Title: A sob, a scream, a haunting dream
Rating: R
Summary: A little what if of what might have happened to Legolas' mother. It starts out in story format and then switches to Legolas' personal thoughts on the anniversary of his mothers death. I will warn you, rape is heavily implied in this though nothing graphic.
Note: Please keep in mind this is my take on what happened to Legolas' mother and in no way has any bearing on what the books may say. I do not want to hear canon Nazis screaming at me in my reviews about how awful the story was. I love reviews and I love criticism as it's the only way to become a better writer.
It starts out the same, always the same. The small clearing, the strawberry patch they had found while exploring. The sound of child's laughter in the afternoon sun, and the chiding voice of a mother telling her son not to go too far, to be careful. A voice filled with love; a voice that could take a song and make it seem like the havens themselves had parted and the Valar sang to you. Even among the elves she had a voice like no other, and it was no wonder where her son had gotten the talent and the ability to sing just as beautifully.
Red strawberries, ripe and begging to be eaten. That's what he'd thought anyways, his elfling mind could almost hear the luscious fruit asking to be picked, bitten into and digested. It was a perfectly fine spring afternoon, not too hot but not too cold either. Just right for a little elfling and his mother to escape the confines of home and explore, laugh about lessons learned, telling stories and racing one another to the next tree, or to the next hill and to eat strawberries.
How he loved his mother, in the elflings eyes she could do no wrong, nothing ugly or dirty could touch her; to the little princeling she was as perfect as the Valar; untouchable, pure, and powerful. The child worshipped her, making up songs about her beauty to which she laughed lovingly and called him silly, saying that it wasn't true, that he was biased.
Perhaps he was. But it mattered little; when it comes to a childs love none is equal in strength. A childs love can be matched by nothing, so pure, innocent and powerful that tales had been told of a childs love saving one from death, their innocence bringing those on the thresh hold of darkness back into the light.
Why couldn't he have done that?
The clouds came, the sun hid behind them as if it knew what were to come, deciding that then was a good time to start setting, to hide away from the ugliness that were to come. They crept upon them, the dark creatures; orcs. He sensed it before they appeared and he'd warned his mother, saying they needed to go, to go now and find father. To go and summon the guards to protect them, anything just to leave the bad feeling he suddenly had.
Too late.
They grabbed his hair, the hair his mother had so lovingly brushed and braided that morning. Not warrior braids mind you, he was not old enough for the lessons and practice. He was still decades off from coming of age to earn them, but someday he promised himself that he would be the finest warrior Mirkwood had seen. Someday.
He cried out as they bound his wrists so tightly behind his back that the arm snapped, broken and dangling useless, making him scream as the pain burned up his arm like fire. Three of them grabbed and yanked for his small dagger that he carried, the one his father had given him as a gift for his day of begetting, they fought and struggled over the tiny prize until a larger Orc had broken the neck of one did they back away leaving the brutish creature to his prize, leaving two to contend with the small elf prince.
The prince heard his mother cry, beg for them to let him go, do as they will with her, but to let her son be, her only child. They laughed and pulled at her clothes, her beautiful dress cut to ribbons in a matter of seconds, her face dirtied by the filthy hands of their captors. Why were they doing that? he wondered as they drove him to the ground stripping him of everything leaving him naked and shivering in the dusk. He called for her, told her to be brave that someone would come but deep in his heart he knew that no one would come, they were alone out here.
Another fight broke out among the orcs. The little prince didn't quite understand what they were squabbling over, but it appeared to be about his mother. He didn't like what was happening trying to crawl to her, to protect her from whatever. But the two that stood over him stopped him, grabbing for his shoulders, jarring him painfully enough so that he had to bite back a cry. Angry he kicked out at them, starting a fight of his own that is until he heard his mothers' screams, freezing as he heard cold laughter. Looking over he saw..and wished he hadn't.
What were they doing to her? He wondered. Why was the one that took the princes dagger on top of her like that? Whatever he was doing it hurt her and he wanted him to stop. He screamed and cursed at the creature for hurting her, telling him that he was going to die for what he was doing, but all that got was laughter and his face pushed into the rocky ground.
