Stories

Part One

The line of marching elves was one stretched a mile long. They carried luggage on their backs while they walked in pairs down the path, the soldiers stepping in time together while they lead in front of and followed behind the king Thranduil and his son Legolas. The path used to be a well-worn one, considered the safest of trails and used almost daily by traders. Now it lay hidden behind trees and bushes, withered and mutilated by the elements, abandoned by the ones who used it for travel so fondly and frequently.

The elves who walked the path in front made sure to stamp down on the ground hard so that the lords' horses could ride smoothly over it. Legolas felt that the protection of a hundred archers, fifty in front and fifty in back, to be rather excessive on a journey as simple as this one, but kept his opinions to himself. His father had explained the situation once already, and his father was certainly not known for happily repeating himself, so Legolas decided to not bring it up again.

Rumors had recently risen up about a very old creature hiding within the woods; a creature that held knowledge of The Enemy, but ill will towards anything which disturbs it. The creature had been presumed dead hundreds of years ago since no sign of it could be found for decades. Recent evidence, however, raised suspicion as to whether or not a creature such as this one could even die.

The stories were first shared between hunters, men who spent much time in the same woods as the creature, then were spread to the townspeople nearby. Traders took the stories from the townspeople along with them on their journeys across Middle Earth, and this was when pointed ears perked in interest. The stories were spread from one elven house to another until they were finally brought into the kingdom of Mirkwood so that the king Thranduil himself heard them in his halls.

A group of five men were exploring the old forests in hopes of finding new game to hunt. They traveled for eight days, finding only small animals that they had to eat themselves in order to keep from starving during their exploration, when they were ready to give up and turn back. On the ninth night, however, they set up camp in what they thought was an abandoned city which once housed elves. There were tall winding towers and noble houses crowded together, all carved out of wood and stone in an identical fashion to the way that Mirkwood's buildings were designed. The buildings were filled with the remnants of furniture, clothing, books, even silverware, but everything was broken down and burnt as if a fire had spread and destroyed anything it could touch. The men thought this place beautiful, regardless of how dark, heavy, and lonely it felt to be in its presence.

The men could not sleep that night no matter how hard they tried. Their fire seemed not to provide any warmth at all and only produced terrifying shadows of things that weren't there. Cold fog swept over the ground and clung to them the same way a starved wolf would cling to their newly captured meal. Tree branches spread high across the sky and kept the light of the moon and stars from shining down on them. The rabbits that they had caught and cooked that very day tasted as if they had gone horribly bad and made the men heave until their stomachs were as empty as the buildings that surrounded them.

One man said that they should leave the old elven city, mentioned something about it being cursed, but it was too dangerous to travel at night in places as unfamiliar as this forest. They were forced to wait until the sun's first rays would peek through the branches and leaves above their heads before they could leave. It seemed that forces were against the men that could not be avoided or controlled; they were helpless.

As they huddled together around their fire, shaking from the cold and listening to their hungry stomachs complain, they began to hear sounds. Things in the trees above them were moving from limb to limb, snapping twigs and squawking or clicking as they went. Beatles, worms, and even centipedes uprooted themselves from the ground to wriggle around the men's sitting forms. Rats appeared from nowhere to sniff and nibble at their flesh as snakes slithered onto their laps and made themselves comfortable around the men's necks. Then there came the shadow of someone hunched over and the wheezing breath of a horrid old hag. Mangy, starved mutts walked beside the creature, snarling and foaming at the mouth as they circled the men. The shadowy creature made a gesture of some sort and the little fire was blown out by an intense gust of wind.

The men refused to move, knowing that at least half of the creatures surrounding them were capable of poisoning or killing them. Their breaths stuttered in their throats and their hearts threatened to pound out from their chests. Other than the sickening sounds of the insects and animals around them, all was silent for moments. The men were too frightened to speak and the shadow creature was too entertained by their fear to break the silence…until the precise moment when it decided otherwise.

In a ghastly voice that only creatures born, raised, and adored by the darkness could possess, the creature spoke.

"You dare to enter my home without invitation? You would dare to hunt on my land, burn my lumber, rest on my ground? Such foolish men you are."

