Author's note ~ I decided to try my hand at a romance fan-fic. :) :) This is a new area for me , so please be kind. I would appreciate constructive criticism from my readers on this story, and if I get enough reviews, I will continue it. :) :) :) :) And yes, Legolas will be making an appearance, or actually, more than one. :) :) :) Enjoy it!
Arwen
Disclaimer ~ I own none of these characters, save Anorel. Sadness. :) :) They belong to the great J.R.R. Tolkien.
"Sun Star ~ Child of Light"
Chapter I ~ "Anorel"
The Second Age. Celebrien, wife of Elrond, had been captured by Sauron, Morgoth's lieutenant. At the time of her capture, Celebrien was pregnant. When she escaped Sauron's clutches and returned to Imladris and her husband, her daughter did not.
Anorel, daughter of Elrond and Celebrien, grew up in the depths of Mordor, knowing nothing of beauty or forests, or that she herself was an Elf. Sauron took insane delight in her, one moment treating her like a valued possession, the next torturing her terribly.
So it was for a thousand years that Anorel lived in darkness and death, under the wing of the Dark Lord. But he could not break her. Although she knew not what she was, she knew what she was not. She was not an Orc, that much was obvious, and she was not like Sauron himself. One night, this fact became painfully clear.
~~~~~~~~~
An iron door screamed on its hinges as an Orc ripped it open. The darkness was complete, save for a single torch sitting in a bracket on a wall. The torch light flickered eerily across the ugly faces of the Orcs, and across the face of someone else. Her features held some great ethereal beauty, despite the shadows and darkness of her location.
The Orcs growled and grunted among themselves in Black Speech, a language that she had learned to despise in all its ugliness. Why she hated it, she did not yet know.
"What does the Master want us to do with her?" one asked, tightening his grip on Anorel's ankle as he dragged her through the corridor. Under normal circumstances, Anorel would have walked, but today Sauron had been in a foul temper and had taken it out on her. She was unconscious, or so thought.
"Put her in the dungeon," Grondel, current captain of Sauron's guard, growled. "She'll have a long rest before he starts in on her again."
They laughed with fiendish delight, for their very natures made them love cruelty, especially to the innocent.
Another door creaked open. Anorel was lifted high and flung into the darkest of dungeon cells. She landed in dank water, soaking her to the very skin. Sadly, the water was not fit to drink, unless the taster wished to die a very painful death.
She moaned, finding enough strength to lift herself into a sitting position. Stabbing pain shot through her chest. Instantly, hot tears sprang to her eyes and her hand strayed to her ribcage. Anorel sighed when her probing fingers touched upon a tender spot. He had done more damage to her than she thought. At least one rib was broken, three or four more were badly bruised. Her other injuries were less severe, amounting only to a sprained wrist and various gashes and bruises.
"He was angry today," Anorel mused, her voice filled with pain. But deep underneath the torture, there was a lightness and eloquence to her speech that could not be denied.
Anorel leaned back against the slimy wall, a familiar longing growing in her heart and in her mind. She longed for another place, a place of light and beauty. Anorel laughed bitterly, glancing around. "I know not if such a land even exists beyond my mind," she whispered.
As she spoke, weariness fell on her. Anorel lay flat on the cold stone, pillowed her head on her arms, and fell asleep. For the first time in her thousand years, Anorel's eyes did not close upon drifting off into the world of dreams.
The effect was instantaneous. As soon as her mind let go, Anorel found herself in a place so beautiful it brought tears to her hazel eyes. It was a forest, with hundreds upon thousands of trees. The only trees she had ever seen were tiny scrubs that died as soon as they breathed the air of Mordor. But these trees were tall and healthy, these trees were happy! The pain in her side was forgotten.
Anorel reached hesitantly toward one, wanting to feel the tree, and sense its life. As soon as her fingers touched the bark, a tear slid down her cheek. She could feel the tree's joy at seeing her, at feeling her touch. It was an experience that she would never forget.
The tree whispered gently, "Welcome to happiness, little one. We have waited long for you."
Anorel stepped back, her eyes wide. "You speak! How is it that you can speak to me?"
