ANY characters mentioned in this story do not belong to me! As much as I would LOVE to own one elf—just one, tiny little elf—alas, I do not. All of the characters and plots belong to the creative geniuses of J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson (the lines in this story are based on the movie).
This is my first fic, so it'll probably be…ah, how shall I say this, "bad." But I'll try anyway.
Note: the bolded lines next to any Elvish is the English translation…there will also be a small little dictionary at the end!
Oh, and another note: in case you don't know, "Estel" is Aragorn's Elvish name, when he lived in Rivendell as a child.
No betas on this. Just little ol' me.
Chapter 1 – Uneventful Indeed
"I saw something…or I thought I did—away westwards where the moonlight was falling on the flats beyond the shadow of the hill-tops, I thought there were two or three black shapes. They seemed to be moving this way…"
~ Merry, "A Knife in the Dark"
Imladris | Rivendell |. The Hidden Valley. Rivendell. Home of the Half-Elves. Or, more simply, the House of Elrond. Ai, it had many names. But over the centuries, it had come to be my second home.
Imladris was nothing at all like Mirkwood, Greenwood the Great, (as it was once called), or even Doriath, the place of my birth. No orc has ever penetrated the defenses of the valley, and none ever shall: not while Glorfindel still draws breath, at least.
Rivendell may very well be the last remaining good place on Middle-Earth; the last one worth defending. Mirkwood was penetrated by the darkness of Dol Guldur long ago; and my people had been pushed further and further back into the forest. Lothlórien was beginning to fade. Soon, my distant relative-cum-adoptive grandmother the Lady Galadriel would sail to Valinor…along with the rest of our people. Men had all but given up trying to save their lands; Gondor and Rohan held back the darkness from Mordor again and again, but they could not hold out forever.
But today…today was not a day of complaints for me.
I was grinning recklessly as I spurred my horse on past the gates and dismounted, knowing quite well whom I would be seeing in a few short minutes. The children of Elrond had captured my heart many millennia ago, and while I had only known Estel for about eight decades – since he was just a babe of four – I had fallen under his spell just as I had the others.
The twins, Elrohir and Elladan, were more devious than anybody – man, elf, hobbit, or dwarf – I had ever met in my very long life. They were always playing pranks on their father, Erestor, or Glorfindel, all of which seemed to involve me in some way, much to my chagrin. Elladan was like the brother I never had, always wise enough to know what I was thinking. But Elrohir…Elrohir was something different. Blood seemed to rush through my body quicker and heavier, making my skin feel hot to the touch whenever I saw him. Perhaps I did love him, I was mature enough to admit that to myself, but how could I possibly know if he felt the same way? The only person on Arda | Middle-Earth | who knew this was the one who would always understand.
Arwen Undómiel. The Lady of Rivendell. The Evenstar. And easily the best female friend that I had. Despite our age gap, Arwen always seemed to understand the strife I went through: especially after my mother's death. Celebrian had sailed the ship to Valinor around the same time of my own Ammë's | Mother's | murder, leaving both of our fathers trying desperately to help us pass through the grief. Through our similarities, I soon learned to love Arwen like a little sister; something which reminded my father and Lord Elrond that the petty disagreements they occasionally had were truly useless and pointless (something we had been trying to tell them for centuries).
And after Arwen was so encouraging when I admitted my love for Elrohir, how could I not support her love for yet another good friend? Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. To disguise his identity, he was sometimes known as Strider. To his fellow Dunedain Rangers, he was simply Aragorn: one of the remaining Numenorians, blessed with long life. But to me, and to his family, he was, and always will be, Estel Elrondian. My elen-gwanûr | star-brother |. My fellow warrior. My friend. I had known the human since he was four, when he had gotten himself kidnapped by orcs (an adventure that involved the twins, reckless horses, bloodshed, and my hair being so saturated in mud that it took me days to wash it all out). Ever since I had saved him that day, I had been with Estel, always standing beside him on the brink of darkness. I swore an oath long ago; promising to look after him, and I intended to keep that vow.
And so, we come in full circle. To the elf making her way up the stairs to the Last Homely House of Imladris. Ellacári Greenleaf. The only child of the King of Mirkwood, Thranduil Oropherion. Princess of Light, Lady of the Forest, Child of the Valar, etcetera, etcetera, so on and so forth. Names which I have no use for. I shall forever be simply Ellacári, elleth | elf (fem.) | warrior.
My father had attempted to dissuade me from becoming a warrior many times, but I believe his eventual reasoning was that he would rather knowingly send me off to war than have me keep disappearing in the middle of the night with a sword and freshly cut hair as a disguise. I was the only heir to the throne of Mirkwood, and though my closeness to danger allowed me to understand my fellow warriors better than my father, it also required close calls to death, and my father's frantic mother-henning afterwards.
I was not dead yet, however, and I was sent to Imladris to attend the upcoming Council as a representative of Mirkwood. Atto | Father | must have realized that if this was as important as he believed, the heir to the throne should attend if the king himself could not.