And before any of the men could defend themselves or beg for forgiveness, one of them was raised into the air by invisible hands. The others only had time to exclaim in surprise and fear before the man was ripped to pieces.

His clothing tore the same way his flesh did as each individual bone was separated from one another at the joints and floated inches from where they once belonged. His fingers became short cylinders of flesh, blood, and bone. His jaw unhinged from his skull and hovered away from the rest of his face. Each rib was pulled off, his spine divided, his arms yanked from their sockets; his thigh pulled from his hip, his shin pulled from his thigh, his foot pulled from his shin, and each toe departed. Soon the earth beneath him was soaked with blood and bone marrow.

The night was filled with the men's screams as they stood and ran. Two of them were attacked by the wolves to be shared with the snakes, rats, and beetles as dinner. One other man was forced back towards the creature when a hoard of ravens, crows, and owls swarmed and practically herded him. The creature tore at the man's flesh with only her sharpened nails and jagged teeth.

One man got away. The birds tried to push him back towards the creature as well, but this man had been smart enough to grab his hunting knife before he ran. He swung and sliced at the birds until they flew away injured and weary of him. The creature tried to send its hounds after him, but the hunter took out his bow and filled the beasts each with three arrows before being able to finally escape.

As he ran he could hear the creature's voice in his head and swore that her invisible hands were right at his back every second, ready to tear him apart just as his friend had been. It wasn't until the sun finally rose over the mountains, broke through the clouds, and shone down onto the man that he slowed and gave himself a moment to grieve over his friends. He pushed on and walked to the nearest town where he warned every person willing to listen to his frantic rambles not to go into that forest ever again. An evil creature, the shell of what once was an elven woman, belonged to those cursed woods just as much as the woods belonged to her.

It took almost two years for the story to reach the king, and he was quick to send out elves from his own army to look for the man who had survived the attack. King Thranduil was smarter than to trust these stories; every creature—be it man, dwarf, orc, or elf—had a tendency to twist and misconstrued stories, no matter how slight or accidental it may be. This is why he did not bother to ask about other versions of the story, and also because he truly on cared for the fact that the creature was elleth. The details were useless, however gory or despairing they were; Thranduil only cared for the dark elleth.

The king needed to know the truth.

Sadly, though, the man had killed himself in despair of the things he had seen. The only way anybody could ever know the honest truth about what the creature was would be by going to the forest and seeing the creature for themselves.

This is what the king's son had been told more than once, by soldiers, servants, and even the king himself. What Legolas wasn't being told though, along with the soldiers and servants who joined them on their journey, was the reason why the creature mattered so much.

At first the elven prince assumed that it was a mission to destroy the creature for its horrible deeds and that Thranduil was joining them on the hunt was for some sort of publicity related reason. Then the king ordered all who knew of the mission to stay silent, lest they wish to be beheaded, and made sure that nobody would make a move to kill the creature. Wound it so that they might have a chance to escape, perhaps, but not kill it. Now Legolas was rather unsure as to what their intentions were for the creature and why so many of the king's fighters were required if not to murder it, or at least protect the royal family by killing it.

As he sat atop his steed, Legolas continued to remind himself that these questions had already been brought forth to his father Thranduil. If they were not received kindly the first time, then surely a second time would ensure the unsightly wrath of the king. The prince compared the stories that he'd heard of what cruel things his father was capable of doing to others to the story of the creature, and briefly wondered: shall Legolas's father meet his match, or shall the creature?

The elves traveled two days before they stopped in a clearing just to the side of the path in order to rest and eat. Tents were pitched, night watches were arranged, meals were being prepared, and fires were started.

The archers' plain campfires and tiny tents circled the king's larger, more comfortable tent which was made of pastel silks, lit and warmed with a tiny furnace in the center, and housed the simplest yet most comfortable furniture that could be transported with ease. A small table held maps to the right side of the tent, while another larger table to the left of the tent was already overflowing with generous amounts of food. The king's bed was made of gorgeous furs and large pillows piled amongst one another, all raised on a short podium in a similar way that his throne was. King Thranduil had taken a liking to having the ability of looking down on people as often as possible. The servants all shared one tent with each other to the right of the king's miniature palace and Legolas slept in his own larger, but not as large as his father's, tent to the left.

