Title: Meleth Vrêg
Chapter: Prologue
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@hithanaur.net
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from
the Tolkien world.  They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Archive: LoM, OEAM, Galadhrim.net, AFF.net, Melethryn
Rating: NC-17 overall
Beta: Larien
Cast: Thranduil/Glorfindel
Summary: Glorfindel is sent to Mirkwood when Legolas sends a letter
asking Lord Elrond's help with his father.  When the Balrog-slayer
arrives, he is not prepared for the changes he sees in the Elven-king.

---

The wolf crept closer to the edge of the foliage, sniffing the foul
air.  The wood in the south of Mirkwood had changed, and he rarely
traveled this far.  The trees were dark and the creatures dangerous. 
He crouched low to the ground and looked about with his yellow eyes.

Orcs, everywhere.  Darkness and sickness infected these woods.  They
hunted all that they could find, venturing closer and closer to the
stone halls of the Elven-king.  Webbing from the giant spiders hung
heavy in the boughs of the trees, corpses of various animals lay
suspended in the threads, tangled and lifeless.

The wolf's head snapped up as he heard the sound of dead branches
cracking under heavy, clumsy feet.  The scent of death and evil
assailed the wolf's senses and his flight instincts took over.  He
turned from the clearing he had been watching and darted through the
thick underbrush.

He was a powerful, large animal; he could bring down a full-grown buck
alone.  As he dashed through the dark and bleak woods, the sounds of
his pursuers close behind him, he reflected on his lonely state.  The
only being who spoke to him was the golden Elf-king.  The wolf felt a
kinship with the lonely Elf; the Elf's mate had perished just like the
wolf's had.  They shared their sadness.

But, the Elf had a pup, whom he spoke of often.  The wolf had a great
fondness for the King, which was why he had traveled so far from the
safe paths.  His friend had asked him to show him the woods' sickness,
and the wolf had been happy to repay the Elf's kindness.

Now, he ran.  He knew he could outrun the foul beasts, but he feared
the spiders that would follow in the deadly dark canopy of the haunted
wood.

The hiss of the spiders resounded in the still night, and he ran
faster.  He had to reach the safety of the unsullied wood, though
little yet remained, where the Elven-king's magics still protected all
life from the Shadow.  But, his muscles were beginning to tire.  He
had hoped to simply outrun them, but the spiders were quick.  He would
die here, a feast for the venomous beasts.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of new power, and he knew the Elf-king's
presence.  His limbs were rejuvenated, and he rushed through the
shadow; his senses were all focused on the light of the King's forest.

The wolf stopped when he was well within the Elf's magics, and he felt
the power leave him.  He limped to his small den, panting heavily. 
The Elf-king had seen what he needed, had shared the wolf's mind and
spirit for a brief moment in time.  He could still feel the strength
and serenity of the other's life force reverberating within him.

He collapsed to the ground and instantly fell into a fitful rest; his
mind was tormented by shadows and death.  Before he woke with the dawn
the following morning, the wolf thought briefly of his pup, which was
odd because he had never sired a pup, and certainly not the
golden-haired tad-dal that flashed through his mind.

TBC...

Elvish/English:
Tad-dal : biped (literally 'two-legged animal')

---

In the dark, dim light of the small room, Thranduil looked sightlessly
ahead of him.  His eyes blazed silver, but no one was there to see. 
After a few moments, the mithril shade slowly turned glittering
emerald.  Thranduil let out a long, shuddering sigh and hung his head
in his hands.

This dark force was slowly consuming his woods, and he felt powerless
to stop it.  He moved his realm further north from his father's
original settlement after the Gladden Fields disaster, and he and his
people had dug into the earth like Dwarves, seeking to protect
themselves from the evil of Dol Guldur.  Thranduil stood from his seat
and looked about in a daze, as if seeing the small, rough-hewn niche
for the first time.  He felt rage boil from deep within him, a
violent, territorial fury that caused him to fist his hands and let
loose a hoarse, raw scream of frustration.