He sobbed as he begged them to stop, that they were hurting his nanneth, making her cry. He'd never seen his mother cry before and it made his heart break to see her fighting to get the creature away and off of her. But the two that had him laughed, and soon one was petting him, stroking his back and telling him how pretty he was. He knew he was pretty but what did this have to do with now? What did being pretty have to do with them hurting his mother, hurting him? It made no sense. They called him a little woman; surely they could see he wasn't a girl? These words baffled him, confused his already spinning senses.
Pain came. Somewhere from down below, where there should never have been pain. It blossomed inside of him, tearing a scream from his throat that stilled even those that surrounded him, the only sound for a long moment was the sound of his mother sobbing, and even then that was muted, more distant.
Then sound returned, the laughing and taunts, the heavy grunts of those in the act of raping the prince and his mother. Their cries of pain, despair and hopelessness mingling creating a lament of their own. A pain filled duet created by a tortured mother and son. Their last song ever to be created in the woods.
It only ended when the prince heard the sound of bone snapping, his mothers beautiful neck twisted in a nightmarish angle, eyes wide and unfocused. Even in death she was a sight to behold, if her head had not been twisted at such an odd angle, one would think she were in the middle of reverie, the traditional way elves slept.
The prince screamed, but it came out hoarse, almost silent. He'd torn his own vocal chords screaming as the orcs had raped him, he tried to crawl to her body. He had to get to her, to tell her it was okay, it was a bad dream! Instead he could only watch as they threw her body aside, and focused on the trinkets they had found on her body. A circlet, a few rings and a necklace.. their spoils of their kill.
He watched as the one who had hurt his nanneth, the one who had snapped her neck walked over brandishing the princelings little dagger and brought it down towards the back of his neck. He hoped for the sweet release of death that knife would bring; but it wasn't to be. He felt his head fall forward as the knife cut his hair, sheering it off at the neck, leaving it uneven and ugly. He sobbed anew as he thought about the others finding his body next to his mothers in disgrace, defiled and hair shorn like a Mans. He'd given up hope, given up being found...he wanted to die now.
A blood curdling war cry registered in the back of his mind. The elves at his fathers command pouring out of the woods and into the clearing, bows, knifes, daggers drawn and ready, hacking at the orcs that froze long enough to become a target. Orcish bodies fell under the onslaught, elves out numbering them four to one.
During the brief battle, the prince lay there broken and prone as if forgotten in the frenzy of battle. Only when it was over did he feel hands lay upon him. He tried to cry, so scared and confused he for a moment thought the orcs had won this skirmish and were taking him away. Only when he heard the language of his people, the soothing voice of a healer did he relax long enough to open his eyes and look at his rescuer.
Then his father wailed. Calling his beloveds name he fell to her side on his knees, gathering up her broken, bloodied body and cradling it to his chest. Stroking the matted hair and cursing himself for not coming sooner, cursing the Valar for not watching over her. Cursing everyone around him, his eyes wild and insane. His fathers eyes fell up on him and the princling knew.. knew he were to blame. This was his fault. He could see it in his adars eyes and it broke him in a way that not even the orcs could have done. His vision swam and he fell into darkness.
Legolas didn't like strawberries anymore.
It has been many, many centuries since my beloved nanneth died. Since my fathers mind fully snapped and found suspicion in every mind, eyes in every shadow and in every corner a conspiracy waiting to be discovered. The loss of my mother broke my father and as I stand on the mountain top in the Misty Mountains, I remember and mourn. Mourn for not the loss of one parent, but both. My mother to orcs and my father to insanity.
I know he does not mean what he does, it is the shadow that drives him to madness, the grief and loss of the only thing he ever loved. It is in that reasoning that I return home, to take over until a suitable replacement can be found. I am not made to lead, I was never meant to be a King....
..to this day I still believe that I killed my mother. That it was my fault she died..
..and I still cannot stand the sight, smell or taste of strawberries.
