Primitive Instincts
By Half Awake Warning
Summary: Behind every good man there is a woman; behind every good woman is a child. And behind every good child is a dream. But when you have to give your dream to another, will you be able give up their love as well?
Love is hard enough between mortal and immortal, but when two are separated by good and evil, by right and wrong, by coincidence and purpose, there is no chance. When you have to give up your dream, will you be able to live?
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, and I never have done. I could not have created this amazing phenomenon, and I don't think I could have survived if I did. Everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, besides the plot and any characters that you do not recognize.
Author's Note: This story takes place before the War of the Ring at the end of the first age and is the story that will explore the difficulty of not only love, but the understanding that distinguishes coincidence from purpose, and right from wrong. It is a Legolas/oc fic, but please give it a chance.
Prologue
First Instinct - Survival
'Run, keep on running. You have to run, you have to save her.' Words meant for self encouragement, words spelling out disaster, words speaking only the truth, run, run until you die.
How long had she been running? She couldn't remember, only that she had to keep on going. They couldn't find her with it; they'd kill her before she could save it. She must save it, she had to. The ground carried her further on, the wind behind her helping her flee from her pursuers. But her time was running out.
She was unaware how long she had left, or how far behind they were. The darkness swam in front of her eyes, the woman ran blind, with only her rapidly decreasing sense of direction keeping her on track. Her breath was ragged, gasping and spluttering for mercy. A bird screamed in the distance, and flew up through the trees, sending a shower of leaves from the sky. They were close now.
The small bundle in her arms squirmed, hands reaching out in search of comfort. But they found none. The woman slowed down slightly to wrap her child tighter within the protection of the thin blankets that hugged the baby's body.
Why had she let it come to this?
She was very young in human years, and too young for the responsibility of a child that she could not care for, no matter how much she wished. The child was more of a burden than an object of affection, whom she hated and loved, though she could not understand why. If only she had resisted temptation, and the horror of guilt.
The woman laughed, remembering how she had gotten into this situation. It was purely her own fault, and my oh my was she paying back her debt now. She knew it would take her life eventually, but if she could only save the child so that her life was worth something and a part of her would live on.
She was aware that her pace has slacked, try as hard as she might she could go no faster. So this was what it felt like to lose. The child whimpered in her arms, sensing her mothers fear.
Her heart began to beat faster, the adrenaline rush driving her faster and faster, she became the blur of a shadow, running in and out of the trees. But she had been seen.
She could hear the distant cracking of twigs, and the murmurings of voices, creeping up on her, as if she was crouched in the dark corner of a big room when someone taps you on the shoulder and you never knew that they were there. The shock ran thorough her veins, the fear of being caught pulsing on her mind.
Her movements became disoriented; she started to stumble as her fear grew. She had abandoned all sense of direction, she just ran.
'Run, keep on running. You have to run, you have to save her.' Words that no longer brought hope. Only death.
The baby in her arms began to cry, she could sense her mothers fear, and felt the same in her own heart. The mother tried to soothe the child, but it was no use. It only brought tears of sorrow. There was no comfort to be found here.
Deeper and deeper into the dark she ran, the moonlight obscured by the trees. And then it happened. The child fell from her arms, and cries of hurt and pain and terror filled the forest, now abandoned from running feet.
"NO!" the woman cursed, and fell to her hands, searching for her child. She could hear the screams, but she could not reach her child.
"Well, well, well, Namoire, 'tis a surprise to see you here."
Namoire gulped, her breath caught in her throat. All was silent, the child no longer screaming. She looked up and saw him standing there, tall and proud. And dangerous.
"You left me no choice," she spat, pulling herself up onto her feet, gasping for air and praying for hope.
A cruel mocking laugh sang in her ears. "My dear, you would be surprised of how easy you've had it." A knife caught her throat, the sharp tip mocking her.
She knew what was coming, she could hear her child screaming and crying for someone at her feet, and then she saw the man standing in front of her, dangerous, her life within a stroke of his luck. She threw all feelings aside, and stripped her mind down to basic instinct and primitive thoughts. Run. Save yourself.
"It was never easy, not with you." She smiled one last time, and turned on her heel and ran into the shadows. The man laughed, she could have a head-start if she wished.
A small movement at his feet brought his eyes down to the ground, and his heart softened slightly at the sight of his daughter, already hurt. She looked up at him with such innocence that it was shocking, and started to bite at him. He held the knife in his hand above his head, the baby watching him, not fully understanding of what her father would do. But to his own surprise he could not bring it down to end the young ones life, to tear her from this world and cast her into the darkness where she belonged. For she was cursed, she was his spawn, and she was born with his strengths but his weakness. For his weakness had brought him to where he was now, and he was sure that if she survived, it would lead her to him in the end. It was his purpose in life, and he would depend upon it.
The baby gurgled and her hands clutched at his leg, pawing at him. He watched in fascination for a moment, before throwing the knife to the ground and bending down upon his knees. He stroked her dark hair, and her smooth skin, his callused hands leaving dirty imprints upon her face, causing her aggravation.
"Be fair, my little moonflower, we will not be parted for long." He kissed her forehead delicately and then stood up.
First he had a job to complete, and a life to take.
Pursuit was easy, but to catch his prey he would have to be cunning. He smiled inwardly as his feet pounded down on the forest floor, running as a beat of a steady drum. He could hear the slight breaking of twigs in the distance, the haggard breath of someone running for their life. But there was always a time when you could run no more.
And Namoire would soon have no time left. He caught a glimpse of her, now still and bent double, exhausted and depleted of energy. She was not unlike a deer who had run so far to try and cheat the hungry predator that he no longer had the strength or the motive to go any further.
He crept up behind her, pulling his sword from its sheath, ready to strike. He could hear her worthless words of encouragement that were wasted, she was trapped. She felt his breath, hot and sticky upon the back of her throat and spun around to meet his sword.
Her body fell in a crumple to the ground, eyes that were filled with dread, a look that would never fade. He left her that way, so sure that she was dead and that a constant thorn in his side had been cast aside. But for a while she was still able to hear the world around her, and the last sound to grace her ears was that of her baby daughter, crying, now alone in a world of hatred and evil with no-one to watch over her.