Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all its characters, languages and places do not belong to me and I don't earn any money for writing this story.
Warning: for graphic depiction of violence and major character death
Author's note: Hello everyone! I started this fan fiction more than two years ago, when I was till reading mostly Legomances (nobody's perfect ;)) Since then I moved to other pairings (or no pairing whatsoever) and mostly spend my time in the Silmarillion fandom. But I dislike starting something without finishing it, so here it is. This was one of the way I imagine Legolas could have had someone at some point in the past. Even if I am sure that he could totally find his happily ever after without a soulmate and that romance is not necessarily a life goal, this idea popped into my mind. The title is taken from Florence and the Machine's 'Shake it out'. Everything elvish in this story comes from Real Elvish, Dreamingfifi's website which is an endless mine of information.
I don't know if the story is canon compliant. Legolas' age, for instance, has been widely discussed in the fandom, and even if I mostly agree with the fact he must have been born somewhere during the second (or even third) millenium of the Third Age, for the sake of this story I made him born before TA 1050. He has thus known Mirkwood when it was rather safe and still called Greenwood the Great. I don't label this story as an AU, but as it contains original characters, this dimention should be taken into consideration. I also took a few liberty with Legolas' family, adding a few elves. It's less sad this way.
Just one last thing, English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistake I left or weird phrasing. I'd gladly have a beta if anyone is up to the challenge :) Let me know what you think with a review, I'm always happy to chat about Tolkien and fandom, my inbox is open.
Enjoy
oOo
Mirkwood, TA 2251
Never the forest has appeared so dark to his eyes, even after the hundreds of years he has spent under its trees. He obviously saw the darkness growing, helplessly witnessed the death of Green Wood the Great and the birth of what other realms now call Mirkwood. He saw the trees becoming sick, their song dulling to a broken whisper full of melancholy and regret for the Elder Days. He saw giant spiders spinning their webs amongst the branches, absorbing the vital energy of the vegetation. He still remembers is father moving their capital northward to protect their people, leaving behind the home he has known as a child. He also saw the packs of orcs getting closer to the caverns they now live in. He grieved the death of too many of his men, led many patrols in the forest to destroy as many of their enemies as possible.
And even with all the horrors his eyes have seen, even after all those images of nightmare, never has he seen such a dark night falling over his realm. So dark that even his elven sight has difficulties to distinct the orcs he is slaying. Neither the silver light of Ithil nor the distant glow of the stars can be seen, as if the darkness covers the whole world.
Their patrol has yet started as any other. He took several soldiers of the Woodland guard with him, and they departed as the horizon had started to claim the sun, , turning the sky in shades of purple, orange and gold. For many minutes, they scouted the forest with their keen eyes, attentive to each sound, to each shadow. They were on foot, horses would have been to noisy to his liking. They jumped from branch to branch, from tree to tree, as a second part of their group was watching the ground. They moved efficiently, silent as the light wind blowing in the foliage of the forest. Their patrol was supposed to be short as night was coming fast.
But night has fully fallen now, and they are still here, in this meadow that has turned into a battle field. This pack of orcs has taken them by surprise, unusually discrete for these foul creatures. They have been cunning, and the elves have soon found themselves outnumbered. He made the risky decision to spare one of his warriors to warn the capital and call for reinforcement.
That was long minutes ago. And no reinforcement is in sight. They are running out of time, and he does not know what to do.
The chaos of battle surrounds him; the growls of their enemies, the noise of the arrows of his men; the clash of their daggers against the rusted blades of the orcs. The smell of the forest during an autumn downpour disappears under the stench of rottenness coming from their opponents. He has put his bow aside in favor of his twin blades. His daggers are almost an extension of his arms; they fly in the air, defeating every attack aimed at him. They slit throats, cut limbs, pierce hearts in a mortal dance.
Orcs have been entering the meadow for several minutes now. Or has it been hours? He cannot tell. He relies on his instincts, his only goal is to survive and protect those he can. This fight is messy, a carnage. There has been no time for neither strategy nor plan, they struggle and slay, because there is nothing else they can do.
