ago.

In a meeting with his advisers, Thranduil found himself bored, listening to one particularly old adviser by the name of Lomion drone on and on about how the Lord of Dale wasn't keeping up with the most recent trade agreement. Despite the palace being not overly entertaining, the Elvenking could think of many things to do instead of sitting high and mighty upon his throne while each of his advisers spoke up about trade and alliances.

He never really understood why he needed such deals. His kingdom seemed to be fine on its own, he imagined that if he set up some farms somewhere and explored the forest to find some caves that had some good minerals within them, the Greenwood could sustain itself and then it wouldn't need all these agreements with other lands. Alliances were unneeded as well, no one would dare try to invade through the forest, unless they knew to follow the path through the trees. To bring an army into his lands would be a massive waste of time and resources, it would take an army forever to reach his halls, enough time to evacuate the people and build up a sufficient defense.

In his mind, he didn't need anyone else.

Although, his mind began to be swayed as soon as a guard charged into the room. The King had wanted a change of scenery from the throne room, so the council was meeting in the King's study. It was much quieter, further away from the hustle and bustle of the palace. So, it was much more noticeable when Talion stumbled into the room, throwing the door almost off its hinges, slamming it against the wall.

Thranduil flung himself out of his chair, how dare Talion just walk on in on him and his council? Surely, he could've knocked or come back at a more convenient time. He was about to let his rage fly when he noticed the panic on Talion's face, the guard's eyes darting from the King to his advisers, catching his breath before he spoke.

"I apologize for interrupting, my Lord, but we have been attacked at one of the guard posts to the east of the palace. It was a band of orcs, rogue I suspect after their master was defeated. Nonetheless, they're deadly, we have many fatalities and injuries," Talion fumbled, trying to get the words out of his mouth whilst trying to breath steadily. He'd seen his fellow guardmen be brought in to be healed. There were far too many.

The King sighed, this was a rare occurrence. He knew of the bands of orcs that still roamed the east, but it was unusual for them to be so brash and outright attack his men. Now, he was concerned. While orc attacks hadn't increased over the years he'd ruled, they only happened once every few years, they'd never had too many fatalities. The most Thranduil could remember being killed on duty by orcs in one attack was four, just after he had been crowned. Looking up at his loyal guard, he sighed.

"Have the orcs been taken care of? They are eliminated, yes?"

Talion nodded, something else definitely on his mind.

Lomion, the old adviser who had originally been speaking, turned to Talion, "How many dead?" He queried.

Talion clenched his jaw, "Twelve guards, four townspeople. Half of the men posted there were killed. The rest were badly injured. The orcs got through the post and attacked some of the nearby townspeople. I lead my men out to defend, but we were too late. We defeated the orcs, they are all dead, but the injuries are at least in the late thirties or early forties."