Fire Moon
Disclaimer: Despite begging New Line Cinema and the Tolkien Estate to gift me the rights to Legolas, they have shown no interest in doing so. That means I still own nothing even remotely connected to the Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.
Characters: Tauriel, Legolas, and Thranduil. Special Appearance, Elrond.
Rated: K+ Some violence and minor character deaths. Nothing too graphic.
This is dedicated to LiteraryGirl4Ever. Happy Birthday my dear mellon!
A/N: To translate the elvish I used an online translator called Elvish Translator – Fun Translations. Some of the elvish words use in this story I've seen spelled differently in other fanfictions. If they are incorrect, please forgive me. Hopefully my elvish will improve with time. :)
300 years before "I saw a fire moon once…"
Chapter 1
"Were the elves the first to awaken, or was it the dwarves?" The elf-maid closed the book she had been studying and propped her chin in her hands.
"The elves, Tauriel. You know that." Her mother glanced up from the bundle of arrows she was feathering. "Why do you ask?"
Tauriel pushed a few stray strands of hair behind her pointed ears. Wrapping her arms around her knees she began, "Radagast told me—"
"You went to see Radagast again?" Tauriel's father entered through the northern archway where he had been sharpening his knives on the balcony. He slid his twin daggers into the sheaths on his back before sitting down beside his wife, Tinuel.
"There is no harm in it, Talathon," Tinuel stated quietly.
"I know. But he is an odd one, you must admit." He offered Tinuel a raised eyebrow, then a smile to his daughter. It was an elven smile — quiet and easy to miss.
"Radagast told me a story of the First Age," Tauriel continued. "He said that Aulë formed the dwarfs before we awoke but was ashamed of his disobedience. He was going to destroy them when Ilúvatar who had known about the dwarfs all along stopped him. He gave them life and they became his adopted children." Her voice trailed off in a musing manner. "I've never seen a dwarf. What are they like?"
"They are stunted creatures," Talathon replied slowly, "with large beards. They live under-ground, prefer to carry axes, and stomp everywhere."
"But inside? What are they like inside?"
Talathon and Tinuel exchanged a pleased look. "Brave, kind in their own way, and loyal even to a fault," answered Talathon. He walked to his daughter and gently kissed her forehead. She is curious of other races, thought Talathon, unusual for an elf.
That evening Tauriel sat pondering her father's description of the dwarfs. She watched as dusk morphed into night. At the first pin-prick of light appearing above her leafy bower, she stood to find her parents.
"May I go out of the forest tonight?" she asked hopefully, finding them on one of the balconies.
After a moment of consideration, her parents nodded. She was seven hundred after all.
"Take your bow!" Tinuel called. "A maui Ilúvatar tir-nia cin, (And may Ilúvatar watch over you)" she whispered.
§
Tauriel swung down the steps spiraling perfectly around the tree trunk. Her home, like all elven dwellings in Mirkwood, was built in the trees. A talan they called it. Only the Halls of the Elven King to the north were underground. Delved into the earth, centuries of carving had transformed the stone columns into an underground forest. Their beauty was legendary. In all the Wilderland, only the dwarfish city of Erebor could contest with them. Tauriel had only heard of these underground kingdoms. Perhaps someday she would see them for herself.
She paused on the step to adjust her quiver before setting off into the night.
§
Standing on the knoll which rose gently out of the earth beside the River Running, she could see for miles. She came here often, but no matter how many times she visited the effect was always the same. When she tipped her head back, the world would fall away, the white light of forever filling the air.
All light was sacred to the Eldar, but wood-elves loved best the light of the stars. It had been their guide since the time before Arien and Tilion, her persistent lover, began their travels across the sky. Sparkling beacons of hope, they remained precious and pure, a promise sworn out of love.
Laying back onto the grass, Tauriel stared in breathless wonder at the scintillating heavens. Slowly, her mind welcomed the peaceful stillness that was elven dreams. Enshrouded in fog to the east, the Lonely Mountain, like a spectral shadow, stood guard over the silence.
§
The sun was rising when Tauriel began her journey home. The brilliance of the sky dimmed beneath the trees but the memory would be enough to satisfy her longing until the next visit.
Soon after entering the forest, Tauriel sensed a whisper of unrest in the trees. It became stronger as she neared her home. A sudden wave of pain passed through her and she stopped short. Closing her eyes, Tauriel drew in her breath sharply. Black speech. Orcs.
Her eyes flew open and Tauriel's features hardened into the icy calm that was the particular trait of elves in battle. Without a sound she swung herself up onto the nearest branch. A feathered shaft silently slid into position on her bow.
Moments later a group of fifty of the decrepit creatures passed below her. Their foul language polluted the air. The stench that hung about them as they trudged by made Tauriel gag. Though she had never been in a conflict with orcs, her parents had prepared her for this moment. Mirkwood was too unpredictable.
When the orcs had moved past, she dropped cautiously out of the tree. Her relief was shadowed by a new fear growing in her mind. The orcs had come from the direction of – Banishing all thought, she ran.
As Tauriel reached the clearing, her heart faltered in its beat, then froze. The branches on which her home had balanced were cruelly hacked down. Her family's talan had been cast to the ground and lay crushed at the foot of the tree.
Then she saw them. Instantly, Tauriel was beside her parents. Kneeling, she gazed in horror at their still forms, their closed eyes. Elves didn't close their eyes unless… Their broken bows were scattered nearby. Numerous arrows littered the clearing, most protruding from dead orcs. Her father's hands still held his daggers. Something black and viscous stained the silver blades.
She knelt there transfixed like Beren over the body of Finrod in the ghastly dungeon of a necromancer long ago. No tears ran down her cheeks. No sobs escaped her throat. Her face was expressionless and cold, but her heart was screaming.
It had been the voice of his beloved that roused Beren from his grief. For Tauriel, it was the howls of orcs. Tauriel spun nimbly to her feet and drew another arrow from her quiver.
"Beri- nin, (protect me)" she whispered, "and may my arrows fly true."
§
The first orc to enter the clearing was thrown backwards with an arrow to his chest. The second and the third received the same treatment, but others managed to advance. Tauriel caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She swirled left just in time to avoid the arrow of an orc archer. A second later, the orc was sprawled on the ground. Tauriel had returned his gesture with deadly accuracy. Though the brush surrounding the clearing was choked with orcs, the mound of dead ones at Tauriel's feet continued to grow.
A growl behind her turned Tauriel. A larger breed of goblin leaped off a tree branch toward her. Instinctively, she ducked but the handle of the creature's mace caught her hard on the shoulder. Both Tauriel and the goblin were knocked to the ground. Sitting up quickly, she shook her head in an attempt to banish the raging dizziness descending upon her. As the other orcs pressed forward, Tauriel reached for her bow but found it trapped under the prostrate form of the unconscious goblin.
Seeing her predicament, a nearby orc lunged forward reaching a claw-like hand for her scarlet hair. Tauriel swung around, grabbed an arrow from her quiver, and thrust it towards the orc's face. The creature's own momentum drove the shaft home.
Swiftly springing to her feet, Tauriel glanced frantically about for another weapon. Her eyes lighted upon her father's daggers. He had never trained her to use them but they were her only hope. She dodged under the curved scimitar of an orc and slid the remaining distance to her father's side grabbing the handles as another wave of orcs moved toward her.
I would love to know what you thought of this first chapter. I will try and post the next one some time this week. A huge thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, or favorited my last story! - Rosie C.