Rating: R
Summary: A little what if of what might have happened to Legolas' mother. It starts out in story format and then switches to Legolas' personal thoughts on the anniversary of his mothers death. I will warn you, rape is heavily implied in this though nothing graphic.
Note: Please keep in mind this is my take on what happened to Legolas' mother and in no way has any bearing on what the books may say. I do not want to hear canon Nazis screaming at me in my reviews about how awful the story was. I love reviews and I love criticism as it's the only way to become a better writer.
It starts out the same, always the same. The small clearing, the strawberry patch they had found while exploring. The sound of child's laughter in the afternoon sun, and the chiding voice of a mother telling her son not to go too far, to be careful. A voice filled with love; a voice that could take a song and make it seem like the havens themselves had parted and the Valar sang to you. Even among the elves she had a voice like no other, and it was no wonder where her son had gotten the talent and the ability to sing just as beautifully.
Red strawberries, ripe and begging to be eaten. That's what he'd thought anyways, his elfling mind could almost hear the luscious fruit asking to be picked, bitten into and digested. It was a perfectly fine spring afternoon, not too hot but not too cold either. Just right for a little elfling and his mother to escape the confines of home and explore, laugh about lessons learned, telling stories and racing one another to the next tree, or to the next hill and to eat strawberries.
How he loved his mother, in the elflings eyes she could do no wrong, nothing ugly or dirty could touch her; to the little princeling she was as perfect as the Valar; untouchable, pure, and powerful. The child worshipped her, making up songs about her beauty to which she laughed lovingly and called him silly, saying that it wasn't true, that he was biased.
Perhaps he was. But it mattered little; when it comes to a childs love none is equal in strength. A childs love can be matched by nothing, so pure, innocent and powerful that tales had been told of a childs love saving one from death, their innocence bringing those on the thresh hold of darkness back into the light.
Why couldn't he have done that?
The clouds came, the sun hid behind them as if it knew what were to come, deciding that then was a good time to start setting, to hide away from the ugliness that were to come. They crept upon them, the dark creatures; orcs. He sensed it before they appeared and he'd warned his mother, saying they needed to go, to go now and find father. To go and summon the guards to protect them, anything just to leave the bad feeling he suddenly had.
Too late.
They grabbed his hair, the hair his mother had so lovingly brushed and braided that morning. Not warrior braids mind you, he was not old enough for the lessons and practice. He was still decades off from coming of age to earn them, but someday he promised himself that he would be the finest warrior Mirkwood had seen. Someday.
He cried out as they bound his wrists so tightly behind his back that the arm snapped, broken and dangling useless, making him scream as the pain burned up his arm like fire. Three of them grabbed and yanked for his small dagger that he carried, the one his father had given him as a gift for his day of begetting, they fought and struggled over the tiny prize until a larger Orc had broken the neck of one did they back away leaving the brutish creature to his prize, leaving two to contend with the small elf prince.
The prince heard his mother cry, beg for them to let him go, do as they will with her, but to let her son be, her only child. They laughed and pulled at her clothes, her beautiful dress cut to ribbons in a matter of seconds, her face dirtied by the filthy hands of their captors. Why were they doing that? he wondered as they drove him to the ground stripping him of everything leaving him naked and shivering in the dusk. He called for her, told her to be brave that someone would come but deep in his heart he knew that no one would come, they were alone out here.
Another fight broke out among the orcs. The little prince didn't quite understand what they were squabbling over, but it appeared to be about his mother. He didn't like what was happening trying to crawl to her, to protect her from whatever. But the two that stood over him stopped him, grabbing for his shoulders, jarring him painfully enough so that he had to bite back a cry. Angry he kicked out at them, starting a fight of his own that is until he heard his mothers' screams, freezing as he heard cold laughter. Looking over he saw..and wished he hadn't.
What were they doing to her? He wondered. Why was the one that took the princes dagger on top of her like that? Whatever he was doing it hurt her and he wanted him to stop. He screamed and cursed at the creature for hurting her, telling him that he was going to die for what he was doing, but all that got was laughter and his face pushed into the rocky ground.