He knows he is covered in gore; the wound his weapons causes are there to kill on the spot, they send black blood everywhere, staining his clothes, his face and hair and the grass of the meadow, once of a bright green. This is violence on its purest form, the desperate energy of those who want to see the next dawn. It is instinctive, primitiv. Maybe was it this way the first elves who awoke on the shore of Lake Cuiviénen fought against the creatures of Morgoth who came to take them away. Weapons did not exist yet, they must have struggled with wooden sticks, rocks... or their own bare hands. Legolas can only speculate, but the raw strength he puts in this fight feels like an ancient force, when the world knew no sun or moon and the Valar had not yet put an end to the reign of Morgoth on Middle Earth.
He feels a shift in the air, as if a temporary lull is coming. He looks around him to assess the damage this fight has caused, and what he sees make his heart sinks. Too many elven bodies are motionless on the ground, either wounded or worse. Legolas also realizes that the number of their ennemies is diminishing all but slowly. Too slowly. They seem to have the upper hand now though, it is only a matter of minutes. They have to resist, to keep fighting, the end is coming. Just a few more minutes...
He is startled back to the chaos around him when a cry resounds in the air. This cry makes is body stiffen, hurts his ears and pierces is heart. It is a cry full of agony, of anger, dismay and pain. A female cry that he recognizes instantly.
And for an instant, the world stops spinning.
oOo
Greenwood the Great, TA 1045
The forest was almost silent as he stood here, on the branch of an oak tree. All his senses were focused on his surrounding; he heard the Forest River farther eastward and the singing of the birds, smelt the spring flowers growing in a little meadow nearby, felt the rays of the sun on his face.
But the most attentive of his senses was his sight. His keen blue eyes were focused on its target, dozens of yards from his standing point. He saw nothing than this apple, attached to the branch of a tree by a thin string, dangling in the light wind.
His cousin Gwaerenor had been clear: he would have the right to eat this apple — and the rest of the fruits they had picked up, raspberries and blackberries amongst them – only if he managed to hit the target from this tree. And Legolas loved blackberries. Very much. So he had to reach the apple, it was the most important thing in his young mind at the moment.
He slowly bended is bow and knocked an arrow to the string, narrowing his eyes to get a better view. His body was stiff with concentration, its only movement was his hair fluttering in the wind. He could see the apple clearly now, he could predict where it would be next, the time his arrow would take to reach it. He was ready to release his arrow... It was almost time...
And suddenly, something hit the branch on which Legolas was crouched down. In his surprise, he released is arrow and lost his grip on his bow, almost falling from his perch. He managed to grab the branch at the last second, hanging in the air by only one arm. Everything happened in the blink of an eye, and the young ellon had hardly the time to comprehend what just occurred when he heard someone laughing just above him.
He looked up at the source of this laugh and found himself staring at a brunette elleth. Not an elfling anymore, but not yet an adult. She was looking smug and her gray eyes were filled with restrained mirth.
Legolas's jaw clenched. He should have seen it coming. He had been to focused on his target and had thus forgotten one of the most important lessons his fencing master had taught him: always being aware of his surrounding. He had not been, and he had let this elleth sneak up on him.
His dismay turned into frustration and annoyance when he saw the young elleth bending her own bow to shoot an arrow. It soon reached the apple that he was aiming at, and she flashed him a self-satisfied smirk that made Legolas blood boil.
She laughed again before coming down from the tree. The prince watched her, trying to keep his composure. He soon followed her, his feet landing on the ground only few seconds later. He took a look around in order to find the arrow he had released in his surprise, but it seemed to be lost. He grimaced, his archery instructor would not be pleased when he would learn that...
Legolas then heard footsteps approaching and turned around to see who it may be. He spotted the brunette elleth who had stolen his basket of blackberries on his right and found the source of the footsteps, those of two other ellyn coming their way. They were Gwaerenor, Legolas's cousin and Ferdir, one of their best friends. The later was caring a basket of fruits and was looking from Legolas to the elleth; he looked like he did not know which of them should get the reward.
As for Gwaerenor, he also looked at the two young archers, an eyebrow raised in suspicion. «It seems that you have lost our bet, cousin,» he said to Legolas matter-of-factly.