The night was uneventful. The soldiers grumbled under their breath about their reason for being there, and once again the story was passed from mouth to ear until nobody could stand to hear another word of it.

The servants whispered their worries and fears to one another until the more reasonable of them had to ensure that a hundred archers plus the king and his son would be able to take care of six measly servants if need be; the only question was if the servants were worth caring for. This notion caused them to work hard, making delectable food and handing out larger portions than necessary in hopes that the soldiers would be more likely to save them were they ever in danger.

Legolas had already eaten and was resting soundly upon his own furs and pillows in his tent which was also heated by a small furnace.

Thranduil sat upon his makeshift bed—which he had momentarily arranged in such a way that allowed him to use it as more of a chair—inside his warm tent, wearing one of his many eloquent gowns, with his crown perfectly perched on top of his head. His legs were crossed at the knee, his arms resting on the pillows at his sides, his back relaxed, and his head tilted slightly to the side. The king wore not a bored gaze as he normally would within his tent, but a rather inquisitive one as he stared into the flames of the furnace. Thoughts of the creature in the forest ran through his mind, along with ponderings of who she might truly be.

No more than a hundred years ago, at the beginning of the Second Age, there were other stories being passed around. The stories told were of rings, powerful rings being forged by one man and then presented as gifts to the three main races of Middle Earth; men, elves, and dwarfs. Although the rings were taken with a greedy haste, the creator of the rings wasn't well known, therefor he was not well trusted. It was a time of suspicion, and the taste darkness lingered on one's tongue constantly.

And then another ring was made; one ring meant to rule them all. Before anyone knew it, monsters freely roamed Middle Earth and destroyed everything in their path. War had begun, and only the enemy was prepared.

In the midst of the bloodshed and fear, though, there was an elf from Rivendell who managed to sneak past it all and cross behind enemy lines unscathed. She was nobody: not an archer, not a sword fighter, not part of a rebellion party, and not a spy. It is unknown if she did what she did to protect the ones she loved or if someone had convinced her to do it. Perhaps she was just extremely lucky, up until the exact moment when her luck ran out. Thranduil, though, assumed that she was simply young and had a fool's ambition.

Behind enemy lines the lone elleth managed to get close to Sauron over the span of a few days. She must have tricked the enemy into thinking she was an orc or goblin to have gotten so close to Sauron, although this too is unknown. The elleth, the stupidly clever and cleverly stupid elleth, tried to steal the ring right off of the enemy's hand.

It is said that she mentioned polishing it so it could shine to its full potential, and that she said this in such a way that kept Sauron from being suspicious of her, so she managed to actually have the ring in her hands. How she was found out is pure speculation, as is most of the story, but she was discovered before the ring could be destroyed or hidden.

The elleth begged for her life, promised to do anything that Sauron wanted, so long as she was allowed to live. The enemy, though, does not respect beggars and was not known for being forgiving. He decided to punish her by also sparing her at the same time; he cursed her.

Sauron promised the elleth that darkness and death would follow her wherever she went, that only allies to the enemy would see her as a friend, and that nothing could ever kill her.

The sun would not dare to shine on her ever again and many would try to kill her on first sight strictly due to fear. Beasts would seek her out for a welcoming shelter, regardless if she offered it to them or not. No illness, no wound, and no magic would offer her death and save her from this cursed excuse of a life. The only way that the darkness would ever leave her was if someone were foolish enough to trust her ever again; but who would trust someone that was easily befriended by orcs, goblins, trolls, dragons, or other ghastly creatures of the sort? To be near this elleth was to put one's self in constant danger.

The elleth was blindfolded and lead into a faraway forest, one that was filled to the brink with horrible monsters, a forest that was always avoided by men, elves, and dwarfs; people that she desperately needed to come in contact with if she wished for the curse to be lifted. The orcs and goblins that lived there kept her from reaching out though, treating her as if she were both their pet and their parent, and pushed her already frayed mind to the edge of insanity. The elleth suddenly struck out at them and flooded the forest with the blood and bodies of the enemy, using a newfound power that she had not expected to have.

