Disclaimer: ummmm...I don't own anything...Except Pennanto(aka Mallárë)...
Prologue:
The sun rose on a cheerful household in Mirkwood. There was a mother, and a father, and a young son. With them lived the father's niece, the orphaned child of his twin sister. The only thing that made this family different was that this was the royal family. King Thranduil was a proud and happy king on this day.
But it was not going to stay this way. His wife, the queen, had gone out into her gardens near to the palace, but still a small journey. His niece, Mallárë, had also gone out, taking with her a horse, presumably headed toward one of the boarders.
On that day, orcs struck. It was a fast, precise strike, near to the palace. Orcs had never come this close before, and now, suddenly, they had attacked near to the heart. They had almost reached the palace this time. The king was grieved when the casualty reports started to come in. several elves had lost their lives to this attack and several more were wounded. But the most grievous blow was yet to come.
A guard, on of the queen's, came into the throne room bearing a body in his arms. It was limp, unmoving.
"No," gasped the king, as the guard came near enough for him to see.
For, in his arms, he held the body of the queen. Not waiting for the guard to come to him, he leapt off his throne and met the elf half-way. Gently he took the body of his wife away from her guard, who bowed and backed off, allowing the king the slightest amount of privacy.
Thranduil sank to his knees, not much minding the people all around him. He brushed his wife's face, not wanting to believe she was dead. She stirred slightly at his touch, and he gasped, hardly believing that she had moved on her own.
Weakly, her eyes fluttered open, when she saw who she was looking at a slight smile came to her lips. "Hello," she whispered.
Tears clouded the king's eyes. "Hey," his voice wavered as he delivered the familiar greeting.
Each breath was labored for the dying queen, "I have to leave," she told him, her voice hardly more than a whisper, "Do not despair, please, stay here, for Legolas, if for nothing else. Promise me."
Thranduil nodded, "I promise."
The queen, satisfied that he would keep this promise, took one last shuddering breath, and then lay still.
---
Protests and cries echoed through the many passages of the king's halls. It was a young voice, and full of confusion. The guards dragged a young elf into the court and made her stand before the king. Her blond hair was dirty as were her face and clothes, but she was still recognizable as the king's niece.
"You have been charged with the murder of the queen," the king stated. "And you have been found guilty."
He looked severely at the young elf.
"For that crime, you shall be banished, from the kingdom of Mirkwood. You may not have contact with any elf from Mirkwood so long as you live, and henceforth you shall be known to the people of Mirkwood as Alrhaw. I have pronounced my judgment. Take her to the boarder and set her loose."
And it was done as the king commanded. As Mallárë, or Alrhaw, stood at the edge of the forest, she pronounced grimly, "I shall never be known as Alrhaw. From this moment forward, I shall call myself, Pennanto, and leave behind all names given to me in that evil place."
With those words, she strode in the direction she knew led to Rivendell, towards the mountains and a new start.
Prologue:
The sun rose on a cheerful household in Mirkwood. There was a mother, and a father, and a young son. With them lived the father's niece, the orphaned child of his twin sister. The only thing that made this family different was that this was the royal family. King Thranduil was a proud and happy king on this day.
But it was not going to stay this way. His wife, the queen, had gone out into her gardens near to the palace, but still a small journey. His niece, Mallárë, had also gone out, taking with her a horse, presumably headed toward one of the boarders.
On that day, orcs struck. It was a fast, precise strike, near to the palace. Orcs had never come this close before, and now, suddenly, they had attacked near to the heart. They had almost reached the palace this time. The king was grieved when the casualty reports started to come in. several elves had lost their lives to this attack and several more were wounded. But the most grievous blow was yet to come.
A guard, on of the queen's, came into the throne room bearing a body in his arms. It was limp, unmoving.
"No," gasped the king, as the guard came near enough for him to see.
For, in his arms, he held the body of the queen. Not waiting for the guard to come to him, he leapt off his throne and met the elf half-way. Gently he took the body of his wife away from her guard, who bowed and backed off, allowing the king the slightest amount of privacy.
Thranduil sank to his knees, not much minding the people all around him. He brushed his wife's face, not wanting to believe she was dead. She stirred slightly at his touch, and he gasped, hardly believing that she had moved on her own.
Weakly, her eyes fluttered open, when she saw who she was looking at a slight smile came to her lips. "Hello," she whispered.
Tears clouded the king's eyes. "Hey," his voice wavered as he delivered the familiar greeting.
Each breath was labored for the dying queen, "I have to leave," she told him, her voice hardly more than a whisper, "Do not despair, please, stay here, for Legolas, if for nothing else. Promise me."
Thranduil nodded, "I promise."
The queen, satisfied that he would keep this promise, took one last shuddering breath, and then lay still.
---
Protests and cries echoed through the many passages of the king's halls. It was a young voice, and full of confusion. The guards dragged a young elf into the court and made her stand before the king. Her blond hair was dirty as were her face and clothes, but she was still recognizable as the king's niece.
"You have been charged with the murder of the queen," the king stated. "And you have been found guilty."
He looked severely at the young elf.
"For that crime, you shall be banished, from the kingdom of Mirkwood. You may not have contact with any elf from Mirkwood so long as you live, and henceforth you shall be known to the people of Mirkwood as Alrhaw. I have pronounced my judgment. Take her to the boarder and set her loose."
And it was done as the king commanded. As Mallárë, or Alrhaw, stood at the edge of the forest, she pronounced grimly, "I shall never be known as Alrhaw. From this moment forward, I shall call myself, Pennanto, and leave behind all names given to me in that evil place."
With those words, she strode in the direction she knew led to Rivendell, towards the mountains and a new start.