Okay, so first story! I'm new to writing on this site and also doing this for fun but reviews would always help improve the story.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit. Aranduil is my OC and a few background OC's not really important to this fic. Happy reading! And I hope Tolkien forgives me...

The Forsaken Leaf

I - A Proud Facade

Fear is good in small amounts, but when it is a constant, pounding companion it cuts away at who you are and makes it hard to do what you know is right.

-Murtagh from the Inheritence Cycle.

There are many tales and legends to be told in Middle-Earth. But every story must come from a source.

That is life. A person's own adventure. The record of events leading from the start of their journey to the very end, that is death.

And a journey must have a path. What kind of path is up to the one who takes it. Sometime's the person isn't even fully aware of what lies ahead but we never do don't we? That is the fun of such adventures. They are unexpected. You can never tell what happens next.

But let us focus on one particular story. Of someone who had to take the first step to tread on the road that will pull him into the adventure he so desperately needed but does not know it himself. Beginners are always hesitant when they start their venture.

There are a few things you should know about him.

He isn't what you would call good in personality or attittude. Not modest and certainly not kind. He never dares showed kindness but not for the reason you think. Alas, ever since a young age he had never beated a single warm beat from his heart, nor thought of fighting to the death for something or someone he cared for (if he had any left that is).

No. His heart was frozen in an icey cage of what was created by hate, anger, fear and, the most dreadful feeling of all, loneliness.

He had a long way to go until he could grasp any source of virtuous traits. But the path he took was long and riveting. And that is more than enough. The adventures gave him what he was missing and taught him things he should have learned years ago.

You should know who I'm talking about...

What do you mean you don't know who?

His name runs down the history of the lands of Arda itself. Forever an example to show there was simply no limits to the power of bonds thicker than blood. That there was a difference between courage and bravery.

Aranduil, son of Thranduil the Elvenking of Mirkwood.

"Lieutenant Aranduil! Sir!"

Aranduil, in all his proud demeanor, turned his head that was crowned with silvery yellow hair like stardust. It went straight down to his waist, silky and smooth. The soldier tried not to stare as it flowed gently like rippling water. His eyes were kept on the blonde beauty's forehead. Because those icey blue eyes colder than a raging blizzard gazed at him mercilessly. They made a shiver run down the looker's spine.

"What news do you bring me? I told you not to leave your post." Aranduil snapped in his arctic tone.

In spite of being older than the lieutenant the soldier cladded in golden armor shied away from his voice. It was another thing to be in the prescense of Aranduil the Brilliant. Aura that surrounded him was demanding respect and acknowledgement.

The blonde was handsome even amongst the elves, almost beautiful but with such harsh eyes and cold voice he was unapproachable. It was once rumored he even sent entire nest of spiders running with just his ice glare pointed at them.

Pulling himself together, the soldier did as told "It's not good sir, there are spiders attacking the front gate as we speak."

If possible, those bright icey blue eyes flashed a brighter and colder glint. Aranduil paused in his disbelief of spiders descending on their territory head on. Then again, it mattered not. They have another thing entirely when he deals with them.

Brushing past the soldier as if he was never ther in the first place Aranduil strode to the door and slammed it open with so much power it most likely gave a few cracks on the wall. He barked orders at his men to get armed and start forming the defence formations outside. With his bow in hand and quiver reloaded with newly sharpened arrows he made his way down the various halls and passages.

The palace was a laybrinth unless you've spent years living in these walls and lucky for him he did. He knew every twist and turn, memorized were each bridge and path leaded to, knew where was what and how long it had been there. Every nook and cranny was printed in his mind, like a detailed map.

Knowing the place better than the architects, he used the shortcuts to reach the entrance and exit of the palace faster. By the time he had gotten there he was met with the sight of three gaurds holding back the doors with obvious strain.

With his sharp elf ears he could hear the vile hisses from the abominations outside. It also irked him when he could tell there were so many of them.

That made him feel even more furious. They musterd up the guts to come and assault them in their most heavily gaurded location in the palace. He plucked out one arrow from his quiver and readied his bow.

"Stand aside! Open the doors! Ready your weapones!" He commanded.

The armed elves scrambled to open the large heavy palace doors. The rays of the sunlight outside seeped in as they parted. It lit up the rather gloomy place with its bright streams of light. Aranduil heard his men ready themselves behind him. He glanced back and orderd two to cover him.