He felt the sting of tears come to his eyes, and he was swallowed by a
tide of helplessness.  Thranduil thought briefly on his father. 
Oropher would never have permitted the Shadow to consume as much of
the Greenwood as it had... he would never have allowed it to become
Mirkwood.  He felt a surge of anger toward a father who had
ill-prepared his son for ruling a people.  Oropher had thought himself
indestructible and had paid little attention to his headstrong son,
and Thranduil had spent most of his days riding through Greenwood,
rather than learning the ways of a King.

When he and the remaining third of his father's warriors returned to
Greenwood following the fall of Barad-dûr, he was thrust onto the
throne, and a crown placed on his head.  How he had tried to live up
to his father's legacy.  Though none of his subjects ever gave
complaint, Thranduil was sure he was lacking in their eyes.  He was
not Oropher, and instead of defending their homes in Emyn Duir, he had
fled north and dug these halls.  He knew his father would be as
ashamed of him as he was of himself.

Oropher had ruled with a firm but compassionate hand.  The great King
had taken the dispersed Silvan Elves residing in Greenwood and created
a thriving, growing realm.  Their numbers increased and their lives
were all enriched by the rule of Oropher.  Thranduil had always felt
he was different than his father.  He loved the woods, loved the
animals and the healing arts, but Oropher was a warrior and had
insisted his only son be such as well.  Thranduil had eagerly agreed
to the training when he learned Oropher would teach him.

He had been mesmerized while watching his father with knives or sword. 
Oropher was like a shining beacon of goodness and strength to his
wide-eyed son.  Thranduil never felt his skills with blade or knife
had equaled his father, but little could match the fluid dance Oropher
could perform in training or on the field of battle.  But, Thranduil
tried, and Oropher had been proud of the talent his son showed for
warfare.  Thranduil then quickly abandoned his passion of healing for
the feel of cold steel and the rush of battle.

Oropher had created a prospering community of Elves who needed little
outside assistance.  The Silvan Elves happily farmed and hunted, never
wasting anything they had.  The Sindar who accompanied Oropher from
the west meshed into their Silvan cousins' traditions and lifestyle,
leaving behind the more complicated lives of Lindon.  Thranduil
watched all flourish beneath Oropher's rule and had thought his father
invincible.  He believed he would never ascend to the throne of
Greenwood and he continued his life, wiling away the years in the
forest.

Then they had marched with Gil-galad.  Thranduil had watched his
people fall, had seen his beautiful and spirited father driven into
the Dead Marshes and slaughtered with Amdir's warriors.  Thranduil's
heart still ached at the loss of the Silvan Elves.  The Noldor, under
Gil-galad, had lost many, but nothing compared to the loss of
Greenwood and Lorien.  Both realms lost their Kings, both realms lost
their people, and both heirs accepted roles they had never thought
they would be given.

The only light in his dismal existence since the loss of his father
was Legolas.  The golden being was what Thranduil considered the only
thing he ever did right.  Legolas had been born shortly after the
return of the small host from the Last Alliance.  He had been one of
many children born when the Wood Elves began to repopulate their
realm.  Thranduil had lost his wife to Dol Guldur, though; many years
after Legolas had reached his majority.  Since then, the King had been
lonely and solitary, spending most of his days in the last of the
unaffected woods.

Thranduil was proud of the Elf Legolas had grown to be.  The Prince
was a skilled diplomat and a soothing presence within the dark
confines of the caves.  Legolas brought light and laughter to the
echoing halls and his people adored the young Prince.  Thranduil had
taken great care in preparing Legolas for ruling Mirkwood, though the
Elven-king had hoped to leave a bright and flourishing forest for his
son to inherit.

But, his own weakness had led to the polluting of the Greenwood and
now the forest was infected just as his own heart was.  He could feel
the slow decay of the wood, could feel a little of himself lost with
each tree taken, each animal turned, and every stream blackened.  One
thing Thranduil had that his father had not: he had a soul-deep
connection with the forests and rivers of Mirkwood.  Thranduil knew
all the trees and every animal that resided within his protection.  He
also knew their sadness and heartache when that protection failed
them.

A tear spilled down his cheek and he let out a long, shuddering sigh. 
So much lost, and he fought with all he was to maintain what ground he
still held.  The wolf could have been taken this night, and Thranduil
felt he had betrayed his trust when the spiders had almost caught him. 
The Elven-king did something then he had never done before.  He merged
himself with the spirit of the wolf and offered the creature his
endurance and strength.  His friend had made it back to the protected
woods.  But how much longer before even the magics of Thranduil would
cease to offer comfort to the animals of Mirkwood?

