shiningbanana presents: Identity Unveiled, Powers Unsheathed
-
Full Summary:
To most, home is the place where they have lived most of their lives, a safe place where nothing can harm them. To Elizabette Allan, an orphan, home is a dark place of danger and mystery. The only location where she feels safe is in the forest. But when she meets Legolas from Middle- Earth, her world changes. Legolas asks her to come to Middle- Earth, and, anxious to escape her orphanage, she agrees to go.
Elizabette's powers heal Legolas' people of a terrible disease. She is the only one who knows just what the disease can do- and the only one who can save the elves.
But when Elizabette falls ill of another cause, only Legolas knows why. He alone has the power to save her. Can she trust the elf? Will he ever understand what torments her?
If he does not help her, all of the elves will die. But can he? And when will he realize how to help her?
-
Disclaimer: I am receiving no profit from this story. It was written for pleasure only. Most of the characters belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I altered the family tree slightly, but most of it is taken from Professor Tolkien's book The Silmarillion. Lord Elrond had only one brother, but I gave him another one to make the story interesting. Elizabette Allan, her parents, and her grandparents are mine. Also, the nítir did not exist. That is from my own imagination. As far as I know, the Lieutenant of the Black Tower was not alternately the leader of an orphanage. King Thranduil belongs to Professor Tolkien, although his personality in this story is from my own imagination. Silrocca and Súláríl are my own characters, as are Duinral and Ryncäl. Anyone recognizable belongs to Professor Tolkien.
-
Author's note: There is some Elvish in this story. This is Quenya, one of Professor Tolkien's languages. Yes, I know that the Silvan elves spoke Sindarin, but I could not find a Sindarin course. Please note that Elizabette does not know Elvish instinctively, as you would not know English if you had been raised in China by people speaking Chinese, though your parents were English. Also, note that there are two main plots that are interconnected: the disease and Elizabette's desire for family or friends.
-
Note on pronunciation: In Quenya, there is no soft, hissing C as in English celebrate. Instead, always use a hard C as in English curtain. Thus, ósanwë-centa is 'o-san-wa- kenta' rather than 'o-san-wa- senta'. Also note that the symbol 'ë' is pronounced between 'eh' and 'ah', so tancavë (yes) is pronounced "tan-cav-aeh", with the ae slurred together. There is some variation. Rúnayë (the messenger) is pronounced 'Roo-naa-yaeh' but the 'aeh' sounds closer to 'ehy' than the previous example.
So... As an elf might say, haryë alassë, or enjoy. On to the story.
-
Chapter 1: Old Oak
-
The day had been clear, but clouds were fast coming in, obscuring the dapples that had danced on the forest floor, the sunlight trickling through the shifting leaves. The sudden dimness was a startling contrast to the previously beautiful morning.
Elizabette sighed.
She sat on the soft carpet of moss under the leafy foliage of an old oak. Pressing back into the tree, she forced herself to relax, let go. In the real world, in the orphanage, she was pushed into the group- always one of the crowd. This was her escape. Her fantasy world.
She always rushed to the safety of the forest. Always she had felt safer in the forest, as if the solemn trees held something for her that nothing else did.
She'd run away again, this time from the guidance counselor. He'd summoned her, a rare occurrence and one that always called for caution. He was a dangerous man, she thought. She kept away as much as possible, but a direct summons she could not avoid. To her fortune, however, this time it had been merely to discuss her social skills, or lack thereof.
Do you think I don't hate being the outcast, the black sheep? she demanded mentally at him as he shouted about her reclusiveness and the bad impression it gave others.
You try to force me to be one of the crowd, even when you know that for some reason I'll always stand out. It's not even because I'm the only one with no family at all. They don't hate me because of that. It's something else, something I've never been sure of.
Her entire family, except for her, had been killed by a mysterious disease when she was no more than four. For a long while she'd thought that they hated her because she was the only one with no friends, no family, but she realized that it wasn't true.
But I don't even want to be part of the crowd, much as it would help me. I don't want to be like everyone else.
She'd run away, as soon as she was dismissed. To the forest, to the mysterious solemnness of the ancient oaks.
But no one knows that I come here, Elizabette thought. No one cares enough to wonder... Of course Matron would come looking for her later, but only because a lost orphan would give her a bad reputation.
Elizabette leaned back into the rough bark of the old oak, her favorite tree. She came to it when she could not escape her own thoughts. But the forest refused to comfort her today. A single tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a salty trail.
Another slipped down. Elizabette bowed her head, dropping her face to her knees. Her curly golden brown hair obscured her eyes.
After a few minutes, the quiet of the wood calmed her, and she rested her face quietly on her knees, breathing deeply. Then, she jolted up, alerted by the sharp crack of a broken twig.