Two brunett's stepped forward bravely and stood beside him in each side. Satisfied, the blonde stared ahead at the opened entrance. He made a noise of distaste as he saw his guess was right. Like a huge pungent wave of shadows, groups of large black spiders came barreling down from trees and the dark cover of the shades.

The spiders, spawned by an ancient monster, are fat-bodied, as big as a man, have great hairy legs and wicked nippers with which they use to sting and numb their prey.

Arrows poured down from above. None missing to hit its targets. The archers from the balconies were doing their job. Now it was their turn.

Without batting an eyelid, he dashed forward wordlessly. He braught his bow up and fired an arrow. It flew in a straight line and burried itself through one of the grotesque monsters heads. As if that was a signal to start, the elves lined behind him charged.

Two more arrows came from behind him -wizzing pass his ears by a hair- and killed two spiders infront of him. His hands moved in an inhumanly fast pace as he worked to shoot arrow after arrow. His shots landed exactly were he wanted them. It paid off training most of his time.

While he crossed the bridge that connected to the woods he hopped on one spider to another and planted an arrow on their heads each time and repeated the process. A spider had lunged at him but it wasn't quick enough when he shot an arrow right into its mouth.

While his back was turned another spider was about to attack him from behind. It crawled towards him until it was close enough but its tactic failed as Aranduil sensed the spider. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow he embedded in the spiders mouth and forcefuly pulled it out drawing a cry of pain from the injured spider. He ignored that and spun around gracefuly with great speed and stabbed the creeping spider in the eye. Not waitting for another secont to pass, he kicked the side spider's head causing it to fall over the bridge and fall into the darky depths were it belonged. He whirled back to his previouse apponent and put the suffering creature out of its misery with his dagger.

Turning around, he saw more spiders coming forward. It worried him why they assaulted so suddenly and in great numbers no less. Where they growing braver? Or more desperate? He needed to report this to the captain when he gets back from his mission.

Another arrow flew passed him snapped him out of his thoughts. He let out a 'tsk' and shot another arrow. When more just kept coming closer he braught out his twin blades seathed behind the midsection of his waist. He advanced further by stabbing and killing every spider that came in his way. His moves were swift, flowing like water. Although fighting was serious for him at any rate it was similar to a dance to him. A dance were he made sure his moves were planned and precise. Often times he quickly went for the kill never caring for any showy skills and swings, he wasn't like his brother. When he has the chance he'll get it over with.

More elves rushed forward, moving farther into the woods and trees. They managed to push their enemies back, prompting them to chase after the retreating side.

Looking up Aranduil saw a sturdy branch. He ran to gain speed then jumped an impressive hight. His free arm hooked around it and used it as leverage to swing himself onto another one on his feet. He recieved a good vantage point and started knotched more arrows from the trees. Most of his men joined him up on other trees, shooting their arrows at the spiders below. Few stayed on the ground too locked in the battle they faced. From the corner of his eyes he spotted one of his men get tackled by three spiders. He quickly discharged multiple arrows at once to save the struggling elf.

A sudden hiss caught his attention. Whirling around he saw an arachnid coming for him. Its large jaws tried to bite his head off, luckily he backed up dodging the attack and pulled out his blade in the nick of time to block another bite. The arachne gave a virulent growl. It was replied with an equaly hateful glare.

"Gealdir!" Aranduil called to the elf firing arrows nearby as he used both of his hands to push back the spider. Said elf saw him jerk his head to the direction where the elf that was cornerd and outnumberd. Gealdir obeyed and went back down to save the elf in need.

His attention was now back to his opponent. Using all of his strength he pushed back the spider. It fell of the branch -hitting more on its way down- and landed violently on its back ending its life there.

Aranduil began running and leaping to other branches all the while shooting more arrows. It was then when he ran out of amo he slid down a branch on his feet and got back on the ground. Registering the surroundings he came to a realization of where he stood.

A nest.

The huge webs they spin shroud the trees and festoon their branches. The threads of these webs are unnaturaly thick and sticky, and once caught in, it is very hard to escape.

