Between Duty and Love

Part Five -- Sacrificial Rock

Almost trance-like, Thranduil packed for the journey to Sacrificial Rock. What would normally take two or three days’ travel was cut down a full day, provided he rode as fast as he was able. Even then, it was too long of a journey.

Anor had barely begun to shine over the horizon when Thranduil finished tying the supplies to his two fleetest horses.

Legolas peered over the side of his balcony. “Adar!” He jumped down and landed light as a feather onto the ground below. “Where are you going at this time of day?”

Thranduil avoided eye contact. “I’m headed to the opposite end of Greenwood, to improve the safety of the realm.”

Legolas smiled. “May I join you?”

Thranduil’s heart nearly stopped. His poor son was willing to go with him to Sacrificial Rock; except he did not know it. He tried to hide the shock in his voice. “Yes, you may come.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. “Adar, are you all right? You do not sound like yourself.”

“I just have something on my mind. It’s nothing.”

Legolas nodded and started to walk away.

In a split second, Thranduil jumped him from behind and pinned his arms to his side, covering his face with a cloth. Legolas struggled, but within seconds went limp in his father’s arms. The cloth had been soaked in a liquid that Men call “ether”.

Thranduil lifted his unconscious son over his horse’s back. “This is not what I wanted, Legolas. Believe me, I never wanted this to happen. I would rather this be my own fate, and not yours.”

He mounted. With a swift flick of the reigns, he began the long journey to Sacrificial Rock.

~*~

Sacrificial Rock was in a lower corner of Greenwood forest, south of East Bight. It had not been used in over a millennium, perhaps longer. Except on occasion when come across by a lost traveler or a curious guard, it remained hidden and secluded. No one knew its origin, but legend said was it was used for the ritual killing of animals and people.

All it consisted of was a large slab of solid rock, just the right size for a body. On opposite ends were two medium-sized trees, used for binding the victim’s arms and legs to prevent escape. Beside it was a small fire pit to provide light and heat during the night.

Their journey South was flawless. Not a spider or orc sighted. Thranduil considered them lucky.

The south region of Greenwood was exceptionally dark, and the Night only made matters worse. It was not long before he was forced to light a torch to see his way through the forest. Checking the map, he slowed down to a halt; they were near. He quickly dismounted and surveyed the area around him. There was no sign of life except for the two Elves.

Thranduil lifted his son over his shoulder and grabbed the pack. He left the two horses untethered, in case they were needed to make a quick escape. He continued on foot.

He found it within minutes. The small clearing was barely fifteen yards away from where he had left the horses.

He carefully laid his son on the large stone that was Sacrificial Rock. He turned and placed the torch in the fire pit covered with small branches. Soon, the fire was large enough to light the expanse.

As he looked upon the orange light reflecting off of Legolas’ soft face, he felt a pang in his heart. However, his mind was made; and there was no turning back at this point.

He tied ropes around Legolas’ wrists and ankles, and secured them to the trees.

The time had come. Legolas would be dead within a few minutes; his blood on his own father’s hands.

Thranduil desperately wanted to hold his son one last time, but it would not be right, as Legolas would not hold him back.

‘Perhaps,’ he thought, ‘I should have awaken him last night and . . . no, no. He would have known something was amiss. It is better this way . . . or is it? . . .’

He shook his head; it was too late for that now. He carefully pulled the long knife from his pack. Rubbing his thumb against the edge of the blade, he tested it for sharpness and found that it was too dull.

He almost began to sweat. For everything that had been going right, this was the one thing that was preventing him from finishing what he had to do.

With a heavy sigh, he sat upon a fallen tree trunk and began to sharpen the blade.

Unfortunately, within a few moments, Legolas slowly started to regain consciousness. “Adar?” he groaned. “Adar? What is happening?”

Thranduil did not respond. He bit his lip, trying to fight back his emotions. He kept his gaze fixed on the knife.

“Adar?” The voice was pitiful.

Thranduil could not postpone it any longer. He stood beside Legolas, the large blade in hand.

The prince’s eyes widened in fear. “Adar!?”

A tear fell from Thranduil’s face. “I am so sorry, ion,” he whispered, nearly choking on his own words. He raised the knife above his head, holding it with both hands. “Saes, goheno nin an man cerithan.”

“ADAR!” Legolas yelled one last time.

Thranduil closed his eyes, tightened his grip on the knife, and thrust it down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Anor -- The Sun
Adar! -- Father!
ion -- son
Saes, goheno nin an man cerithan -- Please, forgive me for what I am going to do
(Literally, "Please, forgive me for what I will do.")

Author's note: I have read The Hobbit and LOTR and the Sil and, yes, they mention the soporific effects of the river that runs through Mirkwood; but from what I understood, it had to be ingested for it to take effect . . . not inhaled.