Once the forest was cleared of any creature that stood in her way, she went to the nearest town in search for help. No matter how hopeless the elleth thought herself, she did manage to find a town. The curse stayed true to itself though; dangerous animals followed her with intent to kill, trolls made their way down from the mountain and into the town, the clouds stalked her, and even after she killed the things that had come forth to put the villagers in danger, her presence alone made the villagers deathly sick. Within a single day the elleth had destroyed the inhabitants of the dark forest, but also unintentionally ruined the lives of the small trading town.

The elleth wasn't heard of ever again after that.

The wars went on, Sauron fell, and the ring was lost.

Many men vowed to have their vengeance for the lives which she took that day, and had searched the forest time and time again to be sure she was rid of it. After no sign of her was found, they moved on to search for her in other dark or dangerous places of Middle Earth, but found no sign. For quite some time, many figured that she had found some far off cave in a tall mountain, or that she joined the enemy lines and assisted from afar; then the elleth was assumed dead and forgotten.

Now that Thranduil was mulling it over, though, he thought that maybe she had never left the forest in the first place. Maybe those spiteful men looking to avenge the fallen people of the town had found her in the forest, but nobody realized it…because nobody was left to tell the tale. Not until recently, of course. How it was that one of five men managed to escape the dark elleth was beyond the king, but again, it was a mere detail that did not matter in the overall scheme of things.

The darkness was rising once again. Thranduil could smell it in the air, felt the stiffness in his bones and the soreness of his muscles; even the most eloquent foods were beginning to lose their tastes. These aches were once before felt by him, one hundred years ago, during the time of fire and ruin. The enemy was stirring in hopes to emerge again, and the elven king refused to be as unprepared as he was the first time.

Thranduil wanted the dark elleth, for he needed to speak with the creature in the forest of the things which she had seen behind enemy lines. She had been close to the orcs and even Sauron himself; surely she knew some of his secrets or at the very least knew what his plans were. Surely she could be of some use if the enemy truly did come forth and fight once more.

How the king would coerce the information from her wasn't clear just yet, but he was prepared to offer anything up if it meant that he would be one step ahead of the enemy. Treasure, power, a place in his kingdom; Thranduil would give the dark elleth whatever she desired, so long as he was given useful information.

Everyone slept soundly that night, if not slightly paranoid, and awoke with the first rays of the sun. They packed quickly and were walking down the path once more, nearing the creature with each step they took. Nobody spoke during the journey and let their thoughts keep them entertained. They waited two more days before making camp in a small clearing once more and allowing themselves rest and sleep. More stories were told, more speculations made among the servants and soldiers, and Thranduil triple checked his map to be sure they were on the correct course. It would seem that they were a day's journey away from where the man had claimed to be attacked.

That night, as the king lie sleeping in his bed, he had a strange and upsetting dream.

He dreamt that he stood in the halls of Mirkwood, completely and utterly alone—no guards, servants, or citizens of his kingdom could be spotted—except for one elleth. She looked young, as if she still had some years left before she would stop aging, and quite pretty. Long silver hair flowed down her shoulders and tickled the tops of her bare feet. She had piercing blue irises, a color so soft that they were almost as clear as the whites of her eyes. Her skin was pale and smooth, covered by a modest dress the shade of alabaster with designs along the chest that must have been spun from pure silver.

The elleth wore a confused yet friendly expression as she stood still with her arms at her sides and looked at the king. Thranduil was frowning at her in a disapproving manner across the few yards that stood between them, somehow convinced that she was not meant to be there. He could not speak though, could not tell her to leave, and he couldn't move a single muscle. He soon found that the same did not go for the elleth as she stepped towards him and stretched out an arm in his direction, as if she had something in her upturned hand to give him. Time was different here though, and her movements were extremely slow; slow enough that he could see the exact moment when she began to change.

The ends of her hair began to curl and darken, as if they were being burnt from the very bottom up to the top, until her hair was short, black and mangled. Her dress began to rip and fall to the floor in shreds, leaving her skin to peek out from under what now was a scant and aged piece of ugly cloth. Her flesh greyed, the veins turning white and becoming all too easy to spot, and weight left her body to make her even thinner than she already was. Her eyes became white orbs in dark sockets, her lips dried until they cracked, bled, and tore back to reveal sharp yellow teeth, and the nails of the hand stretching towards Thranduil grew straight and strong to make sharpened weapons on the end of her fingers.