Despite my true purpose for being there, the Council was far from my mind: my thoughts dwelling more on raids and patrols, on visions of slaughtering orcs with Glorfindel or Elrohir and Elladan. Killing orcs had been one of the bigger aspects of my life for many a century; and with that, diplomacy and economics that my father insisted on teaching me had become a waste of time when the Dark Lord was sending forth more and more evil creatures from Barad-dûr and Dol Guldur, surrounding my home with the armies of the foul beings.
But tonight I was to face something far darker than orcs, little to my knowledge of course. The moment I arrived in the valley, my good mood abruptly disappeared. Something was not right. For one thing, there were no elves walking about. This meant that they were either out patrolling, or all in their homes. And if it was the latter, it meant my friends would be in the Hall of Fire. I hurried up the steps, across the bridge, and into the Hall, where Erestor, Glorfindel, Lord Elrond, the twins, and Arwen were sitting. A servant hurried in after me, and announced in a flurry of words. "My Lord Elrond, Princess Ellacári, Daughter of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm and Heiress to the Lady Elbereth, Queen of Light, has arrived. Do you wish for me to send her in?"
I looked disbelievingly at the elf, who motioned for me to step outside so he could "send me in." My brow furrowed as Glorfindel laughed at the servant's hurt and slightly scared expression. He rose from his chair, and said "Please, princess, join us. We have been expecting you."
I smiled gratefully as the servant was dismissed, and reclined in a chair between Arwen and Elrohir (my heart rate already beginning to speed up with him next to me), with Elladan on the other side of his twin.
"Welcome back, Ellacári. How is your father? Does he send word?"
I nodded, and stood, as is tradition and protocol. "Indeed he does, my Lord. My King sends his regrets that he could not join this council you have sent word about, for as of late, orcs and spiders have been multiplying in numbers never seen before. He sends his daughter as a representative of him, however."
Elladan snickered. "Obviously." I hit him over the head with my palm. "Ow!" He complained. I smiled smugly – Elrohir snickering beside me – before sitting down.
Elrond chuckled briefly at our bickering, but quickly immersed himself in the conversation that I had interrupted.
"I believe we were just discussing my adventurous son." I looked at Elladan and Elrohir, and seeing that they were still here, and had worried looks once again on their faces, I sighed, and muttered the only possible person it could be. "Aragorn."
Erestor nodded to me, and said to Lord Elrond "The trees told us that he is now past the human village of Bree, with four Halflings in tow. Not to mention at least five wraiths he has managed to pick up along the way." The Seneschal sighed, shaking his head while pinching the bridge of his nose. "We do not know where the others are, but it seems highly unlikely that all nine are following him."
I looked at Arwen, and whispered so that I would not interrupt the conversation, "Why would the wraiths follow Aragorn? He does not have anything of worth, does he? Besides his lineage of course." Arwen shook her head, and said softly, "The One Ring has been found, El."
The rest of the elves in the room fell silent, and I knew at once that this was true. All the blood drained from my face. "The One Ring? Sauron's Ring?" I asked softly, fearing a confirming answer.
Elrond didn't say anything at first, just stood and, turning towards one of the windows, recited: "One Ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."
Elladan continued. "In the Land of Mordor…"
"…where the Shadows lie." His twin finished.
All of them were silent. Just saying it out loud cemented something horrible. Something none of us had wanted to admit.
Sauron was not only rising again…but he now had the power and means to be able to succeed.
Erestor broke the silence by coughing slightly and saying, "It is residing with a hobbit, is it not?"
I looked up in surprise at this. A hobbit? Whom would Aragorn trust with such a burden as this? Perhaps Bilbo Baggins…who nearly eight decades ago had invaded my father's realm with a small army of dwarves, giving truth to my father's words: Never, under any circumstances, trust a dwarf.
Little did he know, that I would soon befriend one under…very…strange circumstances.
Arwen's eyes narrowed and she asked "Bilbo?"
Elrond shook his head. "No, one of his kinsfolk. His nephew, I believe." I blinked, absorbing all this information. The One Ring was in the possession of a Halfling, and this Halfling was being led by Estel to Rivendell. Seemingly easy, if not for the Nazgûl chasing him to the Hidden Valley. Hopefully Imladris would remain hidden enough.
I sat against the chair, the conversation continuing around me, as I extended my sight from Rivendell to the World-Tower, otherwise known as Amon Suol, or Weathertop to the Second-Born. There, I saw a surprising event, one that shocked me into stillness in my seat.
I watched as four Halflings in a tight group drew their swords, one of them, I noticed absently, was of Elvish make. The first one attacked a wraith advancing on them, with a cry of "Back you devils!" but was thrown to the side. The second two tried to shield the dark-haired Halfling, but were also dismissed quickly.