She drew back against the tree, for suddenly there was a golden- haired boy in front of her, watching her warily.
"You need not be frightened," he stated softly. His voice was musical and blended with the bird calls and the soft rustling of the wind in the trees.
She ignored his comment and stared at him. He was clad in brown tunic and leggings of a strange material. Under the tunic was a crisp white shirt, and wrapped around his shoulders green cloak was a green cloak, tied in front. His leather boots rose almost to his knees, and slung on his back was a sleekly polished bow and a quiver of sharp gold- fletched arrows.
"Who are you, and where do you come from?" demanded Elizabette, knowing full well that he was certainly not one of the orphanage boys from the building across the woods. But who else had leave to be in the oak forest?
"My name is Legolas, and I come from the forest of Mirkwood."
Elizabette froze and started up from the oak. "What?" she exclaimed.
The boy's eyebrows creased into a delicate frown. "I am Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood," he repeated.
"That's impossible. It can't be true!"
"Why not?"
"Mirkwood's in Middle- Earth," Elizabette told him flatly. "You're trying to tell me that you come from a book."
"I said not that," protested the boy. "I know that I am in a world different than my own, but I know not what you may mean."
Elizabette stiffened slightly. "You say you come from another world?"
The boy nodded. "Would you care to hear my tale?"
Elizabette sat against the old oak again. "I would, in fact."
Legolas sat a few feet away. He paused for a moment before saying,
"I was sent from my homeland, Mirkwood, to seek an answer to a great mystery that has arisen. I traveled long and far, and came at last to Fangorn Forest. Something drew me to continue through it, and I came upon a solid wall on the western edge of the forest. It was constructed of an unfamiliar substance, green in color and quite slippery. It was near dark then, and I looked long around for a clue to this puzzle. I noticed that the trees seemed distressed and restless.
"As it was dark, I slept the night by the wall, and as the sun peeked her fiery edge over the dark horizon and light came into the forest, I saw a door cut discreetly into the wall. As the barrier stretched north and south as far as my eyes could see, I saw no reason not to open the door. When I did so, I saw an unfamiliar forest on the other side. Curious, I stepped through, and the wall behind me vanished."
"Can't you prove to me that you're not lying?" she asked skeptically.
"Tancavë, málo, ninuva," he replied softly.
Elizabette looked up, startled.
"Yes, friend, I shall," he translated. He stood and drew a gold- fletched arrow. Fitting it neatly to his bowstring, he let it fly. Elizabette turned to look as the arrow fluttered down. It pierced the center of a single flower.
"Well, I can see that you're an excellent archer," commented Elizabette. "But that doesn't make you an elf. You can't prove it."
"You must trust me," he replied. He went to retrieve the arrow. As he returned, he continued, "My father, King Thranduil, sent me to seek a solution to a great problem that has arisen.
"A strange disease has struck us. Three elves have died already. We know not how it has happened, or how to stop it."
Elizabette's mind snapped suddenly to her family members' mysterious deaths. "Yes," she sighed, half to herself. "I suppose I have to believe you. But you don't know how strange this is for me. In my world, you don't exist. You're a character in a book. Someone wrote about everything you've done. It can't be possible."
Legolas seemed intensely interested. "You say that someone has drafted a book about me?"
Elizabette shrugged one shoulder. "It's about you as well as many other people." She paused. "It's actually three books, a trilogy."
"I should like to see these books," the elf hinted.
"I can't show it to you if some things haven't happened yet," said Elizabette anxiously. If Legolas read what was to come, he might try to change it in some way, and ruin the entire future of Middle- Earth. "Is Aragorn the king of Gondor?" she asked after considering.
"Yes, he has been king for thirty years and more. The sea calls me, but I will not leave him until he lies in eternal sleep."
Elizabette nodded. "I will bring the books to you tomorrow, Your Highness," she assented respectfully.
"You may call me Legolas." He smiled at her.
She smiled back. "My name's Elizabette Allan," she informed him. She leaned back against the old oak, feeling its delight in being alive. The clouds had passed overhead and the sun shone golden on the treetops, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.
---
Matron's voice cut sharply into her drifting thoughts. She sat up straight. Legolas noticed a look of guarded fear on her face.
"Miss Allan!" Matron shouted into the forest. "You get out here this instant!"
Elizabette jumped to her feet. "I must go!" she told the elf hurriedly. "I will bring the books here about midday, if you can be here."
"Miss ALLAN!" Matron would not come into the forest, but the longer she had to wait, the worse it would be for Elizabette.
"I will be here." The elf handed Elizabette's notebook to her.
"Goodbye!" she called over her shoulder, running toward the edge of the forest.
"Namárië!" Legolas called back, following slowly.
Matron was waiting for Elizabette.
"You disobedient girl," she scolded angrily. "We have been looking everywhere for you."