Thranduil's head snapped up and he sniffed at the air.  He could smell
the distinct scent of his son.  Thranduil closed his eyes and inhaled
deeply, smiling to himself for a moment as oak and sunlight wafted
over him.  His brow furrowed, though, when the sour smell of
apprehension cut through the pleasant aroma of his son.  Thranduil
opened his eyes and frowned, calling out to Legolas.  "Ion," he said,
his voice gruff and short.

Legolas crept into the room, his head high and his shoulders squared. 
He looked at his father with a curious expression.  "Ada, you knew I
was there?"  Thranduil nodded.  "How?  You should not have been able
to hear or sense me."

"I could smell you, ion," he said, pointing to his nose.

"Smell me?" Legolas asked in disbelief.  "Ada, are you well?"

Thranduil nodded and walked to stand in front of his son.  "I am well,
Legolas.  Is there something you needed?"

"You left before you finished your evening meal, and it is well after
mid-night.  I grew worried when you did not come to bed and came
looking for you, Ada.  Has something happened?"  Legolas' bright, open
eyes caught and kept Thranduil's emerald ones, worry and love shining
from the bright orbs.

"The wood is dying, Legolas."

"I know, Ada," the young Sinda replied softly.  "Is that why you seek
solitude?"

Thranduil ignored the question.  "A glamhoth has been sent out.  They
will be in our wood in less than a day." (orc-host)

"How do you know this?" Legolas asked, seeing the answer reflected in
his father's eyes even as the words left his lips.  "Nannech ad
flâdnorol!" (You were skinriding again!)

"And?" Thranduil warned, narrowing his eyes.

"You know the dangers better than I, Ada.  The wood grows dark; you
have said so yourself.  Every tree we lose to the Shadow draws a
little more strength from you.  What if you were unable to return? 
What if the animal were to be killed?! 

"The healers remember well those many years ago when the hawk you were
riding was shot down.  Three days and nights you lay still as death
while they battled fever and delusions until you at last returned to
yourself.  That was before the fall of Dol Guldur, and you were at
full strength, Ada.  If that were to happen now, you may never
return!"  The words were harsh, but Legolas' eyes held more pleading
and fear than anger.  The power his father drew from the forest was
fading, more than anyone knew and more than Thranduil would admit.  He
was afraid that his father would continue to take these risks until he
found himself stranded or killed.

"Would you rather the orcs took us by surprise, hacking and burning a
path to our door?"  Thranduil stood up, towering over Legolas in the
confined space.

Legolas took a step back, but retorted quickly, raising his voice. 
"Of course not!  But we have *patrols*, Ada!  It is not necessary for
you to keep watch on the entire Fuinglad yourself!" (Mirkwood)

"If I don't, who will?  The trees *scream*, Legolas!  Can your patrols
silence them?  I must do what I can to help my realm and my people!" 
Thranduil's head snapped around, as though hearing a distant sound. 
He rushed down the passage, pushing Legolas aside as he did so.

The Prince stumbled, but recovered himself and ran after his father. 
Thranduil's speed surprised Legolas, and by the time Legolas emerged
into the main hall, Thranduil had disappeared.

*****

Thranduil cut through the forest with practiced ease.  His rage fueled
him and gave him speed he'd not known possible.  Only when Thranduil
heard a new sound amongst the cacophony of the wood did he slow,
catching a low branch and swinging into the safety of a tree.  He
listened again.  It was Legolas and six -- no, seven -- bowmen setting
out after him on horseback.  The range of his hearing astonished him;
the Halls were more than three leagues from his position, but
Thranduil could clearly hear Legolas calling orders to the detachment.

He turned his senses south and listened for the glamhoth.  The trees
whispered to him, passing along the orcs' location from ash to oak and
maple to beech.  They were closer now, but still a fair distance from
the healthy wood.  A sound began low in the back of his throat, and
Thranduil was only mildly surprised to realize it was a growl.  And
why not, he decided.  This was still his realm.  What right did these
intruders have to come with their axes and torches?