All light and heat left the room as the elleth was slowly lifted and left floating two feet above the ground where her bare feet once stood. Her ruined hair and poor excuse for clothing hovered no more than an inch above her skin, as if she were underwater. She began to move closer to him, her twisted face pulling into a sickening, bloody grin while she grew nearer. The king's eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock as he stared at the strange woman before him, fear and anxiety rising in his heart. His heavy, scared breaths were coming out as fog while the tips of his fingers and toes numbed in the frozen halls of Mirkwood.

He found that he could finally move and made to step back, time slowing him just as much as it had the dark elleth. Thranduil's ability to see the horrible creature before him lessened until she merely became a dark figure floating towards him. He went to unsheathe his sword with intent to defend himself and his kingdom, but just as his shaking hand touched the hilt the dark elleth's outstretched hand turned to let whatever she held fall to the floor.

Before Thranduil could distinguish what she had been trying to offer him he awoke from his dream, breathing hard and staring with wide eyes at the ceiling of his tent. Before he could question his dream or what could have been in the dark elleth's hand, sounds from outside took his attention. The two horses brought with them were stamping their feet and whinnying, kicking at the trees that they were tied to in want of escape. Even though it was still dark out he heard the soldiers stirring in their small tents and the servant girls sobbing within their own. Quickly he stepped out and demanded their attention.

"Legolas!" He called across the camp. At the sound of their leader, the archers stepped from their tents and stood at attention while the servants peeked their weary heads out at him. Legolas came to his father with a concerned expression and spoke in hushed tones.

"Father, I've had a dream—"

"A dream that I believe the rest of us has shared on this night." Thranduil spoke clearly and loudly for everyone to hear. "A dream of an elleth turned evil." His eyes looked over every soldier before him as they shifted nervously from foot to foot and knew his assumption to be correct. Legolas frowned at his father's words and shook his head.

"A shared dream? How could it be, it makes no sense." Legolas asked.

Thranduil looked down at his son expressionless, slightly disappointed that he could not connect the dots on his own.

"It makes perfect sense, my son. It was sent as a message to us from the dark elleth herself." Murmurs ran through the camp and the servants began to fret among one another. The king had to speak even louder over the panicking voices to be heard. "The creature what resides in this forest is near; nearer than I had expected. Archers, stand guard with your weapons at the ready."

The elves all moved as one, turning to face away from the camp, correcting their stance, and drawing their bows in preparation for whatever was coming their way. Thranduil shifted his gaze to the servants who were quick to stand at attention for their king, regardless of the terror they were feeling.

"Douse the fires and begin packing everything away. We must be ready to move at a moment's notice. Nobody sleeps tonight, not in these woods."

The servants straightened themselves and forced their minds to calm, quickly going to work on taking everything in the camp down.

Legolas stepped before his father, itching to stand with the archers and ready his bow, but he would not do so until Thranduil made it so.

"And what would you have me do father?"

Thranduil eyed his son from head to toe before coming to a decision.

"I would have you will join me in waiting for the sun to rise." He turned and walked back into his tent, motioning for Legolas to follow him to the table of maps.

"We wait?" Legolas hissed in displeasure. He leant on the table as he stood across from his father. Thranduil did not bother to look up as he spoke, too busy carefully observing the map before him to face his son.

"It won't be long now and we will not be able to continue our journey until we have the aid of daylight on our side. She is trying to find us, my dear son, just as we are trying to find her, and we must be ready when she arrives. We need every advantage we can possibly have, and it just so happens that the ability to see clearly is an advantage that is required."

The king's son sighed and looked away, pushing off of the table to stand straight. Legolas paced back and forth twice before stopping and regarding the king once more.

"You said that the dream was a message," he said, "what do you think that message was?"

"The message that the dark elleth was giving us was a simple yet important one."

Thranduil turned his head and stared at Legolas, trying to convey with just that one glance how serious this mission was.

"Run."