Another voice, quite different from the soft, showery voice of the oak, laughed softly. "You act as though you have never seen a tree before!"
For the first time in her life, Anorel saw someone like herself. He was tall, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. And he was smiling at her in amusement.
"It is true," she whispered. "This is the first true tree that I have ever seen." Anorel turned back to the forest, her eyes bright. "I have often found myself longing for such a place as this, but I never thought that it would actually exist!"
"How is it that you have never seen a tree?" he asked, stunned. "You are a Wood-Elf, that I can feel! Wood Elves are at home with the trees, and feel much pain when one is felled. I am a Wood-Elf myself!"
Anorel whipped around, tears shining brightly in her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. "What is it that you call me?"
Legolas, for that was his name, shook his head in wonder. "You are a Wood-Elf, a Silvan Elf. Though your appearance is that of a Noldar, only a Silvan Elf can have such reverence for trees." He bowed his head gently, watching her carefully.
She sank to the dark earth, carefully lifting a handful of damp dirt and letting it sift through her fingers. "I never dreamed that such life could exist." Anorel smiled brightly, feeling truly free, for now she knew what she was and what she had been longing for. "So I am an Elf!"
Legolas knelt before her, an eyebrow raised. He reached forward and carefully lifted her hair away from her left ear. Her ear came to a delicate tip. "Yes, you are an Elf. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, and you are in Mirkwood Forest, my home."
Anorel leaned forward and touched his ears, running her fingers over the tips. "Do all Elves have pointed ears, Legolas?"
He laughed gaily, his blue eyes dancing merrily. "Yes, all Elves have pointed ears." His face darkened slightly. "How is it that you know so little of your own people?"
She bit her lip, glancing at the ground. "Well, first, my name is Anorel. I know nothing of who I am, who my parents are, where I come from. I believe that right now I am asleep in a dungeon deep in Barad-Dur. I have been there for my entire life. For a thousand years, all I knew was pain and darkness. I had no idea that such a place as this truly existed, or that there was a world outside of Mordor."
"How have you survived for so long? Any other Elf would have given up life long ago, yet you, who knows nothing of who and what you are, have lived!" Legolas said, shocked.
"Perhaps that is what has kept me alive," she mused. "I knew that I was not like an Orc, yet I knew that I was not like Sauron. I wanted to know what I am, and why I have never seen another like me!"
"You are an enigma, Anorel," Legolas said with a soft smile. "I know nothing of you, and you know little more of yourself. Perhaps my father can help unravel this mystery. He knows much of the Second Age, in which both you and I were born. I will speak with him upon my awakening."
She was about to thank him when, suddenly, cold hands gripped her, ripping her from the warmth and happiness of Mirkwood. Mirthless laughter pounded into her sensitive ears, and Anorel curled up into a ball, wishing for the Orcs to leave her. The forest and Legolas faded, and the cold, wet cell reappeared.
Tears streaked down her cheeks. Finally, she had been given answers, only to have it snatched away.
Grondel thrust his ugly face close to hers, his foul breath nearly overwhelming her. "On your feet! Master wants a word with you!"
Anorel nearly passed out from the waves of pain as the Orcs roughly yanked her to her feet. One took the initiative and struck her side with his spear shaft. Anorel dropped to her knees with a weak whimper and coughed, trying to breath through the pain and failing miserably.
Grondel grabbed the Orc by the neck and slammed it against the wall. "Master wants her awake, you fool!" he snarled. "She's no good to him if she can't feel pain!"
Anorel groaned, feeling her strength fade. The blow must have broken other ribs, for even a small breath brought pain enough to scream. She slid down the wall and lay in a heap, falling into unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~
In Thranduil's palace in Mirkwood, Legolas awoke, breathing hard. He sat bolt upright, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. His eyes closed and he rubbed a hand over his forehead, laying back onto the pillow. Anorel had been taken away, it was obvious that she had not awoken of her own accord.
Swinging his legs over the bed, Legolas pulled on a light shirt and his boots. Sleep would not come again this night, and he needed to speak with his father.