Thranduil could see the sky begin to lighten through the canopy of
leaves.  The orcs would have to stop soon and burrow in the diseased
earth lest the sunlight scorch them.  Elves did not have that problem,
though, so the Sinda King leapt from the branch and hit the ground
running.  Legolas would not be stopping either, and Thranduil was
determined to reach the orcs before his son reached him.

He called out to the animals as he ran, asking their pardon for
cutting through territory and entreating their assistance.  Most of
the beasts of this land knew the Elf-lord as a friend and kept the way
clear for him.  Where a raging stream would have slowed passage, a
bear pushed a tree down to form a bridge.  Where a jaguar waited for a
meal and would not be moved, a pack of jackals taunted the cat until
it gave up and sought another feeding ground.  When Thranduil felt the
pull of hunger, the rabbits dug up turnips and carrots and laid them
along his path.

His Elven endurance added to his unparalleled speed, and he reached
the border of the clean wood several hours before nightfall.  The
Sinda relaxed in the shade of a particularly large tree and looked
back toward the north.  He had just run nearly forty leagues in a
little over eight hours, and he was barely winded.  He could no longer
hear Legolas and the others; he was simply too far ahead of them.

The glamhoth, though, he could hear as though they were beside him. 
Even under the ground, Thranduil could hear their uneasy slumber, the
unholy grunts they made even in their sleep.  But those sounds were
not the only ones he heard.  He had visited this same area a month ago
and had been struck by the stillness.  The animals seemed to have
forsaken this place because of the corruption that lay so near.  Now,
though, Thranduil could not believe he'd ever thought the area silent. 
He could pick up the trickling sound of tiny brooks, the tittering of
squirrels in boltholes they'd found in the trees, even the burrowing
of earthworms inching through the soil.  So much life was left here. 
So much that he could not allow to be taken from the world.

Thranduil stayed in "his" part of the woods, drawing strength from the
trees and rivers, for a further three hours.  When the sky first began
to darken, he prepared to cross the threshold.  It was not yet night,
but Anor had passed far enough that the thick cover and strangling
vines of the corrupted forest would shield the glamhoth from the rays.

Just as he was about to continue his journey, he picked up the sound
of the horses that had been following him.  Thranduil calculated they
were perhaps two hours away, judging by the sound of their pace.  So
much the better.  By the time they got there, he would be gone.  He
summoned up all his rage and hatred for the destroyers and corrupters
that lay ahead and charged forward with a speed to make his former
pace seem like a leisurely stroll.

In a matter of minutes, Thranduil was within sight of the shambling
horde.  Perhaps twenty orcs were digging themselves from the ground,
pulling their disfigured forms into the air.  Thranduil hid in the
underbrush surrounding this clearing and reflected on his options. 
Only now did he stop to consider that he was alone, unarmed, and
hopelessly outnumbered.

But, no, he suddenly realized that he wasn't alone.  He caught a
familiar scent from the other side of the clearing.  He looked in that
direction and saw a gleam reflecting back at him.  His wolf-friend had
obviously detected Thranduil's passage and followed him here.  His
lips parted in a feral grin, and his muscled tensed.

A moment later, both predators leapt into the clearing with twin howls
of fury.

*****

Ithil was high in the sky when Legolas and his party reached the
clearing.  The Prince had never seen any creature move as fast for as
long as Thranduil had.  He ran as though the Dark Lord himself were
following.  Legolas had not known what to expect when he arrived. 
He'd feared the worst, of course; that his father would be killed by
the orcs, torn apart and utterly destroyed.  But when he entered that
clearing, he instantly realized that fate was not the worst one after
all.  What he saw, however, *was*.

The smell of rotting flesh hung in the air like a fog.  The horses
refused to cross beyond the trees, and Legolas had to lead the archers
on foot.  Blood coated the ground, and orc bodies lay strewn along the
field.  Few of the corpses were whole, though: arms and legs had been
torn off and tossed aside; chests lay open and shredded.  And in the
middle of it was the most disturbing sight of all.

