Disclaimer: Not mine. except any that is.
Archive: I don't care. you can even put your name on it if you want to
lower your writing standard to my pathetic scribblings. as long as you tell
me what feedback you get from it.
Authors note: I don't know elvish grammar or any thing so when you see
elvish, all I've done is string keywords together from word lists so when
it says for example in the third paragraph 'gwaewleas Edhel'
It's meant to mean 'wind of the newborn elf' but it literally translates as
'wind child elf' because I couldn't be bothered spending hours figuring out
the right way to say it. I'm learning though. just don't flame me for it
all you die hard elvish speaking fanatics. But at least it looks elvish
enough unlike some attempts I've seen around here ;) Oh and another thing.
My idea of the elvish life cycle is that the first say 25 years of their
lives they age as a human and then they stop and stay that way until
they're slain in battle or sail for the west. They can stop at different
ages and either they choose when or the just do stop. Elrond in the
movieverse looks as though he stopped at 35 or more while Arwen looks like
20 so don't ask me how that works. Anyone who knows please tell me!
Please Review. I like any and all comments.even flames, I have a thick skin
I can handle it. Bring the flamers on. I'll take you all on!! Just keep in
mind that this is my first fic on here!
Shameless Plug: Like go read ditzcat !!! her fics are like way cool like.
The little elf danced over the rocks in blissful ignorance, his wooden knives thrusting and parrying to an unseen force in a graceful ballet of skill and precision. He was the youngest of his kin, being only 9 years old but showed talent equal to the other elflings, decades older.
For Elves, in these times bear children few and far between, as some already leave for the Gray Havens. Though when an elf child is born into this world there are few even in the mortal realm that do not feel the awakening. For the few brief moments after the birthing the whole world stills and the child's first squalls echoes dimly through all minds open to the purity and innocence that is the Elves. They are glad that another of the first born has graced the earth with his fair presence.
It was on this day that the little elf on the rock, whose own gwaewleas Edhel was but a few years ago, faltered in his imaginary onslaught of attacks, something that hadn't happened for a long time. But instead of cursing and starting his training again he stood tall.. well as tall as he could for his age, and felt the air whip around him with a newfound energy, his golden hair flicking wildly around his head. He breathed deep of the air and felt the change in balance as another elfling entered the world of Arda. 'At last' he thought as he realized that he was no longer the baby of his race.
The Elfling raced the few miles home through the thick verdant trees that was his, Mirkwood Forest. His father and brothers disapproved of his tendencies to run off into the forest when evil had dwelled there not so long ago. But his mother, Lómelindë, encouraged his independence allowing him to train deep within the folds of the forest, in his secret private places away from the hustle of the palace. He was a Prince but fortunately did not need to train in the matters relevant to running a kingdom, for he had three older and more studious brothers, learning these things that mattered little to him.
He loved them all dearly though no matter how hard he tried he could not understand what drew them to the courtly duties as preferance over the immense satisfaction that he gained when perfecting a battle move or learning a new trick with the bow. He started using the bow but two years ago, and had been progressing at a less than average pace. Elflings did not usually start archery training until they were older for the plain fact that they did not have the power nor the size to handle a bow, despite their elvish advantages. But to his insistence he had a bow modified for his specifications, which he proudly accepted from his parents on his 6th birthday.
As he approached the palace he felt his mood shift from easy and quick to patient and thoughtful as he composed himself for the behaviour that was expected of him as a prince. He entered the palace through the back door, taking the time to quickly change his dirt stained clothes to avoid his fathers scornful gaze.
When he reached the royal court room, a mahogany resplendant hall, warm, open and inviting, he did not slow to knock or announce his presence. His father sat upon a marvelous yet simple throne that was no higher than any other chair in the room, for none in his council were considered below him. Thranduil looked down with a knowing look. "Yes Legolas, The Eldar has been blessed by Valar with a new addition" he said answering his unsaid question.
"Who is it?" he asked for there was no Elves known to him that were expecting. "I do not know" said Thranduil, his eyebrows knotted with concern "the gwaewlaes Edhel was to far away for me to sense the details. Let it distract you not little one. I do believe that you should have started archery practice half an hour ago"
Legolas' eyes burned with indignation. " Ada I am no longer little!" he said firmly. "Tell that to you're archery instructor Merimacu. He has told me that you are having trouble with the bow Legolas. Even at your age an Elf should not have trouble with it. Is there something wrong?" "Nay Ada, Perhaps I should just practice more" Legolas said offhandedly. "Son, I thought you enjoyed archery, you begged me to get that bow for you four years ago." "Yes I know but it seems that the harder I try the less I hit the target" Legolas replied. "Then don't try, an archer must be completely at ease with ones self, relaxed and limber, ready for anything. You must let your instincts guide you and point you in the right direction. The bow will do the rest" "You sound like Merimacu" said Legolas as he turned and walked out of the room. Thranduil just smiled, shook his head and returned to his kingly duties.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
As the fair haired Elfling neared the firing range with his bow, he saw the faintly flushed face of an angry instructor. Merimacu, however, kept his composure steady and merely motioned for Legolas to take his place at the shooting stands. The other darker and taller elf children straightened their looming bodies as the prince drew near, smirking at him in unrestrained derision.