~~~~~~~
Fate had been drawn against Anorel since her birth, but fate is a fickle thing. And perhaps, fate is not infallible.
Well? What do you think? Please review and let me know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Arwen
Disclaimer ~ I own none of these characters, save Anorel. Sadness. :) :) They belong to the great J.R.R. Tolkien.
"Sun Star ~ Child of Light"
Chapter I ~ "Anorel"
The Second Age. Celebrien, wife of Elrond, had been captured by Sauron, Morgoth's lieutenant. At the time of her capture, Celebrien was pregnant. When she escaped Sauron's clutches and returned to Imladris and her husband, her daughter did not.
Anorel, daughter of Elrond and Celebrien, grew up in the depths of Mordor, knowing nothing of beauty or forests, or that she herself was an Elf. Sauron took insane delight in her, one moment treating her like a valued possession, the next torturing her terribly.
So it was for a thousand years that Anorel lived in darkness and death, under the wing of the Dark Lord. But he could not break her. Although she knew not what she was, she knew what she was not. She was not an Orc, that much was obvious, and she was not like Sauron himself. One night, this fact became painfully clear.
~~~~~~~~~
An iron door screamed on its hinges as an Orc ripped it open. The darkness was complete, save for a single torch sitting in a bracket on a wall. The torch light flickered eerily across the ugly faces of the Orcs, and across the face of someone else. Her features held some great ethereal beauty, despite the shadows and darkness of her location.
The Orcs growled and grunted among themselves in Black Speech, a language that she had learned to despise in all its ugliness. Why she hated it, she did not yet know.
"What does the Master want us to do with her?" one asked, tightening his grip on Anorel's ankle as he dragged her through the corridor. Under normal circumstances, Anorel would have walked, but today Sauron had been in a foul temper and had taken it out on her. She was unconscious, or so thought.
"Put her in the dungeon," Grondel, current captain of Sauron's guard, growled. "She'll have a long rest before he starts in on her again."
They laughed with fiendish delight, for their very natures made them love cruelty, especially to the innocent.
Another door creaked open. Anorel was lifted high and flung into the darkest of dungeon cells. She landed in dank water, soaking her to the very skin. Sadly, the water was not fit to drink, unless the taster wished to die a very painful death.
She moaned, finding enough strength to lift herself into a sitting position. Stabbing pain shot through her chest. Instantly, hot tears sprang to her eyes and her hand strayed to her ribcage. Anorel sighed when her probing fingers touched upon a tender spot. He had done more damage to her than she thought. At least one rib was broken, three or four more were badly bruised. Her other injuries were less severe, amounting only to a sprained wrist and various gashes and bruises.
"He was angry today," Anorel mused, her voice filled with pain. But deep underneath the torture, there was a lightness and eloquence to her speech that could not be denied.
Anorel leaned back against the slimy wall, a familiar longing growing in her heart and in her mind. She longed for another place, a place of light and beauty. Anorel laughed bitterly, glancing around. "I know not if such a land even exists beyond my mind," she whispered.
As she spoke, weariness fell on her. Anorel lay flat on the cold stone, pillowed her head on her arms, and fell asleep. For the first time in her thousand years, Anorel's eyes did not close upon drifting off into the world of dreams.
The effect was instantaneous. As soon as her mind let go, Anorel found herself in a place so beautiful it brought tears to her hazel eyes. It was a forest, with hundreds upon thousands of trees. The only trees she had ever seen were tiny scrubs that died as soon as they breathed the air of Mordor. But these trees were tall and healthy, these trees were happy! The pain in her side was forgotten.
Anorel reached hesitantly toward one, wanting to feel the tree, and sense its life. As soon as her fingers touched the bark, a tear slid down her cheek. She could feel the tree's joy at seeing her, at feeling her touch. It was an experience that she would never forget.
The tree whispered gently, "Welcome to happiness, little one. We have waited long for you."
Anorel stepped back, her eyes wide. "You speak! How is it that you can speak to me?"
Another voice, quite different from the soft, showery voice of the oak, laughed softly. "You act as though you have never seen a tree before!"