His father lay on the ground sleeping beside a massive wolf.  The two
were curled together, nose to... well, tail.  Black orc blood was
splattered across both of them.  The wolf's muzzle and paws were
coated in the ichor, as were both of Thranduil's arms all the way to
the elbow.  Both wolf and Elf twitched their noses as they picked up
the new scent.  Apparently, they deemed Legolas to be safe, because
they barely stirred.

"Oh, Ada," whispered Legolas, "what have you done?"

TBC...

---

The letter asking for Lord Elrond's help had been written in a swift
hand; it had been smudged and slightly torn as well.  Elrond had
immediately feared for his dear friend and informed Erestor he would
leave immediately.  Erestor convinced Elrond to permit Glorfindel to
see to Thranduil first, and then send word to Imladris if Elrond was
truly needed.  The Elf-lord had reluctantly agreed, and the Seneschal
had set out the very next day with a small escort. 

Glorfindel was more than willing to make the journey; the King of
Mirkwood was a most valuable ally.  Now, though, as he motioned for
his companions to follow him into the dense woods, he began to regret
that decision.  They had lost a lot of time crossing the Anduin, for
the rains had been plentiful this season, and the river was strong. 
The troupe was forced to travel far along the riverbank to a more
suitable crossing, and was now two days late in meeting the Prince of
Mirkwood.

"My Lord?  I do not see any welcoming escort; we should wait here.  It
is not safe to venture through the wood until a guide arrives."  His
Captain looked about anxiously, and Glorfindel had to stifle a
chuckle.

"The escort is already here, Celonoll, we are simply not supposed to
see them yet."  Glorfindel nudged Asfaloth further into Thranduil's
realm, keeping his eyes on the trees.  As he expected, he did not see
the Wood Elves until they had his entire party surrounded.  The archer
smiled and approached him; Glorfindel thought the young Prince looked
worn and exhausted.  "Prince Legolas?"

The Sinda bowed low and then looked up at him.  "Lord Glorfindel." 
Legolas quirked one eyebrow and smirked.  "You are late.  We have been
watching for you the past three days."

"Forgive me, my Lord.  We had some difficulty at the Anduin.  But, we
are here now and are at your disposal.  Lord Elrond will join us in
two weeks; he has sent me ahead to aid you as I can."  Glorfindel
swiftly dismounted and kneeled before the Prince.

Legolas reached down and touched Glorfindel's shoulder.  "Come,
mellonen, it is time for you to see my father." (my friend) 
Glorfindel stood and remounted, motioning for his companions to follow
the Prince.

Along the short journey to Thranduil's halls, Glorfindel tried to
question Legolas further about his father's behavior.  "Your letter
told us that your father has been troubled for some weeks now."

Legolas did not look at him.  "We can discuss my father's behavior
after you have seen him, my Lord."  Glorfindel could see Legolas was
hiding something.  Could the situation possibly be worse than was
revealed in the hastily scrawled correspondence?

The horses were swiftly handled and Glorfindel turned to look about
the clearing before Thranduil's home.  His eyes landed on a great
shadow moving just inside the protection of the trees.  Glorfindel
narrowed his eyes, straining to make out what was watching them.

"He watches us.  He always comes when someone arrives."  Legolas'
quiet voice broke Glorfindel's concentration and the Balrog-slayer
turned to the Prince.

"Who?"  Legolas motioned toward the line of trees again and the shadow
came forward, just enough that the late afternoon light illuminated
it.  A great wolf, larger than any Glorfindel had seen, watched him
closely; the yellow-green eyes regarded him with cautious curiosity. 
"Why do you not dissuade it from coming so close to the compound?"

Glorfindel heard the amusement in Legolas' voice when the Sinda
answered him.  "We have tried, my Lord."  Glorfindel tore his eyes
from the wolf's hypnotic gaze, meeting Legolas' with a growing unease
unfurling within his breast.

"And?"

The smirk reappeared on the young Prince's lips.  "And, though he is a
wild beast, he has shown a remarkable ability to express his...
distaste at being 'dissuaded' from coming so close to the halls.  He
has not caused serious injury, but he has made his point clear to us:
he will not be moved.  Now, please, follow me, my Lord.  The King
awaits."