«I had not hear her coming,» the prince poorly defended himself.
«That is not really my problem, but yours,» Gwaerenor took the basket of berries from Ferdir's hands and, to his cousin's utter frustration, he turned to the young elleth. «I believe this reward is yours, my lady,» he added courteously, holding the so-called reward out to her.
«You are very generous, my lord,» she nodded, accepting the present. «I do not know if I am deserving of such a gift.»
«You certainly are. Agorel vê, heryn vill,» Gwaerenor exaggeratedly praised her.
«Ant lîn vîr mi 'ûr nîn. Le fêl, hîr vuin.»
«I hope you are not too offended by this defeat, mellon nín»" Ferdir nudged Legolas teasingly.
« would like to contest her victory,» the prince pointed at the brunette elleth. «She was not part of the bargain and thus had not agreed with our conditions and was not in the run for the reward.»
«If it is just a matter of berries, ernil nín, I will gladly share with you»" the young elleth proposed, slightly bowing her head in fake deference to Legolas.
«It is not a matter of berries,» the pride wounded ellon replied. When he saw her raising an eyebrow, he added «not only, at least."
«Then accept a part of this basket as a token of my admiration in your attend to win this bet."
Legolas did not miss the mocking tone in her words, but instead of feeling exasperated, he started to laugh with the girl. Gwaerenor and Ferdir soon joined them, used to their constant competition. There was not a day without the prince of Eryn Galen and the daughter of the captain of the guard entering a contest, always more colorful than the last. They were both great archers and, where Legolas was a formidable adversary when it came to the blade, his comrade expressed her talent in hand to hand combat.
«Shall we find a spot to sit and enjoy those berries, then?» asked Gwaerenor impatiently.
«I said I will share it with Legolas,» the elleth reminded him with mischief. «What does tell you I will share with you as well?"
«Laineryn, mellon nín, do you have no mercy for a poor starving ellon?"
Laineryn flashed a grin at him, and she took Legolas's hand before running away. Soon, they were chased by Ferdir and Gwaerenor who wanted their share of the basket of fruits. The sound of voices and laughter could be heard in the forest, mingling with the happy songs of trees and birds.
They spent the rest of the afternoon lying in the tender grass of a meadow, enjoying the warmth of the spring sun, the sound of water and the delicious berries. They talked, laughed and played, in the innocence of their youth. They spent most of their free time together and had become inseparable over the first decades of their lives. Despite Legolas and Gwaerenor's statuses as respectively son and nephew of the king, no formalities existed when they were alone. As for their attitudes in court, they felt a great amusement in exaggerating their words and curtsies, to the utter despair of their tutors.
Anor had already started her descent to the west when they came back to the capital. They walk, companionably bantering on the streets of the cities, greeting elves they recognized with the wave of a hand or a small bow of the head. They soon reached the palace, passing the guards at the entrance, the four ellyn glancing at them with a small smile on their faces before such young merriment.
As soon as they entered the main courtyard, the four teen elves spotted a tall and dark haired figure standing down the stairs leading to the main doors of the palace. They were wearing the gray and green uniform of the woodland wardens, a sword at their hip. When they recognized them, the group of elves stopped chatting and the tall ellon stepped towards them, bowing to Legolas and Gwaerenor.
''My lords,'' he greeted them with a formality that was pure sindarin.
"Captain," both princes replied.
"Laineryn, I have been looking for you," the captain turned to his daughter. "You should not return home so late, your mother is worried for you."
"I am sorry, Adar," the brunette elleth said. "Legolas and I started a friendly archery competition and we did not see the time."
"Laineryn, how many times did I tell you to address the Prince properly when you speak of him?" her father scolded.
"There is no need for such formality, captain," Legolas intervened. "Laineryn and I have been friends for many years now."
"I understand your point, my lord, but there will be a time when Laineryn will become either a warden of the royal guard or a lady of the court and such familiarity will be accepted no longer. She must learn to behave accordingly."