The last hobbit stumbled backwards, trying to escape the robed wraith. I knew that there was no escaping this, as he was cornered against a stone pillar. I watched in awed horror as the hobbit put on the One Ring. And my vision clouded as the hobbit disappeared before my eyes. I could see the Witch King draw his sword, and stab where the hobbit used to be. There was an anguished scream, and the hobbit reappeared with a Morgul wound in his heart.
I gasped in horror. The Halfling was screaming now; I could almost see the poison and shadow working its way through his small body. I was now almost positive the Halfling would be lost to Shadow.
And that is when Aragorn obstructed my vision.
The ranger leapt with easy agility in front of the Witch King, and I shouted angrily in my mind: Estel! Have you gone mad?! Five wraiths at once? What are you…?
Fortunately, Aragorn proved me wrong again. A torch appeared in his grasp, and he waved the Witch King back with its flames, the fire licking its way up the branch.
"Frodo!" the sandy-haired perian | hobbit | yelled, running over to his injured companion. The hobbit answered back with a halfhearted pant. "Sam…"
Seeing the torch Estel bared the wraiths fled, and I saw Aragorn finish the last one off with a flick of his arm; the torch sped through the air, and landed directly on the Witch King's robes. They caught aflame, and the screaming wraith disappeared into the abyss.
I turned my attention back to the Halfling, as did Aragorn.
The sandy-haired perian kneeling beside the victim called out to my friend. "Strider!" The two other hobbits were now surrounding this "Frodo", comforting his anguished wails as Estel examined the blade.
He spoke my thoughts aloud. "He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade." His hands touched the hilt, and the blade crumbled to ash as human flesh wielded the weapon.
The sandy-haired one, "Sam", was weeping as Aragorn took up the Halfling, speaking to his companions as he did so. "This is beyond my skillty. He needs Elvish medicine."
The vision faded away with his words. As I gathered my wits and took hold of my surroundings, I noticed that Lord Elrond was staring at me intently. Arwen gripped my shoulder and asked softly, "Ellacári, what did you see?"
I took a deep breath to steady myself, and spoke of the vision I had seen. "They were at Amon Suol. The wraiths caught up with them…the ring-bearer, Frodo…he was stabbed by the Witch King."
Erestor gasped in horror, while Glorfindel simply closed his eyes, his skin turning sallow. Elrond stood in silent consideration, although you could tell that he was distressed by the sickly pale color his complexion became. "Estel saved them. But Frodo is hurt badly. They are only six days from Imladris, my Lord. They will never make it without an Elvish steed."
I thought about this, and then stood up in sudden realization of who needed to go. Elrond saw my train of thought. "No, Ellacári, it is too dangerous. Your father would have my head if he knew I had sent you out alone when we knew that the Nine were about. We will send a party of…"
Arwen supported me quietly. "Ada | Daddy |, Cári will be able to go quicker alone. She is more adept to protect the perian from the Nine than any other elf, other than Elbereth herself. They fear her power…I do not think that they will attack her outright, and if they do chase her, it would be to weaken her steed's strength. As for her father…" she paused, looking at me. "Thranduil does not have to know anything."
I smirked at her. Arwen was truly Dan and Ro's sister.
Elrond looked at his advisors. Glorfindel shrugged, but a twinkle in his eyes showed his approval. Erestor grumbled something about foolish wood-elves, but nodded his support as well.
Lord Elrond sighed, and nodded. I leapt from my chair before he had time to change his mind, and sprinted out of the Hall to the stables.
My mind absently began searching the woods surrounding Amon Suol as I leapt upon a white stallion with neither saddle, nor bridle. I found the party a little less than a league away from the watch tower. At the rate they were running, I would find them in two days perhaps, if I only stopped for rest when my horse deemed it necessary.
As I sped off toward the eastern gate of the valley, I said a little prayer to Elbereth: Héri-ello Cal, lar-nîn yesta: eteleht coile yare ni raht-tien. I Valar, eteleht coile. | Lady of Light, hear my plea: let them be alive when I reach them. By the Valar, let them be alive |.
Translations –
* NOTE: ITALICIZED = QUENYA; BOLDED = SINDARIN *
Imladris – Rivendell
Arda – Middle-Earth
Ammë – Mother/Mommy
Elen-gwanûr – Star-brother
Elleth – Elf (fem.)
Atto – Father
Perian – Hobbit
Ada – Daddy
Héri-ello Cal, lar-nîn yesta: eteleht coile yare ni raht-tien. I Valar, eteleht coile. – Lady of Light, hear my plea: let them be alive when I reach them. By the Valar, let them be alive.
Word-Count: 2682
Note about Translations: Since Quenya was basically only used during the First Age (by the High Elves + Noldor), and is Ellacári's first language (because she's a High Elf), it'll be used for her inward thoughts/prayers, in addition to her interactions with any other elves who would've had Quenya as their first language (i.e. Thranduil, Galadriel, etc.). Sindarin will be used for all other dialogue/interactions.
Hope you don't completely flame me. This is my first fic that I've published, so, it'll probably get really sucky reviews. Again, flames, while disappointing, are welcome. I can deal with criticism! :)
~ CC.