Legolas led Glorfindel through the winding, dark halls Thranduil and
his people had delved centuries before.  The Elda noticed that Legolas
fidgeted with something in his pocket and his fair face had become
pensive. 

"You must understand, Lord Glorfindel," Legolas said softly.  "Adar
has not been himself for an entire cycle of Ithil.  There has been a
steady deterioration of what and who he was."  More silence followed
and Glorfindel wondered if he should not have brought the Lord of
Imladris with him after all. 

Legolas stopped suddenly before a bolted door and turned bright,
imploring eyes to the puzzled Elda.  "He is ashamed of what he has
become, but he cannot help his new nature.  I... I have tried to reach
out to him; but he is threatened by me.  I am his progeny, and I am
well into adulthood.  Adar feels he must vie with me for dominance."

Glorfindel smiled down at Legolas.  "You speak of him as if he were an
animal."

The Prince turned his gaze to the door.  "Aye," he choked out.

The Seneschal's eyes followed Legolas' hand.  The Prince unlocked the
door and it swung open on well-greased hinges.  Legolas motioned for
Glorfindel to enter the dark room.  "I will follow and bring a
candle."  He nodded and stepped forward.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light of the large room.  To his
left was a massive stone hearth, cold and unused.  The chamber was
sparsely furnished, if one could call the room furnished at all.  What
Glorfindel could assume was the bed, was tipped against the wall in
the corner by the hearth.  Feathers from the mattress were strewn
everywhere.  Glorfindel peered closer at the overturned bed and saw
the mattress was torn apart where it lay inside the hollow between the
bed and the wall.

Glorfindel could smell the stale scent of blood.  Light poured from
the candle Legolas brought into the room, and Glorfindel looked
directly beside him and saw the red stains on the floorboards.  "What
is this?" he whispered more to himself than to the Prince.  He jumped
slightly and whirled around to face the Sinda when the sound of the
door latching echoed through the silent room.  "You lock it when you
enter?"

"It is for the best," Legolas said softly.

The Elda continued to sweep the room with his eyes looking for the
inhabitant of the chamber.  He saw no one.  "Legolas, what is all
this?  And what is that?"  Glorfindel pointed to the long, slender
pipe Legolas held in his hand, clutched to his chest.

A guttural chuckle rang through the room.  "That is for when I have
been a naughty Elf."

Glorfindel's gaze quickly darted to the far right corner of the room. 
Crouching low, his fingers resting gently on the planked floor, was
the King of Mirkwood.  "Thranduil?" he asked haltingly.  The wild mane
of golden hair parted as Thranduil raised his head; Glorfindel gasped
when the King's eyes reflected the light from the low candle, like the
cats and dogs they kept as pets in Imladris.  "The wolf," he breathed.

Thranduil stood with a fluid grace no Elf possessed and smiled at him. 
"The wolf," he said, the timbre of his voice pitched low.

He took a step toward Thranduil, his eyes caught by the dangerous glow
of the Sinda's yellow-green eyes.  This was still an Elf before him,
but not.  Thranduil's eyes would reflect the light depending on how he
turned his head, and Glorfindel could tell the King had become bulkier
than most Elves.  He gasped when his eyes trailed down the long,
powerful arms.  Thranduil's hands were still slender and elegant
looking, but the nails had grown and his hands now resembled claws
ready to kill more than hands made for scrolls and quills.

Glorfindel continued to approach Thranduil, his eyes never leaving the
King's form.  "By the Valar, Thranduil," he sighed.  "What has
happened to you?"

"Happened?" the King asked, raising a perfect golden eyebrow.  "I am
changing, Lord Glorfindel.  Or, actually, changed is more
appropriate."

He stood but an arm's length from the feral Sinda and openly gaped at
him.  Glorfindel watched Thranduil lick his lips suggestively, the
sharp, elongated fangs of his upper and lower incisors sending a wave
of apprehension washing through him.  He felt nailed to the floor,
unable to tear his eyes from the King, unable to retreat from the
figure standing but a few feet away.