Legolas watched Laineryn's reaction at her father's words and he was not surprised to see her fists clench. Húrdir had always had great expectations for his daughter, and even if the prince would never doubt the love he had for her, his friends did not appreciate to be reprimanded in front of other. She had her pride, something she took after Húrdir, pride that had the tendency to flare at very inappropriate moments.
"I am sorry, ernil nín," she said to him.
Legolas felt the sudden urge to take her hand to comfort her but restrained himself, he did not want to take part to the dispute between his friend and the king's captain, it was not his place.
Laineryn and Húrdir stared at each other, both their eyes defiant, before the young elleth bowed her head in resignation. Her father gestured for her to bid her friends goodnight and once it had been done, they both turned around to enter the palace.
Legolas, Gwaerenor and Ferdir exchanged looks, and the later shrugged. The king's son looked back in the direction his friend had disappeared and thought how he was not looking forward to growing up; he loved to much their escapes in the forest, their friendly banters and the carelessness of their youth. They would soon have responsibilities, though, so he would have to enjoy the years to come as much as he could.
oOo
Fear pulses through him like a second heartbeat, flowing in his veins and paralysing his senses. His mind knows that he is in the middle of a battlefield and that any second of distraction can be fatal to him. But he cannot seem to process what is happening or force his body to move.
"Legolas, behind you!"
The warning brings him back to reality, and he has just the time to duck and avoid the arrow aimed at his head. He turns back and grabs one of the smaller daggers hidden in one of his pockets, before sending it flying in the orc's direction. It hits its target between the eyes, and the creature falls, stone dead. Other orcs are coming his way, and he can do nothing but fighting back; his body moves on instinct, his blows are still deadly, but his mind is elsewhere. The only coherent thought he can form is that he has to reach the elleth who cried with such agony. He must go.
The orcs must have felt their end is coming because they launch themselves in a last attempt to defeat the elves. Their assaults are more violent, quicker and messier, but the arrow they shoot, the blows of their swords or their fists are not less brutal. The last of them are fiercely fighting for their lives, and Legolas and the remaining members of his patrol have to be careful and swift.
When the last orc is slain and its body hits the ground, a deadly silence falls on the meadow. The nightbirds have stopped singing long ago, but neither the wind in the trees nor the sound of rain can be heard. Legolas does not know if the silence comes from the blood still rushing in his ears, the chock of the battle or the numbness of his senses now that he no longer has to focus on fighting. But sounds come back eventually, and he can distinct the complains of wounded elves, groans and himpering of pain and the rapid sylven dialect spoken by those who are still standing and who comes to help their conrads.
He reacts quickly after that, remembering the urgency of the situation. He scans the scene, and the spectacle is horrific; bodies lie strewn the ground, of both orcs and elves. The former are all dead, various types of weapons sticking out of their carcass at random angles. Legolas feels a certain satisfaction at the sight; as his cousin Gwaerenor would say: "a good orc is a dead orc " and the ellon could not agree more. They will have to burn all the corpses and this morbid pyre would let a indelible trace on the meadow.
Legolas looks down and sees that his feet are wading in a mix of mud, torn grass, dead leaves, guts and blood. Out of the blue, his mind conveys the memory of the golden light of Anor bathing a green meadow, of two elves enjoying a lazy day in the middle of white and yellow flowers... The contrast with his current condition is so uncanny that it is almost absurd. He is not sure this meadow is the one of his memory, but he used to visit this kind of place with...
His head snaps back as he frantically search the place. After what seem like hours, he eventually sees the one he his looking for.
And the sight is more terrific than what his worst nightmares and fears could have conveyed. Bile raises to his throat and he has to stop himself from looking away.
oOo
Translations:
Ithil: the moon
Gwaerenor: windyman
Ferdir: hunter
Agorel vê, heryn vill(formal) : you did well, my lady
Ant lîn vîr mi 'ûr nîn. Le fêl, hîr vuin (formal):I shall treasure your gift in my heart. I thank you, my lord.
Mellon nín: my friend
Ernil nín: my prince
Eryn Galen: Greenwood
Laineryn: free woods
Anor: the sun
Hurdír: ready for action
Adar: father
