Chapter Text
Legolas may just be going insane.
How long has it been since he spoke to another again?
Radagast said he wouldn't be gone too long after his last visit. But during his last visit he had also looked afraid.
He can only guess a week.
It is dark all the time now, the best he can do to keep track of the passing of time is light candles. But it is such an easy thing to forget to do once you are used to the dark.
A week (maybe) since Radagast's last visit, 8 years(ISH? since he last spoke verbally to one of his people, almost 10 years (or so) since... Since night fell, and then simply never left.
Chains clink, metal creaks. Clink, creak, scratch, scratch, clink, clink, creak, rattle-
"Ada stop."
There is a hiss in response.
"As you always said to me, I am only doing what is best for you, sit still." He talks to his father, as though he can still understand.
Maybe he can? Deep down.
Maybe words still mean something. Maybe The Prince of the Mirkwood hasn't lost his damned mind and begun talking to what is already dead.
No.
They're not dead.
Their hearts still beat, Radagast said so.
It is the only thought that keeps Legolas going some days.
Rattle, rattle-
"Ada sit still or I'll simply cut your hair and save myself the trouble."
He wouldn't.
He hasn't cut anyone's hair, he washes them, braids them, clothes them, feeds them.
Every single Elf gets a routine.
Which leaves Legolas's own routine...
Did he eat today?
Perhaps. Perhaps not. He fed everyone else breakfast, forced water down their throats in slow, tedious sips, massaging their necks, mindful of his fingers near their mouths because he knows-
He looks to the bite that sits over his father's long fingers, blackened with an almost spider web pattern of raised veins moving up his wrist and arm.
A bite is all it takes.
"There, that wasn't so difficult." The braids are not complicated, not as ornate as some used to wear, but he tries. He places the Crown of Spring upon his father's head and sits back to look him over.
Delicate blue and yellow flowers adorn thin, woven stems and wicker. It is a spot of colour in the bleakness Legolas feels.
Radagast tries to bring fresh flowers, sitting in flower pots with earth from far away places.
But they cannot survive here.
Legolas told him to stop after watching too many of them wither with naught he could do to stop it.
The Woodland Crown however, is a special thing, it blooms and dies with each season as it should, blossoming in Spring, flowering in Summer, turning leaf in the Autumn and falling bare in the Winter. His Father is King, sickness or not. Legolas is not King, n'or will he ever be. Not now.
"Stop trying to bite me." Legolas huffs as he straightens the crown once more when his father lunges forward, snapping his teeth at his son.
His skin is grey, almost translucent, and once frosted blue eyes sit blackened in his skull. Sockets sunken and bruised dark, there is no light in Thranduil's gaze. No difference between pupil, iris or sclera.
Legolas is no longer afraid of him, that much he can say. Perhaps it is because he is insane, perhaps it is because he is giving up.
No. Not yet.
"The Spiders keep trying to leave the Wood. It is strange. Once that would have been a good thing, don't you think? Now I just know I cannot let that happen. They must stay within these woods." He talks as he manoeuvres his father awkwardly, trying to keep distance between them as he pushes the King towards his bedroom door. "I will go out and thin their numbers today I think." Like he has not been doing this every day for the past 50 years with his kin, ,and almost every week the years before it got so bad, and every month or so the years before that. Now he does it alone.
Things got worse indeed, steadily, and then all at once.
Legolas is not sure how fare the outside Kingdoms, Radagast never brings ill news... But is that only to keep Legolas's mind intact?
What if all is lost? What if all are dead? What if Legolas is the last creature in-
"Ada, stop trying to bite and watch where you walk, if you fall again I'm not getting you up you can stay down for the rest of the day..." He wants as Thranduil pulls him from his dread filled musings with a sudden thrashing motion.
The King hisses, and there is a symphony of responding sounds. Chittering, growling, clink clink, rattle rattle, chains pulling taught and scratching at the walls. All awake, all clamouring, hearing the footfalls of someone new, someone they have not grown used to and accepted not being able to take a bite of.
Radagast must be back.