It wasn't long for a mass of giant spiders to surround him in a circle. Aranduil looked unimpressed as they drew closer. His mind worked to create a plan of attack. Bringing his blades up and getting into a defensive stance he let his body and mind go calm. When the spiders jumped on him, he found that familiar rhythm.

"Alakir, is anyone fataly wounded?" Aranduil inquired the auburn haired elf.

The spiders were taken care of. They killed many, the rest had made a run for it back into the shadows knowing they had been defeated for now. The lieutenant watched as his men marched back into the palace not looking too worse for ware but sporting a few minor bruises and cuts. This had to be the largest assault the spiders had made.

Alakir was an elf he respected for his earnesty and seriousness. He was one of the very few people he trusted to carry out his orders without question. He may be a low-classed blood but it took him a small amount of time to obtain respect from Aranduil. Out of his men it was commonly Alakir who spoke to Aranduil when it came to just casual talk. Not that they were really friends more like acquaintances, their conversations abrupt and neutral.

"None." Alakir shook his head "Nothing time won't fix."

Icey blue eyes shifted away from the rest of the elves and on to Alakir. Aranduil examined him closely then raised an intent eyebrow "You're shoulder."

Alakir looked at his bleeding shoulder. The wound stretched from his shoulder front to his chest right bellow the collar of his neck. His hand grasped the wound tightly. A pained grunt escaped his lips.

"Just a flesh wound, I'll go see a healer." He went ahead to follow his fellow gaurds to the healing room when his lieutenant stopped him.

"It's not just a flesh wound if a spider made it." Aranduil stated "Let me do it."

Before the confused and slightly surprised auburn could speak the blonde strode past him not sparing him a glance. When he heard no steps following him, Aranduil glanced back and saw the bleeding elf still standing there a hesitant look on his fair face with his eyes a bit wide.

"Well?" The lieutenant waited impatiently "Are you waiting until you bleed to death?"

"Uh...no sir" Alakir replied and hastily caught up with his superior.

So now the two were alone in a private healing room. A nervous low-class sitting stiffly on the chair as Aranduil tended to his injury. His reaction to the lieutenant offering to treat his injury was caused by the rarity of Aranduil willingly deciding to heal someone. It wasn't like he held no skill in healing, quite the opposite as his healing abilities rivaled their best healers combined, he just didn't care. Unless it was absolutely necessary or it was he himself who was in need of healing.

The blonde was rubbing some mixed herbs and ointment on the gash after whiping the blood away. The room was silent of anything except the low whispery chanting coming from Aranduil. Bottles and jars of various herbs and medicine were spread out on the counter.

Not recognizing the pattern of ingredients used, the gaurd figured out he was being healed by one of Aranduil's exclusive brews. He did hear a rumor that their lieutenant made his own medicine and ointment for healing that worked effectively on the worse illnesses and injuries. Aranduil began wrapping the elf's shoulder with clean bandages.

In truth he only healed Alakir because he wanted time. The attack of the spiders was no small event and needed to be reported. The captain was gone leaving him temporarily in charge hence he was expected to give the report on the events that happened during the battle. It wasn't the report he was hesitant, it was who he was going to give it to. The Elvenking of Mirkwood. His father.

Yes, he was stalling. He wasn't too eager to face his father most days. There was always that tension that hung in the air whenever they were in the same room. He had no idea how the other felt or thought about him but it seemed clear in his words and eyes. You can tell how low he was regarded by his adad from his eager want of avoidance.

"Thank you sir." Alakir dipped his head gratefuly. He flexed his shoulders to test its condition and felt no stinging pain, but a light numbness.

Aranduil nodded back. Without another word to say he went along to returning the herbs to the cabinets. The gaurd stood, grabbed his tunic and dressed it back on.

A knock came from the door. It opened not waiting for a response and an elf-maiden poked her head inside the room. Her grassy green eyes landed on the auburn elf then to the sparkling haired lieutenant.

"Lieutenant Aranduil, your father summons you." She informed him.

It was time. He internaly sighed "In a moment."

Seeing as he had no reason to stay any longer Alakir excused himself. He gave the maiden a soft smile and left the room. Shutting close the last cabinet Aranduil steeled himself. He grabbed his bow he left on the table and slung on the quiver. His body wasn't injured except for the one bruise he had on his back but he could ignore it.

The she-elf waited outside up till the lieutenant came out. She smiled at him kindly "May I accompany you there Aranduil?" she asked.