"Sorry Lord Merimacu" said Legolas, casting his eyes breifly downwards in a sign of apology and submission. He knew Merimacu would make him pay for it later. He was not a bad or cruel teacher, just a strict one who couldn't stand getting less than 100% from each of his pupils, no matter their size or age.
Legolas stood next to Taranca, the next youngest elf besides himself and the least threatening, He did not like to show his fears so plainly, yet it was obvious to anyone to the reason of his position. He pulled his bow off his back mount and tried to pull an arrow from his small quiver to ready himself as the other little archers already were. To his dismay, several arrows pulled out as they were caught on the first one, and fell to the forest floor, narrowly missing his foot.
Now several sniggers issued from the other children and Legolas watched in dismay as Merimacu advanced on him with an extreme look of annoyance written across his face. "Legolas" he said exasperatedly. "Yes My Lord" "Have I or have I not told you to pack your arrows neatly every morning?" "Yes My Lord" Legolas could feel his face burning as the teacher scolded him in front of the other children. He at first had thought it was a good thing that his father had found finally a good archery teacher that would not treat Legolas as his prince, but as a pupil. Usually the teachers were too frightened of his royal status to tell him off or criticize his performance. Not Merimacu. "Legolas how many times do I have to tell you? You just can't seem to get it. You need to try harder, practise more to keep up with the rest of the class. Your accuracy is improving so slowly that I fear it should soon stop and reverse in the opposite direction. I may have to tell the King to postpone your training till you are able to string and use a proper Mirkwood bow unless you pick up your form" Legolas was blushing bright red now at being humiliated in front of all the other elflings, and he felt a lump form inside his throat. Inside his tumultuous mind he struggled to hold back tears, though the emotion shown in his eyes told of the internal conflict to the entire audience. One of the children furthest from him whispered to his companion "watch out he's going to bawl" which was easily picked up by Legolas' better than average hearing. Merimacu showed no sign that he had heard the comment as he looked on the undersized elf child. "Legolas, move to the far side of the field, away from the rest of the class and I want to see at least ten bullseye holes in that target before you return to the palace. And no fudging them!" He said as Legolas quickly retrieved the fallen arrows and turned from his supposed class 'mates', walking quickly and efficiently to the far side of the field. He composed his features on the way and lengthened his stride, drawing from within himself all the noble blood of his father. 'I am Thranduillion' he thought proudly 'none shall make me waver from courage'. Yet inside he was a quivering wreak, inside the words of the other students branded him deeply. He tried. He tried with all of his being, to be accepted, to be worthy of his position but even in it's entirety it was not enough, and Legolas did not know what to do.
A few hours later and Legolas was still at the field, his arms screamed with pain as he pulled another arrow from his quiver and notched it on his bow. Before he pulled back he mentally checked his posture, stance and aim, of which he could find no fault so he weakly flexed his aching muscles and loosed the arrow. As with all the other arrows in the current round, it fell hopelessly to the ground a few feet in front of the target. Legolas winced as though he had been struck and grimly reached for another arrow, too stubborn or proud to end the useless pain filled cycle of failure until he reached the unattainable goal that would have been so easy for any normal elf child. 'But I'm not normal' he chided himself 'I am weak' he was convinced.
His arrival had been one of surprise as the King and Queen of Mirkwood had not intended on having another child. It was not an unwelcome surprise however and the new born was accepted as any normal baby would have been, into a world of love and doting compassion towards the youngest and most adorable addition to the Mirkwood high family. However it was from his birth that they knew he was different. His body was smaller than any normal elvish baby, though did not lack strength and his eyes were a pale almost translucent green, rimmed in a dark band of emerald, that had never before been seen. His hair was pale and spun like molten gold in the moonlight, a complete opposite to the elves of the Mirkwood realm. During family meals he would stand out as a stark contrast to all that saw, with his three older brothers, dark and regal, able to command people with a look, much like his father Thranduil. His mother Lómelindë was also dark however her hair was laced with streaks of brilliant copper and auburn that scintillated in the breath of the stars. Her face was stern yet Legolas hardly ever saw it as such as his presence never failed to melt her composure. She was surely the most beautiful elf in all of Arda to Legolas though he was slightly biased. Legolas had a slightly effeminate and innocent look to him, more so than other elflings, that seemed to attract the other mother elves like bees to honey, and yet repel the elves of his own generation, as far as generations go with the elves.