Quicker than his eyes could follow, Thranduil had his clawed fingers
wrapped around his throat.  The flow of air into his lungs was
hindered and he brought both of his hands up to claw at the King's
grip.  Thranduil leaned in and sniffed him, the untamed, wide eyes
watching his frightened face.  When Thranduil came closer, his breath
caressed the Elda's ear, and Glorfindel felt his heart speed.  The
Sinda's scent was wild and Glorfindel felt himself, surprisingly,
becoming aroused.

The King growled into his ear and Glorfindel shuddered.  "If my son
were not standing but a few feet away, Elf, I would pin you to the
floor beneath me and take you hard."  Glorfindel let out a choked
groan when Thranduil's warm, wet tongue lapped at his neck.

Just as suddenly as the hand had appeared, it dropped from his neck. 
Glorfindel gasped and watched Thranduil fall to the floor in a limp
heap.  He turned wide eyes to Legolas; the Prince was lowering the
pipe from his mouth.

"We always carry something to make him sleep if he grows unruly,"
Legolas sad sadly.  "I did not know he would harm you, my Lord.  He
has never done that before."  Legolas brought his gaze back to
Glorfindel.  "Come, let us leave before he wakes.  He usually isn't
very pleased when we have done this to him."

"I can imagine," Glorfindel mumbled, rubbing his throat, as they
exited the dark, still chamber.

*****

They finished their meal and Glorfindel sipped his wine thoughtfully. 
"So, he used the wolf, and from what you can understand, when they
separated, he took some of the wolf with him?"

"Aye.  And some of him remains with the wolf."  Legolas wiped
delicately at his mouth.  "We have been unable to stop the changes, so
we have tried our best to make him comfortable."

Glorfindel regarded him coolly.  "You use a poisoned dart and call
that making him comfortable?"

"My Lord," Legolas said, a spark of anger lighting his eyes.  "He is
dangerous.  I could not risk him..."  The Prince stopped himself
suddenly and looked away from the Elf-lord.

"Risk him doing what, ernilen?"  Glorfindel leaned forward, his eyes
narrowed in suspicion.

Legolas stood up from the table and quickly unlaced his lose shirt,
exposing his chest and neck.  Glorfindel gasped.  Bruises marred the
porcelain flesh, obviously inflicted by hands wrapped tightly around
the Prince's throat, shallow gouges, several days old, marked his
sides and chest.  "He pinned me to the door so that no one could enter
the room to help me.  I still do not know why he did not kill me." 
Tortured azure eyes, sparkling with unshed tears, met his.  "I want my
Ada back, Glorfindel," he said in an unsteady voice.  "That is all I
want.  I had hoped Lord Elrond could find him for me.  Now, that hope
lies with you."

Glorfindel averted his eyes as Legolas refastened his shirt.  "I will
do all I can, pen-neth.  And I will start by asking you for the key to
his room.  I wish to sit with him for a bit."

The Prince gasped.  "He would have killed you if I had not been there,
my Lord!  I cannot allow you into the room without someone to come to
your aid."

"Legolas," Glorfindel said gently, returning his gaze to the concerned
Sinda.  "Your father would not have harmed me, of that I am certain. 
Trust me, ernilen.  Give me the key."

Legolas chewed his lip for a moment, looking for all the world to
Glorfindel as a lost child, before reaching in his pocket and handing
him the key.  "Let us go to the kitchen, my Lord," the Prince said. 
"It is time for him for to eat.  You can take him his meal."

*****

"You're feeding him *that*?!"  Glorfindel stared blankly at the metal
platter piled high with half a stone's worth of strips of raw venison,
bone, and other parts that the Elda tried hard *not* to identify.

Legolas nodded solemnly, pointedly looking away from the platter. 
"Aye, twice a day.  He will eat nothing else."

"Nothing?"

"For a time, he could stomach the roots and vegetables that grow in
the forest.  He ate his meat cooked, and drank wines and juices.  It
did not last long, though.  The wolf... kept changing him.  Now, he
eats what the wolf eats, and we have found half-eaten potatoes dug up
with the marks of wolf teeth."

"Wolves do not eat potatoes," Glorfindel said slowly, as if in a daze.

"This one does," Legolas replied, with the first trace of real smile
curling his lips since Glorfindel arrived.  "Go now.  Ada will be
waking soon."