For the first time in her life, Anorel saw someone like herself. He was tall, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. And he was smiling at her in amusement.
"It is true," she whispered. "This is the first true tree that I have ever seen." Anorel turned back to the forest, her eyes bright. "I have often found myself longing for such a place as this, but I never thought that it would actually exist!"
"How is it that you have never seen a tree?" he asked, stunned. "You are a Wood-Elf, that I can feel! Wood Elves are at home with the trees, and feel much pain when one is felled. I am a Wood-Elf myself!"
Anorel whipped around, tears shining brightly in her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. "What is it that you call me?"
Legolas, for that was his name, shook his head in wonder. "You are a Wood-Elf, a Silvan Elf. Though your appearance is that of a Noldar, only a Silvan Elf can have such reverence for trees." He bowed his head gently, watching her carefully.
She sank to the dark earth, carefully lifting a handful of damp dirt and letting it sift through her fingers. "I never dreamed that such life could exist." Anorel smiled brightly, feeling truly free, for now she knew what she was and what she had been longing for. "So I am an Elf!"
Legolas knelt before her, an eyebrow raised. He reached forward and carefully lifted her hair away from her left ear. Her ear came to a delicate tip. "Yes, you are an Elf. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, and you are in Mirkwood Forest, my home."
Anorel leaned forward and touched his ears, running her fingers over the tips. "Do all Elves have pointed ears, Legolas?"
He laughed gaily, his blue eyes dancing merrily. "Yes, all Elves have pointed ears." His face darkened slightly. "How is it that you know so little of your own people?"
She bit her lip, glancing at the ground. "Well, first, my name is Anorel. I know nothing of who I am, who my parents are, where I come from. I believe that right now I am asleep in a dungeon deep in Barad-Dur. I have been there for my entire life. For a thousand years, all I knew was pain and darkness. I had no idea that such a place as this truly existed, or that there was a world outside of Mordor."
"How have you survived for so long? Any other Elf would have given up life long ago, yet you, who knows nothing of who and what you are, have lived!" Legolas said, shocked.
"Perhaps that is what has kept me alive," she mused. "I knew that I was not like an Orc, yet I knew that I was not like Sauron. I wanted to know what I am, and why I have never seen another like me!"
"You are an enigma, Anorel," Legolas said with a soft smile. "I know nothing of you, and you know little more of yourself. Perhaps my father can help unravel this mystery. He knows much of the Second Age, in which both you and I were born. I will speak with him upon my awakening."
She was about to thank him when, suddenly, cold hands gripped her, ripping her from the warmth and happiness of Mirkwood. Mirthless laughter pounded into her sensitive ears, and Anorel curled up into a ball, wishing for the Orcs to leave her. The forest and Legolas faded, and the cold, wet cell reappeared.
Tears streaked down her cheeks. Finally, she had been given answers, only to have it snatched away.
Grondel thrust his ugly face close to hers, his foul breath nearly overwhelming her. "On your feet! Master wants a word with you!"
Anorel nearly passed out from the waves of pain as the Orcs roughly yanked her to her feet. One took the initiative and struck her side with his spear shaft. Anorel dropped to her knees with a weak whimper and coughed, trying to breath through the pain and failing miserably.
Grondel grabbed the Orc by the neck and slammed it against the wall. "Master wants her awake, you fool!" he snarled. "She's no good to him if she can't feel pain!"
Anorel groaned, feeling her strength fade. The blow must have broken other ribs, for even a small breath brought pain enough to scream. She slid down the wall and lay in a heap, falling into unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~
In Thranduil's palace in Mirkwood, Legolas awoke, breathing hard. He sat bolt upright, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. His eyes closed and he rubbed a hand over his forehead, laying back onto the pillow. Anorel had been taken away, it was obvious that she had not awoken of her own accord.
Swinging his legs over the bed, Legolas pulled on a light shirt and his boots. Sleep would not come again this night, and he needed to speak with his father.
~~~~~~~
Fate had been drawn against Anorel since her birth, but fate is a fickle thing. And perhaps, fate is not infallible.
Well? What do you think? Please review and let me know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!