Right there and then, amongst the weaved target boards and the slowly darkening sky Legolas made a silent vow to himself. To never show his emotions like that again. He needed to be strong like his father and Mother or he would never succeed at archery or at life. He would practice until he was the greatest archer in Mirkwood.. 'no' he thought to himself as he felt his selfconfidence return as it was that morning in his sword play.the whole of Middle Earth. and the universe. He released yet another arrow and heard it thunk into the black bullseye, and almost broke his vow then and there as he restrained the urge to jump and Whoop for joy. "Ok Legolas, only 9 more left to go!" he said to himself, not afraid that anyone would here him as the class had left an hour and a half before, and Merimacu with them, having given up on the failing child.
However Legolas' strength was already heavily taxed and drained from his small body and his spurt of enthusiasm was soon quenched with the inevitable realisation that he wasn't going to achieve the impossible that evening. Yet his will kept him going as arrow after arrow fell closer and closer to him, and further and further from the target.
Wearily, in the twilight of dusk, he reached for the last arrow of that round and felt a restrictive hand prevent him from pulling it from his quiver. With half lidded eyes he turned to face this intruder and was met by the stern face of Merimacu. "Enough Legolas" he said coldly "You have been going for 5 hours now. I have been up to my flet, bathed, had dinner and evening council with your father, and have come to the field to do a little of my own practice in the peace of moonlight, only to watch you for the past ten minutes, continuously fail to even reach the target let alone hit a bullseye. It is obvious that you are tired and cannot possibly finish even this simple task tonight. I told you to quit this useless activity when class ended." Legolas did not remember Merimacu dismissing him, so oblivious to his surroundings and deep in thought was he. But even if he had he would not have stopped. Through his pride, dignity or otherwise, he would have continued.
"I am no baby" he said indignantly, suddenly wide awake "I am Prince Legolas Thranduillion, Forth heir to the throne of Mirkwood and I shall not move from this location if it does not please me so" Merimacu was surprised at this sudden burst of command, he had never tried to pull anything over Merimacu using his status before, but he wasn't phased. "Legolas there is no point' he replied loosening his grip on the little Prince's hand. "Perhaps you should just wait until you are of proper age" "Nay" he said simply as he returned to his archery with renewed vigour. He shot the last arrow closer to the target than recent attempts and he smiled with satisfaction as his allowed his pride fuel him. He walked off to retrieve the arrows, some now slightly disheveled from their recent assault. Merimacu just shook his head in disbelief and, having now lost the mood to practice, returned to his flet to retire early.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The little elf danced over the rocks in blissful ignorance, his wooden knives thrusting and parrying to an unseen force in a graceful ballet of skill and precision. He was the youngest of his kin, being only 9 years old but showed talent equal to the other elflings, decades older.
For Elves, in these times bear children few and far between, as some already leave for the Gray Havens. Though when an elf child is born into this world there are few even in the mortal realm that do not feel the awakening. For the few brief moments after the birthing the whole world stills and the child's first squalls echoes dimly through all minds open to the purity and innocence that is the Elves. They are glad that another of the first born has graced the earth with his fair presence.
It was on this day that the little elf on the rock, whose own gwaewleas Edhel was but a few years ago, faltered in his imaginary onslaught of attacks, something that hadn't happened for a long time. But instead of cursing and starting his training again he stood tall.. well as tall as he could for his age, and felt the air whip around him with a newfound energy, his golden hair flicking wildly around his head. He breathed deep of the air and felt the change in balance as another elfling entered the world of Arda. 'At last' he thought as he realized that he was no longer the baby of his race.
The Elfling raced the few miles home through the thick verdant trees that was his, Mirkwood Forest. His father and brothers disapproved of his tendencies to run off into the forest when evil had dwelled there not so long ago. But his mother, Lómelindë, encouraged his independence allowing him to train deep within the folds of the forest, in his secret private places away from the hustle of the palace. He was a Prince but fortunately did not need to train in the matters relevant to running a kingdom, for he had three older and more studious brothers, learning these things that mattered little to him.