"Aí, I have not prepared anything for his visit..." He wrestles his father into his throne, and chains his arms and legs down firmly, as is routine. As makes sense, as was before, as to keep Legolas from completely losing his mind. "Do you think he brings glad tidings? Perhaps something came of the last blood sample?"
Nothing had come of the previous blood samples. Or the hair, or the nails, skin, saliva or the few that had died or the hours, the days, Radagast had spent with one of the ailing Elves trying desperately to remove whatever poison sits within their body and mind.
A boot catches him in the jaw and Legolas stumbles back, hands braced behind himself as he flares at his Father in offence. "I am sure you can still tell when my mind wanders to dark things!" He rubs at the ache before he rises back to his knees for the struggle to wrangling Thranduil's leg back into place
There is a thump, thump upon the stone gate to the Halls and Legolas frowns.
Radagast knows how to open them- He tightens the knot by his father's knee as there is another thump.
The Elf's ears twitch as he turns to look through the darkened halls towards the great doors.
Thranduil makes a chittering croak-
"No." Legolas snaps quickly, pointing at his father's face as he gracefully rises to his feet. "Hush and stay here." He climbs down, using the walls instead of the stairs, to get to the lower level where the entrance hall sits below the throne room and he hesitates, steps faltering as he approaches the stone doors to the outside.
He can hear someone's voice, grumping and irritated, so he presses one ear against the cool stone to listen.
"Bloody Elves, 12 Ravens sent and do they reply? Nae, not once, rude is what it is. I had to fight through web and spider to get here and they won't even open the doors! Ye would think an invite to a coronation would be cause for at least a reply but never mind. Not a 'sorry can't make it' or even just a 'Go fuck yeself' would do!" Another heavy set of knocks, the handle of an axe slamming into the stone heavily. "Alright Gimli, there's a reason they chose to send you, diplomacy and manners in the face of adversary. Or... Eerily silent woodland. Don't Elves have good hearing'? I know they can bloody hear me." The stranger pauses. "Unless... Something is wrong." He sounds certain, tone of voice shifting from irritation to concern. There is another round of knocks. "Anybody home? Anybody alive? Ach do not make me be the one to return to my kin and tell them all the Elves are dead..."
Legolas blinks, having frozen at the sound of another's voice. Not his own ramblings, not Radagast's disjointed mutterings.
Somebody sane. A dwarf perhaps? It sounds like one- no. This is not safe, he needs to be gone from here. There will be more Spiders, there are always more.
The being clears his throat, and then speaks louder. "Elves of the Mirkwood! I come baring missive from Erebor, ye did not reply to the sent Ravens and we were unsure if they simply did not make it through the ah... Dense woods." The dark, the death, the rot. "I would hope that since the reclaiming of Erebor and the Battle of the Five Armies our relations have mended somewhat for ye to hear our words?"
Legolas shifts, tense and shaking as he moves to stand by thin slits in the wood to the side of the door. "More Spiders come, you must go." He utters in a rush, tongue heavy in his mouth as he speaks to another for the first time in what... Should not feel like such a long time for a being such as himself.
"Ah! There be life! A voice but no face." A tight chuckle, offended, but keeping up the performance of polite conversation. "I can fight the Spiders off, I assure ye. Though I would nae need to if ye opened the door and heard my message."
"It is not safe for you here."
"...Do ye threaten me?"
Legolas snorts, resting his forehead upon the slowly rotting wood of what was once such a grand tree. "Not me, no, but nothing survives here for long. Not anymore..."
"I was sent with a message for yer King. I would like him to hear it na decide for himself if he would like me to leave."
"...King Thranduil is unavailable."
The pause is heavy, the Dwarf considering his options.
"Would ye pass a message along anyway, should he be bothered to listen."
Legolas's eyes burn. The Dwarf does not mean it in such a terrible way, he knows not what happens within these walls, none do, but the words hurt more than he knows. He has not been able to speak with his father for 10 years-
"Erebor welcomes a new king, Thorin III Stonehelm, son of Dain II Ironfoot. His official coronation is next Tuesday."
"Dain has passed?" Legolas asks softly, that Dwarf had been pushy, loud, brash, and outright demanding of a treaty. Better relations between Men, Dwarf and Elf. His lack of decorum is what truly endeared him to Legolas. Not many tell King Thranduil to piss off and remain standing.