Glorfindel nodded and took the platter from the uncertain chefs,
winding his way through the corridors to Thranduil's chambers.  He
held the tray easily in his left hand as he unlocked the door and
slipped inside, lifting the sconce from the holder beside the
entrance.  Remembering Legolas' words earlier, he reluctantly locked
the door behind him before casting his eyes around the room for the
troubled King.

The prone form still lay crumpled on the floor where he'd fallen
earlier.  Glorfindel took a long moment to examine Thranduil and his
surroundings.  Though the room had been transformed into little more
than an animal's den, it was remarkably tidy, and so was Thranduil. 
The Sinda's clothes were clean and pristine.  His hair, though wild
and unruly, was clearly washed.  It was also obvious that Thranduil
was disposing of his waste in the normal fashion among Elves, for
there was no stench in the air.

Glorfindel sighed and turned to his left, setting the tray down on the
floor in the middle of the large rust-colored stain.  The smell of the
raw flesh and organs was beginning to nauseate him, and the indignity
of it all disgusted him.  He turned back toward the sleeping Thranduil
once more before leaving.

Thranduil wasn't there, though.  He'd moved while Glorfindel's back
was turned, and again, Glorfindel's senses hadn't detected it.  There
was something unnerving about that, the Elda thought.  He was edgy,
paranoid.  It was an unfamiliar feeling for the warrior -- the feeling
of being the hunted.

"You take a great risk coming here alone, Glorfindel of Gondolin."

The voice sounded from behind him.  Glorfindel spun on his heel and
found Thranduil's piercing gaze mere inches from his own.  The Elf
could have killed him, and Glorfindel would have had no chance.  He
took a careful step back.

Thranduil nodded, as if reading the thought.  "You do well to be wary
of me."

Glorfindel hardened his resolve and stared back into the glowing eyes. 
"Your dinner, my Lord" he offered.

Thranduil's nostrils flared, and he snorted derisively.  "It seems
strange to call a steaming pile of entrails 'dinner', does it not?" 
Before Glorfindel could form a response, Thranduil turned and walked
to the far side of the tray, dropping down into a crouch and looking
up at the Balrog-slayer.  "It's almost too much to bear, isn't it?" he
continued as he carefully picked up a strip of flesh and tore at it
with his sharpened incisors.  "Standing there, seeing me like this. 
The Great King of Mirkwood reduced to eating raw meat off the floor."

Glorfindel watched with grotesque fascination as Thranduil ripped the
meat apart with claw-like hands and razor-sharp teeth.  "I can
understand having to eat... what you eat," he began, trying to
maintain some semblance of aplomb, "but why...?"

"Why like this?  Why on the floor with my hands when I sound so
lucid?"  Thranduil held his hands up, and Glorfindel could see the
fingers remained slightly curled due to the weight of the thickened
nails.  "I can no longer hold fork or knife, and my body can no longer
find comfort in chairs.  What you see is my last defense against slow
starvation."  He lifted a large glistening piece of dark red flesh
with both hands and brought it to his lips.  Glorfindel's eyes widened
as he realized it was the buck's liver.  Thranduil growled slightly in
the back of his throat as he bit down into the swollen organ.  Blood
streamed down the Sinda's chin and forearms, staining the once-clean
tunic and adding to the stain on the floor.

Thranduil looked up suddenly, wiping his mouth with the back of his
hand.  The blood smeared across his face, a dark contrast against his
pale skin.  His eyes narrowed and his stare bored into Glorfindel. 
"Just go.  I know you want to.  No one wants to stay and see this. 
You have already stayed longer than anyone else."

The loneliness in Thranduil's voice made Glorfindel's heart ache for
him.  He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.  "I'm not going
anywhere," he said finally, pushing down his rising gorge.

Thranduil's eyes reflected silent gratitude for an instant before he
returned to his meal.  Neither said another word until the King ate
the last of what had been prepared for him.  When he slid the empty
tray toward Glorfindel and began licking the remaining fluids from his
fingers and hands, he looked again at the Elda.  "I must rest.  Go
now," he said quietly.

Glorfindel nodded and picked up the platter.  He unlocked the door and
stepped through in silence.  Just before the door closed again,
though, he heard Thranduil's husky voice say, "Hannon len." (thank
you)

TBC...