He loved them all dearly though no matter how hard he tried he could not understand what drew them to the courtly duties as preferance over the immense satisfaction that he gained when perfecting a battle move or learning a new trick with the bow. He started using the bow but two years ago, and had been progressing at a less than average pace. Elflings did not usually start archery training until they were older for the plain fact that they did not have the power nor the size to handle a bow, despite their elvish advantages. But to his insistence he had a bow modified for his specifications, which he proudly accepted from his parents on his 6th birthday.
As he approached the palace he felt his mood shift from easy and quick to patient and thoughtful as he composed himself for the behaviour that was expected of him as a prince. He entered the palace through the back door, taking the time to quickly change his dirt stained clothes to avoid his fathers scornful gaze.
When he reached the royal court room, a mahogany resplendant hall, warm, open and inviting, he did not slow to knock or announce his presence. His father sat upon a marvelous yet simple throne that was no higher than any other chair in the room, for none in his council were considered below him. Thranduil looked down with a knowing look. "Yes Legolas, The Eldar has been blessed by Valar with a new addition" he said answering his unsaid question.
"Who is it?" he asked for there was no Elves known to him that were expecting. "I do not know" said Thranduil, his eyebrows knotted with concern "the gwaewlaes Edhel was to far away for me to sense the details. Let it distract you not little one. I do believe that you should have started archery practice half an hour ago"
Legolas' eyes burned with indignation. " Ada I am no longer little!" he said firmly. "Tell that to you're archery instructor Merimacu. He has told me that you are having trouble with the bow Legolas. Even at your age an Elf should not have trouble with it. Is there something wrong?" "Nay Ada, Perhaps I should just practice more" Legolas said offhandedly. "Son, I thought you enjoyed archery, you begged me to get that bow for you four years ago." "Yes I know but it seems that the harder I try the less I hit the target" Legolas replied. "Then don't try, an archer must be completely at ease with ones self, relaxed and limber, ready for anything. You must let your instincts guide you and point you in the right direction. The bow will do the rest" "You sound like Merimacu" said Legolas as he turned and walked out of the room. Thranduil just smiled, shook his head and returned to his kingly duties.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
As the fair haired Elfling neared the firing range with his bow, he saw the faintly flushed face of an angry instructor. Merimacu, however, kept his composure steady and merely motioned for Legolas to take his place at the shooting stands. The other darker and taller elf children straightened their looming bodies as the prince drew near, smirking at him in unrestrained derision.
"Sorry Lord Merimacu" said Legolas, casting his eyes breifly downwards in a sign of apology and submission. He knew Merimacu would make him pay for it later. He was not a bad or cruel teacher, just a strict one who couldn't stand getting less than 100% from each of his pupils, no matter their size or age.
Legolas stood next to Taranca, the next youngest elf besides himself and the least threatening, He did not like to show his fears so plainly, yet it was obvious to anyone to the reason of his position. He pulled his bow off his back mount and tried to pull an arrow from his small quiver to ready himself as the other little archers already were. To his dismay, several arrows pulled out as they were caught on the first one, and fell to the forest floor, narrowly missing his foot.
Now several sniggers issued from the other children and Legolas watched in dismay as Merimacu advanced on him with an extreme look of annoyance written across his face. "Legolas" he said exasperatedly. "Yes My Lord" "Have I or have I not told you to pack your arrows neatly every morning?" "Yes My Lord" Legolas could feel his face burning as the teacher scolded him in front of the other children. He at first had thought it was a good thing that his father had found finally a good archery teacher that would not treat Legolas as his prince, but as a pupil. Usually the teachers were too frightened of his royal status to tell him off or criticize his performance. Not Merimacu. "Legolas how many times do I have to tell you? You just can't seem to get it. You need to try harder, practise more to keep up with the rest of the class. Your accuracy is improving so slowly that I fear it should soon stop and reverse in the opposite direction. I may have to tell the King to postpone your training till you are able to string and use a proper Mirkwood bow unless you pick up your form" Legolas was blushing bright red now at being humiliated in front of all the other elflings, and he felt a lump form inside his throat. Inside his tumultuous mind he struggled to hold back tears, though the emotion shown in his eyes told of the internal conflict to the entire audience. One of the children furthest from him whispered to his companion "watch out he's going to bawl" which was easily picked up by Legolas' better than average hearing. Merimacu showed no sign that he had heard the comment as he looked on the undersized elf child. "Legolas, move to the far side of the field, away from the rest of the class and I want to see at least ten bullseye holes in that target before you return to the palace. And no fudging them!" He said as Legolas quickly retrieved the fallen arrows and turned from his supposed class 'mates', walking quickly and efficiently to the far side of the field. He composed his features on the way and lengthened his stride, drawing from within himself all the noble blood of his father. 'I am Thranduillion' he thought proudly 'none shall make me waver from courage'. Yet inside he was a quivering wreak, inside the words of the other students branded him deeply. He tried. He tried with all of his being, to be accepted, to be worthy of his position but even in it's entirety it was not enough, and Legolas did not know what to do.