His stoic expression didn't change, "Do as you wish." He didn't wait for her to say anything else and started walking.

His companion followed at his side, falling into step with him. She had to be the sole elf who could call him Aranduil and nothing else and get away with it. It couldn't be helped, she was his handmaiden when he was but an elfling.

Despite their interactions not really conveying closeness between the two it was as close anyone would be able to get to the cold blonde. Just getting away with calling him 'Aranduil' was a mighty feat alone!

But it was more depressing in her case. As she glanced at the elf warrior she rememberd the once sweet and bright young elf. Oh, those days seem like they happened a mere week ago.

Now looking at the current Aranduil she mourned the loss. The child had grew, grew then dissapeared. This person next to her was nothing but a hollow shell. A shell of what was once a pure soul that held so much kindness and potential but now thrived in a cold bitterness of hate. A terrifying form of icey loathing that was passionate like fire. It scared her but saddened her more.

They could have been friends just like when she was but a young adult -in elf years- working in the palace for the first time and he a beautiful little elfling -in elf years- that possesed so many talents.

And she had one person to blame.

They turned to enter the great Halls of Thranduil. Aranduil strode in confidently with his head held high and shoulders firm in a regal poise. Those who noted his prescense -which was everyone in the halls- acknowledged it with bowing their heads in his direction. Everybody knew who he was. Not just the lieutenant of the Royal Gaurds but an elf of higher blood. Those who met him would see the true epitome of a royal.

Delicately carved, clear-cut face inherited from his father. Elegant as any prince and feirce as a warrior combined his dignified posture. If these physical traits weren't satisfying then the sheer fluid movements and the way he held himself was a sure sign of his standing. Shoulders pressed and firm, back rod straight, and expression calm and placid. His aura commanded for respect as of a king. But his eyes snapped at you to get out of his way.

The lieutenant of the Royal Gaurds, a rigorous, severe, and august elf, with a pale complexion as white as snow and long, luminous, silver blond hair. He was indeed tall, strong, and graceful as a maturing tree in the Woodland realm.

Underneath that seamless disguise eyes see lies a very different character.

He walked down the passage he had been dreading to cross. Travelers and guests saw this place sullen, with its dim lighting and depressed vibes the walls held but he saw it differently, he had come to appreciate the sense of ancient wonder the palace had. The bridged like well carved branches, the indoor fountains with statues that held a story behind each of them, the glamorous bits and peices that added some grandness to the place.

He would admit his home wasn't just ancient but portrayed faded glory. No matter how many marvelous crafts they decorate the realm with its glory days had passed long ago.

This is what they were now. Not Greenwood of Old where the trees and grass were once the greenest in all of Middle-Earth, where the water was crystal clear and not sick and mirky, and where the palace of the proud Greenwood elves resided with their King -they still were proud but a lot less cheery and more resentful-. The woods were sublime, until tragedy struck.

They were nearing the flight of stairs that leaded to the dark oaken doors of the throne room. He wished it felt like eternity to get to the stairs with every tense breath he took but the truth was he was a couple of ways away then the next thing he knew he had his foot on one of the steps.

"Your brother was asking for you after the battle."

His train of thought crashed. It was only a quick glance with his eyes but it gave her some encouragment to continue. She'd done this before, she never gave up trying or will she ever stop trying.

"He watched you fight, I say he looked quite exhillerated." She commented. Inside her hundred-year-old mind she prayed to the Valar this would succeed just a little bit.

"Did he now?" That tone stomped on her tiny ray of hope. It was the same tone he used whenever someone displeased him. She was walking on thin ice now. Very, very dangerous ice.

She put on a facade of a casual composure, "Yes." She confirmed, "As if inspiration struck him like lightning."

"Alali-"

"Maybe you could give him some tips or better yet, teach him sometime-"

"Alali!" He repeated more forceful, feeling annoyed and his anger flared. Getting her attention he said firmly, "You may leave."

Alali opened her mouth to say more. She wanted to be persistent about this but he shot her a warning look. Her face lowerd in defeat and nodded. The raven haired elf-maiden turned, she left the bitter lieutenant there by the steps to the throne room.

This is being written on mobile so sorry for any spelling mistakes. If it bothers you then tell me. Again, reviews would be nice.