Animus Vox
Author's Note:
So, here's the deal. I asked and was given permission to borrow (and kill) Kelsil (Thranduil's daughter) from Elf With Redbull. If you've heard of her before, know I asked first. Here goes!
Thorin walked around surveying the battlefield and the aftermath of the battle. So many lives lost. Elves, dwarves, and men had perished helping them destroy the goblins and dragon on their quest to reclaim their homeland. Was it worth it?
He looked down to see the corpses of once proud warriors laying lifeless on the ground. Here there were mostly men, but there was getting to be more and more elves.
Even though he was a dwarf and naturally despised them, he was extremely saddened by the loss of so many immortal lives. They should all still be in their homes, singing, drinking, and doing whatever the heck elves do.
He spied one elf on the ground, the way he was dressed, made him seem somehow superior to the other, almost like royalty. The elf blinked. Thorin nearly jumped out of his skin, believing all had already left this world.
He walked over to him, wait it wasn't a him, it was a her. He had seen several other female elves fighting, such as the fearless Marchwarden Tauriel (who he had met on numerous occasions at his stay at the palace).
He knelt by the the injured elf, trying to find out if there was anyway to prevent any further loss of life. The task was hopeless.
The elf had numerous wounds, some by themselves were fatal. Her right leg was slashed open from thigh to midcalf, deep enough to show bone, at least five ribs were presumably broken, a thank you from a mace, a spot in her torso where she had missed dodging a javelin, but what would probably prove fatal was the dagger firmly imbedded in her back, much too close to her heart.
There was nothing he could do to help. Wait, there was something. He could at least hopefully bring some comfort to ease the elf's passing.
Thorin knelt down again beside the elf and lifted her head onto his lap, attempting to relieve some of the pressure off the dagger wound on her back. She groaned in pain.
Thorin murmured words of comfort to the she-elf in common, but they received no response. Never the less, he continued.
The strange elf finally looked up again and locked her ice blue eyes onto him. He seemed to remember those eyes from somewhere else. The elf tried to speak, but coughed instead, leaving a trickle of blood running down her mouth. She resumed speaking, but this time, she got far enough to reveal that it was in elvish.
In a raspy voice, she said, "Nar Ada a Legs i im mel haim."
Thorin couldn't understand a word of what she said, but the look in her eyes pleaded for him to deliver her message.
The dying elf took in a few more raspy breaths before she breathed her last, and went to the land of her fallen warriors.
Thorin rose from his spot on the ground, but in second thought, bent back down and smoothed the mysterious elf's hair down and crossed her arms over her chest in the typical warrior fashion. He walked off and whispered a promise-a promise to deliver her message at all costs.
Thorin sighed as he made his way across the field to a small gathering of some of the remaining elven troops who had just shifted groups to help prepare the fallen warriors body's for burial.
He warily approached them, unsure of their reaction to him being in their presence. His doubts were immediately forgotten when one of the elves turned and beckoned him forwards, with a look of pleading and curiosity in his eyes.
He stepped forwards and looked at his boots. When he finally looked up, the elves could see that he had tears in his eyes. Thorin finally worked up the nerve to speak.
"Does anybody speak common?" he asked, in a way dreading the answer.
A blonde and a dark hair elf nodded, but the others looked on with confusion in their eyes.
"Can wou tell me what 'Nar Ada a Legs i im mel haim.' means?"
This immediately sent the elves reeling, trying to comprehend the meaning of his words and letting them sink in.
The blonde elf who he had spoken to now stared wide eyed and hopeless. He stumbled backwards until he tripped on a rock and his knees immediately buckled under him. He would have fallen to the ground, if a chestnut haired elf hadn't caught him and laid him there instead.
The brown haired elf who was a able to speak common stepped forwards, still obviously shaken, and gestured for him to come off to the side.
The elf was silent as if trying to figure out how to word his answer. The elf finally spoke, albeit heavily accented. "It means 'Tell father and Legolas that I love them. I'm so sorry.' Her name was Kelsil, and she is the crowned and only Princess of Mirkwood-and one of our best warriors."
Thorin nodded, understanding the sadness of of the elves and the shocked look in their eyes. The elf turned to leave, but Thorin put his hand on his shoulder, begging him to turn around.
"Who was the blonde elf?" he asked, being concerned for by his initial reaction.
The elf closed his eyes and murmured a prayer in elvish. The elf opened his eyes. "He is Legolas...her brother."
Author's Note:
I'm just saying here that the title of this is Latin for Soul Voice. I deemed it appropriate (and I was listening to the song...it's by Glitch Mob. Very good.) and couldn't think of anything better.
The elvish doesn't translate exactly, but it is close. Apparently elves don't have a word for sorry...or I can't find it.