A few hours later and Legolas was still at the field, his arms screamed with pain as he pulled another arrow from his quiver and notched it on his bow. Before he pulled back he mentally checked his posture, stance and aim, of which he could find no fault so he weakly flexed his aching muscles and loosed the arrow. As with all the other arrows in the current round, it fell hopelessly to the ground a few feet in front of the target. Legolas winced as though he had been struck and grimly reached for another arrow, too stubborn or proud to end the useless pain filled cycle of failure until he reached the unattainable goal that would have been so easy for any normal elf child. 'But I'm not normal' he chided himself 'I am weak' he was convinced.
His arrival had been one of surprise as the King and Queen of Mirkwood had not intended on having another child. It was not an unwelcome surprise however and the new born was accepted as any normal baby would have been, into a world of love and doting compassion towards the youngest and most adorable addition to the Mirkwood high family. However it was from his birth that they knew he was different. His body was smaller than any normal elvish baby, though did not lack strength and his eyes were a pale almost translucent green, rimmed in a dark band of emerald, that had never before been seen. His hair was pale and spun like molten gold in the moonlight, a complete opposite to the elves of the Mirkwood realm. During family meals he would stand out as a stark contrast to all that saw, with his three older brothers, dark and regal, able to command people with a look, much like his father Thranduil. His mother Lómelindë was also dark however her hair was laced with streaks of brilliant copper and auburn that scintillated in the breath of the stars. Her face was stern yet Legolas hardly ever saw it as such as his presence never failed to melt her composure. She was surely the most beautiful elf in all of Arda to Legolas though he was slightly biased. Legolas had a slightly effeminate and innocent look to him, more so than other elflings, that seemed to attract the other mother elves like bees to honey, and yet repel the elves of his own generation, as far as generations go with the elves.
Right there and then, amongst the weaved target boards and the slowly darkening sky Legolas made a silent vow to himself. To never show his emotions like that again. He needed to be strong like his father and Mother or he would never succeed at archery or at life. He would practice until he was the greatest archer in Mirkwood.. 'no' he thought to himself as he felt his selfconfidence return as it was that morning in his sword play.the whole of Middle Earth. and the universe. He released yet another arrow and heard it thunk into the black bullseye, and almost broke his vow then and there as he restrained the urge to jump and Whoop for joy. "Ok Legolas, only 9 more left to go!" he said to himself, not afraid that anyone would here him as the class had left an hour and a half before, and Merimacu with them, having given up on the failing child.
However Legolas' strength was already heavily taxed and drained from his small body and his spurt of enthusiasm was soon quenched with the inevitable realisation that he wasn't going to achieve the impossible that evening. Yet his will kept him going as arrow after arrow fell closer and closer to him, and further and further from the target.
Wearily, in the twilight of dusk, he reached for the last arrow of that round and felt a restrictive hand prevent him from pulling it from his quiver. With half lidded eyes he turned to face this intruder and was met by the stern face of Merimacu. "Enough Legolas" he said coldly "You have been going for 5 hours now. I have been up to my flet, bathed, had dinner and evening council with your father, and have come to the field to do a little of my own practice in the peace of moonlight, only to watch you for the past ten minutes, continuously fail to even reach the target let alone hit a bullseye. It is obvious that you are tired and cannot possibly finish even this simple task tonight. I told you to quit this useless activity when class ended." Legolas did not remember Merimacu dismissing him, so oblivious to his surroundings and deep in thought was he. But even if he had he would not have stopped. Through his pride, dignity or otherwise, he would have continued.
"I am no baby" he said indignantly, suddenly wide awake "I am Prince Legolas Thranduillion, Forth heir to the throne of Mirkwood and I shall not move from this location if it does not please me so" Merimacu was surprised at this sudden burst of command, he had never tried to pull anything over Merimacu using his status before, but he wasn't phased. "Legolas there is no point' he replied loosening his grip on the little Prince's hand. "Perhaps you should just wait until you are of proper age" "Nay" he said simply as he returned to his archery with renewed vigour. He shot the last arrow closer to the target than recent attempts and he smiled with satisfaction as his allowed his pride fuel him. He walked off to retrieve the arrows, some now slightly disheveled from their recent assault. Merimacu just shook his head in disbelief and, having now lost the mood to practice, returned to his flet to retire early.
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