Elizabette doubted that, but remained silent.
"As punishment, you will help the gardeners lay the pathways tomorrow morning."
Elizabette began to protest. She had seen the pieces of granite that the gardeners used for the pathways; huge boulder-like masses that had to be split into flat pieces before they were set into the earth. Elizabette had watched the gardeners before, but she had never heard of an orphan having to help.
Matron had always hated her.
She refused to hear Elizabette's protests. Legolas, watching from the shadows of the trees, saw Matron smack Elizabette sharply across the face. Unprepared, Elizabette flinched and stumbled. Legolas winced at her soft cry.
Elizabette hurried up to the formidable brick house, one hand pressed to her cheek. Matron was close behind.
Legolas overheard their conversation, an easy feat for his keen elf ears. He wasn't sure what a pathway was, but form Elizabette's reaction he supposed that it was something unfavorable.
---
Elizabette sat stiffly on her bed. She shared the room with two other eighth- grade girls; Valerie and Amanda. They disliked her and she them.
The beds were all the same: hard, bumpy, and covered in stiff white sheets that chafed against Elizabette's skin. The other girls were at dinner, but she felt no inclination to go. No doubt she would be punished but she heeded not.
The only item in Elizabette's part of the room that differed from the others' was a small trunk made of dark carven wood. It sat forlornly at the foot of her bed. Elizabette had never known what it held; her uncle had sent it to her with a letter just before he died. Matron had locked the trunk, but even she didn't know of the letter. Even as a child, Elizabette had kept it hidden underneath the trunk, showing it to no one.
She remembered watching Matron lock the trunk. The elegant antique brass latch on the trunk was disfigured by the dull flat-steel padlock. She had tried before to break it but to no avail. It was locked as tightly as Elizabette was bound to the orphanage. Invisible chains held her, straining at her when she ventured even so far as the woods.
She slid off of her bed and carefully took out the letter. She had read it so many times that she had quite memorized it. It ran:
My Dearest Niece,
As I write this I am on my deathbed. You will not see me again. Already the weakness takes me. Remember to always follow your heart. When you are in great need, think of these words:
Power needed will serve you
Power given will aid you
Power extra will engulf you
Power stolen will break you
Your father bid me give them to you. Remember also that the sun shines through the darkest cloud and that revenge often rebounds against its wielder.
I fear that you will be the only survivor of our family. We will await you in the blessed lands.
Farewell. We will all miss you.
Your Uncle,
Thomas Rhuan Allan
Elizabette whispered the words to herself. "Power needed will serve you..." She had long puzzled over those words.
Enclosed in the envelope was a necklace; bright silver wrought into the delicate likeness of a star. She had never worn the tiny charm. She could feel strength and power in it and never dared to put it on. Sometimes it seemed to radiate white light. That was when she could feel the power most strongly.
Footsteps sounded suddenly in the hallway outside and Elizabette sat up quickly. She slid the necklace and letter under her pillow and pretended to be absorbed in her math textbook. Valerie entered and took something from her nightstand, casting her a disgusted glance before retreating. As she left, Elizabette closed the text and looked again at the necklace. Suddenly it blazed with the white light. She felt the power pulsing through it.
Her thoughts turned to her father's words; power needed, power given power extra, power stolen. Did this charm have power given or needed? Uncle Thom had given it to her, but she was unsure if that applied. Did she need the power? Had someone else stolen it? How was she supposed to know?
Her thoughts whirled around in her head. Releasing them with an effort, she dragged her mind back to the present. She wondered once again what lay in the trunk. Matron did not know, Elizabette was certain.
The trunk itself was small, a foot high and a foot and a half long. In spite of its size, however, it was rather heavy. The things inside did not rattle, or, indeed, even slide around. Elizabette reasoned that they must be either packed tightly, close together, or padded well.
Elizabette hardly remembered her family. Her only clear memory was at a family gathering. She was not certain exactly how old she had been but she thought that it was perhaps only a few months before the disease struck.
She remembered posing with her family for a photograph. Her father and mother had stood behind her, her cousins Michael and Sara on either side. Her uncle, aunt, and grandparents stood to the side, smiling.
Elizabette had never seen the picture. She didn't know what happened to it.
-
So there it is, my first chapter. You met Legolas, yay! He's not really an interesting character at the moment.
I started this story last spring, in fact, and I just happened to find it in a back corner of one of my folders. Please review, I want to know what you think.
Thanks!
-shiningbanana
-
August 18, 2005: Rewritten to a certain extent. I changed Lizzy's grammar, trying to show more of a contrast between her speech and Legolas'. I also edited much of the sentence structure, because it's still in my seventh-grade writing style (which has changed over the last two years, thank God). If any of my readers are checking back, I'd really appreciate it if you tell me in a review whether you see any differences or not. Thanks!