He sobbed as he begged them to stop, that they were hurting his nanneth, making her cry. He'd never seen his mother cry before and it made his heart break to see her fighting to get the creature away and off of her. But the two that had him laughed, and soon one was petting him, stroking his back and telling him how pretty he was. He knew he was pretty but what did this have to do with now? What did being pretty have to do with them hurting his mother, hurting him? It made no sense. They called him a little woman; surely they could see he wasn't a girl? These words baffled him, confused his already spinning senses.
Pain came. Somewhere from down below, where there should never have been pain. It blossomed inside of him, tearing a scream from his throat that stilled even those that surrounded him, the only sound for a long moment was the sound of his mother sobbing, and even then that was muted, more distant.
Then sound returned, the laughing and taunts, the heavy grunts of those in the act of raping the prince and his mother. Their cries of pain, despair and hopelessness mingling creating a lament of their own. A pain filled duet created by a tortured mother and son. Their last song ever to be created in the woods.
It only ended when the prince heard the sound of bone snapping, his mothers beautiful neck twisted in a nightmarish angle, eyes wide and unfocused. Even in death she was a sight to behold, if her head had not been twisted at such an odd angle, one would think she were in the middle of reverie, the traditional way elves slept.
The prince screamed, but it came out hoarse, almost silent. He'd torn his own vocal chords screaming as the orcs had raped him, he tried to crawl to her body. He had to get to her, to tell her it was okay, it was a bad dream! Instead he could only watch as they threw her body aside, and focused on the trinkets they had found on her body. A circlet, a few rings and a necklace.. their spoils of their kill.
He watched as the one who had hurt his nanneth, the one who had snapped her neck walked over brandishing the princelings little dagger and brought it down towards the back of his neck. He hoped for the sweet release of death that knife would bring; but it wasn't to be. He felt his head fall forward as the knife cut his hair, sheering it off at the neck, leaving it uneven and ugly. He sobbed anew as he thought about the others finding his body next to his mothers in disgrace, defiled and hair shorn like a Mans. He'd given up hope, given up being found...he wanted to die now.
A blood curdling war cry registered in the back of his mind. The elves at his fathers command pouring out of the woods and into the clearing, bows, knifes, daggers drawn and ready, hacking at the orcs that froze long enough to become a target. Orcish bodies fell under the onslaught, elves out numbering them four to one.
During the brief battle, the prince lay there broken and prone as if forgotten in the frenzy of battle. Only when it was over did he feel hands lay upon him. He tried to cry, so scared and confused he for a moment thought the orcs had won this skirmish and were taking him away. Only when he heard the language of his people, the soothing voice of a healer did he relax long enough to open his eyes and look at his rescuer.
Then his father wailed. Calling his beloveds name he fell to her side on his knees, gathering up her broken, bloodied body and cradling it to his chest. Stroking the matted hair and cursing himself for not coming sooner, cursing the Valar for not watching over her. Cursing everyone around him, his eyes wild and insane. His fathers eyes fell up on him and the princling knew.. knew he were to blame. This was his fault. He could see it in his adars eyes and it broke him in a way that not even the orcs could have done. His vision swam and he fell into darkness.
Legolas didn't like strawberries anymore.
It has been many, many centuries since my beloved nanneth died. Since my fathers mind fully snapped and found suspicion in every mind, eyes in every shadow and in every corner a conspiracy waiting to be discovered. The loss of my mother broke my father and as I stand on the mountain top in the Misty Mountains, I remember and mourn. Mourn for not the loss of one parent, but both. My mother to orcs and my father to insanity.
I know he does not mean what he does, it is the shadow that drives him to madness, the grief and loss of the only thing he ever loved. It is in that reasoning that I return home, to take over until a suitable replacement can be found. I am not made to lead, I was never meant to be a King....
..to this day I still believe that I killed my mother. That it was my fault she died..
..and I still cannot stand the sight, smell or taste of strawberries.