"Aye. We sent word of this too. There has been war."
Ah... Perhaps that is what keeps Radagast. "I am sorry, I have not read-"
"They're letters to yer King, if he ain't botherin' it ain't on you."
"No." Legolas utters, his voice wrought and tight. "Is there anything I might-" Be able to do. Is what he thinks to say, but he cannot leave these halls, not when his people suffer, when they could escape, when they attack even eachother at sight. "I am sorry."
"Are ye alright in there, lad? Dain fought hard and well, there is no need to cry now. His funeral was large enough as it was without a few hundred Elves in attendance anyway!" Gimli isn't sure why he felt the need to bother comforting the Elf behind the wall, but... He sounded off. This whole place was off. Something was wrong but he could not put his finger on what. "We pushed back the Eastern Men, and the Goblins from the mountains, and I presume your kin are keeping true to holding back forced of Dol Guldur? The Spiders are many but ye seems to do well at keeping them contained."
"I am trying." Legolas whispers, voice shaking.
"Ye make it sound like yer all alone in this." The Dwarf chuckles, again not meaning insult, in fact, he intends to comfort. "Yer kin must be skilled warriors."
Then he hears it. Gimli pauses, pressing his own ear to the door. A soft sniff and a wet, pitched sound.
"Lad open the door."
No response comes.
The slats the the elf spoke through closed suddenly and the chill in the air seems to heighten. Gimli can hear the muffled sobs of grief, and he knows not what to do about it. What can he do about it?
"Well. Fine. Don't open up, but will ye keep talkin' to me? It's a long walk back and I'd rather sit here a while before I have to turn away." Still there is only the quiet, muffled crying. A devastating sound, made even worse by the way the sorrowful creature tries to silence himself. "Or I can talk. I don't mind. I've been told I'm good at that, that's why they chose to send me!" He chuckles at himself. "Well, they weren't going to send anyone at first, but I reminded King Thorin of his father's words, his will, so he decided to send me. Probably as punishment for the sass, but it works in my favour. I have been meaning to practice diplomacy and this seemed a fair start. Hardly a matter if I do not speak to anyone of import, what matters is the proof that I was willing to try."
Legolas listens to the Dwarf talk about nothing, he cannot bring himself to speak, he cannot explain how gladdened he is to hear another's voice. How horrifying to knowledge of war is. He cannot fight like this, his people are at risk if war comes here. They cannot fight either.
But to hear another speak, it lightens his spirit more than the tides of war could possibly darken it.
"Elf. Can ye tell me one thing? Are ye safe?" The Dwarf asks after a time.
An odd question to ask someone inside the Elven Kingdom, behind the closed doors of Thranduil's hall, is surely a safer place than outside them?
"...No." Legolas mutters, voice strained and raw with honesty and fear that he has pushed down for these past years. All flooding back. Fear for his people, for what they've become, fear for if this spreads outward, fear for himself. Fear of what will be left of him when this is over. What 'Over' will look like.
There is a scream, a wail from one of the rooms upstairs.
It is loud and haunting. The sound echoing through the halls, strained and agonised.
Gimli startles to his feet. "What- Who is that?!"
Legolas is not so surprised to hear it. "They do that sometimes..." He sighs softly. "I must go, and so should you, it is not safe here for you."
"Who does what?! They scream like they are tortured?! Elf! Elf come back!" He thumps the base of his axe against the stone doors, once, twice. Something is wrong here, and Gimli knows now that the Elves within the Mirkwood are coming to harm. By what? He has no clue, but he will find out.
Legolas is slow in his ascent, rubbing his eye tiredly as he pushes open the door of one of his kins rooms. A dark haired Elf lay upon her bed, head thrown back in agony Legolas cannot soothe. She screams, she writhes, her wrists bleed against her binds.
"Hush, Mellon." He whispers to her, taking up a leather belt from the bedside, teeth marks already well within the leather.
He considered this a cruelty at first, to silence their cries when they are so obviously in pain. But what else can he do when listening is driving him mad?
They scream and only Legolas is there to hear.
If Legolas was to scream, who then would be listening?