Once Upon A Dream (Thranduil Fanfic)

Chapter 16-The Falling and the Flying

News of the dwarves escaping from Thranduil's dungeons spread quickly, and catching them had turned out to be a failure. Instead, the elves found that they had caught a company of orcs instead, tracking the dwarves, hoping to kill them.

The elven soldiers had brought in a surviving orc from the attack that morning, and presently, he knelt before the king, his hands, or claws according to Catalina, tied and his throat against Legolas' knife. Catalina stood next to Tauriel, watching the hideous creature growl at her feet.

"Out there, in the vast ignorance of the world, it festers and spreads as a shadow that grows in the dark, a sleepless malice as black as the oncoming wall of night. So it ever was, so will it always be. In time, all fowl things come forth." Said the elven king, his hands behind his back, his steps slow and taunting.

"You were tracking a company of thirteen dwarves. Why? What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?" Asked Legolas.

The orc did not answer, his eyes glued on Catalina. "You are not an elf," he said.

"Answer my question orc. Speak!" Legolas dug his blade into the orc's throat.

"The dwarf runt, will never be king."

"Ha, king? There is no king under the mountain nor will there ever be, none would dare enter Erebor whilst the dragon lives."

The orc's eyes followed Catalina as she stared at him with stone eyes.

"You smell of the smoke of Jotunheim." He growled as she met his eyes. "You have it running in your blood."

"I hope you choke on it." Catalina stared back at him, bluffing, her knife poised and her hand itching to cut him to pieces. But her insides began churning, her fears getting the better of her.

"No, it is you that will be choking on it. You are afraid. You will die because of it."

"I would not antagonize her," warned Legolas, seeing the murderous look in Catalina's eyes.

"You like to kill things Orc? Do you like the smell of death? Do you love the sight of it?" She asked, her voice low and at a whisper.

The orc smiled and ran his tongue along his teeth, a low growl emanating from his throat.

"Then you may have it," Catalina lunged at him with her knife, intent on killing him. But before she had the chance to slice him in half, she felt hands catch her shoulders firmly and stop her.

"Manwathiel, vano toawaya, sii, (step away now.)" Thranduil's voice stopped her.

Catalina stood up slowly, backing away from the orc. A picture suddenly flashed through her mind of a young elven man holding her back from something; another elven woman, the one she had seen when she had touched the ice years before.

A hiss from the orc quickly brought her back to the present as he looked at her with revulsion. Catalina stood straighter as the king's hands released her and she began walking away. As she passed the orc she spit, the saliva landing on the orc's face and corroding the skin; one of the more vulgar powers she had acquired over time. She left the throne room and headed outside the gates, not bothering to listen to the rest of the interrogation.

She sighed as she left, trying to make sense of things. What had it all meant? Thranduil had called her Manwathiel. As she thought about the name, another picture flickered before her eyes: armor with elvish designs and two long swords.
Catalina shook her head, trying to figure it all out. Manwathiel was an elven translation of her name, Catalina, but had never been used by anyone until now. Why was this?

Manwathiel.

Manwathiel.

The picture of a young girl and a young elven man flashed once again in her mind. This time, he held her close to him, his lips touching hers. He had long blonde hair partially tied back. She had dark brown hair, braided the way Catalina's had been braided for the festival. Then the picture vanished, and Catalina could not recall it back.
What is this?